The White House Affair            by: Laurie S. aka l.satori

 

CHAPTER ONE

To the casual observer, this reception seemed like any other company Christmas Party. The Presidential Ballroom, at the Howard Johnson in suburban Fairfax, Virginia, was decked out in Yuletide red and green balloons and bunting, from the high crystal chandeliers down to the polished parquet oak flooring. Reindeer, elves, a toy-laden sleigh, and a Santa Claus figure, atop a 'snow-covered' platform, were on display at one end of the huge hall. Along the other walls, real Christmas trees, awash in tinsel, decorative bulbs, candy canes and multicolored lights, added warmth to the festivities.

Partygoers of all ages, clad in their finest attire, renewed old acquaintances, met new people, spread the latest gossip, and told stories and jokes about each other. The energy emanating from the upbeat crowd was festive and optimistic, typical of any Christmas gathering anywhere in the country.

"Hi Laurie!"

"Oh hi Michelle!" I replied.

"My! You look so lovely tonight," she gushed as she looked over my magnificent imitation Dior gown. "You'll break a lot of hearts this evening."

"Why thank you, Michelle. I hope so," I replied. Some young gentlemen standing behind her glanced in our direction. "Don't look now, but you have some admirers," I whispered.

"Well, after spending the afternoon at Washington's most exclusive salon, I expect to turn a few heads."

We laughed, and then hugged each other.

Indeed, Michelle Walton, attired in a resplendent coral Mugler gown, was absolutely gorgeous. Her radiant face, framed by blond ringlets, tendrils and upswept golden tresses, her crystal blue eyes, her aquiline nose, perfect teeth and friendly smile, mesmerized all who gazed upon her. With envy, I regarded her dazzling sapphire necklace above the decorative chiffon drape from the shoulders crisscrossing over her impressive bosoms and gathering at her hips before extending into the elegant billowing folds of the full-length gown.

"I want to thank you for being such a wonderful teacher," I said with humility in my voice. "I've learned so much. It has really been amazing."

"If you put those lessons to good use, as it appears you have, then I shall be very pleased," added Michelle.

To my right, a tall thirtyish man emerged from a small group of people, who I think were chatting enthusiastically about the upcoming game between the Washington Redskins and the Dallas Cowboys.

"Hi Michelle. You look marvellous!" said the gentleman with a huge grin, as he put an arm affectionately around Michelle's waist and kissed her on the cheek.

Michelle's face lit up brightly. "Oh Chuck--Charles Acheson! Great to see you again!"

"My, it's been a long time."

"Yes--at last year's New Year's Party . . . We seem to see each other less and less as time goes on, unfortunately."

"Well, we're always so busy with our own careers." Charles turned his gaze upon me for a moment.

"Oh, where are my manners?" interjected Michelle. "Charles Acheson, this is the lovely Laurie Tan."

"A pleasure," I said as I extended my hand.

Staring at me intently, Charles Acheson bent over and grasped my right hand with his left, and kissed the back of my hand in the European fashion.

"The pleasure is all mine," said Fred graciously.

"Charles is an up and comer, Laurie. He is with the White House staff . . . How long has it been? Three years?"

"Yes. Three very busy, very challenging years . . . Are you still teaching, Michelle?"

"Uh huh. Same old same old."

"And you Laurie?"

"I'm with the Environmental Protection Agency."

"Really? How long have you been there?" asked Charles.

"I started there in June, right after I finished university."

"Oh, I just spotted somebody I haven't seen in ages," interrupted Michelle Walton. "Pardon me, I just have to say hello to Ryan Hamilton." Then, she hurried off in the direction of the Santa Claus display.

"You work at the White House? That must be really interesting!" I said.

"It has its moments . . . But, it can be quite stressful and rather demanding of time."

"Yes, I can imagine," I replied, thinking of scandal after scandal involving sex-obsessed President Jack Plimpton."

"It leaves little leisure time for a private life. This reception tonight is one of the few evenings where I've been able to relax and enjoy myself."

"If I had known work would be so demanding, I might have stayed in school."

Charles nodded in agreement. "How do you like Washington?"

"It's great. There are so many wonderful restaurants, theaters, dance clubs, art galleries, museums, the Redskins and Capitals . . . "

"You've taken in all of that?"

"No, not really. But, it's nice to know they're around . . . In any case, it's more exciting than my old home town."

"So, where are you from?"

"Buffalo, New York."

"No kidding? That's amazing! So am I . . . Actually, I'm from Cheektowaga."

"North Tonawanda . . . We're practically neighbors."

"What a small world!" added Charles with an ear to ear grin.

I regarded Charles for a moment. He actually was quite a good-looking guy. He stood about six feet tall, medium length thick dark hair, clean-shaven, a little dimple in his right cheek, penetrating brown eyes, a strong jaw and a perpetually happy smile. His Armani three-piece suit hung handsomely on a fit, trim body.

As a tuxedo attired waiter passed by, holding up a tray filled with drinks, he paused in front of us.

"Would you like a drink, Laurie?" asked Charles.

"Yes please."

"A glass of white wine or a glass of white wine?"

"A martini, thanks, shaken--not stirred."

"Oh, you're into Bondage are you?" quipped Charles, with a smile, as he passed the wineglass to me. Then, holding up his glass of white wine, Charles proclaimed, "To new friends."

"Cheers."

There was a clink of glass against glass.

I sipped the wine. The bouquet and full-bodied taste I can remember to this day.

Then, Charles peered into my eyes sincerely.

"You know, when I saw you talking to Michelle, I just had to come over. As much as I like Michelle, I was really drawn to you."

"By curiosity?"

"Perhaps . . . Actually, if you want to know the truth, more like flat-out plain lust."

I held back a laugh, trying to prevent the wine from spewing out my nose. When I recovered my composure, I gave him a gentle hug and a thank you peck on the cheek.

"I'm flattered."

"Of all the beautiful ladies here tonight," said Jack as he held out his arm to indicate the huge crowd of ladies, gentlemen and children in the grand ballroom, "You are, without doubt, the most beautiful."

I hope I wasn't blushing. There were many gorgeous ladies, some hot guys and a wide assortment of cute kids among the celebrants.

"Thank you . . . And you are the most handsome man from Buffalo here at the party tonight," I teased.

"Yes, probably the only one."

We both laughed.

Suddenly, a Christmas song blared loudly over the sound system. "Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle bells rock . . . "

"I think that Santa Claus is about to make his entrance," yelled Charles.

As I looked around, I could see the younger children already reacting, being drawn to the Santa display at the south end of the cavernous reception room.

I suggested, over the din of the music and the chatter of the thousand or so guests, that we find a quieter place to talk. Charles agreed, so we headed to the nearest exit. We had to pause at the doorway, as we saw Jolly Old St. Nick, carrying a large bag of gifts, accompanied by a half dozen helpers in elf clothing. Once the contingent from the North Pole had passed by us, we found temporary refuge in the spacious, carpeted hall outside of the Presidential Ballroom.

Soon, Charles and I had settled at a railing overlooking the bustling hotel lobby beneath us. We could see people, usually clad in winter overcoats, entering or exiting through the revolving glass doors of the hotel entranceway. Suspended straight ahead of us was a magnificent crystal chandelier, which bathed us in soft, flattering light.

"Well, Laurie, when I said earlier that my job leaves little opportunity for socializing, I have found that I have to seize opportunities when they happen because I rarely get another chance . . . There is a certain gentleman I know very well who has taken a deep interest in you. How'd you like to go out to dinner with me some time this week? It will give us an opportunity to get to know each other better in a more private setting."

"I'd like to get to know you too Charles, but I think we should get a few things out in the open first."

"Such as?"

"Hmmm . . . How should I begin?" I asked, stalling for a moment to think, to find the right tactful approach. I fiddled with the imitation diamond necklace that drew attention to my sexy bosoms. "Charles, how do you know our mutual friend Michelle?"

"Oh, I trained with her. She was in the same training group as me about ten years ago . . . And you?"

"Michelle was my teacher."

It took a moment for the implication to sink in.

"So, you're not with the EPA," whispered Charles. "Michelle teaches in the elite Operations course--TOPS as its known. So you must be . . . "

"Yes. And you know what Michelle teaches?"

"Uh huh. Disguises. Makeup. Quick changes."

"Well, this party is a final test for me."

Now Charles took a much closer look at me. His penetrating gaze tried to detect artifice or falsity in my convincing appearance.

Although I stand almost five foot nine, I have never weighed more than 140 pounds, and my current weight, after a rigorous training course, was 134 pounds. Also, I have never been particularly muscular, in spite of very determined efforts to exercise.

This afternoon, I had undergone a very thorough makeover. My beautiful wavy brunette tresses, cascading over my bare, feminine shoulders, was made up of expertly applied hair extensions. The floor length, blue satin evening gown with off the shoulder decolletage revealed the soft, precious skin of my bare arms, neck, and upper torso. The tantalizing slit on the left side of the long flowing gown, reaching almost as high as the panty line, gave occasional glimpses of shapely long legs enhanced by black stiletto heels. The bountiful bosoms were eye-catching; the waist was tiny. The hips wide and full--the figure curvaceous. My impeccable makeup brought out my large brown almond shaped eyes, long mascara covered eyelashes, high thin arched eyebrows, an exquisite delicate nose, high cheekbones, a narrow jaw and girlish chin, glossy pink kiss-me-I'm-sexy lips, and a creamy ivory complexion. I was a China Doll--a dress up doll.

"I am not sure what to think, Laurie," said Charles as he held up his hand to caress my baby bottom smooth cheek. "I know Michelle can work wonders with her special talents. She is one fabulous impersonator. You, however, are even better. Laurie, you have the sweet innocence of youth . . . If you are what I think you are . . . "

Deciding to just go for it, he kissed me deeply and passionately.

My mouth opened in response. My lips snaked out to probe between his teeth and I tasted the white wine on his palette. My heaving bosoms squeezed up against his hard, muscular chest. A protrusion from his crotch put a dent in my sensitive triangle area below.

As I pulled back for a moment to catch my breath, I asked, "And what do you think now?"

"Umm. I'm not sure . . . Let's try that again."

It was the first time I had kissed a man passionately. How could something so wrong feel so wonderful?

A random thought crossed my mind. Charles wasn't the only handsome man here, at this party, from Buffalo. But, Charles absolutely amazed me. Even though he knew I was a female impersonator, he didn't seem to care.

The 'company' Christmas Party was the CIA Christmas Party. This event was a big test for me. Michelle, a special Operations teacher, wanted to see if I could successfully fool everyone into believing I was a girl. Judging by the response from Charles, I concluded that I had passed!

 

 

CHAPTER TWO

On Tuesday morning, I was summoned into Michael Walton's office at the George Bush Center for Intelligence in Langley, Virginia. I parked my Honda Accord on the west side of Headquarters and entered through the impressive glass and steel archway of the New Headquarters Building lobby. As I passed through a four story high atrium, I looked up to see the familiar one sixth size models of the U2 and SR17A reconnaissance aircraft suspended from the glass-covered ceiling. Walton's office, which I had been to once before, was not much further. His airy room overlooked the vast lawns and shrubbery surrounding this newly built office complex.

When I entered, Michael barely looked up from his desk. He was intently examining some web page on his laptop computer screen. Then, almost reluctantly, he said, "Please have a seat, Larry. Make yourself comfortable. I'll be with you in one minute."

As I settled into a wooden armchair, Michael manipulated the finger pad of the Compaq laptop and clicked on the left button a few times. I looked around the neatly kept office. To my left, sitting on a bookshelf, was a framed photograph of Michael and, I assumed, his wife plus a baby. There was also a group photograph of dazzling 'Michelle' and several other people. I couldn't tell you what sex the other characters were, given the amazing skill of my mentor.

"Okay, first of all, congratulations on your fine appearance at the Christmas party last Saturday night. You made quite an impression!" said Michael as he extended his hand across the desk.

We shook hands.

"In fact," continued Michael, "I know Charles Acheson very well. And he was captivated by your sexy, beautiful body."

Trying to contain a laugh, I said, "Someday, I'd like to find out just how well you know Charles."

"Oh, that's a long story. Chuck and I were classmates in TOPS about ten years ago . . . In any case, let's talk about why you are here."

Michael Walton, dressed in a white pinstriped shirt, dark blue jacket, black pants and a blue tie with white polka dots, looked like a typical thirty-year-old business executive. His short dark hair, wire rimmed glasses, brown eyes and serious expression did not match up at all with the vision of the blue-eyed blond sex goddess, Michelle Walton, from the Christmas party.

However, my drab male clothing also was a far cry from the glamorous outfit and makeup I wore that evening. The only evidence of Laurie that remained was the long hair that I had neatly tied into a ponytail. For some reason, I had been instructed by the CIA makeover team not to have the extensions removed.

"Charles Acheson was in contact with me yesterday and on Sunday," continued Michael. "These weren't social calls. It was in his capacity as Executive Assistant to the President's Press Secretary. As you probably know, there has been a great deal of turmoil in the Office of the President. The First Lady, Valerie, and President Jack Plimpton, have had serious discussions about many changes that need to happen to right the President's career and marriage." Michael looked into my eyes to gauge my reaction, and then continued. "One of the changes involves the hiring of White House staff. Everybody in America has heard of the President's alleged affair with Intern Marilyn Beret. Thanks to that busybody squealer, secretary Linda Falls. Not to mention the man who orchestrated the disclosure of the entire sordid affair to the press--Senator Gethard. Well, one of the changes the First Lady suggested was the hiring of CIA personnel--people who could be trusted to keep their mouths shut. Also, she suggested hiring men. Lord knows, the President has such an active libido, the First Lady does not want the President to even be tempted."

'Oh no!' I thought.

"Charles Acheson," continued Michael, "pointed out to the First Lady that Women's Rights activists would complain bitterly if the entire White House staff was all male. And, he had a good point. That is where you come in."

"You want me to apply for a position as an Intern at the White House? But, dressed as a female?"

"Yes, as a Trainee. The White House is planning to drop the term Intern, due to its negative connotation . . . Charles has made arrangements to conduct interviews tomorrow morning here at headquarters with other CIA applicants. We have several other very talented crossdressers here with the CIA. Who knows, if not enough suitable candidates can be found, though, I might even have to be temporarily assigned to the White House too. Well, if the former FBI chief was a crossdresser, I guess the job search could be expanded to include FBI personnel as well, or the Secret Service . . . Are you interested?"

"Yes. Very interested. I majored in Political Science while I was at Syracuse. So, a chance to work at the White House--WOW!"

"Anyway, I have forwarded your resume to Charles. But, that is merely a formality. He told me to tell you to go out and purchase a new female wardrobe. You will have an orientation day at the White House on Friday, along with the other successful applicants . . . By the way, what's your typing speed?"

"Sixty words a minute," I replied.

"Perhaps you should brush up on it. Charles says you'll likely be working with him in the Press Secretary's office."

"I'll get on it immediately," I replied as a million things rushed through my mind.

"One last thing--when you buy your new wardrobe, you might want to pick up a chastity belt. Oh, and whatever else you do, don't wear a black beret."

 

 

CHAPTER THREE

On Friday morning, Charles Acheson escorted three new female Interns/Trainees into a meeting room on the second floor in the West Wing of the White House. The Internship Program was designed to give students the opportunity to learn about the inner workings of government through service to the Executive Office of the President.

A Secret Service agent, attired in a navy blue jacket and gray pants, stood on guard at the entrance.

As I looked around the room, I noticed some portrait paintings on the mint green plaster walls. Outside, there were crowds of camera-carrying tourists walking on the pathway from Pennsylvania Avenue to the front door of the White House. Bright sunlight streamed through the gossamer curtains of the two hundred-year-old stone landmark. It was a wonderful day for late December.

A moment later, another Secret Service agent opened a door to my left. In strode the First Lady, Valerie Plimpton. She wore an attractive Donna Karan dark gray, almost black, business suit and a light blue blouse. The conservative coiffure of the graying auburn hair and determined expression immediately sent a serious message to the onlookers. Her late forties visage revealed a few more lines on her forehead than I remembered seeing on television.

"Thank you Wilson and Tom. I'd like to address the new recruits in private."

Although they raised their eyebrows in surprise, the Secret Service agents immediately shut the doors and stood on guard outside of the meeting room.

"Welcome to the White House!" began Valerie Plimpton, as she stepped up to shake hands with us.

"Mrs. Plimpton," said Charles Acheson, "please allow me to introduce Kelly Carson, Cheryl Smith and Laurie Tan."

As she shook hands with the other new trainees, I felt great excitement at meeting the First Lady. Then, she held me in a firm grip as she pumped my hand with both of her small well-manicured hands. However, her eyes checked me over thoroughly.

"I think you chose well, Charles," said the First Lady as she regarded Charles Acheson with an approving smile.

"Thank you."

The First Lady turned her gaze back to the three faux females standing in front of her. "Charles tells me you three ladies are the best in the CIA. At first, I wasn't sure this hare-brained idea had any chance of succeeding, but, now that I've seen you, my first impression is that you three are amazing! All three of you are gorgeous! We, that is Charles and I, decided to select only three of you because this is an experiment. We want to know if it will work. So, for now, the only people who know your true identities are Charles Acheson, Oscar Golden, the head of the White House Section of the Secret Service, and . . . "

There was a knock on the door.

Charles Acheson went over to the oak paneled door that the First Lady had used to enter the meeting room.

I almost let out a gasp when I saw who was at the door.

"Jack, please come in," said Valerie. "I want you to meet some of the new people in our Internship Program, henceforth to be referred to as Trainees."

"Sorry to interrupt you, Valerie, but I need to consult with you about our daughter's plans for the upcoming New Year's celebrations." Then the President positively beamed when he saw three beautiful young ladies.

John William Plimpton stood about six foot three, bigger than he looked on the television screen. The immaculate three-piece suit, his commanding presence, the thick blond-gray hair and friendly smile almost melted my heart. It was as if his body's Electro-magnetic energy field radiated outward and engulfed me. Tingles charged up and down my spine.

"Well Mr. President," said Valerie, "if you have a moment to spare, I'd like to introduce Kelly Carson. She will be a Trainee in the Domestic Affairs Office."

The President said, "Happy to meet you," as he shook Kelly's hand, using a strong two-handed squeeze on the red haired beauty.

"Then we have Cheryl Smith. Doesn't she have the nicest blond hair?" asked Valerie Plimpton, with a glance at Cheryl's long, gently curled golden locks.

The President nodded in agreement as he shook hands with gorgeous Cheryl. I felt a bit jealous of Cheryl's D cup breasts, even though they were artificially enhanced.

"Cheryl will be in the Public Relations Department," continued Valerie Plimpton with a smile.

"A pleasure to meet you," said President Plimpton as Cheryl nodded.

"And finally, we have Laurie Tan. She will be working with Charles in the Office of the Press Secretary."

I extended a limp right hand with the back facing up. The President was quick on the uptake. He bent over as he grasped my delicate hand gently in his 'basketball player' grip. 'Is it true what they say about a person with big hands?' He gave me a scintillating kiss on the back of my hand that I shall cherish forever.

"I am honored," I breathed.

"I am delighted to make your acquaintance, " said the President with a long leer. I felt like he was undressing me with his eyes--kind of like an inner cavity search of a suspected drug dealer.

There was a Cheshire Cat smile on the comely face of the First Lady. Did she know something that the President did not know?

The President continued to grasp my hands and maintain eye contact. There was no doubt about his not so subtle message. He wanted to dance the Copulation Cha Cha.

"Aren't they the prettiest angels you ever saw, Jack?"

"Yes . . . We could call them Charlie's Angels."

I winced. Before long, perhaps the President would come to know us as Charlie's Trannie Trainees.

 

 

CHAPTER FOUR

After a guided tour of the White House, courtesy of Charles Acheson, during the afternoon, I was shuttle bussed to a parking lot in a less traveled part of Downtown Washington. I headed home in my Honda Accord, cognizant it would be the first of many times that I would be doing this during the next few years. The traffic was tolerable for a Friday afternoon as I headed for the Teddy Roosevelt Bridge and Arlington, Virginia. I think a lot of people were looking forward to the Christmas weekend. While driving, sometimes I have found it to be a wonderful time to clear my mind and think about making plans.

As the upcoming Sunday was Christmas Day, I resolved to give my parents a phone call. It would be the first time I would not be home in North Tonawanda for Christmas. Even when I had attended university in Syracuse, I had always returned home to snowbound Western New York. Although the District of Columbia received some snow, it was nothing like the legendary snow squalls that blew off Lake Erie. I would miss a white Christmas, 'just like the ones I used to know'.

As soon as I got home, I was going to phone Michelle Walton and ask her if she would come shopping with me tomorrow.

The traffic was backed up on the Roosevelt Bridge over the Potomac River. I wondered if I would have to find an apartment in Washington to avoid the traffic hassles.

*************************************

Shopping with Michelle Walton was kind of surreal. We would boldly enter any shop in the huge Lincoln Mall, try on five lovely outfits, and occasionally, we bought an item. And, I must say, we got our fair share of attention. Michelle had a curvaceous figure and a sexy walk that drew male onlookers! I had to learn how to discourage an unwanted suitor's interest. Michelle had a few tricks to show me. Sometimes all it would take was completely ignoring the stares, wrinkling one's nose in disgust, grabbing your partner's hand and changing direction, or having an instantaneous coughing fit.

Michelle seemed to be completely different from her alter ego Michael. Whereas Michael was stiff and distant, Michelle was easy going and warm. Michael was businesslike whereas Michelle was charming. Certainly, Michelle was the nicer of the two personalities.

As the Christmas Carols faded away into the Atrium walkway of the mall, Michelle assured me that, in spite of my new Internship, I was still an employee of the CIA. As such, any token salary paid to me as an Intern, would be taken back. I would be paid at my regular CIA salary plus 'mission' expenses. Thus, my female wardrobe would be added to the expense account. However, Michelle warned me to choose clothes that would be appropriate for the job. And the clothes would have to fit the budget of a regular Intern. Therefore, we shopped at department stores like J.C. Penny and Sears rather than at exclusive upscale shops.

When Michelle dropped me off at my apartment in Arlington, she came in to show me some special cosmetics that she had brought especially for me.

While working a long work shift at the White House, I would have to be concerned about whiskers sprouting up through the foundation make up. Of course, I could always seek electrolysis or laser treatment to remove the male beard. In the meantime, the CIA had developed a remarkable latex-artificial skin foundation makeup that would last about 12 hours before showing any sign of deterioration. Fortunately, my facial hair growth was not heavy, but I did shave every second day on a regular basis.

As we said goodbye, I gave Michelle a warm hug. Then, she kissed me on both cheeks.

It had been a good day.

Christmas Day, alone in Arlington, would not be as good.

************************************

Early Monday morning, I reported directly to the office of Charles Acheson, Executive Assistant to the Press Secretary. Charles looked very happy to see me. He offered to help me take off my coat and then he showed me the closet where it could be hung up.

Charles complimented me on my brand new navy blue suit. The embroidered skirt ended at the knee, but showed enough of my shapely legs to draw interest. The creamy silk blouse, with a high Poet's collar, worn underneath the smartly tailored jacket, was feminine and it made me feel very sexy. As a guy, I had never worn anything made out of silk other than ties. My flat shoes were comfortable and fashionable. The makeup appeared to be light, but it took some skill to achieve that 'natural' look.

Charles Acheson reminded me to wear my photo ID badge at all times so that I would have access to areas of the White House the public was not allowed to see. Charles adjusted the clip of the ID badge onto the lapel of the jacket. As his hand brushed up against my right breast, I wondered if his touch was intentional or accidental.

Then, the Executive Assistant to the Press Secretary led me through a room where there was a fridge, sink, microwave, stove, dishwasher, cups, dishes, utensils and anything else a kitchen would need. A quick trip into the hallway and Charles directed me to the female staff washroom plus the main office of the Press Secretary, Warner Mason. Finally, Charles led me back into his office and sat me down at my new desk. It had a brand new IBM computer with a large flat screen monitor.

When I questioned him about what the office of the Press Secretary did, Charles went into a detailed answer about preparation of briefs for the press from the Office of the President. We were the main link between the President and the American people--a heavy responsibility. The President relied on our office to keep him informed about important breaking news stories. I wish I had made notes. Charles fed me so much information; it was impossible to retain all of it.

Charles Acheson had ideas about what kind of tasks I could handle during the first week. My first job would be to go down to the mailroom and collect all items directed to the Press Secretary or our staff members. He gave me a list of ten names for the staff. The mailroom job would help get me oriented to all the different sections of the White House. Also, I would serve as an interior courier any time hand deliveries of messages was necessary.

Proofreading of all messages issued by the Press Secretary was another task Charles assigned to me. This would familiarize me with the content and style of press releases.

He had another task that he said I might enjoy, but would talk more about it after lunch.

Charles led me down to the White House mailroom on the first floor. At 7:45 in the morning, it was a bustling place. He showed me the sorting area where I would handle the incoming mail. Next, he showed me where outgoing mail should be placed as well. Then, he picked up a large canvas mailbag and dumped the contents onto a large table. For a few minutes, we worked together. I had a lot of questions about the different departments and what area of the White House they were located in. What should I do with mail addressed simply to the White House, without any department name? He opened one and read it. He told me that most of those were intended for the President. The Office of the President usually would look after those.

A few fellows who hadn't seen Charles down in the mailroom in quite a while came over to say 'hi.' Charles introduced me as 'the new kid on the block' and told them I was a Trainee in his office. Most of them, Charles explained, had been there three years ago when he first came to the White House. For a month or so, Charles himself had performed mailroom duties. He said it was a good orientation experience.

By 8:30, we were finished. Charles said the mail flow was still high due to the influx of Christmas Cards. He assured me that on most days I'd be out of the mailroom in twenty minutes.

When we returned to the office, he introduced me to all of the staff in the Press Secretary's Office, including Warner Mason. The welcomes were all cordial. If first impressions count for anything, I had a feeling I was going to enjoy my time here.

After the introductions, Charles sat me down at my desk and we switched on the computer. He told me, for security reasons, I was not to download anything to disk and not take home any laptop computers. The theft of nuclear weapons secrets from Los Alamos was still fresh in everyone's minds.

Charles helped me set up a Password. As he did so, he placed his arm on my shoulder briefly in a friendly manner. Then he showed me how to access the network. The Press Secretary's site showed all of the stories issued within the last two days. Older news could easily be accessed as well.

All press releases ultimately went through Charles Acheson. Press Secretary Warner Mason handled the most important or significant ones. However, Charles Acheson provided input for those too.

Now that I understood the chain of command and Charles was assured that I was comfortably ensconced, I spent the next few hours reading through today's items that had not yet been released to the public. The writers posted them internally. I proofread them, then forwarded the items to Charles Acheson.

I did not catch very many errors, but I did catch a few minor ones involving homonyms. That made my morning.

At lunchtime, I called Kelly Carson in Domestic Affairs, using the inter-office communication network. I asked her how her day was going, got her email address and arranged to get together with her after work. Next, I communicated with Cheryl Smith. She said the Public Relations Department was gearing up for a New Year's celebration plus a visit from a professional sports team and she had had a busy morning. When I mentioned an after work rendezvous, she had a restaurant already picked out. Yes! Things couldn't have gone better!

After a working lunch break, I found most people in the office brought food from home and ate at their desk, I talked to Charles about what additional duties I could perform in the afternoon. He said that the President liked to keep on top of breaking news from all around the world. One of the duties of the Press Secretary's office was to summarize important news items and pass them on, in concise form, to the President's office. Also, he liked to view video clips, usually taken from CNN, of major international news stories. Domestic concerns, especially network reactions to the President's actions were at the top of President Plimpton's priority list.

Charles introduced me to Diana Rashaad. She started work at 1 o'clock and worked into the evening. Video clips were her responsibility. She worked out of a special room with about 10 television monitors and a like number of video recorders. Also, she had a powerful computer with a video-editing program that allowed her to quickly piece together a highlight disk.

I spent the rest of my afternoon learning the ropes.

After work, I met Cheryl Smith and Kelly Carson at the front entrance. Cheryl gave us directions on how to get to the restaurant. It was a location in Fairfax, Virginia, so we all were going to drive there in our own cars. Since all of us had trained at the George Bush Center for Intelligence, all of us lived on the Virginia side of the Potomac River.

However, after thinking it over, I suggested we go to my place in Arlington. It was closer than Fairfax and we could order in for Chinese food. Given my Chinese-American heritage, I thought that was only natural. Both Cheryl and Kelly agreed that was a wonderful idea!

 

 

CHAPTER FIVE

As I opened my apartment door, Suite 808, the girls were a little tentative. We were not well acquainted with each other and all of us were not accustomed to our new roles in life. We had all been taught by the CIA to live our 'legends', but it was such a drastic alteration.

After I switched on the hall and kitchen lights, I hung up the coats in the closet near the entrance. We all took off our damp shoes and placed them on the gray ceramic tiles. Outside, there was a trace of snow on the ground--too late for a white Christmas.

Then, we moved past the kitchen on our right, into the living-dining room. To the right was a circular glass-topped bamboo table with four rattan chairs. A Japanese lantern-style lampshade hung down from the white stipple ceiling, directly over the dinner table. Straight ahead of us were a large padded rattan sofa and a matching loveseat. In the corner of the living room was an entertainment console, consisting of a twenty inch television and a stereo system. On one of the rattan end tables, between the soft green cushion pads of the sofa and loveseat, sat my laptop computer and a bulbous ceramic table lamp. I reached over and turned on the lamp because the airy room received no illumination from the large floor to ceiling windows at this time in the evening in late December.

"A nice cozy room," offered Cheryl in a very convincing, feminine voice.

"Yes, you ought to see my place. It's just a flat. Did I ever have a hard time explaining to my landlord why I was dressing up as a girl!" complained Kelly. Her voice, a little lower in tone, nonetheless, was unmistakably female.

They sat down on the three-seat sofa. There were three beige cushions lying on the couch. The girls propped them up behind their backs.

After switching on the stereo to an 'easy listening' station, I took a comfortable spot on the love seat, placed two cushions under my soft rear end and curled my supple legs beneath me. I immediately started to massage my feet.

"Those new shoes were just killing me today, girls. I'm glad I didn't wear high heels. I hate to think of the agony I'd be suffering right now."

They laughed.

"The joys of womanhood," added Cheryl.

"Yes, and it was cold on my legs today with only those thin nylons," said Kelly.

I looked at both of these gorgeous girls carefully for a moment. Cheryl, the blue-eyed blond bombshell was dressed in a creamy white skirt, matching jacket and a dark blue blouse. Her face was absolutely adorable, with just the right amount of dark eye shadow, mascara, lip-gloss, perfect gleaming white teeth and ever present smile. A real knockout! Then, as Kelly took off her cashmere sweater, she revealed a tight jade colored blouse, I looked at her gorgeous gams beneath her slinky black skirt--a real girl should be so lucky! Her long red hair had that Veronica Lake peek-a-boo tendency of covering her right eye. The jade blouse with the three-quarter length sleeves went well with her green captivating eyes and the flowing long tresses reached past her shoulders. Her sexy pouting lips invited kisses. Kelly could turn on the sex appeal with a bat of her eyelashes!

"You know, it is hard to believe we are all guys under all of the hair, makeup, nylons and tasteful clothing," I said.

"You're not kidding," agreed Kelly. "When I first saw you two, I wasn't sure. In fact, I'm looking at both of you, and I'm still not sure."

I reached over to a shelf under the top of the end table and pulled out a photo album. As proof, there were lots of photos of my family, and me, but not one showed me dressed as a girl. "Here, have a look."

As both Kelly and Cheryl flipped through the album, they giggled girlishly.

"Hey Laurie, you look kind of cute here," said Kelly.

"Yes, I could go for him," added Cheryl.

I got up to have a closer look. It was a high school graduation photo. "Well, lucky me, I didn't have any zits that day. Through most of high school, though, I pissed the time away at home, just watching TV and squeezing the puss out of my zits."

They laughed uproariously.

Then Cheryl spoke up. "Oh, I was such a computer geek in high school. During my senior year, everyday, I'd check out the chat rooms for hot, erotic talk. It was such a turn-on. Initially, I was a voyeur, just watching. But, then I got bolder and started interacting. Over time, I developed an intimate online relationship in a chat room, until I found out that the sexy girl on the web page was nothing like her photo. Of course, she never found out that my web page photo had been borrowed from a male model web site."

"How did you find out about her?" asked Kelly. "Did she confess?"

"I found her photo on the female models' web site."

I laughed heartily. "You deserved each other."

Then, Cheryl and I both looked at Kelly.

"I hope you're not expecting a true confession from me. I wasn't a chat room imposter and I didn't have acne . . . Well, I was captain of the football team, valedictorian for the class of '95 . . . Graduated magna cum laude . . . had the lead role in the school musical . . . "

I reached back over to the loveseat and picked up two cushions. As Kelly bragged on and on about her phony accomplishments, I started beating her playfully with the cushions. Reacting to my cue, Cheryl joined in enthusiastically. After ducking and blocking the initial onslaught, Kelly picked up a cushion for herself and fought back! We went at it for a minute or two, whacking each other mercilessly!

It was so nice to be a kid again.

"It's been a long time since I had a pillow fight," I said, once the dust had settled.

As they stopped laughing, both girls looked at me.

Oh, oh! I said that in my own natural male voice. I felt so embarrassed.

************************************

After a dinner of Cantonese style chow mein, shrimp fried rice, lobster sauce, beef and snow peas, we settled back and broke out the fortune cookies.

"You will be a great success both in the business world and society," read Kelly, as she munched on the cookie. "Gee whiz! I hope that will come true." Kelly reached for her cup of tea to wash down the fortune cookie.

Next, Cheryl split her fortune cookie in half. "'You are surrounded by love and compassion.' Well, those sound like comforting thoughts for somebody who is on her death bed in a hospital, about to expire . . . but maybe the message refers to you two."

I looked at Kelly.

"Nah," we said in unison.

Finally, I pulled out the bilingual message, in Chinese and English, from an opening in the crusty folds of the cookie. "Eat at Mandarin. This coupon worth 50% off."

"Let me see that!" said Kelly, as she tried to grab it from me.

Quickly, I brought up the fortune to my mouth, popped it in, and began chewing on it. Then I swallowed the cellulose pulp, or so it seemed. "Only my name, rank and serial number--that's all you'll get."

"If you told an interrogator your real name, I don't think you'd be alive for very long," said Cheryl, "dressed the way you are."

"The torture would be a fate worse than death," announced Kelly. "Can you imagine what nasty punishment an interrogator would do to a guy in drag?"

"Cut off his penis for one," said Cheryl.

"Then they'd force him to eat his own cock," added Kelly.

"Good visual imagery!" I said. "It makes me want to throw up. Can we change the subject?"

"Well, it's the consequences of being exposed. Aren't you even a little bit concerned?" asked Kelly.

"I certainly am," said Cheryl. "I mean, wouldn't you find it embarrassing if somebody at the White House discovered you were a guy?"

"That's a very real possibility," I agreed. "I haven't had much experience at female impersonation. I mean, until this TOPS training, I had never paraded in front of anyone in girl's clothes."

"Are you sure?" asked Cheryl. "You look too good to be a novice."

"Yes," agreed Kelly. "You're drop dead gorgeous."

"I must confess, that I am in awe of both of you."

"Thanks for the compliment, but you are undetectable," assured Cheryl.

"Xie xie--Chinese for thank you."

"Well, I must tell you that I began dressing up as a girl a long time ago," said Kelly. "When I was in elementary school, I got teased by a lot of kids because I was perceived to be different--to be too girlish," said Kelly. "So, one Halloween, I got all dressed up in my sister's clothes and went out trick or treating."

"Did anybody ever catch on?" I asked.

"Nobody did. That's when I got hooked on dressing up. It was so much fun to fool everybody."

"Besides Halloween, what other kinds of experiences did you have?" asked Cheryl.

"Mostly I dressed up at home. When I was at home alone, I'd borrow my older sister's clothes and get into her nylons, bra, panties--complete outfits . . . But, I also got a part in a high school play as a girl."

"So did you get the lead role for Charlie's Aunt?" suggested Cheryl.

"How about Albin in La Cage aux Folles?"

"No. I wish. This was high school--not Broadway," said Kelly. "Not many high schools can do put on a spectacle like La Cage aux Folles. I played a small role in the Sound of Music--as a nun. Do you remember the Mother Superior who sang 'Climb Every Mountain.'"

"Wonderful! You must have a great singing voice!" said Cheryl enthusiastically.

"Well, I can carry a tune."

"You must have gone to a progressive school," I said. "Wasn't dressing as a nun a big risk?"

"I wish I could say 'nun' at all. But, it did not go over well with my classmates. However, I always marched to the beat of my own drum."

"I wish I had your confidence."

"One great thing I like about our new roles," continued Kelly, "is that we have a chance to reinvent ourselves."

"Yes," added Cheryl. "Isn't it great that you might have fantasized about some hot actress that you admired in a movie? Now you can become her."

"Yes, I just want to uncross my legs like Karen Stone in Basic Instinct," hammed Kelly, uncrossing her sexy, shapely legs.

Cheryl slapped Kelly on the back as Kelly recrossed her wonderful gams.

"We can create a person who has no problems and a bright future," I suggested. "Then live that life for real."

"But, aren't we giving up our old life?" asked Kelly. "Isn't that a big sacrifice?"

"I think this assignment is temporary. I doubt that it will last beyond the term of President Plimpton," said Cheryl.

"What happens if you find that living a double life gets to be too difficult? I asked.

"You could request a change of assignment," suggested Cheryl. "But I think this is going to be a blast!"

"So do I!" agreed Kelly.

There was a pause in the discussion.

"So Cheryl, I was wondering, looking the way you do, how do you handle aggressive guys?" I asked.

"Why, are you interested in asking me out for a date?"

"If you were a real girl, I really think I would ask you out . . . And I might ask you out anyway. As they say in Chinese, you have nice nu nu."

Cheryl laughed. "That sounds cute. Sort of like nice nookie."

"It means nice tits!"

Cheryl giggled. "Well thank you. If I was a real girl, I'd accept your offer for a date . . . But, to answer your original question about handling aggressive guys, I tell any potential suitor that I have a steady boyfriend back home that I am devoted to."

Kelly asked, "Does that work?"

"Well, I've only used that line twice for really persistent twits. And, I stuck to my guns on both occasions."

"Well you can call on me to be your 'pretend boyfriend' anytime," I said.

"Well, thank you. I'll keep that in mind--except you don't look like a boy right now. I'd have to claim you're my lesbian lover."

We all laughed.

"So, Cheryl, I get the impression that you've had more experience living life 'on the wild side' than me."

"I went through the TOPS program a year ago. When we got into the disguise classes, at that time, I realized that I enjoyed getting all dolled up. And I thought I excelled at it. Certainly, Michelle Walton encouraged me."

"Yes, isn't Michelle great!" agreed Kelly.

I nodded too.

"So, I've been out, enjoying the Washington nightlife, on a few occasions. It's been great!" continued Cheryl. "Being a beautiful woman gives me a power that I never knew as a guy."

"But, what about having sex? Can you change your sexual orientation from straight to gay?" I asked.

"You are assuming I'm straight. I am, or at least I think I am . . . Well, changing one's orientation is not a simple life decision. But, to go out for a night on the town, you don't have to consummate the relationship at end of the night. I know there are a lot of gay people in the District of Columbia. And, there are a lot of people who swing both ways. But, for me, this isn't a simple decision. I won't try switching my orientation on a whim. It's not like choosing what type of milk you prefer--homo or skim? Chocolate or white?"

"Please don't tell anyone this. When I was at a recent 'company' Christmas party, I was pursued aggressively by Charles Acheson."

"Charles Acheson? Girl, I'm impressed," said Kelly.

"Well, we hit it off. We discovered we had some things in common. And when he kissed me, I kissed him back. But, that was the first time I had been kissed by a guy . . . Initially, I think Charles believed I was a real girl, although he did kiss me in spite of my revelation to the contrary . . . Now, I thought I was heterosexual. I admire girls. I had a girlfriend once upon a time . . . I don't really know what overcame me that night."

"I don't think passion is logical. Sometimes raging hormones take over," said Kelly.

"I think guys respond to visual stimuli," I said. "How many times have you spotted a beautiful girl and reacted with an instant hard-on?"

"Frequently," replied Kelly. "Hell, I get horny looking at my own reflection."

We all screamed out in laughter.

"Oh, you pervert! I thought I was the only one!" added Cheryl with tears in her eyes.

"I can't help but get stimulated when I put on the nylons," I added. "I slide my hands up and down my legs. It feels so sensual."

"When I look in the mirror, I wish that I had a girlfriend who looked that beautiful," admitted Cheryl.

"Isn't self love grand?" asked Kelly.

It was a Kodak moment.

 

 

CHAPTER SIX

At 5:30, the clock radio rudely awakened me from a fantastic dream. I was making love to my pillow. Actually it was standing in for the luscious Cheryl. My throbbing penis ached and I hit the sleep button on the top of the radio. Then, I shut my eyes and tried to continue on with the fantasy. Somehow, I could not will the dream to continue on to the climax of fabulous sex with the goddess Cheryl! A conscious effort to continue with the scintillating sex somehow ruined the whole scenario. The mental images drifted away from winsome Cheryl back to my training course at CIA Headquarters. Then thoughts of the White House job crept into my disintegrating dreams. When the music blared 10 minutes later, my fantasy had hit the wall of reality.

I found the whole routine of getting ready for work very time consuming. Oh the usual make the bed, pee and shit, shower, shave and cereal for breakfast--that was no problem! It was the makeup. The special base foundation that Michelle Walton gave me worked very well. But, the moisturizer, mascara, eyeliner, eye shadow, lip liner, lip stick, lip gloss, setting powder, blush, and blending! It took forever! Plus, I wanted it to look like I was wearing very little makeup. I wanted a 'natural' look.

When I looked in the mirror, I wistfully examined my eyebrows. On Christmas day, using a pair of fine scissors, I had trimmed my eyebrows. They now had a high arch and were quite thin. If I had gone home for Christmas turkey, I am sure my parents and kid sister would have asked about my feminine eyebrows. However, I couldn't help but wonder how long it would take before the eyebrows grew back. Or would they grow back?

And the pierced ears! Michelle Walton had insisted I have it done at the mall yesterday. There were too many concessions to being a girl!

An hour later, the makeup was all done. It looked quite good, even if I say so myself! I was pleased, but, as I brushed my hair, I also wondered where I could cut corners and reduce the time taken.

The clothing was less of a hassle. First came a special gaff that hid my dangly bits, compressed my lower abdomen, and plumped up my ass cheeks. Next, came a step that was pure delight--I enjoyed creating an illusion with the Wonder Bra. I leaned forward, inserted my arms through the shoulder straps, did up the front clasp, reached beneath the bra cups to push up the loose chest flesh, and voila! I had some nice bosoms! As I placed my hands on the bra cups, I felt the water pads to see if they felt at all like real boobs. Not bad!

The next item was the CIA issue waist cincher. It was made of a thin high strength nylon/spandex material that gave me a terrific tapered 23-inch waist. Wow! The CIA should have marketed this product! It made me look 5-10 pounds lighter.

Somehow, the feel of nylons has always stimulated me. I balled up the nylons, inserted my toes, carefully pulled up the soft thin 'legs' over the heels, calves, knees, thighs and finally over my hips. My shapely legs felt so smooth and sexy as I checked myself over in the mirror to smooth out any wrinkles. This was a sensual pleasure!

From my closet, I took out a white silk blouse and a charcoal suit with white pinstripes and wide lapels. The blouse was very much like a man's white shirt except that the pearl buttons were on the left front side, rather than the right. I didn't dare get a blouse that had the buttons on the back until I had someone else living with me. I wondered if Kelly or Cheryl would be interested in sharing an apartment with me.

When I slipped on the skirt and the jacket, and put on the black flats I had used yesterday, I was almost done. From the top of my dresser, I took out some pearl earrings from the jewelry box. Immediately, a rendition of Pretty Woman started up on the music box. The elegant earrings and cute jewelry box were items that Michelle Walton had helped me pick out on our Saturday shopping spree.

I checked out the reflection in the full-length mirror as I put the pearl surfaced gold loops through the tiny holes in my ears. Then, I paused to admire my reflection. Was the girl in the mirror beautiful? Sexy shapely legs! A fantastic figure! Nice boobs! Luxurious hair! A beautiful face! Yes! Flawless! A supermodel!

Did I tell you I fantasize a lot?

Finally, I picked up my small black clutch purse and my long blue wool overcoat and scarf purchased at Sears. All set to go.

A half-hour later, I was walking through the main rotunda of the White House. I turned left and waited for the elevator to the second floor. Emerging from the lift, I walked down a corridor into the West Wing until I came to Charles Acheson's office. I said hello to everyone present, hung up my coat, then proceeded down to the mailroom on the first floor.

The mailroom guys were very friendly to me as they said good morning. I chatted with them a bit, especially with amiable Don Shavers and Hal Feinbloom, as we sorted the bags of mail together.

Before I knew it, I was done.

So, I returned to Charles Acheson's office. When I walked in, Charles was busy on the phone. So he waved 'hi' to me and I waved back.

I took a seat in front of my computer, keyed in my password, connected to the network, and began reading the press releases from our office. Then, I checked over works in progress. Lastly, I checked major news web sites on the Internet--Reuters, CNN, TIME, AP, I quickly downloaded the top stories of the day. Next, I wrote a precis of a breaking news story, boiling down 10 paragraphs into one paragraph with all of the 5 Ws--Who, What, When, Where, and Why.

Charles came over to my desk to see how I was doing. He was pleased that I had taken the initiative. The President wanted to keep on top of the big news stories. The Press Secretary's Office had to provide him with the important info in edited form so he could quickly be brought up to speed.

***********************************

The afternoon was more fun. I helped Diana Rashaad put together video clips on the top TV news items.

Since I had some experience from university in putting together seminar presentations, I found that transferring TV clips from the video recorders into the computer for editing to be an interesting challenge. Once the clip was digitized, we could edit the news bytes and put together a highlight package. By 4:00, Diana had a concise, artistic 20-minute summary ready. I was happy because I thought we had fabricated a pretty good synopsis and I was finished for the day. But, when we tried to send it over the Intranet to the Office of the President, the network crashed. Time to call in the man from Oracle to fix it.

"What do you do when the system goes down?" I asked.

"No problem," said Diana. "We always back up everything we do here, Laurie."

Diana led me over to another very large computer.

"This is a stand alone computer. By that, I mean it does not rely on the network. You can feed information into it, but over a direct line rather than an Intranet connection. So, we have our program saved here."

Diana worked at the console for about two minutes. Then she handed me a circular disk along with a plastic case.

"I just made a DVD copy of our edited news package. Would you be a darling, Laurie, and take it down to the Office of the President?"

"I'd love to, Diana. I think I remember where I can find the Oval Office."

With the DVD in hand, I headed off in the direction of the Office of the President, all the while wondering if I'd get the chance to meet him again.

The ID card that was attached to the lapel of my jacket allowed me through the Secret Service checkpoints in the corridors.

After another check by the Secret Service agent at the entrance to the Office of the President, I stepped inside to be greeted by a receptionist.

"Hi," said the middle-aged, attractively dressed lady. "How can I help you?"

"Hello, my name is Laurie Tan. I am a new Intern, er Trainee, with the Press Secretary's Office. There's a problem with the network communication. It's down. So, I was sent here with the daily news summary."

Just then, an inner office door opened. The President glanced over in my direction.

"Why Miss Laurie Tan, isn't it? Happy to see you again," said President Jack Plimpton warmly.

My god! He remembered my name. "Hello Mr. President. Oh, I am very glad to see you again."

"Well, how are things going? Is Charles Acheson a tough task-master? Or are you being treated well?" he asked with a broad grin.

"Oh, everything is going great! I love it here. I already feel like I'm doing productive work and everybody has made me feel so welcome."

"Speaking of your work, I was expecting a news update from the Press Secretary. But, there seems to be some kind of problem. In fact, I was just about to get Mrs. Dalton to give your office a call."

"That's why I'm here. There is a problem with the computer network. It is down I'm afraid. So, I had to come to your office and deliver the disk in person."

"Well, thank you very much . . . Uh, I don't know much about computers, Miss Tan. Perhaps you could help me set things up."

"That would be my pleasure, Mr. President." I couldn't believe this was happening.

"Could you please step into my office? My computer and television are back here."

"Certainly Mr. President." I almost flew across the room to the open doorway. What an opportunity! A meeting with the President!

Once I stepped into the President's private office, he placed his hand on my back to guide me in the direction of his computer console.

"Right this way."

"Mr. President, we need a stand alone computer."

"Right. The network is down. Would a laptop do?"

"Possibly, if it has DVD capability."

"Well this is the latest model Compaq Computer." The President pulled out the laptop from a drawer in the computer console. When he set the computer down, he flipped up the screen and pressed the ON button. Windows flickered through its warm-up phase.

As I sat down, I looked at the DVD to see which was the up side, and inserted it into the DVD slot.

After I accessed the right program, the display jumped to life.

"You certainly are a computer whiz, Miss Tan," he said as he gave me a congratulatory pat on the shoulder.

"Why thank you, Mr. President," I gushed. I patted his hand warmly as I gazed into his sparkling baby-blue eyes.

A menu came up on the 15-inch TFT screen.

The President took up a seat beside me.

"Where would you like to start?" I asked.

"Let's start with the Domestic front."

"Oh oh, Mr. President."

"Please call me Jack when we're alone and I'll call you Laurie."

"Yes Mister, I mean, Jack . . . I'm afraid I have some bad news for you."

"What is it?" he asked as he squeezed a little tighter on my shoulder.

"There are some more threats concerning you from Republican Senator Gethard."

"Not again. That cheese head has been on my tail for the past two years. First, about that Beret-Falls scandal and, more recently, he alleges I had an affair with a co-worker 12 years ago. He's a major irritant, a bulldog. Doesn't he ever give up?"

"Well, Jack, I'm afraid he's threatening to reveal even more. He says he has a few more victims of your sexual harassment ready to step forward."

"Oh god, when will it ever end?"

The President buried his head in his hands.

I put a comforting arm around the President.

"Now Jack, Senator Gethard is only threatening to come forward with more dirt. There isn't any more news on it today."

"What about network reaction?"

"They are all speculating about what this means for your future. It is a bit of a shark feeding frenzy, I'm afraid."

"Well I like to keep in touch with the American people. What do you think about all of it?"

"Under the law, you are innocent until proven guilty. I think the American people admire the good job you have done as President and they don't care what you do in your private life."

"Thanks, but I want to know what you think about me."

"I admire you very much. You are a wonderful President! Also, I can understand why Miss Beret was attracted to you. I think you are a very sexy, virile man . . . "

"And you are a very beautiful woman."

I decided to let the President know how I felt. "Unlike Miss Beret, I would never kiss and tell."

"I know you're with the CIA, Laurie. Valerie told me about that. She said we need people that we can trust working here in the White House."

"I would never tell anyone about something like this."

I could see the President's Adam's Apple bob up and down as he swallowed hard.

He gave me a gentle kiss on the cheek, then a gentle caress around the waist with both hands. When I let my body go limp and showed no signs of resistance, he hugged me in both his arms and kissed me. Then his pent up lust shifted into another gear. He kissed me savagely. I tried to respond the best I could, returning his passion with unbridled fervor.

Then, Jack gathered me up in his arms, lifting me out of my chair as he stood up. I pulled up my skirt and wrapped both legs around his hips as he carried me over to a large comfortable leather couch. He lay me down as he struggled to throw off his suit jacket and tie without breaking his kiss with me. The man was an octopus in heat!

I tried to get rid of my jacket. Jack allowed me to break the kiss for a moment to get my arms out of the sleeves and then I began to undo the pearl buttons of my silk blouse. He unbuttoned his shirt and then he fumbled with his belt, flicked off his shoes and slid his pants off while my skirt disappeared like magic. Now he was down to his underwear. We embraced again; we French-kissed again. His tongue intertwined with mine.

Then, we broke the kiss again. Off came his undershirt. I hesitated. He had gray-blond chest hairs and impressive pectoral muscles.

He fumbled for the front clasp of my Wonder Bra.

"No don't," I whispered in alarm.

"Don't worry. Valerie is flat-chested too."

I smiled as he freed my boobs from the bra. My boyish chest must have caused him to wonder.

But, if he knew I was CIA, his wife must have told him the rest of the story.

I reached for his boxer shorts and slid them down. He was a stud! He was huge! No wonder the man had such an unrelenting sex drive. His telephone pole was pointing straight at me.

"I like to refer to him as Willard," bragged the President.

"Why Willard?" I asked.

"Because he's much bigger than a Willie."

"I'll say."

Instinctively, I grabbed his huge penis in both hands and massaged Willard gently. Then I covered the tip of Willard's head with my moist lips. I had never had oral sex before.

Jack pressed forward, ramming his love tool to the back of my mouth and into my throat, then he pulled back. Then he thrust forward again while my tongue licked and my lips sucked with as much force as I could muster. I gently caressed his balls. In and out, in and out, in and out, we established a rhythm that picked up more and more momentum. What I lacked in expertise, I made up for in youthful exuberance!

As the pace picked up, faster and faster, faster and faster, I could sense when he was about to achieve orgasm. The semen exploded into my mouth, in spasm after spasm of creamy fluid. It tasted kind of salty. Perhaps the taste would grow on me. Because I didn't want to disappoint him, I swallowed every drop.

Then, inevitably, his magic mushroom stalk went limp and began to shrink, while I drained every drop I could.

Jack snuggled onto the couch beside me, holding me tightly in his arms.

"You are amazing," I whispered.

"Darling, you suck dick like there's no tomorrow. I couldn't get more suction power out of the White House Central Vacuum System. You really know how to make a man feel good."

"Thank you, Jack. And you too, Willard."

We cuddled for a few minutes. I could only think about the power of this love machine. With my limited sexual experience, I could not imagine having a better sex partner.

When Jack kissed me again, his hands slid down to my lower extremities. "Please take off your underwear, Laurie."

His wish was my command.

Quickly, I sat up and slipped off the nylons. I hesitated, thinking about the special covering and the waist cincher.

Suddenly there was a buzz over the office intercom.

"Excuse me," said the President as he got up from the couch and walked over to his personal desk. Then he reached for a button on a control panel.

"Hello."

"Oh Mr. President."

"Yes."

"Congressman Arthur Janson is here to see you."

"Could you please tell him to be patient? I'm in the midst of a meeting. I need another few minutes."

"Okay."

"Thank you Mrs. Dalton."

When the slight hum of the intercom shut off, the President let out an expletive deleted under his breath.

I pulled up my nylons.

The President bounded back toward me, his huge genitalia bouncing like a Baywatch babes breasts in a slow motion run. He grabbed his pants off the table beside the couch.

"Bad timing on the Congressman's part," said Jack.

I groaned in frustration.

"There's a bathroom over there. You'd better fix your makeup and clothes," said the President urgently as he pulled up his boxer shorts.

I reached up and touched him on the cheek. "You've got some lipstick here."

"I guess we both should use the bathroom."

I kissed him again, with an open mouth. He insinuated his tongue into mine. I could taste his hunger. While my fingers playfully mussed up his full head of graying hair, our squirming bodies pressed together. The President's hands wandered all over my back and neck and arms and rear end.

Finally, the President broke the kiss.

"I'd love to continue this Miss Tan, but duty calls."

We picked up our clothes and walked arm in arm into the bathroom.

With sparkling clean white marble, chrome and mirrored surfaces, this spacious bathroom reeked of luxury.

After placing my clothes on the white marble countertop, I quickly slipped my arms into the Wonder Bra to recreate the busty illusion. Looking in the mirror, I leaned forward, fixed the front clasp and pushed up the loose chest flesh with the aid of the water pads. When I stood tall, the fully restored bosoms looked quite impressive.

"Nice cheaters," said the President. He moved behind me as he dropped his hands to my waist and then up to cup my breasts.

"One of the tricks of the trade," I replied.

"What's this?" asked the President as he touched top string part of the gaff I wore under my nylons.

"It's called a gaff, Jack."

Then the President felt the soft area between my legs. There was a momentary shock to my body when he grasped my sensitive parts. Suddenly, he grabbed the top of the gaff and nylons and pulled down. In the mirror, the President could see my hard and erect penis, pointing straight out.

"My god! You're a boy!"

There was look of astonishment on his face. Oh no! Didn't he know?

"Of course, Jack. Surely Valerie told you all about 'Charlies Angels'?

Jack whirled me around. I stood there with my hands at my sides. Jack looked up at my face, then my crotch, my face, then my crotch.

"I don't believe it. You are such a beautiful girl! And yet, you're a boy!"

"I thought your wife had already told you."

"No. This really caught me by surprise. Maybe this is Valerie's way of getting revenge on me."

"Well, I'm really sorry Jack. I thought you knew about my secret all along. I mean you knew I was a CIA agent . . . But, it's not like we had sexual intercourse. You're not cheating on your wife with another woman."

I decided to cover myself up. I reached down to the gaff and nylons at my knees.

Jack looked at me one more time with amazement. He seemed paralyzed . . . unsure of what he should do.

I slipped the gaff and nylons up over the thighs, then the expanse of my rear end and hips. Then I quickly put on my blouse, skirt and suit jacket, all the while being watched closely by the President.

The President had recovered sufficiently to look at himself in the mirror. He combed his mussed up graying hair and used a tissue to wipe off the lipstick traces from his face.

When I looked closely at my face in the mirror, there wasn't much I needed to do. The special CIA base foundation makeup had held up pretty well. Since I didn't have my purse with me, I merely used a tissue to redefine my smudged lipstick. I used one of the President's combs to straighten out my long silky hair.

"Come here, little lady."

Tentatively, I approached the President.

The President gathered me in his arms, hugged me and then kissed me on both cheeks.

While he continued to embrace me, he said, "That was some surprise, Laurie . . . In spite of evidence to the contrary, you will always be a lady to me."

 

 

CHAPTER SEVEN

When I finally got home late that evening, I was on an emotional high! The President! I had sex with President Jack Plimpton! Unbelievable! I felt like calling up all my closest friends and telling them all about it . . . Well maybe I could tell all my closet friends . . . But that was not going to happen. Nobody would ever know about this except the President and me. Still, that could not spoil the moment.

As I took off my boots, I removed my colorful scarlet scarf and stylish Sears wool overcoat. The garment had a shawl collar, cut in one single piece, front wrapped, held together by a belt. Warm enough for Washington, too light for the bitterly cold Niagara Frontier. As I pulled out a hanger from the closet, the telephone rang. I hurried over to the wall phone in the kitchen. Just as it rang for the second time, I picked it up.

"Hello"

"Hi Laurie, it's Michelle."

"Oh, nice to hear the sound of your friendly voice."

"Thank you. How are you doing?"

"Great. Things couldn't be better. I want to thank you for giving me a chance at this White House position. It has been fabulous!"

"How has Charles Acheson been treating you?"

"Very well. He's been a dream. Charles has given me some great work assignments to perform and he has been an absolute darling. He has given me lots of care and attention."

"You don't think it's all because you are a beautiful girl and he's a handsome man?"

"Hmmm . . . That might have something to do with it."

"I thought so," insinuated Michelle.

"But, I am not sure that I want to be on more than a first name basis with him."

"Oh poor Charles. You just might break his heart."

"If Charles wants to get serious and marry me, I'll just have to tell him I cannot bear any children."

Michelle laughed. "I think he is already aware of that."

"By the way, how well do you know Charles?"

Michelle paused for a moment. "I guess there's no harm in telling you. We trained together at TOPS 10 years ago. Before I became an instructor at TOPS, I was a field agent. So was Charles. In fact, we often were paired together on missions. I remember, for one case, we even posed together as husband and wife. On these assignments, you really have to trust your partner because your life could depend on your partner's support. At one time, we were very good friends . . . Then I got married. He remained single. Then our career paths diverged. Now, we rarely see each other."

"I thought there was something more than just graduating from the same TOPS class. Thanks for sharing that with me"

"Actually the reason I called has to do with your work and it involves Charles as well."

"How so?"

"Did you see the news today? The threat against the President from Senator Richard Gethard?"

"Yes. In fact, I had a brief discussion with the President about that very matter."

"My oh my! You do work fast girl!"

"He just wanted to know what the average American thought of the whole Beret affair."

"Right."

Was there sarcasm in her voice?

"Because the White House Intranet was down, I had to brief the President."

"What did the President say about Senator Gethard?"

"Nothing positive. He kind of wishes that Senator Gethard would develop Alzheimer's or terminal laryngitis."

"I have some information for you. Senator Gethard is in the process of gathering very damaging evidence from two other ladies who allegedly slept with the President--since he's been in office."

"Oh no. The President is in deep doo doo . . . How do you know all this?"

"We work for the CIA. It's our job to know what is going on--we have paid informants."

"Right. Like Deep Throat."

Michelle laughed.

"Different era . . . Besides, Woodward and Bernstein were Washington Post reporters, not CIA. Anyway, tomorrow Charles Acheson would like to meet with both of us. As you can imagine, the Office of the Press Secretary is going to have a difficult time putting the right spin on another scandal. Some other measures might be necessary. So, I'll see you in Mr. Acheson's office tomorrow morning at 10:00 a.m."

"All right. I'll see you then."

"Goodbye."

After I hung up the phone, I considered the possibilities. Could I become involved in a counterplot to discredit Senator Gethard? On the other hand, why would the CIA be concerned with this matter?

As I filled up the kettle with water and then plugged it in, my mind started to drift to other concerns. I reached into an upper cupboard to retrieve a mug and an Earl Grey tea bag. When the water came to a boil, I poured it into the mug and set it down on the countertop.

Passing by the mirrored sliding doors of my hallway closet, I paused for a moment to examine myself in the full-length mirrors. The reflection of a beautiful young lady looked back at me. I slipped off the charcoal colored suit top and studied my profile. When I had measured myself prior to the Christmas Party, I had had 36-23-35 dimensions. I tried sticking out my chest. I wondered if I would I look better in a D cup? It had been so embarrassing when the President looked at my flat boy's chest without the illusory Wonder Bra. To get a better sense of a possible improvement to my overall look, I unbuttoned the top of my blouse. Was there a hint of depth between my false bosoms? When I undid the rest of the buttons, I tried to push up my breasts a little higher, kneading the water pads of the Wonder Bra with my manicured hands. Would larger breasts look more attractive? Then I slipped off the blouse. Was that a semen stain on the bottom front of the blouse? Darn! Would I have time to take it to the dry cleaner's tomorrow? After unzipping the right side of my skirt, I stepped out of the skirt to reveal my nylon covered sexy legs. I long tossed my clothes onto the nearest chair. Then I stood back to appraise my silhouette in the mirror. The waist cincher really helped to give me a curvaceous hourglass figure. Standing on my tiptoes, I turned to look at the back of my legs and rear end. These were very attractive, very feminine! I faced the mirror again and undid the clasp of the Wonder Bra. The girlish breasts disappeared. My flat boy's chest reappeared. This was what needed to be enhanced!

What a depressing thought!

I remembered, back in high school, some of my cruel classmates teased a poor girl name Jenny Love mercilessly--because of her last name and her flat chest. They joked that Jenny had better not have sex in a dark room because, by touch, her lover wouldn't know her front from her back.

High school! Teenage angst! Was this what a young girl went through? Worries about her boobs? Her waistline? Her wardrobe? Makeup? Boys?

I felt like I needed to get on the phone and talk to someone. The trouble was that my entire social circle had suddenly shrunk within the last couple of weeks. I was no longer Larry Tan. I was Laurie. And since she was 3 weeks old, she didn't have a lot of friends.

After a moment of hesitation, I decided to give Cheryl a call. It would be nice to chat with a beautiful girl with whom I had a great deal in common.

I picked up my blouse, suit and cup of tea, sans teabag, then walked over to my bedroom. I tossed the clothes into a hamper. Then, I sat down on the bed, and dialed the phone on the night table. As I sipped the cup of tea, the phone rang a few times.

"Hello."

"Hi Cheryl, it's Laurie."

"How are you doing?"

"Great. How about you?"

"Just fine. Things have been going great at work. Guess who I got to meet today?"

"I don't know. Who?"

"The New Jersey Devils hockey team--the Stanley Cup Champions! They dropped by the White House first thing this morning."

"Oh right! They were supposed to meet with the President."

"Yes. You wouldn't believe how sexy those athletic studs are! You know, those hockey players have a lot of animal magnetism about them."

"You bet they do! They play such a brutal savage game!"

"Did you ever play hockey up there in Buffalo?"

"Laurie didn't, but my brother Larry did," I giggled.

"So did my brother Carl. I guess you can understand, since I'm from New York, I used to go to Devils games and Rangers games when I was younger."

"I was a Sabres fan."

"Gee, I didn't realize we had hockey in common . . . Anyway, you won't believe what happened! One of the Russian hockey players on the team flirted with me. He was so nice! He asked me out. So, immediately after work, around 4 o'clock, we went over to a Russian restaurant called Bolshoi. And he selected some exotic foods from the menu and a few dishes that I'm familiar with."

"Like caviar, pierogies, vodka?

"Yes! But, a lot of other dishes that I have never had before. Valeri was such a charming guy too. He was so gentlemanly and so sweet to me."

"Well, you are a beautiful young lady."

"Thanks . . . You know, Valeri said he'd give me a call the next time the Devils were in town to play the Capitals."

"Oh my! You really did score today."

"Heh heh. Not quite. Actually, I think I'll have to brush him off the next time though. I don't really think I'm his type of girl."

"Well, you seem to have made a successful transition to womanhood."

"Oh, I love doing what I'm doing. It's a blast!"

"I agree. It's been unbelievable fun!"

"So what was the highlight of your day?"

"I met the President. I had to give him a news update because the Intranet was not functioning."

"Did you have a private conference?"

"That's none of your business."

"Did he live up to his reputation?"

"Well, Mrs. Plimpton brought us in for good reason," I said with a laugh.

"Oh, and here I thought I had an interesting day!"

Trying to change the topic, I asked, "Did you talk to Kelly today?"

"I bumped into her late in the afternoon. I was conducting a tour for some special guests when I saw Kelly in the corridor outside her office. She said she had been rather busy all day. Unfortunately, Kelly was coming down with a cold. She had a sore throat and a runny nose."

"There's a lot of that going around."

"Actually, I'm feeling a little run down myself. This week has been really tiring. I'm running on adrenaline. Because of the two hours wasted in commuting and the extra time for putting on the makeup, I'm finding that I'm under a real time stress. There aren't enough hours in the day to do everything that needs to be done. I wish I could cut down on the travel time. CIA Headquarters is 15 minutes from where I live--it's an hour to the White House. This morning the 14^th Street Bridge was a parking lot. I've even considered taking the Virginia Railway Express."

"You ought to move closer to Washington."

"I may do just that. I'd love to get an apartment on the Washington side of the Potomac or at least be in Arlington like you . . . Would you like to be my roommate?"

That caught me by surprise. "I'd be delighted to share an apartment with you! We'd have a great time together!"

 

 

CHAPTER EIGHT

Michelle Walton knew how to make an entrance. When she sashayed into the office of the Executive Assistant to the Press Secretary, all eyes focussed on her. She wore a fabulous figure-hugging suit that revealed a lot of sexy leg and hinted at Grand Canyon cleavage. Her smile radiated warmth that could burn off the clouds of Venus.

I welcomed her with a warm hug. The feel of her curvaceous figure and light scent of her perfume flooded my senses. Mercy! She could melt anybody's heart!

As I led her into Mr. Acheson's conference room, we complimented each other on our wardrobe choices for today. We sat around a small round table and settled into large comfortable armchairs.

A moment later, Charles Acheson and the First Lady, Valerie Plimpton, joined us.

My thin arched eyebrows must have jumped in astonishment as we both stood up. This was unexpected.

"Well hello Michelle," said Charles, "and Laurie!"

"Nice seeing you again, Charles!" responded Michelle.

Michelle and Charles did the usual hug and kiss ritual.

"You've met the First Lady, Mrs. Plimpton."

Michelle and I both shook hands with the First Lady of America.

"Good to see you again, Michelle. And Laurie, I met for the first time on Friday."

Dumbfounded, I merely nodded. Did Mrs. Plimpton know what happened yesterday?

Mrs. Plimpton wore a tailored, green and white plaid suit, cut back to front, with an asymetric neckline. Her soft wide trousers had triple pleats down the side of each leg.

After Mrs. Plimpton seated herself at the oak round table, we got down to business.

"Well, I suppose you are wondering why I asked to get together with everyone here," said the First Lady.

We all nodded our heads.

"I believe Senator Gethard's next press conference could be very harmful to the President. Jack has one year left on his mandate and he'd like to seek another four years in office. If this scandal blows up, Senator Gethard and other right wing elements might seek to impeach the President."

"On what grounds?" asked Charles.

"Improper moral conduct," replied Mrs. Plimpton.

"Would that be sufficient grounds?" asked Michelle.

"Probably not, but the point is this. The reputation of the President could be ruined. America's position as the world's only superpower could be undermined. America could suffer tremendously in its dealings with foreign countries that view the President as an immoral, scandal-ridden aldulterer. Our economy could suffer dire consequences while the President was dragged through trial after trial in our courts."

"So what do you propose we do about it?" asked Charles.

"I need to call in a favor from you, Charles, and the CIA," said the First Lady. "When the CIA suggested having a direct connection to the White House, we brought you into the Office of the Press Secretary as Executive Assistant. And you are in line to succeed Warner Mason as Press Secretary."

"Yes," nodded Charles.

"Also, I am sure that I could persuade my husband, in his capacity as the President, to grant an increase to the CIA budget. Nobody knows what the CIA spending limit is anyway."

Mrs. Plimpton was definitely in charge of this meeting.

"The President needs our support. Senator Gethard is playing a dirty game. The mud slinging would jeopardize the faith of the American people in the political system. Our number one objective is to silence Senator Gethard."

"I agree one hundred percent," said Charles Acheson.

This was moving too fast for me. "You don't mean . . . "

"No. That won't be necessary," assured Michelle with a reassuring pat on my hand. "That's not the CIA way . . . Coercion will suffice."

"Charles, what have we got on Senator Gethard?" asked the First Lady.

"Senator Gethard is a publicity seeking scoundrel. He lives in a glass house but he continue to throw bricks at the White House," said Charles. "Here's the amazing thing . . . Senator Gethard is accusing President Plimpton of adultery. Not only does the Senator cheat on his wife, he employs the services of prostitutes! What a hypocrite!"

"I think our little friend Laurie is wondering why she is here at the meeting," added Michelle with concern.

"Senator Gethard not only consorts with prostitutes, he prefers to fuck she-male prostitutes!" exclaimed Charles.

"Oh my god!" I uttered.

"Do you want to take it from here?" asked Charles Acheson as he looked toward Michelle.

The personality of Michael Walton seemed to take over for Michelle's softer, gentler, kindlier approach.

"You bet, Charles. All we need to do is set him up with a sexy she-male. Then, when our philandering Senator shags her, we get all sorts of sordid sex on videotape. We go for the jugular. And I know just the right person to perform the dirty deed."

For some strange reason, everyone looked at me.

 

 

CHAPTER NINE

At that Wednesday morning meeting, we sketched out a dastardly diabolical plan. The New Year's Eve Gala was one of the highlights of Washington's social calendar. Charles Acheson would escort me to the Gala. Since all of Washington's elite would be there at The Renaissance Ballroom of the Marriott Hotel, I would have a social opportunity to meet with, among others, Senator Richard Gethard. If I played my cards right, I might be able to attract the interest of Senator Gethard. From there, I might persuade him to come up to my hotel room for a romantic ribald rendezvous. The CIA would digitally record the lascivious libidinous liaison for posterity.

I had been looking forward to New Year's Eve for three days.

Michelle had set up a makeup and wardrobe makeover for me in the TOPS training facility at the George Bush Center for Intelligence on Sunday morning.

I didn't know what to expect.

When I arrived at my old classroom, I thought about all the hours I had spent with Michelle and the other instructors. The American public would never believe the sophisticated disguise techniques developed by OTS--the Office of Technical Services. This would be the equivalent of the Q Branch in a James Bond movie. DAGGER and CLOAK techniques were quick-change disguise systems that could help CIA agents completely alter their appearance. It had helped many agents elude surveillance or avoid capture from the mid-1970s on.

My female disguise training went beyond the expertise of the standard agent-training course. I had, in the words of Michelle Walton, a 'special aptitude' for female illusion. Thus, my training was more intense and more extensive. Still, Michelle was the master and I was sure I could learn even more from her.

"Oh, there you are. Welcome Laurie."

"Glad to see you again," I said as we hugged and exchanged kisses on both cheeks.

Michelle was dressed in a casual, but sexy, black pantsuit with a white mock turtleneck. Her long flowing hair was auburn today. And she looked hot!

"I love your outfit!"

"Thanks honey. You'll turn heads in that too."

My tight figure hugging blue jeans, tan boots, and tight cream colored sweater was unremarkable, except that it showed off my curvaceous figure to good advantage.

"Xie xie."

"Yes. I'm so excited! Actually, the whole week has been a dream come true."

"Everything is going well I take it."

"Uh huh."

"Did you, by chance have another briefing with the President?"

"Yes. How did you know?"

"I know the President, hon. Remember--I sent you there."

"Yes. I guess he appreciates beautiful young ladies."

"So does Senator Gethard--at least, girls with something extra. We'd better see what we can do to help," said Michelle as she led me toward another room that I had never been in before. She knocked on the door.

"Hello Peter and Wendy!" said Michelle.

The two technical staff people, dressed in lab coats, responded with warm greetings for Michelle.

"This is Laurie--the one I was telling you about."

"Hi there," I said.

We shook hands.

"Glad to meet you Laurie," said Peter.

"Hello," said Wendy.

"Now, Laurie is ready for the next step in the transformation process. She is in need of the full body makeover, from top to bottom," said Michelle.

"I need what?"

"The full body makeover."

"Please, Laurie, we need you to take off all of your clothes. There is a screen over there. You can change behind it if you want to retain your modesty," advised Peter. "The reason we need you fully naked is because of the sophisticated laser instrument. We use it to provide a personalized finished body form for you. However, it requires your exact body shape, so you have to be naked . . . Oh, there is one exception."

"What's that?"

"Are you wearing your special CIA issue waist cincher?"

"Yes."

"Please keep that on."

"All right . . . But, what will we end up with? What will this accomplish?"

Michelle replied, "Laurie, I think you're ready for the ultimate transformation. We will give you realistic breasts and some other subtle body enhancements."

As I stepped behind the Japanese shoji screen, I said, "I didn't even know this was possible. It's like something out of Mission Impossible."

"Where do you think they got the idea?" asked Wendy.

"Good point."

A minute later, I had all of my clothes, including my boots, in a large plastic basket. I must admit to feeling very uncomfortable being completely nude in front of these two strangers. On the other hand, my feelings for Michelle were different. I knew her very well and must confess that I'd love to see what she looked like under that sexy pantsuit.

I stepped out from behind the screen. Peter and Wendy tried to look at my eyes, but it must have looked strange--a beautiful girl's head on a skinny male body.

But, I noticed that Michelle looked down at my limp penis and testicles. Was that a look of relief?

"I think I should tell you one thing about Senator Gethard's preference for she-males. Our sources tell us he prefers 'girls' who are not as well endowed as him. Apparently, he wants to be king of the castle."

"Uh huh." In other words, I was not so well endowed.

"Please step this way," said Wendy as she led me over to a special turntable platform that was surrounded by what looked to be high tech gadgetry.

"This device consists of two lasers and a very powerful computer with a special program," explained Wendy. "Here's how it works. The laser scan records the precise dimensions of your body. For the purposes of your transformation, we are only going to concentrate on your torso. Then, we create a body mould exactly to your body's specifications. Next, we superimpose an idealized female body over your dimensions. The computer generates, through our special 'lathe', a latex form that bridges the gap between your body mould and the idealized female body. The newly created appliances can be 'glued' on to your real skin. It will give you realistic breasts, more feminine hips, a rounder rear end--whatever you need for a perfect shape. But, we won't try to alter your legs, neck, arms and face. They look fine."

"What about my waist? We don't want to add anything there."

"That's why you're still wearing the waist cincher. When we add your new breasts, we will have an even better skin-colored waist-cincher for you. But, the final important touch is the artificial skin layer. Even you won't be able to tell where your own skin ends and the artificial skin begins."

I had my doubts about that.

Peter put a black plastic covering over my eyes. The eyecups would protect my eyes from any possible laser damage. It was just a precaution.

I stepped onto the turntable.

"Please extend your arms straight out to your sides," said Wendy.

A minute later, my arms were getting tired.

"Okay," said Wendy. "You can relax."

Peter removed the eyecups. "You can get dressed now."

Within fifteen minutes, the computer aided 'lathe' extruded an exact body mold of my torso out of a tough transparent plastic that was used, among other things, for face shields on hockey helmets and motorcycle helmets.

In the meantime, Wendy and Peter tried to superimpose the idealized female body onto my body shape, at least in the highly sophisticated 3D-computer program. There needed to be a few minor adjustments because I was bigger in the lower rib area than the ideal female.

The computer aided 'lathe' spat out an 'ideal female' mold out of transparent plastic.

When the two hot plastic molds cooled and hardened, the latex 'skin' appliance could be created. Pliable liquid latex was injected into the gap between the two plastic body molds. When the liquid latex was exposed to air, the 'skin' base would be fully formed.

However, latex does not look exactly like human skin--even when the color of the latex precisely matches the skin tone.

One drawback of the artificial skin was an inability to clean my real skin surface. So I was advised to take a shower. It would have to suffice until the New Year's Gala ended. However, on the positive side, my armpits were not going to be covered, nor were my genitals. So, body odor would not be a problem.

First, I put on the new flesh-colored waist cincher.

An adhesive was painted onto my chest. Then the latex appliance was carefully attached. It looked quite sexy, even in unfinished form.

This is where the magic began--the application of the artificial skin.

There were two layers to the artificial skin. The bottom layer consisted of a matrix of interwoven collagen, derived from cows, and a sticky sugar molecule. It mimicked the fibrous pattern of the dermis. The surface layer of the skin was made of flexible silicon that precisely matched my epidermal layer. Peter and Wendy applied the 'skin' like surgeons treating a burn victim.

While this procedure was going on, my mind wandered. Somehow I recalled a news blurb about burn victims. In order to replace burned skin, the patients were given human skin that was harvested from the foreskins of circumcised babies. Not very appealing.

My breasts, waist and lower abdomen, except for my genitals, received the full treatment.

When the painstaking procedure was completed, I stood up, and was led to a full-length mirror.

"What do you think?" asked Michelle.

"Fabulous!" I replied.

The reflection in the mirror showed a perfect female body. I had breasts that a baby could suckle. And nowhere was there any difference between my skin and the artificial skin. It was amazing!

As I turned to face the creators, I said, "Thank you very much, Wendy and Peter . . . I didn't know this was even possible. Absolute Magic! Are you sure your names aren't Wendy Darling and Peter Pan?"

 

 

CHAPTER TEN

Charles Acheson, dressed in coat and tails, led me into the majestic Renaissance Ballroom.

The gigantic hall was elegantly furnished with magnificent crystal chandeliers, arched stain-glass windows, ornate cornices, and torch-like light fixtures atop circular Romanesque columns bordering walls of mirrors.

Along the edges of the room were tables filled with hors d'oeuvres, sandwiches, pate, cheeses, crackers, dips, munchies, tidbits and other party fare.

Washington society was attired in the finest gowns and tuxedos--the latest fashions from New York, Milan and Paris. The New Year's Gala was a highlight of the social calendar--anybody who was a somebody was there.

A string orchestra played the Pachelbel Canon--putting everyone in a festive mood. The champagne flowed freely. Optimistic thoughts filled the air. And all the gala guests admired each other's dazzling splendorous creations. There were so many stunning ladies there that evening. It was a virtual smorgasbord of delight for the eye.

My beautiful sequined ruby red gown was a Chanel knock-off. My impressive decolletage strained to escape the restraints of the plunging wide V cut neckline. The dazzling sheath gown was sleek and unadorned, emphasizing my bountiful bosoms, narrow waist and flaring hips--defining the term hourglass figure! The full-length gown showed just enough epidermal delight to hold out the promise of hidden treasure.

Our arrival had not gone unnoticed. Across the room, I could see the President and the First Lady, surrounded by a coterie of Secret Service agents. His eyes lit up when he spotted me. Mrs. Plimpton gave me a knowing smile as well. But, I could not be swayed from tonight's mission. My eyes searched through the crowd for the familiar face of Senator Richard Gethard.

It was Charles who spotted the target first. The Senator was a tall bespectacled balding man in his late fifties, with a bit of a potbelly, and deep enough furrows on his face to plant potatoes. This was going to be a personal challenge. We worked our way through the milling throng to a position within easy view of the Senator. He was busy chatting with his wife and another couple. As soon as his wife left his side for a moment, I stepped into action. I walked in the direction of Senator Gethard. Out of the corner of his eye he could sense my approach. Then, with delight, he turned to get a better view of such a gorgeous, delectable delight. I smiled, but did not meet his stare for very long, pretending to be distracted by the movement of other people in the crowd. As I walked by Senator Gethard, I swung my right hand in a natural motion toward his crotch and patted it as I walked past him.

I could sense his surprise and delight. I could feel his stare on the back of his head.

As I encountered a person in my way, I turned and looked back at the Senator with a smile. I licked my lips suggestively, and nodded with a flick of my tantalizing tresses towards the refreshment table. After that, I did not look back.

A few moments later, as I stood by the hors d'oeuvres and munchies, displayed on a wide assortment of trays, set on tasteful white tablecloth. I picked up a small plate, and a napkin, and began to select some of the tasty morsels from this delightful spread. Using the provided butter knife, I quickly spread a little dab of pate onto a small morsel of bread.

"I recommend the caviar and champagne," said a voice behind me.

As I turned, I was prepared to capture the Senator in the glare of my ruby red sequin-covered bosoms that were straining to burst through the confining bra cups.

Don't girls just hate it when men talk down to their boobs and don't look at their eyes? Not me.

"Thank you. I think I'll give it a try."

"You can't go wrong."

I looked him over from toe to head, and nodded approvingly.

"You look like the politician I saw on TV--Senator Gethard, isn't it?"

"Yes, that's me."

"Why Senator, you keep on doing what you're doing! What the President is doing is a terrible disgrace to our country. I mean, we all enjoy having sex, but one must be discreet."

"Yes. Discretion is very important."

In her eagerness to get some of the food, a lady jostled me from behind. My pate morsel flipped onto the tuxedo of Senator Gethard.

"Oops! I'm sorry!" I said as I placed my hand on his chest to stop myself from falling forward.

"Pardon me," said a female voice from behind.

"Oh, let me try to wipe off the pate, Senator." I used my napkin to try and clean the damp spot. As I dabbed the bottom portion of his tuxedo jacket, the napkin slipped a little lower as I felt his crotch. Two crotch shots in the last two minutes. If that wasn't enough of a hint, I didn't know what else could be more direct. "Excuse me Senator," I said with an innocent schoolgirl smile.

"It's okay. No harm done."

"By the way, I should introduce myself. My name is Laurie Tan."

"Glad to meet you."

"This is the first time I have attended the New Year's Gala. It is quite amazing. So many beautiful ladies looking resplendent in gorgeous evening gowns and the gentlemen appearing so elegant in their tuxedos. The people in Washington really know how to throw a party. I've never seen anything like it."

"Let me guess. You haven't been in Washington very long."

"You are correct, Senator Gethard. How did you know?"

"I do not recall seeing you at any Washington social gatherings. The political circle here is pretty tight. You get to know everybody pretty quickly in this town. And believe me, I would have remembered a beautiful girl like you."

"Thank you for the compliment . . . Actually, I only started working at the White House this week."

"That sounds intriguing."

"Oh Senator Gethard, I would love to chat with you. But, could we continue this conversation later? Please, could you save me a dance later in the evening?" I hoped that I had conveyed a look of worry by my expression.

"It would be my pleasure, Laurie."

"Senator, I must get back to my friend Charles," I whispered as I looked over his shoulder in the direction of the matronly figure of Mrs. Gethard. "Is that your wife over there?"

When he turned to look, I walked away as quickly as I could in the direction of the champagne line.

As I passed by Michelle Walton's voluptuous form, I whispered, "Thanks for your help."

Michelle had been the one who had bumped me from behind. Our well-orchestrated plan was off to a successful start.

As we stood in line for the champagne, Michelle introduced to me her date for the evening. He was a forty something gentleman. He was tall and distinguished looking in his white tuxedo jacket with an unusual double peak lapel, white shirt with frilled cuffs, white bow tie and black pants. Beneath his red cummerbund, his belly was flat, indicating that he was physically fit. It turned out that his name was George Farnsworth. I knew he was CIA. George's role in the plan might include distracting Mrs. Gethard for the evening. If I could persuade Senator Gethard to come up to my suite at the Marriott, perhaps George could occupy Mrs. Gethard.

At the far end of the ballroom, the music stopped for a moment as additional musicians joined the small string orchestra.

A minute later, the full orchestra started into The Blue Danube by Johann Strauss Junior.

A section of the large ballroom, demarcated by a different pattern in the hardwood flooring, became the dance-floor. Many couples must have been waiting for the dancing to begin. For, within about 10 seconds after the Skater's Waltz began, there were many handsome couples twirling about the dance floor.

A traditional polka, a cha-cha, a meringue, a salsa, a tango, a foxtrot and many more ballroom favorites followed the waltz.

The dancing couples obviously had taken many lessons.

I tried to keep track of Senator Gethard all the while. Apparently, he enjoyed ballroom dancing. His wife was particularly good and her face beamed with delight the entire time.

When they took a break from the dancing, Mrs. Gethard left the ballroom, probably on a washroom break.

I wasted no time in seizing the moment.

A very pleased Senator Gethard greeted my approach with an ear to ear smile.

"Senator Gethard, I believe you are on my dance card."

"It would be my pleasure to dance with such a beautiful lady, Laurie."

The Senator led me over to the dance floor. Luckily for me, it was a waltz. The orchestra played Charade, the old song made famous by Andy Williams in the 1960s. All yesterday, I had received a crash course on dancing at the George Bush Center for Intelligence. I thought I could handle a waltz. I floated into Senator Gethard's arms. We began with the basic box step. Before long, the Senator added a rise and fall, a left box turn, then a progressive movement and finally an underarm turn. He spun me confidently about the dance floor. I was as light-footed and as nimble as I could be. I remembered the words of the dance instructor. 'Look at the eyes of your partner and smile. Let your partner lead. Just feel the music and follow.'

"You are an excellent dancer," I said to the Senator.

"I have a talented partner."

"Thank you."

In spite of the high heels, I hoped my movements were fluid and graceful.

We chatted a little bit about how we had learned to do these dances. I made up a story of having had a boyfriend who loved ballroom dancing. We had gone on a date to see a Japanese film entitled Shall We Dance. Then and there, my boyfriend and I got hooked on dancing.

One thing I learned from TOPS training--have a plausible story ready. Your 'legend' must be credible for your disguise to work.

As the music for the waltz ended, the Senator hugged me. I made sure to nudge my awesome 38D bosoms up against his chest. Then I kissed him longingly on the cheek.

"Senator, before your wife comes back, I want to thank you for dancing with me. I'd love to see much more of you, but I'd like to be discrete about this. One reason I have sought you out tonight is I have some more information on the President. You see, I began work at the White House a week ago, and I've met the President on four of the five days already. He is a lecherous man. That is very obvious! He's a sexual harassment suit waiting to happen. So if you need an inside source of information, perhaps I could keep you abreast of what's happening in the White House.'

"Incredible. Yes! There is a god! Thank you! Thank you!"

The Senator squeezed the breath out of me with his bear hug. I hoped that my 38Ds were having the desired effect.

"However, before you get too happy, Senator. I need some assurances."

"Such as?"

"I want you to protect your source. My name should not be mentioned in the press unless I give you my permission."

"No problem. I am a man of integrity."

"Also, I'd like some financial compensation."

"That's a possibility . . . How much?"

"We'll discuss terms later. But, I won't be unreasonable."

"Good!"

"Senator, I don't believe in wasting an opportunity. Do you think we could have a private talk tonight? I have a room here at the Marriott. If you could get away from your wife for awhile, I think you'd be interested in what I have to tell you."

"No problem. I'll have my aide tell my wife why I was called away on such short notice."

The Senator asked me to follow him. I'm sure he would have led me by the hand, but there were curious eyes everywhere among the crowd of Washington's elite society.

Once we were in the corridor outside of the Renaissance Ballroom, he asked me to lead the way to my hotel suite. It was a short walk over to a bank of elevators. Just two minutes after pressing the up button for the elevator, I inserted the pass card into the card reader for Suite 2622. A green light flashed and I turned the door handle. Then we walked across the threshold.

As soon as Senator Gethard was in the room, he went over to the telephone to call down to his aide.

"Myron always is on call for me," explained the Senator. "He's an invaluable asset."

The Senator briefly explained the opportunity that had come his way. Even if 'Myron' had his suspicions about the veracity of the story, he would do what he was asked to do. At the other end, I could imagine 'Myron' putting away his cell phone and then resignedly going about his assigned duty--to tell the Senator's wife about a new lead in the Presidential sex scandals. It simply necessitated a short absence from the Gala celebration.

Finally, the stage was set for the trap. I imagined I could hear the whirring of the CIA cameras.

When I took a seat by a round table near the window, Senator Gethard sat down beside me.

I tried to recreate my first week at work. It wasn't hard for me to embellish the story a great deal. The Senator's eyes seemed to widen when I told him how Jack Plimpton had pinched my rear end the first time I had been introduced to the President. From there, I told the Senator of private briefings with the President--how after the first system crash, I was hand delivering the news updates to him and then telling him all the news in private sessions within the Oval Office. I threw in enough details about the White House and the organizational structure to let him know I wasn't making it all up.

What bothered me the most was the President's wandering hands. I told the Senator that I had a fear of being fondled by the President. Earlier in my life I had been sexually abused. Then, overcome by the stress and strain of the situation, I broke down and cried.

"Oh Senator, I live in fear of the President taking off my clothes and forcing me into an embarrassing situation."

"Please Laurie, call me Richard or Dick. Actually everyone but my mother calls me Dick."

He put a comforting arm around my shoulder. I cried in his arms. He held me tight. Then I kissed him on the cheek. He returned the kiss gently. We hugged for a minute or two. All of my sobbing had subsided.

"I'm okay now, Dick."

"Are you sure? You can cry on my shoulder anytime."

I stood up.

"Thank you Dick. You are a real gentleman."

"I'm the one who should be thanking you. Your information was fantastic! Please keep me informed."

"Umm . . . Remember earlier we talked about the need for discretion. And I mentioned the matter of compensation. I don't mean to sound crass, but what's in it for me? As they said in Jerry McGuire, 'Show me the money! Show me the money!'"

As Dick stood up, he reached into his pocket to extract his wallet.

"Here. There is one, two, three, four, five hundred dollars. And there's much more to come I can assure you."

I practically attacked him! I jumped up on Dick Gethard, wrapping my hands around the back of his head and neck, kissing him savagely. My legs shimmied up his body until I had them firmly wrapped around his waist. Dick stumbled a little, until he took a few quick steps and we fell together onto the soft, fluffy King size bed.

While maintaining my suction like hold on his lips with my quivering lips, I struggled to remove his tuxedo top. Dick didn't need any encouragement. He quickly divested himself off the top and then quickly undid the tie, the shirt buttons, the belt buckle, and his fly. My tongue kept darting in and out of his mouth. He kicked off his shoes, dropped his pants and whisked off his shirt. Then he reached back and pulled off his undershirt. After seeing his jelly belly and flabby love handles, I kind of wished he had kept the undershirt on.

"Wait," I whispered. I raised myself up from the bed and turned my back to him. "Could you please undo the clasp at the back of my gown and unzip me?"

"My pleasure," he said with a smile.

His fingers fumbled with the hook and eye for a moment. Then I could hear the zip coming undone. I stood up on the bed and let the ruby red sequined gown drop dramatically away. I reached under my brunette tresses and mussed up my hair wildly. Then, I reached for the front of my bra, undid the clasp, and let the cups fall aside. A shrug of the shoulders and the bra fell down to the bed. I kneaded my breasts narcissistically, hoping that Dick Gethard would get turned on!

A tent pole had sprung out from Dick's blue boxer shorts. I knelt down on the bed and licked Dick's belly button. Then I slid my mouth down to the top of his boxer shorts. I kissed the waistband and then bit in to catch the waistband in my teeth. Then I pulled my head down, bumping my forehead on his erection as I struggled to pull his shorts off. I used both hands to pull the boxers down even further. Then I clamped my hands around his six inches of pleasure and let my tongue and lips stimulate his libido.

I guided Dick onto his back. The night table beside the bed had a little drawer. I reached over to it with one hand and fumbled around for a pack of condoms. Then, when I had a small package in my hands, I ripped open the plastic covering.

While Dick lay comfortably on the bed, I covered the head of his twitching penis with the condom. I sucked his cock in and out, in and out, repeatedly. As the rhythm picked up in pace, I gently fondled his balls and the tender areas of the upper thighs. Dick Get Hard grunted louder and louder with each thrust of his cock into my mouth. Finally he jerked forward harder. There was a gush of creamy fluid into the bulbous end of the prophylactic as he climaxed. Dick Gethard grunted a few more times, but his orgasm had passed its peak and now his prick was rapidly deflating.

Dick's heavy breathing and the sweat on his forehead indicated he needed a respite. I lay down beside Dick and we cuddled for a minute or two. I ran my hands over his back and stomach and through his thinning hair. Dick seemed fascinated with my amazing D cup bosoms. He fondled them bounced them and kissed them. Dick was like a little boy with a fascinating new toy. When Dick sucked on my right nipple, I massaged the back of his head, feeling the different contours of the skull beneath the scalp.

"You were great Laurie."

"It was a real pleasure," I replied. "I think I'm a sexaholic. I just can't get enough of you."

"I wish my Delores had even a quarter of the energy you display."

"Well lover, it isn't over yet. You have to do your share to please me."

"Okay," he said with a shrug. "Just tell me what you want me to do. Do you want me to eat you?"

I sat back against the padded headboard for a moment.

"Hmm . . . First, I need to remove my nylons." I shifted my legs over the side of the bed and turned my back to him. Beneath my nylon stockings I was wearing a flesh colored gaff that had hidden my male genitalia. I reached to the waistband and tried to pull the gaff down along with the nylons. "Remember I said I was afraid of wandering hands roaming where they shouldn't." I stripped off the stockings and gaff, resting my sexy tush on the soft thick coverings of this very comfortable king size bed.

"Yes. My hands wander too."

"I have a wonderful little surprise for you." I stood up and then turned around to face him. My erect penis stared directly at his wide-open eyes and his wide-open mouth!

"Fucking Amazing!!!!" He looked up at my breasts and then farther up to my smiling face. "I never suspected this at all." Dick began to laugh. "Oh my god! You are simply the best! The most beautiful she-male I've ever seen!"

"You've seen she-males before?"

"Yes. Many times." He pulled me toward him. "Only a guy knows how to make orgasm enjoyable for a guy."

He kissed me passionately again.

I pushed him away for a moment. "Wait a second. We did it your way first. Now, it's my turn."

"Yes . . . I did agree to that. Tell me what you want me to do."

I gently turned him around and had him lie face down on the bed. I reached into the drawer of the night table again for another condom.

"Oh Laurie, I'd like to please you, but please be gentle."

"Trust me Dick. I'll be gentle."

I coaxed Dick's legs apart and then tried to insert my five hard inches. Slowly the orifice parted enough that I could put the round peg in the round hole.

As Dick raised himself up to his knees, we went at it doggy style. I thrust in and out, in and out like a Kevin Kline movie. He shot forward and I pulled him back like he was the bucking horse and I was the desperate cowboy trying to maintain control over a wild bucking bronco. I grunted--he grunted, I thrust--he pushed back, over and over, faster and faster!

"Aaiieeee!" I screamed as I climaxed.

Dick used his hand to bring himself to climax a moment or two later.

This time, when I collapsed on the bed, I knew that 'we' had Dick Gethard by the balls! Dick Gethard, the controversial Senator, wasn't going to be a threat to the President any more.

 

 

CHAPTER ELEVEN

On a Friday evening in early March, I was driving home with Cheryl. We were discussing getting a lamp fixture for the living room to go with our rather eclectic collection of unmatched living room furniture.

The 10-minute commute was one of the best things about our new apartment in Washington. Splitting living costs was another benefit. However, living with the delectable Cheryl was undoubtedly the biggest advantage.

On the Pioneer quadraphonic car stereo, the traffic reporter was talking about a back up on the Beltway. That was irrelevant to our situation. So I switched to the all news channel. There the commentator was talking about President Plimpton's visit to the Middle East and peace negotiations between the Palestinians and the Israelis.

"Hey Laurie. What do you think about the President's chances of arranging an amicable settlement?" asked Cheryl.

"Well Charles Acheson tells me that a peace settlement is very unlikely. The leaders could hammer out an agreement, but there is no way Yasser Arafat or Ehud Barak could please all of the diverse factions within their own countries."

"I guess, since you support the President, you must find it pleasing that the President's personal life hasn't been dominating the news lately."

"The President is relieved."

"By the way, whatever happened to that Senator--you know, the one who promised to announce more damaging allegations of sexual misconduct by the President?" asked Cheryl.

"You mean Senator Gethard?"

"Yes, that's the one."

"Hmmm . . . You know that I am not a Christian."

"Uh huh."

"But there is a line from the Bible that applies here."

"And what would that be?"

"Let he who is without sin cast the first stone."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Senator Gethard has some sexual demons of his own," I said with a cryptic smile.

"Don't we all," said Cheryl with a knowing grin as she patted me on the upper thigh.

 

 

THE END

 

 

© 2000
The above work is copyrighted material. Anyone wishing to copy, archive, or re-post this story must contact the author for permission.