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My Secretary
by: Karen Anne Summerfield
September 1997

 

I'd picked Cynetta up in a bar several months ago, actually, I suppose we picked each other up. Though exactly six foot tall in her stockings, I never once suspected that she wasn't exactly what she appeared to be, just a tall, svelte and very attractive girl of the high fashion, runway model quality. It was after about four dates that she confessed her secret and I needed to see it for myself before I believed her story was anything but one big put on. Cynetta is gorgeous pre-op TS.

Our relationship improved, considerably, once I accepted this as fact.

Despite her appearance when dressed and her gorgeous mane of mid-back length, medium brown hair, Cynetta was employed as her other self, that is, in her born gender role, appearing as a male. Only once before, had I seen her out of her preferred character and was more than surprised when she opened the door as David on Friday, for our date.

Before she'd spoken more than a mumbled greeting, I knew something was really bothering her. "I got fired today, Dara."

"Fired! Why?"

"My hair."

"You told me you'd a great job and were doing really well at it. Besides, you said your boss had no problem with you and never indicated he'd any gripe about your hair?"

"I don't think Bill does or did, anyway. We'd a visit from the Chairman and a few VP's from the home office yesterday. One of them, Cathy Verducci, she's the bitch that's in charge of personnel for the company, I think, was the one who had the problem. Anyway, first thing this morning, Bill called me into his office and said 'my services were no longer needed'. He wouldn't elaborate, but gave enough hints and said things in a round about way that indicated what their problem was."

It took a lot of talking and understanding sympathy to calm my friend down that night and help her out of her depression. When I left to return home, Cynetta was considerably improved.

One thing I really had to work on, to talk her out of, was cutting off that beautiful mane.

I gave a lot of thought to that over the weekend, to what i might do to help resolve her problem. Owning my own company gave me options that others just do not have. Monday morning, fate turned things for the better. Julie, my secretary, did not show up for work, which was very unusual. I'd been at my desk, for maybe an hour, before she called. "Dara, I was going to call you at home, but I left your number at my place. Sorry."

"Julie, is there anything wrong?" I was concerned.

"No, everything's fine.... Dara, I hope you can understand.... Jeff and I eloped...."

"OK.... Congratulations, hope you find the happiness you seek. So... you call to tell me you're on your honeymoon and want your two week vacation, starting an hour ago, right?"

"Aaaah... well... not quite... Dara, I hope you can understand and forgive me...? I'd... like to resign."

"Good bye and good luck." I hung up on her. I wasn't being a complete bitch, but that is not the way one should quit, in my opinion.

I tried to push out the sharp depression and all the bad things I started to think from my mind, suddenly getting an idea. Thinking on it just briefly, I dialed my Assistant Manager.

"Monica, if you got a minute, come to my office, please?"

"Can it wait? I just started my first coffee."

"Bring it and one for me," I told her.

She sat across, placing a cup on my desk. "Thanks." I said.

"What's up with Julie? She's never this late."

"Quit." I explained all that I knew.

Getting straight to the point, well not quite straight, "Julie is going to be a little hard to replace, but I think I know someone who might be... ah... entertaining, while still doing a good and efficient job here."

Monica is about as kinky as I am, but we did not have any more than a good business relationship. We just were not what each of us sought for a partner. I laid out a bit about Cynetta, her secret and my plan. Even if things didn't work out, as I'd hoped they could, with her, we both agreed the scene would be fun, regardless.

A few minutes later, Monica was dialing Cynetta's number while I listened with the speaker with my phone muted.

"Hello."

"Ms Cynetta Cynclaire, please?"

"A ... May I ask who is calling, please?"

"Monica Passano."

"Just a moment, I'll see if she's in."

"She's good, wait 'til you hear," I whispered.

"Hello, this is Cynetta." She has a soft, feminine voice that you'd really believe.

"Hi Cynetta. My name is Monica. A good friend of ours told me you might be looking for a job."

Had to give Cynetta more credit, she started to handle my game much better than I think I could have. "That is correct, Monica. Please hold a moment while I get a pen and pad." It couldn't have been fifteen seconds.

"Yes, I am currently seeking an opportunity where all my skills might be best utilized in a challenging and stimulating environment. What information might I provide to convince you that I might qualify for the position you currently have available, please?"

Monica closed her eyes for a moment and shook her head, vigorously. Straightening up, she motioned to me for something to write with while mouthing, "She is good!"

"I have been told you are quite computer fluent..."

"That is correct. I'm skilled with..." Cynetta rattled off a long list of her computer talents.

She wasn't finished when my assistant interrupted, "Initially... I don't think we'll be able to challenge you to even demonstrate all of that, Cynetta. The position we've open is for a secretary. We..."

Cynetta interrupted her, "I can type eight-seven words a minute with a ninety-eight plus, percent accuracy, I know filing. Despite it being nineteen, ninety-four and few use it today, I can take dictation and know shorthand. It should be useful taking notes at meetings and conferences, for later reference and preparing detailed minutes for your later review.

"Monica, if the available position does not require full use of those skills until later, after I have proved my value to the company, I will have no problem with doing the mail, being the go-for and also making and serving coffee."

Covering the receiver, "You were putting me on, not her. Is she for real?" I grinned as I nodded.

"Perhaps, Cynetta. I want to be up front, we are establishing a dress and grooming code..."

Again Cynetta pushed forward, before Monica finished. "I will be happy to hear it. I prefer dresses, a skirt and blouse and heels. I also do not go out without my makeup and my hair fixed nice." Monica had to pause to get control over her chuckles.

"I believe at this point, without going further now, I'd like to continue this interview in person. Two PM today? Do dress elegantly, for the office.

"Write down this address and be on time." She gave it to her and had Cynetta repeat it. "Two PM. Again, I am Monica Passano, P-a-s-s-a-n-o," then she hung up.

"Dara, you were teasing me, right? That was a guy?"

"She has nice boobs, but no cunt, yet. She looks like no guy you've probably ever seen before. Not going to tell you more. You'll just have to wait a few hours and see for yourself." I, too, was anxious to see just what my friend was going to do.

To date in my relationship, I'd avoided all conversation relating to what I did for a living, so I doubt she had a clue that her interview was going to be for a position working for me.

"Monica, I want you to be extra tough on her during the interview. That little bit about a dress code, excellent idea. Make that tough too. Let's have lunch together and let me know what you think up for her this morning."

"Fine. It would help me a lot, if you share with me now just what kind of job you want me to interview her for? You really serious about giving her Julie's job?"

"Of course I am. Listen, one thing I want to make very clear, Monica, I never, I mean that in caps, never, do I want you to ever let on that you know her secret about what's in her panties and I positively do not want the rest of the staff to know. Not ever!" I emphasized.

"If they guess or suspect, we'll deal with it then. I'll make my position very clear to Cynetta when I interview her, after you work her over. Don't be surprised if I make her wait for some time after you get through."

"You're cruel!" she teased. We both giggled.

*****

Cynetta's brain was all messed up as she began to prepare herself for what she was going to do. Just over four hours to bathe again and shampoo her hair, do her nails, makeup, hair, dress, then drive to the address. Toweling off, she thought of what in her closet would be most appropriate. Running through mental pictures of her options, she picked out everything before going to her dresser to don her undies. Nothing too sexy and certainly nothing bizarre, she must present a good office image.

Plain bikinis with everything tucked back, out of sight, between her legs, a soft, white bra to match, one that lifted her C- breasts up. After selecting a new pair of sheer black, shiny pantihose and sitting before her vanity to put them on, the nervous, secretary wannabe glanced at her clock. There was enough time to do this right, but not that much, not as much as she'd have really preferred. Ten minutes after setting her damp hair in large rollers and spraying with styling lotion, Cynetta was carefully painting the first coats of polish to her well cared for fingernails, her toes had a cotton ball stuffed between each to keep them apart while the frosted, light red polish dried.

Between coats of polish on her short, but neat manicure, Cynetta carefully drew on the pantihose again and smoothed them up her freshly depilatoried legs, thinking what shoes to wear with the suit she'd selected. After putting on a plain white, nylon mini slip, then another coat of polish on her fingernails, she rehearsed answers to questions, trying to think of what might be asked.

Dara was obviously behind all this, who else knew her number and that Cynetta was recently, out of work. Who else knew that she had dreamed of someday appearing on the job as Cynetta? She also pondered just what Monica looked like. Her accent hadn't really registered in her mind during the call; it was spinning too much after just having received a call like that. If Cynetta had Dara's number at work, she'd have called her, but she didn't.

There was a lot that she didn't have or know about Dara. No matter, that couldn't be changed then. That coat of polish dry enough, Cynetta used a sponge to begin applying her foundation. There was no need to hide any facial shadow or ever worry again about one showing, all had been permanently taken care of when she'd started hormones, right after high school, three years before.

False lashes? No, not today, not for this. Several coats, more on her top ones, of black, lash builder mascara. It was time, for a coat of clear polish on her nails.

'Twelve, oh-five, under two hours. Calm down, girl. No real colors on your eyes, deep brown shadow, blending it to a silver, light tan, then just a thin line of black liner, on top only,' she told herself.

She kept her brows neat and not plucked too much, before. That, whether she got this job or not, Cynetta planned to thin them more. They were emphatic enough; she didn't need to emphasize them more. A light dusting of pink blush didn't seem to be enough, so, after a dusting of red below her cheekbones she looked better in her mind. Glossy lipstick, its shade matching her nails, was carefully brushed on her small pouty mouth. That was enough.

A quick trip to pee and Cynetta resumed dressing. Having decided on wearing her black, linen-look suit, Cynetta slipped into a white crepe and lace blouse then struggled to get the tiny round buttons done up her back to its high, snug collar. Stepping into the short, tight skirt, she smoothed her slip then pushed the tails of her blouse down into her skirt before zipping it up in back. Shrugging it up, over her hips, Cynetta readjusted her blouse so it was even, smooth and snug over her breasts then smoothed the skirt to lie properly to mid thigh. She did own some longer skirts, but had rejected them as either to casual or too much - for this, a mini had to do. She justified it by telling herself that lots of girls wore short skirts to work, besides, she does have great legs.

Cynetta placed a two-inch wide, soft leather belt about her waist and resumed her seat to work her hair into the softly waved mane, a style she loved so much. Spraying it enough to hold its wave, she opened her jewelry box to pick out antique gold colored, one-inch round clip-ons, her thin watch and a simple gold, knot ring. That was enough jewelry she thought. She hadn't even taken out her thin, gold anklet, deciding it would be too much. A light spritz of Shalimar Eau and she was almost finished.

With several black bags to choose from, she filled a smooth, medium sized shoulder purse with the cosmetics she'd just used, got her maroon kid wallet and transferred what little cash she had into it. The wallet already contained the real driver's license and social security card she'd gotten after obtaining a fake birth certificate. She hoped she'd not have to risk using that again. She had a checkbook for Cynetta's own account and two credit cards in her name. Checking for other necessities like comb, brush, tissues, mints and her keys, she set her purse aside to put on the jacket to her suit before the cheval mirror.

Snug, double breasted bodice with a deep scoop neckline, into which Cynetta arranged the large lace jabot at her throat, moderate leg-'o-mutton sleeves and a peplum with small bow behind her waist. Cynetta stepped into a pair or plain black-calf pumps with rounded toes and spike heels, believing that these made her feet look smaller, despite making her inches taller. She actually much preferred even higher heels, but, in her mind, they wouldn't be appropriate.

Trying to calm her nerves wasn't successful during the drive. The dash display told her that she was ten minutes early, but sitting in the car in the sun, wasn't an option. Doing that would only make her sweat. Taking a few deep breaths and exiting, she smoothed herself, trying to force a calm in her mind that her body didn't share.

Cynetta appeared to walk confidently toward the building, placing her feet in line and swiveling her hips like a runway model, a walk she'd achieved after many long hours of practice before her mirrors and video camera then more hours comparing herself to real fashion mannequins.

They peered through the blinds in Dara's office. Already Monica had asked, "Is that her?" of two other girls who had entered in the past fifteen minutes. Neither presented anywhere near, as attractive an image as Cynetta did. Focusing on the dark blue Chrysler that was turning into the lot, "Maybe that's her, pulling in now?"

"We'll see. I'm sure she won't be late. Positive.

" Yes. Look at her, Monica."

"I've work. Give me a buzz when you've finished." Dara went to her office, grinning at the attractive picture of her friend crossing the parking lot in her head, knowing, at the same time that she wouldn't get any work done for the rest of the afternoon.

Nervous as hell, Cynetta managed to not show it when she walked through the double glass doors of Tant Fash. Below the logo, was Tantalizing Fashions & Images, Inc. Suzie, behind the desk in the lobby, had just turned her eyes briefly from the monitor with a hot hand of Solitaire on it. What she'd just glanced at caused her head to snap around and her body to straighten. Being on switchboard was the least desirable duty in the office, Boring! Cynetta was not boring.

"Hi! May I help you, Ms?"

Her warm appearing smile belied that a lot of Cynetta's concentration was behind it, "Good afternoon. My name is Cynetta Cynclaire. I have a two o'clock appointment with Ms Monica Passano, please?" Suzie didn't need to look at the appointment book to know nothing had been penciled in for anyone at two.

"I'll check." Though not into other girls, Suzie's eyes checked out the tall girl before her carefully as she rang Monica.

"Hey, Mon', Suz' There's a Cynetta Sinclair here. Says she has a two o'clock with you?" Lowering to a whisper, "Listen Mon', I know how you are, you know? You'll regret this if you don't come see her for yourself before I wave her off."

"Tell her to have a seat, Suzie. Miss Cynclaire does have an appointment." She paused, "That good, huh?"

"Have to check for yourself, Mon'."

Replacing the receiver, "Ms Passano requests you be seated. I'm sure she will be with you shortly, Ms Sinclair."

"Please? It is Miss not Ms. I hate that address. Thank you." Cynetta walked away and carefully seated herself after going through the motions of smoothing her skirt underneath.

Like perfecting her walk, Cynetta knew how to sit and sit still. Legs together, feet, toes and heels on the tiles, together, she sat straight and barely moved for the ten minutes she had to wait. When Monica entered the lobby, Cynetta restrained her impulse to rise then curtsey, not knowing even, who she was. It didn't require more than a brief glimpse for any to know that Monica too, was a knockout.

"Miss Cynclaire?"

Cynetta swiveled slightly and turned on her best smile as she stood. "Hello, I'm Cynetta Cynclaire."

"Monica Passano. We spoke earlier. Please come to the conference room?"

"Please be seated?" she waved her to a chair and took one for herself. Monica watched the tall, attractive person extract a tri-folded paper from her purse, open it and offer it to her.

"Like your nails. Do them yourself?"

"Aaahh... Yes, thank you, Ms Passano."

"First, it is Monica, second, it is Miss. 'Hate that stupid MZ."

"Me too... Monica," Cynetta said with a smile.

Monica casually glanced at the resume she'd been given then started to read it properly. "This for real?" she blurted, not believing what it said. With her knowledge of what she was expected to believe was in this elegant girl's panties and, right then, she was starting to think that Dara was putting her on.

"Certainly it's real. I've no reason to lie to you."

Monica caught herself almost saying, 'Don't' you? Setting the resume aside and leaning back, "The opening we have is for the secretary to Tant Fash's owner. For now, that's all it is. She'd have other duties that will fill the workday. Tell me how you see yourself in such a position?"

"I'm fluent most of the standard word processing and spreadsheet applications as well as databases. I consider myself quite knowledgeable with PC's in general and skilled with graphics, which I do as a hobby. I can type about eight-seven words a minute. I know filing.

"What are the other duties that the position requires, please?" Cynetta asked.

"Switchboard fill in, the others seem to hate it. The new girl gets stuck there more than they will. Mail, prep it for pick up, sort it and distribute it. General office girl stuff, coffee, gopher when needed. At meetings and conferences she'll be expected to take good notes, prepare the minutes and reports and keep herself quiet, not interjecting her own thoughts about whatever might be discussed."

"I will have no problem with the other chores. If offered the position, I'd expect that, being new; I might be assigned things that others might not wish to do. I do know shorthand and can take dictation, if not too fast."

"There will be some tests that I'll administer to confirm your skill levels."

"I will be pleased to do what is required to demonstrate my ability to fill the open position." Being interviewed by this attractive woman and pleased with the interview so far had calmed Cynetta's anxiety considerably.

For the next several minutes Monica asked and Cynetta answered the questions that Monica had asked many times of other applicants. If the stated skills were there, Monica would offer this poised, attractive person the job, even if Dara hadn't set up the whole thing.

"For now, enough questions from my perspective, I'm sure you must have some." Monica used this technique to gain a deeper perspective of applicants. If the first question any asked was about pay and benefits, any positive opinions Monica had formed immediately went way down.

"Your telephone call earlier gave me no time to research Tant Fash. Please tell me about the firm and what is the nature of the business that the company conducts?"

She was expecting the pay question, especially from one out of work and pretending to be what Dara had claimed. Monica's doubts about that had gone way up.

"We are a successful corporation owned by a very nice woman. We develop marketing and sales plans for segments of the fashion industry, as well as doing some advertising. There are currently twenty-three employees working from here: accounting, sales, art department, account managers, clerical, the usual mix one might expect.

"What else?"

"Thank you. If permitted, I'd like to demonstrate that I have the ability to perform as the position requires, Monica."

"That's it?" Monica's surprise caused her to just blurt it out. "You haven't asked about pay and things?"

"I'm confident that a successful firm will make an offer to satisfactorily compensate employees for the skills and abilities they provide to enhance that success." Cynetta was quite pleased with that rehearsed reply. Her smile showed it.

Monica stood and Cynetta moved her feet to do so too. "Stay." She produced a steno pad from her desk and returned. Cynetta had her pen from her purse, poised, when Monica offered another.

"I'm going to have coffee. May I offer you anything, Cynetta?"

"No. Thank you for offering."

Seated with a full cup, "Take a memo." Cynetta scribbled on her pad, having crossed her shapely knees to support it. "To: Cynetta Cynclaire, Subject: Dress Code. The president's secretary will, at all times, present an attractive, well-groomed image. Our business is all about image and she is required to enhance the firm in that regard. Despite this being the nineties, she'll enhance and present herself with sex appeal. While this may seem inconsistent with current thinking, it is a condition of employment."

"Do you recall Loni Anderson's character of Jennifer, Cynetta?"

Cynetta, held her eyes focused on the green paper, pen poised, waiting for Monica to continue. Her laugh caused her to briefly glance over.

"That was a question?" Dutifully Cynetta scribbled out the coded words.

"Stop." She started to laugh more when she saw the short squiggle appear.

"Cynetta, stop dictation." She raised her head. "Cynetta that wasn't in the dictation, it was a question, I asked you."

Glancing down, she read what she'd written. Smiling, "Yes, I remember, Jennifer."

"You have any problem putting yourself in her character?"

"No, I've no problem with that. Jennifer was very attractive. Despite her appearance, the character knew her job and the business better than the owner or Gorden Jump's character. I don't recall the name, they created."

"He was the owner."

"I don't wish to appear argumentative, Monica. His character's mother owned WKRP."

Grinning ear to ear, "If you don't wish to argue, why did you?"

"A responsible employee should discretely point out a factual error once she is confident that her belief is correct. Once she has done this, her obligation is fulfilled in that regard and not to be pursued further. Minor errors, like spelling, grammar, etc., she just corrects as if they did not occur, never calling any attention to them."

"You believe you are taking the correct position on this?"

"If you, or those I work with do not, I will follow their wishes. My obligation will have been fulfilled and they are employed to make these decisions, not myself, until instructed to do otherwise."

Holding her hand, "Stay. Relax, already. I may be awhile." Snatching up the resume and taking her cup, Monica left the room and immediately went into Dara's, not bothering to knock. She closed the door, glancing at the TV monitor with Cynetta on it.

"OK. Joke's on me." Monica chuckled, "Dara. One of the best I've ever had pulled on me. The jig is up, Boss.

"What ever agency you hired her from, she is good. Damned good! Steal her away from them with an offer she can't refuse. We can use her for that trade show coming up at the end of the month for Stylish Designs."

"Sit," Dara pointed.

"Get this right, the second time, Monica. Cynetta is exactly what I told you she is, nothing else. She is not a professional model and not an actress. She's an unemployed transsexual, just as I told you."

"I'll bet my pay she's been putting you on too."

"Keep your money, you lose."

Monica glared at Dara for a few moments. "OK. If that is what you want her to be.

"Regardless, if you can get her for a secretary's pay, hire her. To Hell with any tests. Her confident performance tells me that if she tells you that she can do something, I bet that she can.

"I'm done with anymore interview with Cynetta or whatever her name is, Dara. Hire her."

"If that's your decision, go ahead. Start her when you want."

"What I want is to give you, Sherry and take Cynetta for myself. OK, how much you want to pay her?"

"Whatever you think she's worth to us. I've no problem taking Sherry, she's good, but I'd never suggest you'd ever let her go, Monica."

"Done," Monica rose and left her boss' office.

"Monica? I'd prefer not to see her when you show her around and don't let her know who I am just yet. I want it to be a surprise.

"Send Sherry to me, please?"

Standing before Cynetta, Monica spoke, "Pay is five hundred a week, full benefits, the usual. When can you start?"

"Now, if you'll permit?"

"Done, hours are eight 'til five, one hour lunch. We can do the papers in the morning. I'll show you around now."

As Cynetta stood Monica said, "Oh, first, the job I told you about has changed. You won't be working for the president - you'll be mine. Hope that doesn't upset you. Come, please?"

Upset? She had to be kidding - Cynetta was ecstatic. Five hundred a week was seventy-five more dollars than at her former job and she didn't have benefits there. Monica was more than attractive to her and seemed really sharp in her job.

Passing a closed door in one corner, Monica led her to a cute blonde in the outer office of another corner. "Sherry, this is Cynetta. Cynetta, Sherry.

"Sherry, D..., the boss, wants to see you. Have your things moved out, before five."

Not having a clue, Sherry was about to burst out crying, thinking she'd just been fired. Monica couldn't suppress her giggles.

"Calm down, already. This is no time for tears. You've just been promoted, President's Personal Assistant, Sherry. I am serious!"

Sniffling and reaching for a tissue, Sherry smiled at Cynetta, "Monica likes her coffee black and strong - five scoops and twenty-four ounces of water. Coffee maker's on her bar, don't try giving her that stuff from the break room. She also likes her neck and shoulders massaged, don't be timid about it.

"Welcome to Tant-Fash, Cynetta. I'll look forward to working with you."

"Run along, Sherry. You can make friends later. Don't keep the boss waiting."

When Sherry had left, practically skipping from the office. "Yours, we've a budget for decorating. Make the place as you want, just let me know before and how much. My office is through here." Monica's office was large, two walls of windows and a jungle of green plants.

"My secretary tends the garden. Coffee maker's where Sherry told you." Cynetta, correctly, assumed she was being told to fix a pot. "Let that finish, you may serve when we finish the tour."

Monica led Cynetta through out the complex, introducing her to everyone, and, at the same time, announcing Sherry's promotion. Cynetta was more intimidated by the looks that she took as disapproving ones than the obvious leers and gawks from some of the men. Not in anyway gay or wanting anything to do with guys. She felt that she could handle them, but those women who's expressions seemed to reflect opinions that might be echoing their feelings, bothered her.

In the lobby, Monica showed her everything there and read the schedule. "You'll take Sherry's rotation here on the switchboard." Erasing her name and writing in 'Cynetta'.

"Cheryl? Pass the word. Sherry is now D.., the boss's personal assistant and no longer has to do duty here. Cynetta's my girl, in Sherry's place. As new girl, she gets all the other trash duties that the rest of you hate, like the mail and playing gopher. Got that?"

"Sure Monica. Myself, I never minded doing the mail. Always gave me a chance to see and visit everyone and get some exercise. It's a nice break from just staring at the monitor all-day and playing with my mouse.

"Cynetta, don't let her scare you. Doing the mail's fun. Switchboard isn't as bad the other girls make it seem, just kind of boring, gives you time to work on your nails or read the paper. It's OK. Or you can snoop around the network and see what most are doing." She grinned at Monica, "Just gotta know everyone's password, that's all. Accounting's isn't worth a mouse click, but you can get a charge from the art department, sometimes."

Instead of appearing angry, Monica laughed. "Doesn't take an Einstein to figure a way into the office network, easiest, if you make friends with one of the girls who already has them, Cynetta. In my position, I have them anyway and Cheryl's right about accounting. The illustrators, well, she should know, she's one of them.

" Come along, my coffee should be done."

Cynetta followed Monica into her office and went straight to the bar to pour the coffee. A brief look yielded no tray, so she served it with a curtsey.

"Thank you. You don't have to curtsey like you did."

"Was that to mean I'm not to curtsey when I serve or I just do not have to, Monica?"

"You do not have to."

Cynetta went behind and, after hesitating, placed her hands about the base of Monica's neck under her red ribbed turtleneck. She felt her flinch, but did nothing to stop her. Her fingers began to knead the muscles under them. "Mmmmmmm, I'll give you until quitting time to stop that ... Ohhhh."

Cynetta kept her hands working as Monica moved, dealing with the paperwork piled messily atop her large desk. As she massaged, whatever Monica picked up, Cynetta read too.

"Monica, do you have any problem if I start calling you Seneorita?"

"Beside the fact that I'm obviously Puerto Rican, why?"

"It fits you. You are very attractive and the Spanish blood and heritage you possess enhances it. When you walked into the lobby, while I was waiting, 'Seneorita' sprang into my mind."

"Are you gay, Cynetta?"

Laughing before she answered, "The EEOC would have a lot of fun with the question you just asked. I much prefer other girls and have no desire to have a significant relationship with a guy, Seneorita."

"Have you a significant relationship going for you now?"

"I would like to think it is, but I'm not really sure. We talk a lot. I share myself, my inner self, a lot, with her. I've known her several months, but she's been kinda private about herself. We've never done anything more than gentle petting and lots of hugging, especially when I needed or wanted it. It's nice."

"No real sex?"

"No, none. So far, hugging's been enough, I haven't pushed for anything deeper."

"Isn't sex important to you in a good relationship?"

"I've resolved that sex ain't what it's been cracked up to be."

"Go lower down, onto my back. Mmmm, there. What do you mean by that?"

"Simple statement of my beliefs. Too many hype it to death and if what they say, write or believe is true, it's their life, not mine and not me. That's all.

"If you believe what they say, they desire orgasm after orgasm, every second they're awake and can't survive without one. 'Oooooh it felt so good, just to stroke my clit with my nails. I burned inside for something long, thick and hard to be pumping and thrusting its animal instinct deeply into me. My pussy wept its juices with just the thought and burning desire, soaking the sheets wrinkled between my soft thighs. Just the mere thought of his callused fingers rubbing my erect nipples, pumped them up stiffer and fuller, yearning for the touch.... What barf!

"Seneorita, you tell me, honest and true, You ever soak your sheets thinking anything like that or wanting callused fingers so much so, that they'd be rubbing your nipples raw, that they pumped up? Pure barf! I haven't and don't."

Monica laughed then subsided to giggles as her new secretary was working her tensed muscles into rubber, "No, can't say anything has made me soak my sheets or ever want a rough hand anywhere near my breasts.

"That's enough massage for now.

"Go sit over there." Pointing to a straight chair beside and behind her desk. "I have this mess to deal with before I go home."

Not sitting, instead Cynetta scooped everything up, fluffed, shifted and slapped them into one pile then took the chair, indicated. "I'm here now. I'm your secretary, Seneorita. Let's take a few minutes to go through all this and listen to me." More than just miffed, Monica swiveled around to set her new secretary straight about who told who, just what to do!

"Just be quiet. Fire me if you want, but you got more than you thought, hiring me this afternoon. A good secretary deals with most of this properly and you'll see it isn't going to be cluttering your desk any longer. It's my job.

"I'll give you what you are being paid to deal with. I'll handle the rest. So just listen, Seneorita, and both of us can get to go home on time, for you, most probably, for the first time in awhile. As I said, fire me if that does wet your panties."

Monica wanted to be pissed, but something, much deeper, told her to just see what she had just hired. Cynetta ran her fingers through the papers sorting them on the pullout of Monica's desk into three piles. Placing her hand on one, "I can handle these." Moving her hand onto the middle pile, "I need to know some things to handle this pile." Pointing to the last and smallest, "I think you need to deal with those, Seneorita." She dug in her purse and had her pad and a pen out, "Let's do your pile first. I'm sure some can wait, but that's your call. The rest can wait until morning, OK? I'm ready."

Definitely Monica wasn't fully ready for this, none of it. "I see you are." Holding up her finger. "Uno momento.... Hable espanol, Cynetta?"

"Si hable pieto, espanol, Seneorita."

"Bueno.

"Wait." Picking up the first pile of papers, she leafed through, pausing on a few she'd not yet read during her massage. Nothing of major importance that a really good girl could not handle. Taking up the third pile, she did the same. Most, if not all she had read. Nothing that could not wait, at least until the next day. Ginning briefly, "With my secretary's permission? We will deal with these before quitting for today. OK?"

Monica had the pile beside her blotter and moved them, one by one in front to read them. She made two piles from the papers. Placed one stack atop the first one of Cynetta's that she'd looked through. "You deal with those, if I'm to believe, and I think I should, that you just may be able to handle what else is in that pile that you sorted for yourself. Don't prove me wrong."

Monica moved the second pile she'd sorted from Cynetta's second. Cynetta sat still, ready to work. She watched Monica begin a second sort; her position didn't let her read what Monica wrote on those being set into a new pile. Finished her read through and sort, Monica placed those she'd written on on top Cynetta's then returned her attention to the others.

"May I make a suggestion, Seneorita?"

"You may," Monica said, not lifting her eyes from the paper.

"You read that once. I have too. So far, together, we've already read it twice. OK for me, but your time is more expensive, scribble me a note telling what to do and don't handle a paper twice. Won't work for everything, but it will for most. Deal with it once, Seneorita."

Without answering or looking, Monica made a note on a separate paper and shifted it toward, Cynetta. "You are going to take me a little time to get used to. For now, Shut up! and let me do my job. We'll get used to working together. Just be quiet and let me deal with things as I see them!"

Cynetta, leaned back, crossed her knees and kept quiet.

It was twenty past five when Monica finished that pile and set her pen down. She stared at Cynetta, surveying her legs, then her face, before speaking. "I kept you late. That's not my habit.

"Have you anything planned for tonight? I'll buy drinks, if you're free?"

 

The End

 


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1997 by Karen Anne Summerfield. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.