A Woman's Will

Shirley shoved Willow down the corridor to the laundry. She piled so many items on Willow's outstretched arms that Willow couldn't see where she was going. One last shove propelled her into the fitness area as the "Staff Only" door swung shut behind her. The locker rooms branched off a corridor beyond the elliptical machines, men's to the left and women's to the right.

"Excuse me," Willow muttered to get past a pair of dowdy matrons blocking her path. They stepped aside, but Willow hesitated.

Her pulse raced. Willow's oldest fantasy involved being invisible in a man's bedroom or changing room, seeing but not being seen. When she closed her eyes each night, she devised improbable ways to satisfy her sexual curiosity without having to expose herself. She wished life could be a one way mirror. The thought of walking into the men's locker room at a busy time of day produced a not unpleasant chill up her spine. Her mouth watered.

"Yes?" one of the women asked.

Willow plunged forward into the men's area. She hugged a wall resisting the urge to look around until a familiar voice bellowed, "Over here!"

Dr. MacMillan's gray curly chest hair blocked her sightline when he snatched a towel. She blushed, and the man studied her. She retreated, but he halted her escape.

"Wait a minute. I need a robe."

Willow kept her eyes on the floor as the naked man took his time. When he dislodged a robe from the center of the pile, the stack toppled onto the floor.

MacMillan grumbled something unintelligible about staff inadequacy while Willow scurried to collect items. When she looked up, a penis dangled inches from her face. The flaccid organ might as well have belonged to an elephant as far as she could tell, but its owner would have called it middling. She backed away and scampered to the door, willing herself not to peep into the crowded communal shower on the way. The women in the hall watched bewildered as she sprinted in flagrant violation of staff rules.

Willow avoided the Assistant Manager. She wasted the afternoon replaying the brief incident. The penis grew in hindsight to resemble a barbarian's club. Concealed behind her counter, she clenched her thighs together and whimpered in sympathy for any woman who had to endure it. "That was the ugliest and scariest sight imaginable," she told herself, but she was never a good liar. Her stomach agitated, and her thoughts wandered. Patches of forgotten youthful fantasies flashed like a highlight reel, except vague notions of abstract ideas about hazy impressions sharpened into focus. Willow shuddered with raging hormones making her high.

She recast a recurring character, "The Man", in her favorite dreams. He frolicked within the intimate corners of Willow's mind, but he seldom resolved enough to have specific features. Lately, he wore pleated trousers, but she usually thought of him as a nondescript underwear model. The new man's underwear faded to expose a dangling monster. She shuddered and clenched her thighs again. "What would it be like to be seen by a man?" she pondered. "What would it be like if a man wanted her to see?"

Later that afternoon, Willow pushed a rolling hamper into the women's locker room as usual to collect wet towels. A blood-curdling scream from a middle-aged woman startled her. The woman covered large breasts with an arm and squatted to hide her vulva.

"What are you doing in here?" the member screeched.

Several other women covered themselves and instigated a stampede out of view.

"What's going on?" one of the attendants asked, as bewildered as Willow.

"There's a boy in here." The middle-aged woman pointed at Willow.

The attendant, Stephanie, laughed. "Oh, I understand. Don't worry, that's Willow. She's a girl."

The member looked skeptical, and then she ordered Stephanie to fetch the manager. "I saw him go in the men's room earlier today. One way or another, something's not right." The woman no longer covered herself.

Willow sat on a bench to await her fate. When the Assistant Manager arrived, she commanded Willow to take a fifteen-minute break. The naked member ranted. Willow's hesitant motions toward the door accelerated when Shirley turned to glare. Muffled shouting carried down the corridor until Willow passed through the staff door. Her empty stomach heaved, producing nothing but a foul taste. Willow sat on the floor with her back against freshly-painted lockers and had no memory of her journey to get there.

"Stand up and listen to me."

Willow followed Shirley's orders but wavered unsteadily on her feet.

"I gave Mrs. Woolport a cockamamie story about you having a brother who works here. I told her she saw your brother go into the men's area. She bought it for now or there'd be police involved. Stick to the story. As far as members are concerned, there are two of you, Will and Willow."

Questions sprang to mind even as Willow nodded. "What about the other staff? They know."

"I'll worry about that. In a few days, I'll find an excuse to fire your brother, and that'll take the pressure off."

"Why a few days?"

"I told Mrs. Woolport I'd fire you immediately, but she threatened to complain to Mr. Gauss if I did. She doesn't want you dismissed on her account. I can't imagine she'd be happy to hear I fired your brother, either."

"She really believes it?"

"Let's hope. Clock out and go home for today. I don't want you bumping into any more members. I'm moving you to the evening shift tomorrow. This will all look better in the morning."

When Willow arrived for work, she spotted Denim working the front counter, so she hunted down Shirley to get a new assignment.

"Will, come over here a moment," the boss said when Willow found her in the laundry room. "The story of Mrs. Woolport's hysteria has become the subject of confused gossip among members."

Willow looked at her feet expecting to be fired.

"I want you to be Will for a while. Your name tag already says Will, and I need to establish the existence of your brother. After some of the members get to know you as your brother and the staff gets used to it, we'll switch you back to the day shift. I'll help you with makeup and maybe a wig. Everyone will see a clear difference between Willow and Will."

"But, I can't, ah--"

"Are you going to back me on this or not?" The Assistant Manager's grim tone limited the acceptable range of answers.

"Nobody will believe it."

"Many of the staff already believe it. Most who saw you last week wouldn't recognize you now. I'll give you tasks that keep you away from people. You're not supposed to be seen anyway."

"I don't want--"

The imposing older woman interrupted Willow's objection with a forceful proclamation. "I don't care what you want. Think of it as an opportunity to see what the world looks like from the other side."

Willow waited for further instructions while Shirley sized her up.

"Tonight, I want you to set up the ballroom for tomorrow's racquetball awards ceremony. It should keep you busy until the end of your shift. Stay away from any members you see. And remember, you're Will, or we'll both be fired."

"Yes, Ma'am."

Working alone suited Willow. She used a picture of the room configured for some other banquet as a guide. By ten p.m., everything looked pretty good. The most difficult part had been dragging the collapsible tables onto the raised band platform. Each table weighed as much as Willow. She slid them along the floor when possible, but the ordeal consumed time.

"Hey, dude," Denim grunted. "You were supposed to be done hours ago."

Willow shrugged. She seldom held grudges, but Denim occupied the top slot on her list of good-for-nothing people.

"My name's Denim," he said and held out a hand. "You must be Will. I heard Shirley hired you."

Willow met his greeting with surprise and skepticism. Did he really buy the story about her brother? She judged him incapable of delivering the line so earnestly as a put-on.

They shook hands with a firm grip.

"Is your sister OK?"

Willow shrugged again and resumed adjusting the cushions on the folding chairs.

"There're too many trophies for me to carry in one trip. Give me a hand."

The venom in the glare she cast made Denim step back with his hands raised. "Dude. It'll only take a minute. Sheesh."

She gestured for him to lead the way and followed him out of the ballroom through the staff shortcut to the kitchen.

"Hold a sec, buddy," he said. "Quick detour." Denim rummaged inside the walk-in freezer until he emerged with a pair of frozen eclairs. "Second shift perk," he grunted for explanation and ate both on the way out.

Willow shook her head and followed him through the maze. When he turned into to the fitness area, Willow hesitated. After Shirley's warning, Willow was reluctance to chance another meeting with members.

"Come on. The trophies are in the trainer's office."

It was after closing time, making the chance of encountering a member remote. The cleaning crew hadn't arrived yet. "Is Denim testing me?" Willow wondered. He seemed so convinced she was a guy. It disturbed her on a basic level. He hadn't seen her before with the short hair and new name tag, but he couldn't be that stupid.

Denim proceeded into the men's area, and Willow followed a few paces behind. Her decision became a turning point when the door swung closed behind her. Mr. Hamilton, Smalley, dangled upside down from a bar set into the masonry of the wall. His knees clamped to support his weight, and he groaned compressing his abdomen to lift his torso in an inverted sit-up. She observed with her mouth agape. Ropes of long muscle adorned his slender toned body. He had about zero percent body fat. He glanced at Willow watching him and grunted through another rep.

Willow thought, "Oh yes. This is what I came to see."

"Come on," Denim repeated with exasperation.

Willow closed her mouth and hurried to the small office across from the showers. Denim piled trophies into her outstretched arms and then grabbed two large ones to carry himself. "Alright, that's it." He nodded toward the door.

The trophies weighed more than Willow expected, and she trudged with deliberate steps to avoid dropping any. Slow progress toward the exit provided an opportunity to study the amazing man. Moisture glistened on Smalley's chest, arms, and face. Sweat soaked clumps of hair hung like jagged spikes from his scalp. He gritted teeth and dug for reserve strength and one more complete hanging sit-up.

"Will one of you fetch my bag? I left it by the treadmills," the member shouted to the staff members' backs.

Denim turned and replied, "Sure thing sir," and smiled.

With trophies aligned on the center table, Denim announced, "Well, that's it for me today. Thanks for the help."

"What about the member's gym bag?" Willow asked with a falsetto deep voice that sounded implausible to her own ears.

"Shit. Go get it for him before he gets pissed. I'm late already," Denim claimed without looking back.

An image of the skinny but fit man flashed across Willow's mind. She'd never seen anything like his rippled abs and wiry arms. Instead of a 98-pound weakling, he was a 98-pound body builder, she deduced. There was no way for her to bring his bag into the locker room. It wasn't right.

"It's not a big deal," she tried to convince herself. "He's dressed. I'm supposed to be a man." Shirley wouldn't want a complaint about bad service. "This is a once in a lifetime opportunity. It's a license to peek." Willow's whole body trembled when she lifted the ugly brown corduroy sack. Her breath caught in her chest as she pushed open the door. "There's no turning back now," she whispered to herself.

The bar hung forsaken on the wall. A pair of discarded bicycle shorts lay on a bench not far away. The room appeared deserted, but Willow guessed where the member went when she heard the first spray of water. She knew she should drop the bag beside the shorts and walk away. She should count herself lucky to avoid another interaction with a member. She should go home, but pent-up curiosity made her hesitate. She craved a better mental image than Dr. MacMillan to use when constructing her fantasy man. If she didn't peer around the corner, regret would haunt her for a lifetime.

"I brought your bag, sir," she said in a deep voice.

Smalley lathered his hair under one of the shower heads on the wall across an open space from the entrance. He didn't face her. Even his back displayed cords of strength. Sudsy water streamed over his small rounded buttocks. Muscles in his thighs tightened.

"What's that?" he said without turning.

"I brought your bag, sir," she repeated.

"Just set it down." He rinsed the last of the shampoo and looked over his shoulder. "I didn't see any towels on the warmer. Will you toss a few on the rack?"

"Yes, sir," she replied as Smalley adjusted the water.

It required supreme will power to operate her legs in a slow retreat from the scene in front of her. She never saw or even imagined a sight as compelling as the one confronting her. "Turn around. Please. Turn around. I just want one glimpse of the front," she pleaded in silent supplication to whatever god might grant her desire.

The warmer had been off for at least an hour, but she toggled its switch and arranged four towels on its bars. She lingered, searching for excuses to talk to Smalley, and in the end, she stood in the passage to the shower. Flouting a taboo made her feel tingly. "Can I get you anything else?" she called to him across ten feet of tiled floor.

He turned at the waist. "No, that should be it." He shut off the water. Willow held her breath. His half step backward produced a hollow sensation in her stomach. Contracting muscles in his legs and tightening buttocks signaled further motion, and it happened. For slow seconds, the man walked towards Willow. The only soft inches of his body flopped and bounced and wagged. He returned her look of amazement with incomprehension that transformed into a gracious acceptance of the compliment her gaze conveyed.

As he passed her on his way to the towels, he said, "I hope I'm not keeping you."

"I need to stay and clean after you finish," Willow lied. "The towel warmer takes some time to cycle off," she improvised, "and everything needs to be restocked."

"I'm sorry. I know the gym closes at ten, but I lose track of time." He wiggled his ass under a towel. He dropped the wet one in a hamper and grabbed another to wrap around his waist.

For an instant, Willow saw his body in profile. Something about the man melted her insides. Dressed in baggy clothes, he looked weak and effeminate. Nude, his slender frame glowed with healthy sensuality. Willow endured lust-induced panting. She felt lightheaded.

"I'll be out of your way in a jiffy," he said as those oversized pleated dress pants concealed his legs.

When only his chest remained exposed, Willow marveled at his narrow waist.

"There you go." He smiled and slapped her on the back. "The room's all yours now."

"Thank you, sir," she said and meant it.

Willow worked busboy duty during the awards banquet the next day. "Fill water glasses, clear the tables, act like a man," her delusional supervisor instructed.

Countless boring speeches filled the time after the meal while guests nibbled from dessert plates. Willow leaned against a wall holding her pitcher in case anyone looked thirsty. Another girl, the attendant who had come to Willow's defense that day in the women's changing room, wandered over to chat.

"I heard you got your eye full in the men's area last night," Stephanie teased.

"Who told you that?"

"Frank, from the cleaning crew. He saw Will."

"It was no big deal."

"Yeah, I've heard the same thing." Stephanie giggled.

Willow wondered what the exchange meant but had to wait to find out. One of the kids sitting at a table with parents lifted a glass seeking a refill. By the time Willow returned to her station, Stephanie had disappeared into the kitchen.

Throughout the night, Willow suspected some of the lady guests flirted with her, but she mistrusted her instincts for that sort of thing. She was certain nobody ever flirted with her before, and attention now hardly flattered her. "I'm an unthreatening man," she mused to herself. "I wonder if it's better than being an overlooked woman?"

It still didn't seem possible anybody believed Shirley's story. Stephanie knew the truth, and there had to be others. Denim, however, might be as stupid as he looked, Willow conceded. The real question, one Willow forced from her mind the past twenty-four hours, was about Smalley. Did he perceive an innocent young woman admiring his physique, or did he assume she was a gay man? Either way, would he complain?

The more Willow dwelled on the subject, the more she disliked passing as a man. It stung her ego. She wracked her brain searching for the last time she felt feminine. It was the car ride home with paint in her hair. She shivered in the wet muscle shirt and leaned forward into the full blast of the car's heater. The shirt concealed nothing, so she crossed arms over her breasts to achieve a degree of modesty. In her mind, every passing car contained men who ogled. Willow knew it wasn't true, but imagining it strengthened her shaken self image even as it creeped her out. Her ego craved the leer she'd spent years avoiding. She wanted confirmation that people did see her as a woman.

The ballroom cleared, and Shirley arrived pushing a large hamper on wheels. "I told the kitchen staff to go home, and we have a while before the cleaners get here."

Willow looked at her boss and expected to be fired for peeping at Smalley.

"Stephanie and I will help you tear down the tables. Then I'd like you to join us in my office for a drink."

The offer increased Willow's dread. It might be nice, civilized even, to get fired over a drink. She had never been fired before and never imagined it would go down that way. She had quit her last job as soon as she learned she was hired at the club. With the axe hanging over her head, Willow worked in silence. What could she say in the situation?

The three women trooped through the staff corridors behind the hamper. Shirley abandoned it outside the laundry and then ushered the others back to her office. "What can you tell me?" The Assistant Manager looked toward Stephanie.

"Cassie has a crush on Will."

"Really? That's a good sign. What else?"

"You heard about the incident last night?"

"Here it comes," Willow thought and shuddered while the others talked as if she wasn't there.

"What happened?"

"Will came out of the locker room after Mr. Hamilton showered. Frank Duster saw her."

Shirley glared at Willow. "I told you to stay away from the members. What were you doing in there?"

"He asked me to bring his bag to him. I couldn't refuse without being suspicious."

Shirley looked back to Stephanie.

"Mrs. Woolport didn't say anything where I could hear," Stephanie reported.

"So, we're in the clear. Let's have a drink."

"Thank you," Willow squeaked as she accepted a tiny glass of rum.

"Man up," the Assistant Manager choked out after swallowing her shot in one gulp.

"So, what did you see in the men's area?" Stephanie asked.

"It was no big deal."

Shirley and Stephanie laughed out loud in reply. "Drink up and give us the details."

Willow burned her throat on a sip and elaborated, "He's got an amazing body."

"Tell us."

"He's got these cute round butt cheeks and muscles everywhere. I bet he works out every day."

Stephanie and Shirley exchanged glances.

"Do you think it's true? That he used to be a woman?"

"God, no!" Willow gasped.