It's a Women's World

by Lorraine Roberts

 

I finally managed to get an interview with a small company about a week after my visit to the mall. By now, dressing as a woman had become second nature to me. I had put all my men's clothes in boxes and put them in a closet, I was, for all intents and purposes, now a woman. I had really come a lot further with this than I had anticipated. When I had first conceived of it, I pictured a scenario like the old Bosom Buddies TV show with Tom Hanks. Working woman by day, regular guy the rest of the time. Soon though, I couldn't see the point. My natural mannerisms were all female now, and the constant changing back and forth made it all the more likely that I would slip up and reveal my maleness. Even at night, I was relishing my femininity. I had always slept in the nude before, but now I was sleeping in a frilly little nighty I had purchased years ago but had never worn.

My problem with my references had partially been solved. Two of my previous managers were women with whom I believed I had good relationships. I guess women are more understanding since both assured me that they would be willing to use the appropriate pronoun in discussing my past performance with potential employers. Oddly, neither one sounded particularly surprised, although one did sound a little disappointed. She was a fiery redhead, and she knew I had a serious crush on her. I guess she thought that the fact that I was now dressing as a woman meant I was gay. Well, perhaps I was gay – a gay woman. That thought was particularly arousing, but I had to put that aside for the time being. I had to sort out the ambiguity in my sexual identity first. I mean it seemed as if I was actually becoming a woman, at least psychologically, and that is not exactly what I had planned. At the same time the transformation was thrilling, I was undergoing a total metamorphosis, and how often in life did one get to experience that. I saw no logical alternative but to go with it and hope it turned out alright on the other end.

The night before the interview, I slipped into my lacy nighty and stood before the full length mirror in my room. Although I had been dressing full time for at least a week now, I still became aroused every time the flimsy garment slid over my bare torso. I moved my had up over my erection and held it tight against my flat stomach. I would have to do something about that, an unsightly bulge standing out in my nice pinstripe suit and heels wouldn't help my chances any. I remembered seeing something called a gaff when I was buying breast forms a while back. I never thought I'd need one since I wouldn't be going out. If only I had known. In any event that would have to wait.

I woke up the next morning feeling unusually apprehensive. I thought of all of the things I would have to pull off. Now it was not just being a woman, but acing the interview as well. I had laid out my suit the night before and just looking at it gave me a boost. I showered slowly, carefully taking a razor to all of the spots I wanted to be smooth. After drying off, I shaved my face even more carefully. A shaving nick on the face would be a definite giveaway. I applied my make up and then, was ready to get dressed. I tried to imagine myself as totally female; a young girl getting dressed for her first interview at a big company. First the nylon bikini panties. Simple and sweet. I actually preferred that to a thong – butt floss did not appeal to me. Then the bra. Even with my breast forms, I was only a B-cup; but I always preferred my girlfriends to be small breasted, so why not me? As I slipped the gel filled forms into the cups I felt the familiar heft that I longed to feel for real. Perhaps one day. A garter belt and stockings followed next. I felt the familiar tingle as I slid the silky garments up my freshly shaved legs. I remembered to run the straps through the legs of the panties before hooking them to the tops of the stockings so going to the restroom would be easier. I hurriedly pulled on my skirt and slipped a white silk shell over my head, basking in the feel of it as it cascaded down. Finally, I slipped the jacket on, smoothing it over my smallish breasts. The stockings bothered me. It's not that I had anything against pantyhose, and in this case, I'm sure I would have felt much more secure with them rather than the stockings. The bare skin of my thighs between the top of the stockings and the bottom of the panties against the silk lining of the skirt left me feeling strangely exposed. Normally this slightly naughty feeling would have appealed to me, but now it was disturbing.

I decided to ignore it as I walked in my stocking feet into the kitchen. I did not know how long I was going to be on my feet so I figured I'd leave the shoes until the last minute. I gulped down a quick cup of coffee, I was too nervous for a real breakfast. Walking back into the bedroom, I picked up my hair brush while trying to decide what to do with my hair. I had originally decided to just let my blond tresses hang loose, with maybe some bobby pins just to hold it in place, but looking at them now, I decided that it didn't look professional enough. Collecting the hair in the back, I pulled it up into a loose chignon at the base of my neck and pinned it in place. Quite nice, I thought, turning my head from side to side. Conservative with a hint of sex appeal. I finished off the look with a string of small pearls. Jewelry always helped to lend a finished look to any outfit. I picked up my little brief case and my purse and slipped into my heels. A last glance in the mirror showed a very attractive young blond staring back at me. For the first time I noticed that my eyes were very pretty. The blue coloring really stood out and there was a definite sparkle there. I only hoped the interviewer … a Mr. Scott, if I remembered correctly, would think so as well.

The trip to the office was relatively uneventful except for the occasional admiring glances from the men, and apparently envious ones from the women. I was totally blown away by the fact women were viewing me as an object of competition. If only they knew. "Your husbands are safe," I thought, with more than a trace of humor. I was still getting used to the feel of driving in heels, and more than once my foot slipped off the pedals. Fortunately, I managed to get there without involving myself in any accidents.

I made my way up to the suite of offices owned by the company and introduced myself to the receptionist, my first real test. To my great relief, she apparently didn't see anything out of the ordinary, and politely directed me to have a seat while she contacted the interviewer. I made my way over to an unnaturally overstuffed wing chair and gingerly had a seat, remembering to cross my legs. As I overheard her telling the person on the other end of the line that Kelly Norris was here, it occurred to me that it was the first time anyone had referred to me as a she. It was really happening – I was really becoming a woman to the outside world. The thought both frightened and thrilled me. Despite the smallness of the reception area, I only just became aware of (another?) young man seated directly across from me, also apparently awaiting an interview. I tried to avoid eye contact, and silently thought to myself, "Loser!" The tables had suddenly turned, and now I had the advantage. I was now the female with the inside track on the job. It was really working.

Although the guy had already been waiting, I was shown in first. Perhaps he had been scheduled for a later interview and was just there early. Perhaps not. In any event I was already beginning to feel I was being afforded the privileges reserved for the fairer sex. The woman who showed me back to Mr. Scott's office was young and pretty with dark curly hair. She was very polite and I tried to catch her eye as we walked back. She let me off in front of a good sized office and told me that Mr. Scott was expecting me. As she returned to wherever she came from, she glanced back at me with a sly grin. What was that look supposed to mean, I thought. It couldn't be that she was interested in me, I couldn't be that lucky.

I knocked at the door and was beckoned inside. Mr. Scott was mid-thirties and good looking. I offered my hand, which he shook as I introduced myself. The interview itself was a rather mundane affair. The questions were pretty standard, but I tried to be as animated and interesting as I could. I resisted the impulse to show a little thigh as I crossed my legs. As much as I reveled in my new-found femininity, I didn't want to be too over-the-top. Besides, I thought, I can nail this on my own merits. Mr. Scott, who insisted I call him Eric, seemed to be quite taken with Kelly Norris, and I did little to discourage him. If it got me hired, so be it. Besides, I was beginning to get into being a flirt.

As I left the office, I felt pretty confident that I had nailed the job. It was quite an exhilarating experience. I glanced over at one of the desks sitting outside of his office and noticed a pretty, but apparently exceedingly shy girl looked to be no older than 20. She wore wire rimmed glasses and was dressed rather demurely. She looked so vulnerable and innocent that I half wondered if she was one of these girls whose abusive husbands had so cowed them that they were afraid of their own shadow. I smiled confidently at her, and noticed that she was indeed very attractive. She returned a half smile of her own and promptly looked away, knocking over her can of soda in the process.

"Oh, dear," I exclaimed, feeling responsible for the accident and rushing over to help her right the can and clean up the spill.

"Oh, no, it's okay," she said in the sweetest voice. "my fault. I'm not usually so clumsy."

"Happens to the best of us," I said stooping down and removing some tissue from my purse to help clean up. How weird was this, I thought. Here I was crouching down in my business skirt, realizing that it was much easier to do in men's slacks, helping clean up a spill with tissues from my purse, and trying to empathize with her plight in a most sisterly manner. As we mopped up the last of it, I turned toward the wastebasket and ended up face-to-face with her – and much closer than I expected. We froze momentarily, and then she backed away, coloring slightly. I wondered if I had simply embarrassed her from being so close, or if she had been able to read me at close range.

"Well, it was nice to meet you … ah, I didn't get your name."

"Melissa," she replied with a more healthy smile.

"Melissa," I repeated. "Well, nice to meet you Melissa. I hope we get to meet again I said."

"Me too," she replied.

As I walked back to the reception area, I cursed myself for being so stupid. "I hope we get to meet again?" What kind of reply was that? I guess a more appropriate response would have been, "Well, perhaps we'll see each other again if Mr. Scott feels I'd be a good fit for this position." No, that was too awkward. Maybe just, "goodbye." What did I know? I was trying to be all girly-girl, but, man, I was so attracted to what I saw. And what was that "me too" from her? Just a throw away response? Probably. God, I was overthinking this. My senses were just overloaded, the high heels, the hair, the skirt, the stockings. I needed a drink. No, I needed a valium.

I rushed home, kicked off my shoes, and collapsed on the couch. "Maybe I should rethink this whole thing," I thought. "I' m just not ready to be a girl." I got up to grab a beer from the fridge and the phone rang as I was passing by. I was surprised to hear that it was Mr. Scott – Eric – telling me I had gotten the job.

I had gotten the job!

  

  

  

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