The Office Boy
By Janey Stickney
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My name was Mike Grant, and I say was, because it's different now. I have two years of college and I'm taking classes at night to finish with a degree in Business. In order to support my school expenses and have some spending money, I found a job working in an office as sort of a glorified office boy. I'm 5' 7" tall with soft brown hair and blue eyes and I have never weighed more than 140 in my entire life. Valerie Hooper, the woman I report to is in charge of the office, and also prepares parties for Christmas and so on. Valerie is about 50, married, with two sons and a husband. For Halloween she wanted everyone to come to work in costume, fully expecting a lot of monsters or ghosts. When I told her I wanted to do something different but had no idea of what, or who, to come as, she smiled and told me that I could easily come as Diane Benson, the actress, when she was my age! "You have the same facial structure she does, and with the right makeup you could be her twin Mike. Think about it and let me know. That night I told my mother what Valerie had suggested, and to my surprise she agreed! "I can help you if you like Mike. Your sister still has a lot of her clothes here so that would not be a problem. Besides, it could be a lot of fun!" I told her that I would think about it.
For years I was lonely, depressed, angry at myself, the world, and the gods that made me this way. I knew I was smart and had a good job, but at age 20, I was still driven by urges I never had any control over, no matter how hard I tried. I often felt the urge to dress as a girl, but each time I did, and then looked in the mirror, I saw a clown instead of the woman I wanted to be. Including my makeup, I was merely a parody of the woman in my dreams. My frustration at my inability to achieve any semblance of the woman I felt I wanted to become had driven me into silent secrecy when I did try to dress up. That night, in my robe, I munched snacks as the television played in a muted tone. The young women on the screen were a constant reminder of what I wanted to be able to look like, and equally, my inability to either conquer my desires, or forget it, or become the woman I had so many dreams about. In my heart I knew I was going to do it, because even though I had secretly tried on my sister's clothes many times when I was growing up, and always felt like a clown, this time I would have my mother to help me. My mother's tacit approval lifted the veil of frustration and I felt as if I was soaring. I knew, in my heart, that this time, I would look good. Since Claire was just a year older than I was, most of her clothes fit me pretty well, and I was sure that with some help, I could look pretty nice. My biggest concern was how everyone in the office would react to me dressed as a girl. The next morning, when I told mom about my concerns, she told me that in her mind, the best way, if I was going to do it, would for me to be perfect. Since I didn't want to come off as a clown or one of those freak of the week people, I agreed. "I'll get a few things today and we can see how you do tomorrow. If you like it then you can stay dressed as a girl until Monday."
Someone once said that tears are merely a reflection of the soul, whether its fear, joy, or sadness. All those years of hiding, frustration, fear, and secrecy came to a head all at once, and I started to cry. Why are you crying Michael? This is what you want isn't it? To live and work as a female?" My head popped up, and out came, "What!" "I'm sure its true Michael, based on the number of times you wore Claire's clothes!" Shocked that mother knew about my dressing up as a girl, and afraid of what I might blurt out, I kept my mouth shut. "I said I would help you if you let me Michael, and I think that you should practice dressing every day after work, and each weekend from now until the day when you go to work." I started to say something, but mom held her hand up and said, "You did say that you wanted to be perfect didn't you?" "YesÉ" "Well this will give you a few weeks of practice before the party!" I could find nothing more to say about it, swallowed my pride, nodded my head yes, and quietly went to my room. That night I decided that mom was right. I would do the best I could or not at all, and if she already knew about me dressing up and wanted to help me then no matter how I thought I looked it wouldn't matter.
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