Emma's Stiletto Seduction Pt. 20

The office Christmas party

Emma's Stiletto Seduction Pt. 20

This is a continuing story, my journal, please see :

Emma's stiletto seduction 01 to Pt. 19 for prior entries.

Comments welcome.

It had been nearly two years since David and I had started seeing each other. It was the longest relationship of my life, by nearly two years.

As a closeted transvestite, and later transwoman, I hadn't really done proper relationships in the past. But recently 'coming out', especially to friends and at work, had changed my life completely. Instead of only meeting men for secret sex liaisons, I could now take my time, and date men properly. As a transwoman and male couple.

That was the idea anyway, to get into the dating scene and sample all there was to offer. But things hadn't quite worked out like that.

Two years ago I had a dream about my work colleague, David. And I woke from this dream a different person. The immediate change in me was as simple as it was profound. I realised that I fancied him.

Even though I had been having sex with many men before, it seems odd even writing this, but I had not fancied any of them. Not one. I had been perfectly able to have sex with strangers, without knowing them, sometimes without even seeing them.

But after my dream about David, I couldn't hide an uncomfortable fact.

I fancied him something rotten, it was like the first crush of a teenage girl.

It came as a shock when I came out as trans to most people, but my friend David had not run away or disowned me. If anything, he was intrigued. He was also at a similar point in his own life to me. His marriage had broken down and, after his wife of thirty-plus years had moved out of his life, he found himself all alone for the very first time.

It was the first time we had arranged to meet up together outside of the workplace, the first time that I had dressed properly in front of him, as Emma, that we were able to move from a friendship to 'friends with benefits'.

After I seduced him, or as he refers to our first date, "got him drunk enough to let me suck his cock", we had been together.

We got off to a rocky start, I wasn't used to being in a monotonous committed relationship and still retained the ability for it to be an open relationship. I felt the need to have sex with others, because that's the only thing I knew. To have my cake and eat it.

David, by now my boyfriend, initially accepted and encouraged this, but it was always going to be difficult to move forwards in our relationship with this lack of monogamy. It had been fun at the start to explore a new-found sex life with others, yes, but we had grown so close that David no longer wanted to share me, and I did not feel the need to be shared. I had finally met a man that was enough for me.

The question that I ask myself a lot is, "Was it odd that David had known me befeore I came out as trans?"

My truthful answer, "Yes and no."

It was odd, but we had only been casual friends before, sharing coffee at work but nothing much else. How many strong relationships are built an the couple being friends before getting together sexually?

After eighteen months of dating, we took our relationship to the next step in summer this year. I was staying over with David at his 1930s detached house most nights of the week, until it became impractical for me to keep going home to change. After not wanting to leave his home one evening, and David not wanting me to leave, he asked me to move in.

Against the odds I think we have made a success of it. Yes, we probably suffered from spending a little bit too much time together, especially as we now lived and worked together too. But we had continued to keep things special and interesting sexually, by experimenting in how, where and when we were intimate.

This filled the gap, for me, for now. The loss in adrenaline and excitement I had once felt when having sex with other men had been partially filled. It was working for us.

Although it had been nearly six months of us living together, we still tried to keep our relationship status and private life private. I had to tell HR at work about my change of address, but they seemed not to cross-reference it with another member of staff. Why would they? Keeping myself to myself and avoiding any basis for a workplace rumour had kept us hidden.

If anyone had noticed us arriving at work together, when we didn't use our separate cars, we always prepared a mundane excuse. Flat battery, car in garage. MOT. People knew we were close friends, and that was it.

I had also kept my 'dressing' to a minimum in the workplace. The initial interest that I received two years ago when I came out as trans had long since died down. I kept my transition there slow, much slower than in the real world. I didn't want to shock people, or make them uncomfortable by just arriving on a Monday a completely different person.

I dressed down, more gender neutral than feminine at first. I wore my long straight black shoulder length hair in a bun or topknot, like a lot of the younger men and woman at the office. If I ever wore it down I would keep it messy, choosing not to comb and style it into my usual sleek perfect bob I preferred to wear at home.

I refrained from wearing high heels, dresses and such gendered apparel.

It was the complete opposite of my private life, there I was able to indulge my sense of fashion in the way that I had since I was 13 years of age. Quite goth, heavy eye makeup. Lots of black leather pencil skirts and dresses. And the highest stiletto heels that I could walk in.

Slowly I would start to be my real self in work. Starting with a tailored leather suit jacket, perhaps a pair of loose leather trousers. Then wet-look leggings. Or knee high boots with a flat heel.

I wore make-up every day, but again I started neutral, avoiding my trademark thick liquid eyeliner and long false eyelashes. If I ever wore a bold lipstick colour, I made sure to compliment it with the most dower and boring outfit imaginable.

Slowly, and steadily I would become 'Emma'. Slowly and steadily I would become more accepted. It was a process that had continued for three years.

"One day they will have to see the real you." David said, and encouraged.

And he was right. It was just a case of waiting for the appropriate occasion.

At the start of December an email was sent to all staff, advising them of the annual staff Christmas Party. David and I were soon texting each other to see if we would attend this year. Last year we had decided that it was an event to avoid.

I checked my messages...

David: Hi Em, did you get teh office party email?x

Emma: Yes we all got it here too. X

David: What do you think? X

Emma: As in go? X

David: Yes x

Emma: As in together? x

David: Well, maybe. What do you think? x

I paused for a moment.

"Would this be a good opportunity to be myself?" I thought.

Emma: Would you be ok if I came as myself? X

David: What do you mean? X

Emma: Emma x

David: Look, you are Emma. I know you dress down here at work, but you don't have to. X

David: No one even mentions it anymore, apparently it is no longer worth gossiping about. X

Emma: How disappointing. Perhaps my 'Miss Christmas' outfit will change that! X

David: I don't know what that means, but Im sure you will succeed. X

We purchased our tickets before the end of the day.

If you are not aware, my workplace is home to around one thousand employees split over two areas. Staff are arranged in several office buildings on site. Some modern built of glass and steel and others that were older, more concrete affairs.

Car parks were large and generous, in contrast to the parking in the town we were based in. Central to the main campus area was a new build structure dating from 2016. It was the main reception to visitors on site and also the preferred meeting place and canteen. Well, we called it a canteen but it was much more like a modern food court you would find in a shopping mall.

Large glass windows and a 3 story dome which formed the main atrium, surrounded by mezzanine levels which led to meetings rooms, breakout spaces and open plan offices.

Both David and I were pleased not to work in 'The Atrium' each day, and were happier with our older and more brutalist 1960s architecture buildings. But it would be "The Atrium" that was going to host this year's office Christmas Party.

The tickets said the start time was 7.30pm, but that would be when the management speeches begin. The water cooler gossip in the week leading up to the evening would mostly consist of women asking, "Are you going home to change first?"

Neither David or myself had attended the party in many years. It definitely wasn't my thing when I was younger. But things had changed for me, and for David too.

It was, as ever, mostly going to be older members of staff attending. The younger members of the workforce could not think of anything worse than spending more time in the office when they could be out at a much more hip and trendy place.

Using words like "hip" and "trendy", even in this journal I'm writing to you now, was ageing me also.

The joke going around the office was that the average age of attendees would be 60 years, and they would all be in bed by 10pm with a cup of cocoa. But of course it wasn't like that. Yes, the average age was going to be high, but it would be unlikely they left by 10pm.

The Christmas party was usually used as an excuse to get drunk, or ask out the person you had fancied from afar over the last year. The "free bar", that had actually been mostly paid for by the ticket price, enabling many normally straight laced people to let down their guard.

Apparently the usual order of affairs would be for the higher management to thank everyone for attending, wish everyone a "Merry Christmas" and then leave so that the real party can get started.

It had gained a reputation for the saying, "what happens at the party stays at the party".

--

Once I had made the decision to attend, and taken the difficult decision to be the real me, a full transwoman, I had a short time to think about what to wear.

I was frustrated at holding back over the past three years. Yes, I was happy in that I had been able to transition without many issues there, but it was time to test the waters, to be the real me, the full gothic vamp me, in-front of my colleagues.

David was encouraging and would leave any decisions I had to make to myself, he would "support me no matter what."

On the day of the party I left work at 4.30pm, with lots of people sneaking out a little early to go home and change. David and I had a taxi booked for 7pm so it gave me little time to get ready.

It reminded me very much of how I had to prepare for a meeting with a man in my previous sex life. I had laid out my outfit the night before, and I only had to do my hair, make-up and then get changed.

The base of many of my best outfits was always the same, I wore a black 32b boned lace basque that was underwired to help push up my growing breasts into a reasonable l handful. It had four suspenders that held up a pair of black fishnet stockings.

I painted my fingernails gloss black, something that I had yet to do in the workplace but did each and every weekend or whenever David and I were out on a date.

I wore my hair down, in my trademark sleek glossy black bob, with a slight undercurl. Lashings of hairspray attempted to keep it in place. If you looked closely, you could see my 24 carat gold 3" hooped earrings poking through. They were a present to myself from a few years ago.

My makeup was much much more than usual office wear. Heavy black eye make up, and mascara applied to long false lashes on both my upper and lower eyelids. Bright red lip liner and waterproof lipstick extenuated the natural pout of my lips. I did have a natural 'resting bitch face' and this only drew attention to it.

I chose to wear a bright red long sleeved cotton top, a definite change from my usual style. It had a white fur trim around the neckline, which dipped teasingly into my breasts, showing a hint of my basque. The fur lining was mirrored at the cuffs too.

I paired this with a black leather pleated skater style skirt, which flared out at the hem. It was not as tight as my usual style. It was just long enough to cover my stocking tops.

I took out a pair of black leather over-the-knee boots from our spare 3rd bedroom, which was now doubling as my dressing room. They had a 3 inch stiletto kitten heel so that I could dance if i needed to, but were still sexy. Either way, I knew the metal tips would make a big impression on the wooden floor of the Atrium building, if not the male staff attending.

I made the decision to wear my long boots turned down over the knee, I didn't think that I would go thigh-high tonight.

I knew it was going to make a statement to everyone. No work-colleagues had seen me as the gothic attraction I actually was, only David. Three years of wearing flat shoes, trouser suits and my hair tied back would be forgotten in a heartbeat.

-

David was waiting at the foot of the stair case, and called up to me.

"Taxi will be here in 5 minutes."

As I came down the stairs David said nothing, but his face said it all.

"Will I do?" I asked, casually.

"You know you do," said David, "You always do it for me."

And I knew that mattered most.

David placed my black leather jacket over my shoulders as we left the house. It was a dark and cold evening, and I felt a chill as the winter air brushed against the skin now exposed by my fishnet stockings.

The taxi driver held the door for me, and closed it as I precariously climbed into the back seat. David entered through the other door.

We travelled back to the office in silence, but he took my hand in his which helped steady my nerves. It was too late to go back. It was time we moved on.

I took a deep breath and we entered the atrium together, but separately. We were not yet announcing our status as a couple.

After I checked in my jacket at the make-shop cloakroom, it felt like I was being outed once more as a transwoman. The light of a hundred pairs of inquisitive eyes were being reflected back at me.

Even though I stand out at work, the only openly transwoman there, the campus was large enough for many colleagues never to have met me, or certainly to pay me more than glancing attention. I had skated below their radar, dressed down, and kept myself to myself. Simply lost as part of the furniture.

Only tonight was different.

I immediately felt the weight of the eyes of men contemplating me, and the eyes of women judging me.

Initially, their looks were more 'who is this?' As I had certainly made an entrance. My outfit announcing my presence like a siren.

After their initial thoughts had rescinded, they turned to astonishment when they realised that this new person was in fact 'Emma'. Or as they were referring to me when nudging a colleague, "you know, _that_ Emma".

Thankfully the women on my office floor made their way to me, though either pity or interest. They whisked me away like a pride of lions protecting their young from a group of preying hyenas.

To my surprise, the middle-aged women in my group were very complimentary.

Whenever I have met people in the past in such situations it had always been overwhelmingly positive. In my non-work life, I pass easily. I don't have to tell anyone I'm trans so there is no issue. Here in this situation they all knew my past, and if they didn't, the gossip tran that was careering around the party corrected that oversight for everyone.

I received lots of positive comments, usually of the like of "you have great legs." Women always seem to compliment the legs of transwomen.

"I wish I had your legs!", again, tonight.

Really? Im 5 foot 4 with short legs and a very round arse. Are you sure you want them?

Another topic was always make-up.

"Its the first time I've seen you in make-up Emma."

And

"Did you do it yourself?"

I'm sure they they mean well, in a clumsy way.

"Yes, I did do my make-up myself. Just ike I've been doing it for 35 years."

Dispute a lot of interest in me, the comments were overwhelmingly positive. I had only overheard a small handful of catty comments.

"Miss xmas? More like Elvira." I heard a separate group of women say as I walked past them.

Little did they know, I would take that very much as a compliment.

It is impossible for any women, for any transwomen, to please everyone. I was happy with the ratio I had received from the women this evening. The men however, remained a complete mystery.

As the evening evolved and the speeches brought to a close, David and I found ourselves in two separate peer groups gathered on the upper level mezzanine floor.

A coffee lounge had been temporarily converted into a cocktail bar. This floor level had the advantage of darker, and more complimentary lighting, and it was looking down over a balcony into the central atrium. We could watch and comment on the younger people who seemed to have too much energy, dancing away

The groups taking shelter here were men and women, all aged around 45 to late 50s

The women that constituted 'my group' were a mix of divorcees, married or single women with a partner. None of whom are here with them.

"It is the one night in the year I get off" remarked one lady.

"In more ways than one" Quipped another.

As the drinks from the cocktail bar flowed, so did the banter between us. Their questions to me becoming ever more intimate. I understood that I was now an unknown entity to them, and I appreciated that I was going to get somewhat of an interrogation.

My tight red top exposed the crease between my breasts. It was a matter of time before these ladies asked for more information.

"Are they real?"

"Yes, they are not fake. Although I'm having a bit of help with them tonight."

'"Can I touch them?" Said a particularly emboldened colleague...

On gaining my permission, she approached me from the front, placing her hands over my breasts, cupping them. I felt her give them a gentle squeeze.

"They feel like mine!" She gasps.

The ridiculousness of her answer was not lost on the group.

"Of course they do you silly mare." Was the group response.

By now they all wanted to touch, and they did. I was used to being the centre of attention like this in my former sex-life, but never with a group of women all queuing up to touch and discuss my growing 32b breasts.

"Great figure", they coo.

"I'm now officially jealous" says another, honestly and genuinely.

And then the light hearted mood was taken to the next level. One woman takes out a branch of mistletoe from her handbag and held it over me.

"I've never kissed a trans before," she corrects herself, "a woman like you."

She was middle-aged, blonde. Dressed in a tight black sequinned dress and patent leather high heels. She was an inch or two taller than me.

She continued to hold the mistletoe above my head.

I peck her on the lips.

The girls laugh and smily naughtily, like kissing a transwoman was the most daring thing they have ever done.

The male group consisting of David and his peers are looking on, watching the confident blonde woman kiss me,

The women look over to the others, to see if their antics have been noticed.

The men look on, trying to seem unruffled.

"They are probably still talking about work", the girls laugh again

But David's group were not talking about work, they were talking about the girls.

Specifically, the latest question was which one of the girls they would fuck first given half a chance.

The blonde was seemingly the office favourite, her confidence not limited to office parties and seemingly was a regular office flirt.