The afternoon was dragging on as Mark gulped down his third cup of coffee. He turned back to his screen of spreadsheets and felt his eyes go numb. The page scrolled down rapidly through mounds of data as he flicked the mouse’s roller. He had worked at the accounting firm of Cooper & Maxwell for the past six months and liked it for the most part. His co-workers seemed nice enough as they invited him to the odd group lunch and said hello in the hall.
A cheery chime rang from his computer indicating a new email message. He opened the email program and saw the newest email was from Larry Maxwell. Why was one of the owners of the company emailing him personally? He clicked on the email and it opened up. Mark’s eyes went wide as he saw the photos attached to the message.
He quickly closed the message and put his hand over his mouth to stop the yell. His heart pounded in his chest and a sense of pure panic invaded his stomach. Minutes drug on as he tried to calm himself. After he got his breathing under control, he decided he needed to see what damage was done. Assured no one would come into his cubicle he reopened the email.
The email loaded and this time he took a moment to inspect the pictures. There were three photos all taken with his cell phone. The subject of the photos was him, but that was not the problem. The issue was what he was wearing in the photos. They had all been taken for and posted to a transgender dating website. In them he wore a simple black dress with a fairly high hem. His freshly shaven legs were clad in fishnet stockings and 4-inch pump heels were on his feet. An auburn shoulder length wig framed his done up face. The expression his or rather her face was pure sex. Complete with smoky eye shadow and thick eyeliner.
The woman in the photos was not really Mark, it was Mark’s true self … Monica.
It was like a switched flipped deep in her brain and now she was Monica. Not physically, of course, sadly life was not that simple, but mentally Monica was there. She slowly scrolled further down the email to read the message under the pictures.
The message read, “I know your secret. If you don’t want to be exposed and fired you will be at the Airport Holiday Inn today at 7 pm dressed fully like the pictures. Be in room 418 ready by 7.” The message was signed simply Maxwell.
Monica closed the message, deleted it and then deleted it from the recycle bin. Her head was a whirl and she noticed her palms were sweating. She glanced at the clock on the computer and saw it was just after 3:30 PM. It had taken her awhile, to get anywhere near as prepared, as she was in those photos and she had not dressed in weeks. She would need all the time she could get.
After a quick email to her supervisor feeling a migraine coming on, she hurried out of the office and across the lot to her car. The commute home, usually bogged down by traffic, was smooth and quick. Once at her apartment she quickly started herself a bath.
Minutes later, warm steam rolled from the bath, coating the walls and the mirror in condensation. She slipped into the water and began to let the warmth penetrate her skin. The horrors of what Maxwell had discovered seemed to abate for a while, as she lay back breathing in the relaxing mist. She got lost in the routine of lathering up her legs and running the sharp razor down the length. Easily banishing away the course hair. She moved on to her arms and chest. She finished up with her crotch and felt the bath quickly cooling.
Seconds later, she stood in the bathroom toweling off as the water drained away. She plucked her lotion from beneath the sink and began to apply it evenly across her whole body. The cool air of her apartment caused goose bumps to form as she left the bathroom for the bedroom. She fished out a pair of panties and a bra from the bottom of her dresser and set them reverently on the bedspread. The fear of what Maxwell had discovered had taken backseat to the thrill of being able to dress as her again.
She went to the closet and found a black skirt along with a dark red halter style top. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she stepped in to the panties and pulled them up her perfectly smooth legs. She stood to tuck herself away and flattened the front as best she could. With that done, she put her arms through the bra and slipped it on. With a practiced motion, she reached back and did up the little clasp.
She bent down next to her bed and blindly rummaged around until her fingers fell on a plastic bin. With the bin on the bed, she opened it and carefully removed the cheap breast forms she had bought the previous summer. She returned to the bathroom and wiped away the remaining condensation. Carefully, she placed the form in the right bra cup and positioned it correctly. She repeated the process with the left and then tugged and pulled on her chest skin to create some cleavage.
Back in her bedroom, she tugged the skirt on and pulled on the top. The halter had thick straps, but a low cut front, displaying her faux cleavage quite well. She found a pair of pumps in her closet and placed them on the floor next to her bed.
In the bathroom again, she found her makeup bag and began to apply foundation. Then rouge, mascara, eye shadow and a muted red lipstick. She blew her done up face a kiss and returned to her bedroom. In the plastic container, she pulled out her auburn wig. She got a brush and began to work out the knots. Sitting on the edge of the bed as she worked she noticed the clock beside her bed read, “4:50.”