9 to 5 Pt. 02

"You really think so?" I asked her now, sobered by the conversation.

"Abso-fucking-lutely," she reassured me.

I smiled at her and said, "Then what is the next step?"

Part 2

"You need to sleep on it first," Stacy told me.

She helped me take off the woman's clothes and remove the makeup. I thought I was going to hop into bed with her, but I was surprised when she banished me to the couch.

"Sorry, sweetie, no hanky-panky while I'm helping you," she told me as I felt crestfallen.

The following morning, I awoke to the smell of fresh coffee brewing. I found Stacy in the kitchen browsing the net on her tablet. She was dressed in jeans and a pale blue t-shirt, her hair pulled back into a ponytail.

She smiled at me before pouring me a cup of coffee and handing it to me. "Morning sleepy head."

I took the cup and said, "Morning, so what is the plan?"

"Well, assuming you are still up to becoming Brenda, we need to first create your new ID as her, and on the flip side, we need to make Bryan Rogers disappear." She replied.

"So, how do we do that?" I asked.

Stacy showed me her tablet screen and said, "I have already ordered a copy of Brenda's birth certificate. Next, we need to rent a flat in Turkey so we have a registered address for her."

"Turkey?" I questioned.

"Well, we need a non-UK address to indicate she is outside of the country. We can get her documents sent there (passport, driver's license, etc.)." Stacy informed me, "Besides, that is where you will be getting the surgery."

I spat my coffee out and said, "SURGERY!"

Stacy giggled. "Relax, just some reversible enhancements. Your cock will be safe."

"Like what!" I demanded.

"Electrolysis hair removal for your face, a little bit of facial feminising, and a boob job," she said as a matter of fact.

"Feminising my face, what does that mean?" I spoke.

"They add inserts to round your jawline; they also add inserts to raise your cheekbones; they pump some fat into your lips; and finally, they give you a nose job to make it smaller and more girly," Stacy told me, resting a hand on mine reassuringly.

"And a boob job?" I asked.

She smiled and said, "You will need to have convincing-looking breasts, so it is either a boob job or we start you on hormone therapy. The choice is yours, but all the surgical procedures can be reversed at any time."

I buried my face in my hands. "Shit, I did not expect to have to go that far.".

Stacy hugged me and said, "You have to be sure; you will be Brenda from now on. God knows how long. You are effectively being reborn as a girl. You have to be sure about this."

"I need to be alone for a bit and think," I said to her as I left the room.

An hour later, I was sitting in my flat. I had poured myself a single malt whisky, but I just stared blankly at the glass. No two ways about it, I was done in business thanks to the assholes at Jackson and Wright. So, what are my options?

I could go back to university and retrain in another field; that would take me at least 5 years to recoup any sort of career. Or option two, Stacy's plan.

As I stared into the black abyss that was my life, I did not even realise that outside my windows, the day had given way to night. I was startled out of my trance when my door buzzer went off.

I checked the intercom; I could see Stacy standing there. I buzzed her in and opened my front door.

As she entered, she smiled and said, "I was getting worried since I have not heard from you."

"Sorry, a lot is on my mind right now," I replied, closing the door.

Stacy set down a white plastic bag on my countertop and started to remove takeaway boxes. "I thought you'd be hungry, so I picked us up a Chinese."

I stood back as she plated up the food and put it on my dining table. I sat down next to her.

We started to eat in silence; she was giving me space to make the first move when I was ready. The food was very welcome, as I did not realise how hungry I had gotten, so I was practically woofing down my meal.

After my last mouthful, I pushed my chair back from the table and looked at Stacy. "So, if I am to do this, I have to be all in; there is no point in doing it half-arsed."

Stacy put down her fork and said, "You will first need to liquidate any assets you have and move them offshore. This will be used to re-establish yourself as Brenda after your transformation."

"Then when you are ready, Bryan will travel to Germany, take a flat to create a paper trail there, but you will then travel to Turkey by train. I will meet you there, and we will start the physical transformation. You will take a flat in Turkey as Brenda, and when you are ready, we will get you a new passport through the British embassy." Stacy explained, "And when we have that, we can return to the UK to restart your new life."

"Christ, you have thought this through," I replied.

We spent the rest of the evening going through my papers and starting to sell my stocks and bonds. I moved the money through several Swiss accounts using some shell companies before the clean money ended up in a new account for one Miss Brenda Chaplin in the Cayman Islands.

Over the next few days, I flew to Berlin to rent a new flat there and also transferred £20,000 into a German bank account. When "Bryan" disappears, this money and all the German assets will be lost.

Stacy, in the meantime, had been busy on the Turkish side of the plan. She had taken a leave of absence from her job to help a long-lost friend in Turkey. She flew to Turkey at my expense and rented a flat in Antalya, which was close to the Aesthetic Travel clinic where I would have my appearance altered.

Within four weeks of the inception of Stacy's plan, we were ready. I handed the keys to my now-empty flat to the estate agent. There was a cab waiting for me to take me to Heathrow Airport. Five hours later, I was sitting alone in my new Berlin flat, eager to get my life restarted.

I stayed in Germany for a week, paying 8 months' rent upfront for my flat. On the last day, it felt strange as I packed a small backpack with a few days' worth of clothes. I had a new toothbrush and razor, as I had to leave everything else as if I still lived there.

I had butterflies in my stomach as I looked at my passport for the last time before slipping it into a drawer. After I left this flat, I had 8 months to make the whole Brenda thing work, or I would return here and become Bryan again.

When I exited the train at Antalya station, Stacy led me to my new flat.

"Tomorrow, you have your first appointment at the clinic." She explained to me, "I have booked you in under the name Amanda Davis. I had to pay a little extra as you have no ID, but that won't be a problem."

Stacy helped me transform into Brenda, letting Bryan go for the last time, perhaps forever.

When I was ready, Stacy took me on a tour of the town I would be calling home during my transition. We stopped at a little bar, and she corrected me when I wanted to order a pint of lager.

"Most girls don't drink pints," she reminded me, so I had a gin and tonic instead.

We took a seat on the veranda, overlooking the beach. We sat in silence and just listened to the waves crashing in the surf. I felt at peace for the first time in ages. Even though this was only my second public outing as Brenda, I did not feel any fear and was feeling comfortable in my new clothes and skin.

"So, when are you heading back to London?" I asked Stacy.

"I fly home on Friday; my leave is almost up," she replied. "But I'll fly back when you are ready to come home."

That night I slept in a nightdress for the first time, and I was now all in for my new life.

The alarm awoke me at 8 a.m., and I took a shower and dressed in a skirt and t-shirt. Today would be the last time I would need my breast inserts, and though I should not have been, part of me was excited to see what I would look like after the surgery.

Stacy rode in the taxi with me to the clinic, and I checked in as Amanda Davis. My doctor drew lines on my face where he would be making the alterations. 2 hours later, I was in my surgical gown, counting back from 10 to 1.

"10, 9, 8," I was out cold before I got to 7.

When I came too, I was in a bright room with other gurneys on either side. Both had women with bandaged faces, both as groggy as me.

After a nurse checked my vitals, I was wheeled back to my room. Stacy was reading a magazine as I entered the room.

"Christ girl, you look awful!" She commented on my bandaged face and chest.

"Nice to see you too," I managed to reply with a sore voice.

I spent the rest of the day in and out of sleep. I was having pleasant dreams, but I could not tell you what they were about.

The next morning, the bandages were removed. It was like a scene from The Invisible Man, but underneath was a woman's face that looked like she was a UFC fighter and had lost. My mouth fell open when I saw my new breasts for the first time. I've always been a boob guy, and now I have a perfect pair of 33C's on my chest.

The doctor passed me fit and discharged me from the clinic.

I spent the next few days convalescing in my flat. Stacy was my nurse, and I wanted for nothing.

I had healed enough to venture out wearing dark glasses, and it was with a heavy heart that I bid Stacy a fond farewell at the airport. I'm ashamed to admit it, but I cried as she disappeared through the security gate.

As the days turned into weeks, I was now comfortable going out and about. There was a bar a couple of streets over that catered to the British tourists who were here getting cheap cosmetic procedures done. Mike, an ex-pat Brit, was a nice guy. And since I was staying longer than most of his patrons, I was now one of his few regulars.

"So, Bren, if you have some free time on your hands, I'm looking for a barmaid and waitress, if you are interested." He asked me one day out of the blue.

I had tended bars as a part-time job to make a little extra cashback in my university days. "Sure, why not?"

And with that, Brenda had a job. I started the next day, and it did not take me long to get into the swing of things. I always wore a short mini skirt and a form-fitting vest top that showed off my curves nicely.

A few of the guys that came in did try their luck with me, but I always rebuffed them. Soon, though, I found myself doing something I thought I'd never dreamed of doing. I started to flirt back.

I found that the more flirtatious I was, the bigger the tips, and even though I would hate to admit it, I was enjoying the attention too.

Weeks turned into 2 months; it was now time to start phase 2 of the plan. I took a bus on my day off to Ankara. Once there, I went to the British Embassy and started to apply for a new passport as Brenda Chaplin.

I was surprised at how easy it was. I just had to show my birth certificate and my application with Stacy as my referee. Of course, the £90 fee helped move things along, but I was told I'd have my passport in two weeks.

So back to my life in Antalya, working at the bar or chilling on the beach. I found myself pondering if I should just stay here.

When I returned from my shift at the bar, there was a brown envelope from His Majesty's passport office. I stared at the photo inside for a good 10 minutes; this was me now, and I was happy about it.

True to her word, Stacy flew out to help me get ready for my transition back to the UK. She was impressed with my tan and the friends I made, none of whom suspected I was anything but a natural girl.

"Look at you; if I did not know better, I'd say you were born as Brenda," Stacy complimented me.

That night, she came to the bar during my shift and observed me flirting with the guys there.

"You are not going queer on me?" she asked in a quiet moment.

"Nah, just having a bit of fun; besides, if I'm nice to them, they tip well," I reassured her.

Her sideways look told me she was not 100% convinced, but she let it go.

Three days later, I had finished my last shift at the bar, packed my bag, and handed the keys to my flat back. Stacy and I headed to the airport, and my heart was pounding as the security guard checked my passport.

Back in London, I sat down on the sofa in Stacy's flat, where all this craziness began.

Another crazy week, and I opened a new bank account in the UK, transferring my assets from Turkey. Luckily for me, Brenda had passed her driving test before she went traveling, so that was easy to obtain. As was her national insurance number (social security to our American readers).

I also managed to order copies of her diplomas; I was now all set to get a job in the city.

I sent my CV out to several agencies and waited for some temporary work. Stacy and I hit the big Oxford Street stores to kit me out in the latest female office wear.

I was sitting watching afternoon TV when my mobile rang.

I pressed the accept call button and put it to my ear. "Hello?"

"Hi, is this Brenda?" came the male voice on the other end.

"Yes, how can I help you?" I replied gingerly.

"Brenda Hi, this is Will from Temp Masters; you registered your CV with us last week," he said. "We have just received an appointment at Jackson and Wright."

It was then that my heart sank. The firm that fired me was now looking to hire me as a temp.

"Doing what exactly?" I asked attentively.

"Assistant stock analyst, 2-month contract, with potential for a longer extension," Will outlaid the details.

Then he dropped the hammer and said, "They want you to come in for an interview tomorrow."

I almost fainted. I was hoping to fly under the radar for a bit, but this was straight in at the deep end. I replied, "OK then."

The rest of the conversation was a blur, as Will thanked me and told me he'd email over the details.

After I hung up the phone, I went to Stacy's drinks cabinet, poured myself a double gin, and downed it in one gulp.

I checked my email, and my appointment was confirmed at 10 a.m. with Miss Granger of the HR department and Mr. Moore, deputy head of stock investments. So, Bitch face Marie Granger, who fired Bryan, and Miles Moore, the company, yes, man, were to interview me.

I resigned myself to the fact that this would be a true test to see if I had managed to get away from Bryan.

When Stacy came home, I filled her in on the day's events.

"Nothing to worry about; they will only see you as Brenda," she reassured me. "You will walk out of there with the job, I guarantee it."

I smiled and said, "I wish I had your confidence."

"You already do," she said. "Where is that confident barmaid from Turkey that was flirting with those guys? You just need to be her."

I hardly slept a wink on Stacy's couch that night, and after she left to go to the office, I tried to think of any excuse to cancel the interview, but I could not.

I showered and fixed my hair and makeup in a style similar to how Stacy wears hers for work. I wore a wine-red pussybow blouse and a grey charcoal skirt suit. I put my phone, purse, and CV into my black patent leather handbag before slipping on my 3" black court heels.

I felt like Melaine Griffiths from the 1980's movie Working Girl, and if I am honest, just as hot.

It felt good to be heading into the city by tube again.

I amused myself by thinking, "No matter how many things change, most stay the same way." The only difference this time was that I was a businesswoman instead of a man.

I felt a calm determination come over me as I stood outside of Jackson and Wright. These fuckers screwed me over; now it was my turn.

I confidently strolled up the steps and into the revolving door.