Biological Gender Clock

Biological Gender Clock

By Sabrina G. Langton

***

Author's Note: Sweet... No, not that band that sang 'Fox on the Run' sweet, like nice. That is the road this story has taken, sweet. If you are not into artificial sweetners maybe you should skip this one and call me in the morning, I will talk you down from whatever it is you are on. Ha, just kidding, I hope YOU like it.

***

September

Okay, I admit it. I'm just a little weird. And by that I mean hyper.

'You better shape up

'Cause I need a man

And my heart is set on you'

I work from home, sometimes I'm busy, sometimes I look busy, and sometimes I put on my long full yellow dress, and sort of dance around. Like today.

'You better shape up

You better understand

To my heart I must be true

Nothin' left, nothin' left for me to do'

Well, it's not just the dress, sometimes I have on these little strappy white heels, they are only two inches high and so cute, perfect for dancing. You know, nothing I am not used to. I slip into a little yellow sweater and put on my twenty-inch blonde ponytail. I tie it in a yellow kerchief. Oh and I make bangs, then I sort of bounce around.

'You're the one that I want (you are the one I want)

Ooh, ooh, ooh, honey

The one that I want (you are the one I want)

Ooh, ooh, ooh, honey'

Of course, I always wear nude pantyhose, I want my legs to shine. And I have to wear a strapless bra because the straps on the dress are so thin, plus when I dance I don't want my breasts to move too much. If I have the ambition and the time, I will make it through the entire 'Grease Soundtrack.' Sometimes I even clean the office in the back of the house while I dance. Sometimes I even answer the phone.

Briiiiing.

"Hello? Mmm, 6:30. Yes that is the correct address, sir. Yes, she will be here. Thank you so much for calling. Bye-ee" I had the cutest voice, I had lots of practice. Sometimes the men won't get off the phone. Sometimes I have to lie and say I have another call coming in, I try to sound official. Official but cute.

'The one that I want (you are the one I want)

Ooh, ooh, ooh

The one I need (the one I need)

Oh, yes, indeed (yes, indeed)'

Sometimes, I'm not paying attention and it gets late quickly. The last thing I need is to have the wife catch me dancing around. Catch me in this yellow dress.

She will be home soon. She would be so angry. She is no fun at all.

*

Unlike the office, the block is so quiet, September in Staten Island is quite nice. The kids are back in school, the leaf is starting to change on the tree, every parking spot is taken, the sound of turkey is in the air already and the deer are noshing on all the pumpkins. Just a regular Wednesday in New York City.

"Where are you?"

The wife was calling me, she probably can't find something, or she is going to yell at me. It's a fifty, fifty shot that I will get her to leave quietly tonight. She has dinner with an investor, someone with money she has been talking to for the last couple of months.

I jogged up the stairs, She would only give me a couple of seconds. "Hi, what do you need?"

"Why is the music so loud? This isn't a club."

"Oh, I'm sorry." I made a 360, I was thinking that was easy.

"Wait! Who was answering the phones in the office?"

"Who? Um, me I guess."

She was on her phone, she didn't even start getting dressed. I could tell she was more annoyed than usual, even though that was her regular mood. Sandra and I have been married for two years, it felt so much longer. The first year was great, it wasn't perfect but what is? Then unfortunately her father died, he left her a ton of money, she opened her own investment firm and she made me quit my job and work for her. She changed, she started to get a little more demanding. I say a little, but I mean a lot.

"Mr. Robinson says he talked to a woman this afternoon."

"Oh, did he?" I shrugged embarrassed, I went to leave.

"Wait!" I hated when she got like this, you know, madder than she should of, making something out of nothing. "Who was answering the phone?"

"It was me."

"And you decided to use your girl's voice?"

"I guess."

"What were you wearing?" She said this quite calmly, even though I knew she hated when I dressed up, presented as female, even left the house as EITHER gender.

I felt twelve again, she was now my godmother, my great aunt, she was now disapproving.

"I won't do it again."

"You will, he is going to be here in an hour and a half, he is meeting the woman who answered the phone. Don't fuck it up!"

***

I met Sandra three years ago. I was working in Manhattan as an IT consultant.

"Anyone sitting here?" She was dark, short, serious, she was conservatively dressed. She was all in black.

"No, please," The bar was quiet and I gestured toward the empty stool. She cleaned it off with a napkin and sat. She handed it to me, she ordered a Snapple.

I was making great money back then, but I lived in a tiny apartment in Soho. It was really just a kitchen with an even tinier bedroom.

"I want to see your apartment."

"Oh, okay."

"I want to see it now." So I showed her, it was during our third date, I took her to the wrong movie, the wrong restaurant, we traipsed on the wrong side of the street. Once back home she made lots of mmm sounds as I gave her the short tour. She walked around, she checked the counters with her fingers, she peered into the fridge, squeezed my fruit, and checked the back of the milk carton.

"You cook?"

"I do. I bake too, I have some cookies from..." And she stopped me, she inspected the windows, ran more fingers on more things. She was starting to make me tense.

"Clean, tidy, nice, and organized. Alright, let me see the bedroom."

"Okay." I realized I wanted to say yes ma'am, she was all of sudden so 'In charge,' and official. I thought it was refreshing, at first. Sandra was eight years older than me, but with her walking around judging my housekeeping, it felt like more. I had just turned twenty-six, I was three years out of college, I was dating my first sophisticated woman from the city, and I figured she was just really nosey.

I showed her my tiny bedroom, my tiny single bed, made and tucked, showed her my particle board dresser from Ikea. She tapped it, then she peeked into my sparkling clear mirror, which was quite large for the little room. She went into the bathroom, looked in the medicine cabinet, the storage spot under the sink. I stayed in the other room, there wasn't room for the two of us in there. There was barely room for one.

"You have another girlfriend?"

"No."

She walked out holding some makeup remover, lip pencils, liner, and most incriminating of all, an eyelash curler. "Then what's this?"

"Um, my last one must have left them?" I tried to sound cool, positive, but I was failing. This afternoon I hid everything under my bed, all my female clothes, and heels, even most of my makeup, just in case we happened to stop by. I never would have imagined she would be snooping under the sink.

She took everything back to the kitchen, put everything down on the little table next to the little couch. She sat down hard. "Okay, forget it, just get me something to drink."

"Wine?"

"No, do I look like someone who drinks wine?"

"Um, maybe."

"Ugh, just give me an iced tea."

"Iced tea?"

"Yeah it's like hot tea but cold."

She stared me down, she was a little frightening, I made her tea and made it cold. She told me I passed, she told me that we could see each other again. She told me next time we could have sex, but first, she wanted to know about the eyelash curler.

***

I was pacing around. I worked out of an office in the back of the house. I painted, furnished, and decorated it myself, it was lovely, it smelled like peaches. I had a room next to it, big windows looking toward the garden, our quiet backyard, plus another big mirror just ready for some hot girl to invade its space. Since Sandra started her business she wanted me to be focused on her and her company, but I still did freelance jobs, still dabbled with some issues from my last company, still sometimes snuck into Manhattan. I just didn't tell her about it. I took care of her website, her phone calls, her mail, her laundry, and well... her.

I'll never forget the day she told me she was starting her own firm, she didn't want to answer to anyone anymore. "Starting the first of the month I am on my own, fuck 'em all."

"What?"

"I'm using dad's money to open SSS Investments, you are my first employee. Quit whatever it is you do, I will pay you myself."

And she did, she gave me the exact amount I was getting from my other job. She wanted me to stay home, work from the house, have the place clean and tidy and smelling like mac and cheese, chicken nuggets, and chicken noodle soup. Sandra had the diet of a twelve-year-old.

"Where are you?" She was calling me again, she had to leave soon and I had to somehow get re-ready, I had to show her what I looked like as a female. I had to show her how good I was at it, I had to somehow convince her that I didn't do it too often. That was going to be quite difficult.

"What's the matter?"

"You are not getting ready?" She shook her head, she was disappointed already. She was standing over a couple of clear tubs, opening the tops. "Here, this is what you are wearing from now on. If you are going to dress as a girl, I want you to look professional, I see what you have hidden in your closet, you are such a perv."

Inside the tubs were all of her clothes from when she was working for her old company. All long black skirts, black jackets, and low heels and flats. Starched white shirts, big black pocketbooks, and cotton lingerie. I have seen her in most of these outfits.

"This is your wardrobe from now on, hang everything up in that closet of yours. Throw out that other crap, and make sure everything fits."

Actually, I knew they would fit, I have worn some of them before. We were almost the same size, though I was eight inches taller. Unfortunately, everything was so basic, but with a little imagination, I could make them sexier.

Once Sandra was her own boss, skirts were gone and replaced by tracksuits. No more heels, now she wore trainers, she was investing in a lifestyle and they didn't include stockings. When we first met that was what I was drawn to, her black silky calves, that was all I could see. I guess, back then, I had a touch of partialism. Mainly I had to make do with the back of her knees.

"I am going to have the clients come here, talk to them in person, get them out of Manhattan. We are so close to the Newark Airport, everyone has to pass right by this neighborhood to get to Times Square. This is going to be so much better. This is going to be a hub and you are going to be busier."

She put the tops of the tubs back on, she pushed them out of her room. "Oh and you better be convincing, he will be here in an hour."

I took everything back to my room, I rummaged through quickly, I found something appropriate to wear to meet a client.

*

Sandra would never know how much I was looking forward to this. I have been crossdressing since I was young, it was something I was drawn to. When I was in a dress, lipstick, or bra, I was a different person, I felt more complete, more relaxed, more me. I had so many pictures of all my looks, I had a databank of all the makeup I have tried and loved. I had so many videos of me practicing my walk. And of course, I had a closet full of dresses, skirts, and heels for any occasion. I would have to make room for my new business attire.

I had dated females since high school but I never had the nerve to tell any of them my predilection for girl's clothes and makeup, never mentioned my semi-hairless legs or long hair, never even thought about bringing up my cute feminine voice.

There was only one little thing. One thing I really shouldn't even have to mention. You know, just the one.

When I was Sabrina, my female self, I was kind of a slut. I could have three to four orgasms a day if I had on a short skirt and heels. Usually, just the feel of my lipstick would make me excited, so much so, that I started wearing colored lip balm instead. The feel of the lipstick was too much for me, my hands would shake while I was applying it. Then, I could never calm down after that. If I had time and stamina I would barely leave my mirror, I would lean against it all day.

After Sandra's life changed, after she got even more demanding, I started wearing pantyhose under my sweatpants. We didn't get together that often anymore, and when we did it was quick and mostly she was gazing at her phone, working on her schedule. She also wouldn't let me penetrate her anymore, I had to use my tongue and lips. Our sex life was pretty dismal now. When she was mean she would make me jerk off on her foot, when she was nicer I could rub against her polyester ass. Almost always she would tell me I was doing it wrong. Soon I started to lie, badly, and tell her I had cum already. I lied and said she was such a generous lover, I didn't want to bring up the fact that I had better orgasms by myself, just doing makeovers and brushing my hair. I never told her I needed the stockings either, otherwise, I would be soft, she didn't even turn me on a little bit anymore.

*

The music was lower, I was concentrating on my slightly colored lips.

'Better shape up

'Cause you need a man

I need a man

Who can keep me satisfied'

"So nice to meet you, sir." I flipped my hair. My own hair was quite long, reaching a couple of inches below my shoulders but today I wore one of my wigs. I had on my long reddish blonde one for tonight. The slightly curled ends sat nicely on my breasts, shown nicely in the brightly lit room. I was a completely different 'woman' than the girl in the yellow dress and ponytail dancing and answering phones this afternoon.

I was nervous, and I am never nervous. I didn't mind presenting as female, I didn't mind smiling to the neighbors, I didn't mind them thinking I was one of the mothers from the neighborhood. I didn't mind them assuming I was just a girl from the Island when I went out to get the mail, the groceries, Sandra's dry cleaning. I would dress at least once, twice, three times a week when I knew she would be out all day. I was good at it, I could pull together an outfit, I could easily look like a corporate employee.

"Thank you, sir, I am glad you love my corporate outfit. I pulled it together quite quickly."

I was thinking maybe Sandra was going to let me dress up in front of her, hopefully, all weekend too. She ate by herself now and we barely spoke after she walked through the door at five-thirty. She was asleep by nine and didn't realize I slept in a nightgown or teddie already, I just needed that little push to dress full-time. No big deal, I wouldn't even tell the family. I would love to give all my male clothes away to someone who desperately needed them. I was desperate to give them away to make more room in my closet.

"Where are you?" I heard her calling again, I took a deep breath, she was going to be surprised. I had on her black jacket and a black and white checkered skirt. It came right up to my knees showing off my almost black pantyhose. Sandra only used nylons from the supermarket, usually opaque, I wouldn't go near them. Underneath I had my black silk bra with my D-cup breastplate. I had a little black frilly collar covering the seam. I had on my corset. I pranced on my four-inch red pumps, I wouldn't be wearing her flats, I wouldn't be wearing her long buttoned-up shirts, I definitely wouldn't be wearing her underwear.

"Coming," I called in my soft femme voice. I loved saying that word. I had practiced for years since I was younger. I would talk on the phone, I would coo and flirt, I was quite good at it. When I was in college and slightly later, I would dress up and show off on those chat sites. I also had a part-time job as a phone-sex operator. I had a roommate who got me into it, she didn't know my name was 'Sweetest Sabrina.' I was great at playing the sexy girlfriend, I was fantastic as the maid you interrupted, or the real estate agent going through a bad divorce. I was terrible at being a mistress, I wasn't good at being dominant, though I was much more cute than submissive. I think that is what originally drew me to Sandra, she was so demanding, so in charge, she would make a great mistress. Unfortunately, her demeanor didn't really make my panties wet, I realized too late that I liked a little equal-ness, especially in a relationship, especially in the bedroom.

It would be nice if she was a little nicer too.

"Coming," I said again, I was liking the word, even more, I felt it roll around my tongue as I clicked up the stairs in my Jimmy Choo pumps. I checked my look once more in the hall mirror, I took a shakey deep breath. I got ready to walk into her bedroom, the one she threw me out of over a year ago.

Knock, knock. "Can I come in?"

"Come in already, Robinson will be here soon."

She turned from her desk, she was of course in a dark gray tracksuit and black walking shoes. She was quiet at first, she was making me confused. She had never seen 'her husband' looking 'female' before. She had seen pictures when I was careless, she had smelled my clothes and desk chair, she knew I wore expensive perfume, she knew I was probably very good at this.

"That's not one of the outfits?"

"It is."

"Why are you not wearing a shirt, those are definitely not my shoes, what the fuck." She put her hands on her hips, she scanned me from my toes to my long eyelashes.

"Your heels won't fit me. Don't I look okay?"

She walked closer, she pulled my wig. It was clipped, glued, and had a little bit of velcro holding it.

"Oww."

"Stop, you are such a wuss. You are way too girly, you are way too good at this." She looked more at my makeup, my red matte lips, my dark eyeshadow, my full bottom lashes. "Go put on a shirt, what are you thinking, I can see your bra. You are not a teenager." We heard a car, she looked out the window which had a view of the whole block. "Shit, he's here already, let's just introduce him. Shit, I had to hire a slutty looking assistant, you better start dressing more appropriately."

Down the stairs, out the front door, we waited next to the garden. "What's your name?"

Oh my god, I had to tell my wife my femme name. She was going to realize I had a femme persona, she was going to realize she married someone much more feminine than herself. "Sabrina."

"Heh, figures." She walked closer to the gate, the block was busy, kids were riding their bikes, and parents were walking their dogs. I felt every one of them look at me in Sandra's black skirt, in my favorite five-inch red heels. I'm sure everyone could smell my perfume.

Her client walked out of the back of a huge SUV limo, he was quite short, he had a smile on his face, I could tell he was looking at my bra and legs and not at Sandra's hand reaching out to him.

"George, finally we meet. Please come, meet my assistant."

She took his arm and brought him closer to me, I suddenly wasn't looking forward to this. I was taller than him by at least three inches. I was only 5'8" without heels but with them, I was an amazon, I was checking him for dandruff, I was trying to ignore the neighbor across the street watching our introduction.

"Sabrina this is Mr. Robinson."

I smiled as he grabbed my hands with my long dark red nails. His smile was getting bigger.

"Hello, nice to meet you, sir." I used my maid's voice, the surprised, slightly nervous, twenty-nine-year-old maid that lived inside me somewhere. She wanted to hide with the vacuum, she was getting tangled in the cord... in the closet.

"Nice to meet YOU," he kissed my hand, felt it linger at his rough lips. "I knew that voice belonged to a very lovely woman."