A Nice Simple Job

by: mirali



View Story Details

Revised version of my earlier story. Tried to clear up some of the inconsistencies (I know that I didn't get them all) and tidy up a few things. I left it a bit open-ended, but I think it's a good bit cleaner at the end than before. At least, I hope it is. Big thanks to everyone who reviewed the last one (especially Alice Kramden and Catfish), even the reviews of those who disliked it were polite and helpful. Fair warning though, if you hated it before, you probably still will. This revision is mostly for those who like it but thought it could be tightened up a bit. I hope this is an improvement. mirali ***** I knew as soon as the laptop bag left my hand that I should have just set it down by the door when I came in rather than tossing it onto the couch in frustration, but by then it was too late to do anything other than watch as it bounced, in that apparent slow-motion that is typical of this sort of mistake, off the overstuffed cushion and landed on the hardwood floor with a solid "THUD". "God damnit!" It had been that kind of day, well, week really. OK, month and a half. Thankfully the padded bag seemed to have protected the laptop from any obvious damage, but either the thud or my swearing had been loud enough to bring my roommate Billie in from the back porch. Billie wasn't actually my roommate if you wanted to be technical about it. She was both my housemate and landlord. When I first moved into the city, I'd posted an ad on an internet bulletin board seeking an apartment and she had responded saying that she had been looking for someone to rent a room in her townhouse. I'd been skeptical at first, the idea of living with a woman seemed like it would invite trouble, but Billie had insisted that I at least come to see the house first. I had to admit that the layout was perfect. The townhouse was solidly built and the bedrooms, which each had their own private bath, were on separate floors. It worked out to us each having our own living level (Billie insisted on the third floor while I would have the second, which had led to a bad joke about her being "on top"), and sharing the kitchen and living rooms on the first floor. Of course, I'd be lying if I said that Billie herself wasn't a strong argument in favor of accepting her offer. She stood perhaps 5'5" or 5'6" and was slender, with the sort of pleasing proportions that find a happy middle ground between resembling Olive Oil from the old Popeye cartoons and resembling Jessica Rabbit. In short, she had the look of a woman with whom one would want to settle down rather than ravish and even though she was in her early 40s, her attractiveness had not yet begun to fade. One look and a person knew that Billie was the sort of woman who could get a man to tell her everything, from his most embarrassingly lascivious thoughts to his deepest fears. I liked her immediately. Billie's physical attractiveness was matched by a sharp and well-trained mind and in short order we settled into a close, though strictly platonic, friendship. It may have been a subconscious awareness of our age difference (I had only just turned the corner on 29) that kept things platonic, but things just naturally seemed to stay easily away from that direction despite our occasional flirting. "Another rough day then, Aaron?" I sighed, "Yeah. Another day of postponed meetings and ridiculous feature demands. You know, when I got into software I thought it would be fun; I figured that it would be a truly logical field. Instead I've ended up building systems that don't do anything useful other than helping companies cover their asses. If that's not enough, the business side of things always seems to think that custom software can be programmed in a couple of hours with no effort at all; they refuse to believe that no software can eliminate the need for people to know what they're doing." It was the same rant I'd indulged in many times before, but Billie always listened patiently. "Have you considered quitting," she asked, "I know that the job market is rough right now, but this corporate job is going to drive you insane hon. I can see it already and it's just not healthy for you. You know I would let you slide on the rent while you were between jobs and I'd even help you out if things got really bad for you." This was a new offer and I was a little taken aback. She must've noticed and continued, "Look, hon, you're a genius; I've lived with you long enough to know that. You're wasting away at that company; you're so fed up with everything at the end of the day that you don't have time to enjoy the money you earn. Trust me; you'd be much happier if you left that job." "Billie, I know. But it wouldn't be responsible of me to just leave; I've made a commitment to the company. Besides, I couldn't leave one job without having another one lined up. I mean, I appreciate your offer to help out, but I could never ask you to do that; it just wouldn't be right." "But you're not asking me Aaron. I offered." I smiled, "It amounts to the same thing Billie. If I had another job lined up it would be different, but I can't just let you subsidize my own irresponsibility. Of course," I joked, "there _are_ worse things than being a kept man, I suppose." She slapped my arm and grinned, "Kiddo, you wouldn't be able to keep up." Her face suddenly became thoughtful, "If you had another job lined up, would you really quit your current job?" "If I had a job lined up that would pay the bills and would have less stress while giving me more free time to pursue my own interests, I'd leave in an instant. You ought to know that by now, god knows I've complained enough. I've been floating my resume around for months now. No-one's hiring though." I sighed and continued, half to myself, "You know, sometimes I really wish I had simple job where I didn't have to think much; just punch the clock and be done with it. Of course, if I did something like that I'd never hear the end of it about 'wasted potential' and whatnot." Billie's thoughtful look deepened, "What do you mean by that?" "Billie, I may not be the genius you called me earlier, but we both know I'm smart and that if I had a nice simple job where I just punched the clock I'd spend all my time listening to people tell me how I was wasting my life and not living up to my potential. Sometimes I wish I didn't have to worry about that." For the briefest of moments I could have sworn that a smile ran through Billie's thoughtful expression, but it was there and gone so fast that I was sure I'd imagined it. Billie went on, "Do you really mean that? If you could find a simple job that was just showing up and having fun would you do it if you were suited for it and didn't have all that potential to worry about?" "Absolutely. But it's a moot point. Even if I didn't care about the potential, I'm overqualified for any job like that." Again, I imagined a smile passing through Billie's face, this time lingering for a moment longer in her eyes. "Now that I think about it, I've never seen your resume myself. Tell you what, Aaron. Give me a copy of your resume and I'll show it to some of my connections. When you get off work tomorrow, come down to my bar and I'll let you know if anything came up. If nothing else, you could stand to have a few drinks on the house. The scenery's not bad either," she said with a wink. Calling Billie's business a "bar" was somewhat less than accurate. While it was true that Billie did own (and earn a very generous living from) an establishment that served food and alcohol, "The Hot Box" was, in reality, a strip club. I remembered when Billie had first told me exactly what sort of business she owned; it was several months after I'd moved in and I didn't believe her at first. In fact, I had laughed. Billie didn't seem to care much for that reaction, "what's wrong with owning a strip club, Aaron?" "Nothing, nothing's wrong with it," I had admitted, still laughing a little, "it's just that you certainly don't fit the type of woman I'd normally picture at a strip club. I mean, one expects strip clubs to be run by sleazy old men and everyone knows that the women involved are ditzes with names like 'Keri Kanyons', or 'Misti Meadows' who prove the old joke that a woman's bust size is inversely proportional to her intelligence quotient." It was one of the only times I'd really seemed to upset her. We'd talked about it on a few other occasions, but I'd inevitably make some joke about bimbo strippers and she'd drop the subject. For my part I really didn't see why she got so bothered about it. Everyone knew that the sort of girls who'd work for a strip club weren't exactly the "intellectually gifted" type. I suppose I should have learned to avoid pointing out that truth, but I never did manage to resist it, no matter how many times Billie left in an annoyed huff. Oddly enough for a strip club owner (though not really that oddly if one had met Billie), "The Hot Box" actually had a positive reputation among local businesses. Even in our aborted conversations I'd learned enough to know that Billie treated her employees well and kept the drunks out; in fact, there hadn't been a single complaint filed against Billie's "bar" in its history, much less any actual incidents involving police. Somehow she managed to keep the place scrupulously aboveboard. Sure, there were the occasional rumors that some of the girls took money in return for more than lap dances, but Billie didn't arrange it and since even the rumor-mongers admitted that it never happened on the premises that meant it was all still thoroughly legal here in Rhode Island. In any case, if she was inviting me down to "The Hot Box", especially making jokes about ogling the "scenery", I figured that she must really desperate for ideas to get me at least out of the house; she'd certainly never invited me before. I'd never sought an invitation either; slightly dim, barely-legal girls, however physically attractive, were just not my cup of tea. "You're really inviting me to come down to the club? You know it's not really my kind of place." "Oh, come on Aaron. You could stand to loosen up for a while. Besides, the dancer's area is closed tomorrow anyway for a few renovations. Just call my phone when you get there and I'll let you in the back. We can talk in the back about your resume and I can keep an eye on the workmen and then you can head over to the bar and have a few drinks and mingle with some new people." "Oh joy, mingling with strip club patrons." I was sure that my face conveyed my enthusiasm. "Hey now, I don't put up with weirdoes or perverts in my club. The regulars are good people who simply deal with stress by coming out to the club instead of sitting at home trying to drink their way through Bacardi's entire rum production like you've been doing this past month." "Touché Billie, touché. I'll think about it and if I do decide to show up, I'll call you. That's the best I can do, OK?" "Some of the girls will probably be there hanging out too you know," Billie said with a smile. "It would do you some good to spend time talking with women closer to your own age than I am." "And just what would I have to discuss with a stripper," I asked, slightly exasperated, "I don't really expect 18-21 year olds to have strong opinions about the proper economic solutions to the current fiscal crisis and I'm not exactly up-to-date on my 'US Weekly' and 'Cosmo' gossip. Everyone knows that strippers aren't made to think much." Billie just smiled again, "Oh, I think you would be surprised at how much you'll have in common." I was running out of patience with Billie's apparent attempts to hook me up with one of her strippers and I decided that it was time to extricate myself from the conversation. "Maybe I would be surprised, Billie, but right now I just want to get some sleep. Tomorrow looks to be a long day so I'm going to turn in now so I can get an early start in the morning, OK?" I'd phrased it as a question, which was odd for me, but I let it pass as a result of being over- stressed. Billie gave me a very penetrating look for a moment and then relaxed into a smile, "OK Aaron. Just keep my request in mind." "OK, OK, fine." I grumbled heading up the stairs to my room, lugging my laptop with me so I could put the finishing touches on some more recommendations that a client would pay for, ignore, and then blame me for their decision to go against my advice. As I drifted off to sleep at one in the morning one last thought drifted through my head, "Must be nice to not have people expect much from you and be able to have a simple, easy job that doesn't leave a person with all this stress..." The antilock brakes made the tires skitter as I whipped my little sportscar into one of the parking stalls in the alley behind The Hot Box; today hadn't been any better than the last few days and on top of that I wasn't really sure why I'd taken Billie up on her request that I come down to her club. I suppose it was simply the knowledge that she wouldn't let it go if I didn't and a desire to just get it over with, which didn't improve my mood much at all. I knew Billie was there since I'd recognized her late-model Lexus a few spaces down; both it and my own S2000 standing out against the '90s econoboxes making up the rest of the cars parked along the alley. "Might as well get on with this." I muttered to myself as I got out of my car and pulled out my Blackberry to let Billie know that I was there. She'd given me grief about the Blackberry not being "cool" before but it was still the "professional" choice and I liked that it marked me as valuing function over flash. Just as I was certain my call was going to end up going to voicemail, Billie picked up. "Aaron! I hope this means you decided to come, a few of the girls are here too and they're excited to finally meet this reclusive housemate I've been telling them about!" I sighed. "Yes, I'm here. And I'm sure they're very excited about the prospect of meeting a smart man with a good job. Can you just open the door to let me in so we can go over things and I can get home?" I knew I was being short with her, but at this point I'd basically stopped caring. I'd just spent most of my day being yelled at by a client because testing was revealing that all the design choices they'd insisted on, choices I'd warned against, were buggy and causing delays. Apparently the problems came as a complete surprise to the client despite multiple in-person discussions and E-mails. In any case, I just wanted to get home and I resented Billie a bit for making me come here instead of just going home and spend the rest of the Friday night with my good old pal Johnny Walker. She seemed to brush it off. "I'm just working on some paperwork for a new employee, I'll send someone out to let you in and you can chat for a few minutes until I reach a good stopping point, OK?" "Sure Billie, fine." "Great! See you in a few!" The phone beeped as she disconnected and I glanced down to check my E-mail quickly. I could get away with not responding for a while since I was a Friday evening, but I always liked to make sure that I wasn't blindsided later on. The worst E-mails always came through just after six on a Friday anyway. I'd just pocketed the phone when the club's back door clunked open revealing a very attractive and very well-endowed redhead with a surprisingly intelligent and piercing look about her. "Mr. Michaels?" "Just call me Aaron," I said as I extended my hand in greeting, "You must be one of Billie's girls." "Allison," she said, shaking my hand, "and I'm actually one of Billie's business connections." She looked me square in the eye as she said so, her 5'11" frame allowing her to almost come off even with my own 6'1" statute. "I'm so sorry," I started to backpedal, "I didn't mean to imply that you were some bim..." She cut me off. "Don't worry, I'll choose to take it as a compliment to my appearance and let you off the hook - for now." She winked at me playfully. "Do come in though," she said as she ushered me through the door and into the back of The Hot Box. "So," I began, attempting to recover as we sat down together on one of the couches in a clear area of the back room, outside what I assumed was Billie's office. "What sort of business are you in?" "It's kind of hard to describe, but I suppose that most people would call it placement." I mentally kicked myself, realizing that Allison was probably the business connection that Billie wanted me to meet and I'd started out by implying that I thought she was a stripper and a bimbo. Fantastic. But she seemed to be gracious about it so I plunged ahead trying hard to avoid staring at Allison's substantial cleavage. "So people who are looking for jobs come to you?" "Actually, companies who are looking for the perfect employee come to me and I make sure that they find such a person. I work for the companies, not the job seekers." "I can see how that would be valuable right now with companies having to sift through all those resumes. That's sort of why I'm here today, actually..." "Oh?" Allison smiled, continuing with a smirk "You applying to dance then?" I chuckled, "Not exactly. Billie's a friend of mine and my current job is slowly killing me with stress. She asked me to come by today and talk about my resume. She mentioned talking with some of her connections about it too. Is that why she asked you to drop by today?" "Well, sort of. Mostly I'm helping her make sure the new person is the right fit." "How hard is it to find hot girls with empty heads?" Billie's voice came from behind me. "Harder than you'd think, Aaron, but Allison's going to help with that and with your problem too." I cringed a bit, realizing that I shouldn't have let that comment slip through, even if it was what how I thought of strippers, and now I was going to end up in another one of those terse discussions with Billie about how, yes, I really did think I was above such people and, no, I didn't think I was being unfair to say so. Allison and I both stood and headed into Billie's office as I made a stuttering attempt at an apology to Billie, claiming irritability from stress and fumbling more than I normally would have under the judgmental glares both women were aiming in my direction. Things could have been going better. I was still stumbling through my apology/excuse as Billie sat down behind her desk, interrupting me while Allison closed the door behind us. "So, Aaron, 'hot girls with empty heads'? Is that all you think my girls are?" Yup. We were going to have this discussion again. I looked over at Allison who had moved to stand beside where Billie was seated. In another situation I would have offered to stand while she took the chair across from Billie, but the look Allison was giving me seemed to indicate that she was exactly where she wanted to be, looking down on me. "Look, Billie, you know I don't think there's anything wrong with being dim. It's not like I blame the girls for being bimbos, but come on, you can't pretend that exotic dancing isn't one of the simplest jobs in the world." I knew I shouldn't be this blunt about what I thought but based on the look Allison had been giving me since we'd walked into Billie's office I figured that the situation wasn't salvageable anyway, so I decided not to worry. Besides, blowing off some steam felt good. "One of the simplest jobs in the world? Isn't that just what you said you wished you could have last night?" Billie's tone shifted from annoyed to slightly amused, though Allison's "I can see into your soul" glare didn't falter for even a second. "Like I just said, Billie, there's nothing wrong with this job." "So, it's something you'd do?" Billie's amusement seemed to be increasing as the conversation went on. I couldn't help but wonder why Allison was staying to watch our little back and forth, but I guess it must have been a little interesting even if the tall redhead wasn't showing any amusement. "Sure Billie. Because your patrons are going to want to watch a man in his late 20s strip. Besides, even if I were a hot woman we both know that I'd be far overqualified for this sort of job given my education and intellect." "So, even though there's nothing wrong with it, you wouldn't ever do such a job." "Of course not, Billie. I'm not suited for it. I'm a little too old and a LOT too male and smart to start in this sort of job." Allison coughed softly and I swear that an amused look went across her face briefly as I continued, "I mean, what's this new girl you're doing paperwork for like? Compare her information to mine; and I guarantee that she and I will have nothing at all in common." "So if you were suited for the job, you'd do it?" I laughed, "Sure. Why not. But, like I said, I'm not. You know full well that new girl and I are very different. "Actually Aaron, I don't really know anything about the new person I'll be hiring, I was just getting paperwork ready because Allison said she'd be able to give me a good lead today." "Fine then. Allison, you describe the girl you were going to talk with Billie about. I guarantee that she and I are entirely different. I'm just not suited for simple work." Allison smiled broadly. I should have taken that as a bad sign and fled. In retrospect, I wish I had. But I didn't. I was tired. I was overconfident. I was annoyed that I'd been drawn into this recurring argument and that I'd had to come down to a strip club on my Friday evening. "You're right Aaron, and I also guarantee that the two of you are completely different" Allison chuckled, turning towards Billie, "Now, Billie, I know that you were looking for someone to basically run the business for you as a full on manager, and that's the person I came down to talk with you about initially." I started laughing, "OK, I get it. Joke's on me." "Oh, no Aaron," Allison laughed again, "not yet. But it will be. See, you really are entirely different from the management material person I came here to talk with Billie about. In fact, you two really have only one thing in common but we'll get to that in just a bit." "Huh? That doesn't make any sense. Besides, I was talking about comparing myself with one of the dancers." "That's not what I heard you say, Aaron." Billie giggled. "I heard you guarantee that you'd have nothing in common with the person that Allison came here to talk with me about. So let's see what Allison thinks about that." I realized now that Billie was going to play the whole thing out. Allison was going to end up describing the woman and I was going to be almost exactly like her and Billie would turn it into a lecture about how I shouldn't judge. Oh well. Best to ride it out. "OK, fine. You win Billie." I sighed. "Allison, go ahead and describe this girl I have nothing in common with." "Oh, this is going to be even more fun than I thought," Allison giggled as Billie sat there looking oddly expectant. "Let's start out with how different you are physically..." "Wonderful," I thought, "she's going to run through a bunch of superficial areas where we're different first just to rub it in." I mentally shook my head and decided just to bear it. I'd made my bed and now I was just going to have to put up with things. Allison kept going, "For starters, Allan is quite tall. Just a bit taller than I am actually. And you're quite a lot shorter than that." I felt a bit disoriented for a second and then started laughing. "I get it." I cleared my throat, my voice sounding off. "Very funny. But come on Allison, you walked me in here. You know I'm taller than you by at least a couple inches." "Is that so? I could have sworn you were shorter than I am by about a foot. How about you stand up and prove me wrong?" "This is ridiculous. Fine." I stood up and walked smartly over to Allison only to find that I was eye-level with her chest. It certainly wasn't a bad view, but something was very wrong. And not just because my voice still seemed off I looked around the room, which seemed to be much larger now. Billie was still seated behind her desk but eyeing me with amusement. "Something wrong, Erin?" "I just... I could have sworn that I was taller than Allison..." I didn't understand why my voice sounded so much smoother than normal. "Well Erin, let's think about this, how tall are you?" This was ridiculous. Billie knew that I was 6'1" and I opened my mouth to say so, "I'm 4 foot 11 inches." Wait, that wasn't right... "I mean, I'm 4'11"! Wait..." I knew that was wrong. "Billie, something's wrong. I can't say how tall I am..." "It sounds to me like you can. Allison's 5'11" and you're about a foot shorter, so 4'11" is right." "Well, OK, if Allison's really 5'11" then I guess I would be right about 4'11"... But wasn't I taller? And that still doesn't explain why my voice sounds funny..." I trailed off, something in the back of my mind bothering me. "Wait, did you call the new girl 'Allan'?" Allison laughed. "I never said I was here to talk with Billie about a woman. The person I'm recommending for the managing job is a man. And since I don't want either of us to be a liar, I'm just making sure that you truly are completely different from him." The pieces started falling into place in my mind, but I wished they hadn't. Allan was tall. And I'd said that I was "completely different" from him. So now I was short. Somehow I'd changed so that my guarantee, and Allison's, was true. That wasn't good. I started to turn towards the door to flee when the final piece fit in. Allan was a man... "Oh no..." I looked down at myself, noticing for the first time that my Brooks Brothers suit was now a woman's suit, from Ann Taylor, I found myself remembering; at least it was still a very no-nonsense grey and well-tailored to fit my modest frame. I looked over at the mirror across the room (why hadn't I noticed that before?), seeing a very petite but professional woman. Dark brown hair, mild curves, overall on the attractive side of average but not a woman who'd make every man nearby stare. "I think she has an idea of what's going on now, Allison." I could hear the laughter in Billie's voice, especially when she emphasised my new gender. "Yes, I think she does," Allison replied. "Want to see something fun?" She turned towards me, "So, how about you tell us your name." I didn't want to answer, but I couldn't seem to help myself, "Erin Elizabeth Michaels. Wait..." Allison grinned, "Can't have you going around with a man's name, now can we sweetie? I guess I should tell her more about Allan..." "No! Uh, I mean that's OK. I understand now and I'll stop bothering both of you." Whatever was going on, I wanted out of there, and fast. I gripped the knob to open the door and run out of Billie's office but it wouldn't budge. I kept trying. Allison's laughter was not comforting, "Oh, Erin, you can't leave now. If I don't finish telling you all about Allan, you'll never be sure that your guarantee was accurate. And, more importantly, I'm not leaving my guarantee unfinished." I really didn't like where this seemed to be going and I wasn't about to stop trying to get away. I didn't let up on working the doorknob, hoping against hope that it would open. I could hear the smile in Billie's voice. "You wanted a less stressful job without having to worry about wasted potential and I was going to help you, I really was. But you just couldn't stop insulting the girls who work for me and I think that you need to see things from a different point of view. You're still going to get help, just in a different way. Allison, I think that she needs to hear more about Allan." "My pleasure. So, Allan's not only quite tall, but he's very masculine. Almost as masculine as you are feminine, Erin." There was that brief disorientation again and just like before I didn't feel anything obvious about the change, but I'd caught on by now. Looking over at the mirror confirmed that I was definitely different again. Before I'd not been wearing any makeup; now I clearly was, along with jewelry. Tasteful and professional makeup and jewelry to be sure, but it was clear that the woman in the mirror embraced her femininity. My suit was still Ann Taylor too, but now it was red, and my body's curves, while still modest, were noticeably more pronounced. I'd gone from mildly attractive to borderline hot. "If we stopped here you'd definitely be quite the looker in any office, but we need to make good on that guarantee, don't we?" Allison was clearly enjoying this. "You should hear Allan's voice, it's so deep and assertive..." "I've learned my lesson?! Oh god, I sound like a teenage girl on helium?!" There was no way that this voice would ever be called authoritative, especially with the way the inflection seemed to keep rising at the end of my sentences. "Oh Erin, that's adorable, but it's not a terribly professional voice." Billie was just sitting back and smiling as Allison kept rubbing my face in the changes, "But I suppose that's not a problem, after all, since it's Allan who's always so professional; very different from your 'good time' style. Oh, and just so you know, this whole trying to open the door thing is getting old. How about you just walk over and check yourself out in the mirror like a good little girl instead." I knew that I should be pounding on the door, anything to try to get out of there before things got even worse for me, but I for some reason I turned around and walked over to the mirror, a bit stunned at the woman who looked back at me. The professional pants suit was gone, in its place were a pair of impossibly tight shorts that extended no more than a couple of inches below my obviously smooth crotch. The blouse and jacket had been reduced to a midriff-baring halter top (displaying what the old me would have considered a delightfully sexy navel piercing) and while my makeup wasn't overdone the style was certainly more seductive than office- appropriate. I felt a bit taller too, which excited me until I realised it was due to the pair of 4" platform heels I was now wearing. I couldn't help but stare. The stunned reaction came unconsciously to my lips, "I'm dressed like a frat boy's dream..." Allison giggled, "That's certainly a very young look you have there, honey. But that makes sense I suppose. After all, Allan's middle-aged and you're what, 17?" "I'm 18 and you know it!" I protested, stamping my foot. I knew that should have reacted more maturely, but somehow the childish response had felt appropriate. My surprise at the immature mannerism momentarily distracted me from the fact that I'd just said I was 11 years younger than I should have and Allison continued before I had a chance to try to correct the mis-statement. "It's a shame that you're so much younger than Allan, you know. You'd just love his dark, intense, intelligent looks." I watched in the mirror as my hair turned from dark brown to light brown, running through dishwater blonde before ending up platinum. My eyes widened a little, becoming bright blue as my lips plumped slightly and my nose shrunk just a bit into the classic button nose. The latest changes had definitely ensured that people's first reaction to me would never be "high-level businesswoman." Instead I looked cute and chipper; the sort of girl you'd expect to see skipping through a park singing Disney songs (turning on every man around without realizing it) and who probably had one of those Barbies that exclaimed "Math is hard!" when she was a child. "Speechless are we? You know, you'd probably like Allan despite the difference in age. The only way you're both alike is that you're both incredibly attractive, though he's never had any cosmetic surgery, unlike your two obvious enhancements." Allison's knowing smirk was annoying, but mostly I was disconcerted from watching my breasts expand significantly. "Really?" I sighed as I felt the weight on my chest build, realizing that the halter top did not make a particularly effective support garment even if it did make my new chest look absolutely spectacular. Billie smiled, "Yes Erin, really. How big are those things anyway sweetie?" "32G! Guys just love them!" Why the hell had I added that? "I mean, I don't want guys to love them?" I was trying to protest, but my new voice made my denial sound halfhearted and uncertain. Allison just winked at me, "Are you sure about that, Erin? Allan's definitely into women and we all know why you got those implants..." I found myself blushing as the thought that boys just didn't pay as much attention to girls who only had B-cups ran into my mind, along with the realization that thinking about men was suddenly causing more than my face to feel a bit warm. This time Billie laughed aloud. "Well Allison, it sure looks like Erin here has all the physical qualifications for that open dancer position, doesn't it?" Allison just smiled and Billie went on, "Well Erin, what do you say? Men will definitely want to watch you strip now, with that hot little body and those incredible tits of yours." She looked at me expectantly as I stood, staring back at the mirror with my mind reeling as I wondered how I was going to get myself out of this. "If you don't want to answer, I can always keep describing Allan for you." Allison's comment pulled my mind back from the hot-but-ditzy-looking girl in the mirror and I spun around, wondering why the inertia of my new breasts seemed strange until I realised that the body I was currently stuck in was only 18. Even in this new reality I couldn't have had "the girls" for very long, which probably explained why they were the only part of me that felt a little weird despite the massive changes I'd just gone through. "No!" I was really beginning to hate this new voice; I knew that I could explain Einstein's theory of Special Relativity perfectly people would still think I was a ditz. "Well then?" Billie was looking at me with anticipation. It wasn't comforting and I looked away as she continued, "You're certainly not going to be able to go back to your old job as you are right now..." She was right, of course. I couldn't very well walk into the client's offices on Monday looking like an empty-headed sorority girl. Not only would I obviously not pass as myself, I couldn't even claim to be a hastily-procured replacement due to an emergency. There was just no way anyone would believe this body was old enough to have graduated from college, let alone had the time to develop experience in the software industry. Hell, with this body I'd be lucky to pass myself off as a secretarial intern. "Just because I can't go back to the job I had doesn't mean I should work as a stripper!" I protested. "But Erin, I thought you'd said there was nothing wrong..." "There isn't," I interjected, ignoring the slightly annoyed look Allison was giving me for interrupting Billie, "but even if I'm stuck in this 18- year-old sex-kitten body I'm still overqualified for this. No matter what you make me look like I'm not some oversexed bimbo!" I regretted it the instant the words left my mouth. Billie gave me a long, hard look before she spoke, and when she did, her voice was tight. "It sounds like someone still has a bit more to learn. You know, initially I was going to offer something like this to you as a vacation, a chance for you to get away for a while. But you just couldn't let it go. Every time we talked about the club, you'd eventually make some sexist comment about girls with "more silicone than brains" or something similar until I finally decided that I'd had enough." She sighed slightly and continued, "I was hoping that by this point you'd have at least had the foresight to stop insulting my girls, but that seems not to be the case. Even if what you thought were true, that doesn't mean you can go around acting as though such girls are beneath you. So consider what's about to happen to be the "remedial" course since you're obviously not following along fast enough. Allison, looks like this one's going all the way." Allison actually giggled, "Not yet Billie, but I'm sure that by the time we're done she will be. Frequently." I didn't like how much Allison seemed to be excited by Billie's recent comments and I started to protest only to be immediately shushed, "It's too late for that dear. Didn't you understand what Billie just said? Anyway, just sit down over there like a good little girl and we'll get things moving again, OK?" Just like when she'd told me to stop fighting with the locked door, I found myself obeying naturally, walking gracefully across the room despite the platform heels and settling into the chair across from Billie. I crossed my legs at the thighs with my right foot in the air allowing the cute little platform heel to dangle a little. It registered that this wasn't my normal posture, but it felt comfortable now so I just let it go. The ease with which I'd moved in these heels amazed me, and the fact that my walk now had an obvious sway to it did not escape my notice. This body certainly had the grace to be a dancer even if I'd never actually stoop to something like that. "That's better dear. You know, I can't believe I never noticed just how professional Allan's name sounds. I mean, 'Allan James Price' just sounds like someone who'd be an intelligent man. Certainly not at all like your name. I'll bet that even before middle school all the boys were telling you that you had a stripper name." "Krissy Cummings is NOT a stripper name! Wait, I'm not Erin, I'm Krissy! No, I mean, I'm Krystal Scarlett Cummings but everyone calls me Krissy! Why did you change my name again?" "Just calm down sweetie. I'd have thought by now you'd have figured out that the changes don't happen until I've told you about Allan. I know that Allan's extensive post-graduate education is far beyond what you've had, but even a high school dropout like you should have been able to figure that out." This time I felt more dizzy than disoriented and I blinked a few times before shaking my head and responding, "This is silly, you know I've had lots of school and stuff." I'd wanted to say that it was ridiculous and that I had my MBA, but the words seemed to have gotten lost between my brain and my mouth. I could still see myself in the mirror and the vacant and confused look in my young face only made my frustration greater. Unfortunately, the reaction to that was to bite my lower lip and play with a strand of my hair, which certainly didn't make me look any less dim. "I really find that hard to believe, hon. Tell, me, what degree did you receive and where do you say you matriculated?" "Matri-wha?" I knew that I should understand the term, but something was keeping it beyond me and I just stared at Allison. "Matriculated, dear. It means enrolled." My blank look persisted and she continued, "I'm asking where you went to college." "Why didn't you just say that? It ain't like you hafta use fancy words n' stuff." There was something about my grammar and diction that was bothering me. I knew that I shouldn't be talking like that but it just came out. And why hadn't I been able to understand what "matriculated" meant? "I'm sorry dear. I'll try to remember to use words you'll understand. But you still haven't told me where you went to college and what degree you received sweetie." "You don't gotta be so condesce - con-duh... You don't gotta talk down to me!" Why was it suddenly so hard for me to find the right words and why did I keep screwing up my grammar? My speech was making me sound as though I really hadn't graduated from high school. Allison was looking at me with a smile that might have seemed almost like pity if it weren't so obviously concealing enjoyment on her part and I knew that she'd just keep pressing me for an answer. "I went to..." My mind went suddenly blank. "I mean, I graduated college from, uh..." No matter how much I searched my memory I couldn't remember the name of the college I'd graduated from. It was just, gone. I couldn't even remember going to college. When I thought about school, all I could think of was failing the 9th grade a couple of times before finally getting into 10th grade classes and then dropping out as soon as I'd turned 18. But I couldn't let Allison know that. I just couldn't let her win this one even though she seemed to be getting impatient with me. "Alma Mater and degree?" I could see Allison gearing up for another explanation and I cut her off rather than let her lord my newfound vocabulary troubles over me. "Yeah, I went to Alma Mater! And got my, uh, MBNA!" Something seemed wrong about that but those were college-y terms, right? Allison's laughter suggested otherwise. "Oh honey, that's adorable." I was fuming, or trying to anyway. The mirror suggested that I was simply pouting. "Alma Mater is just a term for the college from which a person graduated; it's not the name of any college. And 'MBNA' is a bank. The degree is an 'MBA.' How about you just be a good little girl and tell me the truth, OK? I promise that neither Billie nor I will judge you." "I flunked the 9th grade a coupla times and then quit b'fore I finished 10th 'cause I turned 18." In the back of my mind I knew that this was wrong, but it was all I could remember. And even though I knew I shouldn't be speaking like that, it just felt right. "There. Wasn't that better easier? And there's nothing wrong with not being able to finish school. Not everyone can have a genius IQ like Allan's." I was briefly dizzy again and I suddenly felt a little foggy, a bit like I was coming out of anaesthesia at the dentist's. I shook my head to try to clear it a bit, but the slightly disconnected feeling wouldn't go away. I was still hoping that the mental fog would clear when I realised what she'd implied about my IQ. "Um, Allison? I, like, do so have a high IQ! I totally coulda finished school if I wanted. I just, like, thought it was boring n' stuff." "Really, hon? I seem to remember that the schools around here make the students take an IQ test in the 10th grade, do you remember your score?" "Um. I think it was like an 85 or something. That's pretty good, isn't it? I mean, it's totally a B n' stuff!" In the back of my mind I knew that was wrong, that the IQ scale didn't work that way, but it was difficult for me to focus on that and even when I tried to express it, I just couldn't for some reason. All I could do was sit there in the chair looking eagerly at Billie and Allison as though I actually were applying for a job as a stripper and desperately wanted it. "85 is only at the lowest edge of average sweetie. Oh, don't look so sad, it's not like you're retarded or anything, you're just a bit dimmer than, well, almost everyone. I really don't know why you protested so much about college though. I'd expect something like that from Allan, after all, he's very assertive and hard-to-fool, but I have to admit that I'm surprised you were so insistent about it." A little part of me was still aware enough of what was going on cringe internally as she said that, but mostly I was just suddenly absolutely shocked by what I'd just done. After all, I was just a silly little girl and these women were obviously much smarter than I was. Even though I knew I shouldn't be feeling so subservient, I opened my mouth to stammer out an apology. Before I could get a word out though, Billi hushed me. "Well Krissy, I guess that just about covers what you need to know about Allan." As silly as it sounds, relief flooded through me as Allison smiled at Billie and turned to leave; at least this was finally done and things weren't going to get worse for me. I mean, yes, I was trapped in a body that all but screamed "fuck me" and my speech and mannerisms may as well have been ordered up by a horny teenage jock but at least I wasn't a stripper. "Oh, silly me, Billie, you probably won't want to hire Allan after all. It completely slipped my mind earlier, but Allan's a bit of a prude. One of those 'no sex before marriage' types. The poor guy's probably never even horny! Anyway, working in a strip club is probably the last thing he'd ever want to do." With that, Allison walked out of the room. I just sat there, across from Billie, my now-pierced nipples suddenly erect and obvious through my halter top as my mind filled with thoughts of just how much fun it would be if I could dance at Billie's club. Even though I could still remember what had happened, I just couldn't make myself focus on the man I used to be. The echoes of Aaron were there, but Krissy's thoughts and feelings were overpowering. Billie seemed to be sizing me up and I swallowed nervously, noticing for the first time that Allison's final comment seemed to have given me a tongue stud as well. A realization which triggered a cascade of thoughts from Krissy that suddenly made me very damp and I fidgeted a little in the chair. Finally, Billie spoke. "Well Krissy, if you want it, the dancer position is yours. You know," she winked at me, "I know a man who would say that you are exactly the perfect sort of girl for this job." "OHMIGAWD! Really?! That's soooo awesome!" I practically leapt out of my chair, causing much bouncing of silicone, and it was only after a couple of excited squeals that the rest of what she'd said sunk in. "Is this guy, like, cute? 'Cuz I could totally show him a good time n' stuff..." I trailed off realizing what I was saying, "Uh, to, you know, thank him for makin' you think I'm perfect n' stuff..." I couldn't believe it. I was trying to play coy. Krissy's impulses were really starting to drown out what was left of me. "I'm sorry sweetie, he tends to think girls like you are beneath him. Although, I suppose that if you do a really good job and stay out of trouble I might be able to bring him around and we'll see if he's changed his mind." "That's, like, too bad for him 'cuz he'd have a lot of fun with me beneath him." I giggled, pleased with how clever I'd been. Something at the back of my mind kept telling me that there was more to what Billie was saying than Krissy's brain was picking up, but the excitement over my new job and thoughts of being beneath a strong man kept me from holding onto it. Oh well, it couldn't have been that important. After all, a girl like me wasn't really made to think much, right?

Good story? Or room for improvement? Please review!

Read Reviews Add Review Report Inappropriate Story

The above work is the copyrighted material of the respective author. If you would like to archive it elsewhere, please contact the author and ask permission first, unless noted otherwise in their story.

For further details on Fictionmania's policy, please read this disclaimer.



