3. Office Politics – Going up
“This would normally be seen as an Induction and Orientation session,” said Ms Halliday as she ushered Owen into a small, glass-sided meeting room, “except you’re already familiar with the building and have had your re-Orientation.” While she went to order some coffees, he was dismayed by the number of staff walking past who’d pause to gawp at him. He was obviously something of an attraction. Either that or an oddity since he recognised some from his stint as a mail boy: previously they’d never given him a first glance let alone a second.
Ms Halliday returned with their coffees. There was a faint jingle as she sat down opposite him. His induction didn’t take long. Ms Halliday instructed him about the duties of an Office Sissy. He felt badly unprepared for some aspects of the work. She talked about standards of dress and said that other items of work wear would be delivered to his home. He would have discretion about how to mix-and-match and accessorize them. Then she took him down to the open-plan office of the Secretarial Pool and introduced him to Pam, his new Supervisor. Pam showed him to an empty desk with just a telephone, an empty In-Tray and Out-Tray, and an old-fashioned manual typewriter. He couldn’t help noticing that the other girls had keyboards and large screens at their desks.
She left him sitting at his desk with nothing to do. It was embarrassing. Other members of the Pool were busy or clustered around giggling. The girls were passing something between them. There were all clearly in on some private joke. When Pam entered, they went back to their desks and someone pinned a piece of paper to a noticeboard. Pam passed out work and instructions but not to him. Rather than sit idly, he went over to the noticeboard to see the source of their merriment.
Owen was horrified. It was a photograph. A photograph of him in the B&K dorm with Joshua. He’d been caught on a security camera. B&K must have shared the photograph with Lumina. He ran to the Men’s Room before making a hasty exit and going next door to the Ladies’ Room. He hid in a cubicle. He had no idea that he been photographed. He panicked about where else he might have been photographed. Had the security cameras caught him with Ms Bramley. Had Ms Bramley photographed him with Geoffrey? She’d often stayed to watch. Embarrassment turned to panic: explaining his feminisation to his mother yesterday had been one thing, but explaining his new-found preferences would be quite another.
It took a while for Pam to coax him out. She insisted that he fix his make-up and remove the teary streaks of mascara running down his cheeks. Rather than return him to the Pool, she took him for an early lunch in the canteen. Once again, he found eyes fastened on him. Pam assured him that the photograph had only been posted so that the girls could be sure of his orientation: they weren’t used to having a male member of the Pool. Most of the secretaries had boyfriends and those who didn't needed to know not to waste time on him. She promised him an assignment that afternoon. It would be with her. She wanted to break him in gently.
Over the next few weeks, Owen slowly worked his way up. After being introduced to each of the girls in the Pool, and when Pam was comfortable with his conduct and performance, he worked his way through Middle Management, then Senior Management. Duties were not too onerous although he needed to rub cream on his knees most evenings. He was getting seriously worried that he might chip his teeth but that could wait for his debrief with Ms Bramley.
A major problem persisted that he still didn’t understand his role in the Secretarial Pool. He was only ever given menial tasks to do. Some days it was filing, although the manager often preferred he spend time filing his nails or theirs since actual filing kept proving problematic.
He was already on his second performance improvement interview with Pam and HR. HR was baffled why managers kept asking him to do their filing. During his recruitment interview, he'd shown himself to be fairly inept. He might know the alphabet, but his attempts at filing usually left two drawers bulging: F and R. Reports, irrespective of the client name, all ended up in the drawer labelled 'R’ for 'Report', while everything else was filed under 'F' for 'Filing'.
It left Owen a bit flummoxed when managers would search in a client's folder and exclaim: "There's no effing report!"
He'd say to himself, "Of course, not. I may be a sissy, but I know how Report is spelt: R-E-P-O-R-T. There's no F in it. How could senior people not know that?" At least he knew where something else needed fitted and filing. Like desk and cabinet drawers, Owen liked a smooth, gliding action. There were rarely complaints, and he left with a smile on his face.
Some days managers asked for dictation but they seemed happy to dictate and let Copilot transcribe their thoughts into documents and letters. All he was left to do was to edit out all the Oooh!s and Aaah!s and Just there!s from the computer’s text after spending the dictation session beneath the manager’s desk.
He was getting better known around the building. Even those with whom he’d not become better ‘acquainted’: he could hear them talking behind his back. Today was no exception. He could hear senior executives whispering to each other when he was leaving the lift. “Is that the new boy in the Secretarial Pool?” Was that jingling he heard as well? It couldn’t be their jewellery. Them too, it seemed. He’d find out when he was eventually allowed on the top floor.
“One of my directors says he’s bloody useless at secretarial work.”
“But I’ve heard he’s very good at other things.”
“Don’t whisper, I mean he’s a fucking sissy. He knows what we’re gonna do with him.”
“I’m told he may with us in a couple of weeks. He’s working his way up.”
“He can work his way up me any time,” another giggled.
“Remember we can go up him: Executive perks.”
“Sounds like his perks too.” More giggles.
Every day when he got home his mother asked him the same question: “How was work today, Owen?”
“OK, mum,” was his usual brief reply. How could he tell her how and where he spent most of his time at work? How could he tell her about the intelligence he was gathering for B&K?
4. Office Politics – Annual Sissy
Eventually Pam considered Owen was ready to rise to the heights of the C-Suite corridor. The senior executives had all heard a lot about him and were keen to get better acquainted with the new Office Sissy. Today he was being introduced to new VP who’d recently joined from a Swedish competitor.
“But, I thought he was a girl,” said the new executive. Owen kept his eyes down, avoiding eye contact like he’d been instructed. He could glimpse that she was wearing a grey trouser suit and sensible heels. How boring?! And trousers could be such a nuisance.
‘A girl’! She thought he was a girl. That was a confidence boost. At least he was meeting one of the criteria that Ms Bramley had described in a top-flight B&K Boy. She expected a B&K Boy to have a certain “Je ne sais quoi”, although in her dog-French she often misquoted it as “Je ne sais cock.” God he needed some. It had been two months since he’d had any. Two months since Geoffrey. His Hummingbird was proving a poor substitute for the real thing.
Pam performed the introductions: “This is our Sissy Boy, Owen. We used to hire a sissy each year for our own pleasure and entertainment from a company called Bergman & Knightley, but thought we should invest in one we can mould. So Owen here had just started in postal, very cute, very sweet, very polite and absolutely useless at everything, so we swapped up his contract a few months ago, made it so tight and then sent him off to Bergmans and two months ago this hot little bitch came back. He is still totally useless at anything really, but looks hot as hell, smells wonderful and has the most amazing tongue.”
“Really?” replied the new VP. “I feel we should get better acquainted. I’m sure you can’t be that useless.”
“Perhaps you can help Mrs Ericsson settle in, Owen?” suggested Pam.
“Certainly,” said Owen. “Just let me know when you’d like me to come.”
“Oh, I will. Very soon,” the VP replied. “I just need to get my feet under the table.” Owen looked up. There was something in what Mrs Ericsson said that aroused his curiosity and more. He looked her in the eye despite Pam’s instructions.
Mrs Ericsson gave him a knowing look. “Come back after lunch, at say two o’clock, and you can help me unbox my bits. I have one or two items that might interest a secretary like you.”
On his way back down to the Secretarial Pool, Owen found it difficult to contain both his annoyance and his excitement. He couldn’t believe the words Pam had used about him. Is that what she and others really thought: ‘absolutely useless’, ‘totally useless’. Useless! Ms Halliday had said was useless at the interview and ‘fucking useless’ as a Mail Boy. But that was as a Mail Boy. He’d even overheard one of the Executives in the lift the other day describing him as ‘bloody useless’. If he was so useless, why was he proving so popular and in demand? He’d show them.
But then again Pam had also said he was a ‘hot little bitch’ and had an ‘amazing tongue’. He felt some reassurance in being described as a ‘hot little bitch’. Hot! That was nice. Every time he looked in a mirror he thought he looked hot. ‘Little bitch’ was nice too in its own way, although he’d have preferred ‘tight bitch’ or ‘tight little bitch’. Still she wasn’t to know that given how neglected he felt in that area. ‘Amazing tongue’ was good too: all his training with Ms Bramley was paying off. If only she’d given him some lessons in other secretarial skills. He was starting to wonder what Mrs Ericsson might have in her box.
5. Office Politics – Working Late
The next few weeks were rather a blur for Owen, partly because his glasses were perpetually steamed up during working hours, but mainly because top executives like Mrs Ericsson proved very demanding. It was clear why they’d reached that level: their requirements were never ending and exhaustive. For the first time since starting as the Office Sissy, Owen found his exhaust fully tested.
Pam was pleased with him. His hours increased significantly. Mrs Ericsson proved to be a regular customer although she had to compete for his services. She’d settled in quite nicely at Lumina, although chiefly into Owen. “Just to let you know, you will be working late tonight,” she’d said to him that morning in the lift. “You’ll have to slot me into your busy schedule.” Owen was very happy to fill that slot. Part of him still yearned to fill it the way he once might have wanted but he knew that was never going to happen. Anyway he was finding the other way to be much nicer. He was the Office Sissy and, if the Execs were he happy to oblige, he wasn’t going to say no. Still, some forewarning of Mrs Ericsson’s demands was helpful. He would be able to call his mother to say he wouldn’t be home in time for tea. Mrs Peters was delighted with the extra pay her son was starting to bring home from all the overtime, although she worried about how tired he seemed. Nowadays he wasn’t getting home till quite late and was often called in at weekends. Obviously he was working hard but he seemed to go into work each morning with a spring in his step. He must be enjoying his job. She was so happy that he seemed to have settled in at Lumina.
Owen’s increased hours and exertions meant that something else had to give. He found that he had very limited time to go shopping. He resorted to using B&K On-line to order an ‘upgraded’ Hummingbird. He needed something better than his current one. Well not better, just bigger. He couldn’t afford the embarrassment of it slipping out again like it had one evening on the bus home after a particularly energetic overtime session with Ms Ericsson. Even with Geoffrey and Ms Bramley he’d never had that problem with his Hummingbird M. Rather than a Hummingbird L, he decided to step up to the XL to be on the safe side. There would still be the option of augmenting with an XXL if the XL proved insufficient. He was frightened by the sight of the XXXL in the catalogue. Surely no boy could wear that? Then he remembered the CEO threatening him with her fist if he didn’t calm down and comply with her wishes. Perhaps there were, though hopefully not him.
Owen settled into a regime: M when he was going to work in the morning, his new XL before an afternoon excursion to the C-Suite and definitely for his evening journey home. That way everything stayed comfy and snug. It also meant any excess lube wouldn't leak down his legs when he was walking along the corridors or for the bus.
As 5pm approached, he put in his XL in readiness for seeing Mrs Ericsson. Riding the lift, he luxuriated in the feeling of it in his bum. He knew he’d be spending the first hour or so on his knees while Mrs Ericsson attended to her paperwork, but he could be sure of his reward. While Mrs Ericsson’s toys might not have the organic niceness of Geoffrey, it would definitely be even better than his XL.
He was also happy. Today one of his fellow secretaries had called him ‘a cunt’, in fact ‘a fucking cunt’. Apparently her boyfriend had seen him in the lobby yesterday when he was picking her up after work. He couldn't stop asking her questions, demanding to know the name of the new girl, who she was and where she worked. Owen played the innocent. But in her eyes, he was a cunt: a fucking cunt for seducing her boyfriend. Seduction? He hadn’t done anything. Maybe he’d batted his eyelids or adjusted his heels. He tried to think back to yesterday and who he’d seen in the atrium. Was it the black lad? Or the swarthy, unshaven guy with dark tousled hair?
Owen felt so proud. The girls thought was a cunt. He certainly had a cunt, although he preferred to think of it as pussy, his boipussy. Maybe being the Office Sissy wasn’t so bad after all? Not if girls thought he was a cunt and boys fancied him. Could it have been the black lad? His XL had never felt better as the lift arrived at the top floor.
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