Sweetness

"What do you mean?"

I heard my own cell phone beep. The first of a long line of texts coming in. Then it exploded in a cacophony of incoming texts. For a few long seconds it seemed that my phone would never stop bleating.

Flashing a grin full of teeth, she said, "my parents, your parents, your two sisters, pretty much everyone you know. Well, maybe not everyone, I didn't have the time for that. Yet."

I fell into my chair. I knew that most people would find out eventually, that was inevitable, but I hadn't expected it to come at the malicious hands of Linda and in one quick, angry swoop. My phone beeped again. And again. The sound of my phone seemed to echo, not in the room, but in my heart. What were people thinking? What were my parents thinking? My sisters? Who had to know by now that I'd swiped their panties when I was younger. What would they say? My phone announced its presence again, demanding that I look but I was too afraid to even glance at the screen. My head would jerk towards the phone every time it chimed but I couldn't force myself to reach for it. There were too many problems coming in and maybe too much damage.

"Why are you even here?"

"Jack called me, and I had to see this for myself. I always knew you were a little sissy, you and your damned panties, but this, oh, Sweetness, this is too much."

There it was again, the same word Peyton called me only coming from Linda it didn't sound appealing. It sounded like something that growled and bit and maimed. And killed. "You've had your fun. Just leave."

Linda gave me that predatory grin again, "I'm not even close to being done with having fun." She rolled her eyes like I had said the dumbest thing she'd ever heard. "But, yeah, I'm leaving." She brought her phone up and took a few more pictures before I could even think to shout at her to stop. "I've got some more texts to send and a few posts to make on Facebook. You're still on LinkedIn, right?"

"Please don't."

"Why, Sweetness, I think that's the first time I heard you say 'please' in over two years. Fat chance, sissy." She spun around, glowered at Gayle, "how can you work for this pansy?"

"Easier than working for you." Score one for Gayle. She deserved a raise. She would get one.

Linda made some derisive snort and then left the office to do more damage. I had gone over countless scenarios about my dressing like a woman at work. Being outed to the world before lunch had never entered my mind. Linda coming, and wreaking havoc hadn't entered my thoughts either.

My phone beeped again. The tones were coming less frequently but they were still coming in and when Linda followed through on her threat, I knew it would be bleating even more.

"Are you okay, Louise?"

I started to say something, paused, closed my mouth, opened it again, shook my head, and closed my mouth again. Finally, "I will be." That much was true. No matter what happened I would be okay. I had Peyton and that was enough. I thought about that for a moment. My world was collapsing, and my thoughts went to Peyton and how no matter what she would support me and be there for me. She was solid and strong and on my team. How could I not be okay? I looked up at Gayle, nodding, "Yeah, I'll be okay."

She looked skeptical, "you sure?"

I smiled, and it was genuine. "Yeah. I mean it. Thanks, Gayle. Loved what you said to Linda, by the way."

"She's such a bitch!"

It was the first time I laughed that day and it felt good, my face rising in a smile.

Gayle went back to work as the office phone range. My smile faded when Gayle transferred the call.

Most of my staff had been ready for my debut, save for the ones that left. My clients were not. Looking back, I find it funny that I barely gave any thought to what my clients would say, assuming that since I rarely met them in person then they'd not really concern themselves with what I was wearing. I'd been having such a good time with Peyton and my staff, while maybe not supportive, were at least acceptable to the idea, so when Gayle announced that Walter Smythe of Smythe Hardware was on the phone I didn't think about what I was wearing. Maybe I should have.

"Walter," I said, not hiding my voice. Gayle was right about that at least. My voice didn't even come close to matching how I was dressed. The tone of my voice, the timbre, belied how I looked. If I were a print ad I'd be out of focus.

The conversation was brief. I'd lost a customer. By the end of the day I'd lost over half. The first wave had been the ones that Jack had stolen; the final crescendo by the ones that were too close-minded or too prejudiced to hire an advertising firm run by "a damned sissy," or a "flaming faggot," or my least favorite, "a pussy."

My thoughts of growing the company were shattered before the end of the day. Now I'd have to hustle to make up the ground I lost. I refused to release any of my staff for my actions. I'd take a cut to my own considerable wealth before I let that happen. In time, I was sure, my business would grow again. That led to a thought, which led to another. I made a few notes and finally, with the end of the day approaching, I picked up my cell phone. It was time to see what I didn't want to see.

True to hear word Linda had send the most damning pictures of me to my parents, my sisters, my friends, her friends, pretty much anyone that knew me before I started dressing like a woman. Most of the texts were derogatory and I knew I'd lost a few friends as I read their demeaning comments. The ones from my mom was sweet: What shall we call our new daughter? My sisters were equally supportive: It's about time, from one, and Where did you get that blazer? from the other. Marie finally confirmed what I suspected all along. After the It's about time, she followed that with: I guess you have your own panties now? That made me smile even if it was a weak one at best.

Leaving the office for the day I had deleted about twenty-five contacts from my phone. I'd never hear from them again. That stung a bit, but the pain was eased by how many people either accepted or supported what I was doing.

With them and Peyton it would be more than enough.

Epilogue

One Last First

I mentioned having my last first date. That life was full of firsts and just as many lasts. The day Linda had released nuclear Armageddon on my life was the last day I ever saw her. Following our divorce, the day we'd both stood in front of a judge with our lawyers by our side should have been the last day I had laid eyes upon her, but life has a way of intermingling surprises between its firsts and lasts. She had come marching into my office with vicious animosity and had set my life on fire, before marching out the door just as fast, never to be seen again.

Arriving home that night I waited for Peyton, texting her brief snippets of my day. At that point, feeling defeated, ashamed, angry, scared, frustrated and who knows what else had left me longing for something positive, something that I could grasp onto for support and comfort and that something was a someone. Peyton. Since the day I'd met her she had been there for me. She pushed me into going to work dressed as a woman, but I wasn't just any woman, I was her woman and that possessiveness made it something far grander.

She came rushing into my house and raced into my arms. I hugged her, clutching her like a drowning man grasps a life raft. My hands dug into her sides and I felt the tears on my cheek moisten the shoulder of her scrubs. "It'll be okay, Sweetness," she cooed and just hearing her say her pet name in that kind tone she had seemed to overpower the angry way that Linda had said it hours earlier. How could one word, spoken by two different women, have such differing meaning? "Tell me what happened." Her voice was soft and sweet and full of warmth, compassion, tenderness and concern all at once.

I replayed the day, leaving nothing out. Why should I? At that point I had no secrets from Peyton. None at all. I paused long enough to ponder that. Linda had known about my panties but not that there were times that I thought of wearing more. I had kept secrets from Linda and never once had I thought of hiding anything from Peyton. There was something to that. Something powerful, like I knew before I really knew that Peyton and I were destined for the long term. That I'd grow old with her and she with me.

I told her about Jack and the disgusted look on his face as he stormed out shouting, "I quit!" I told her about Linda coming in and assaulting me with her phone, taking damning picture after damning picture and sending them to my parents, my sisters, my clients. I told her about Linda posting the pictures on her Facebook page and linking the photos to my LinkedIn account. "Before I left today not a single person who knows me was kept out of Linda's damned loop."

Peyton held me, cooing into my wig.

I let her hold me taking the comfort she was offering. I felt the stress of the day diminish; it would take months before it faded fully, but before we stopped for dinner, I was feeling better and the looks Peyton gave me told me that I had not weakened her at all. That old saying came to mind, something about a problem shared was a problem halved, but seeing how Peyton helped me without showing so much as a nick in her armor told me that maybe the math was a little more lopsided. A problem shared was a problem resolved seemed more accurate.

I told her about the customers I lost, first to Jack and then to prejudice. She took it all in, comforting me with a word or a touch or a smile or a kiss. "It'll be okay," she said as we washed the dinner dishes. "You'll bounce back from this, easy-peasy."

"How do you know?"

"Because I know you, Sweetness. I know the man you are no matter what you're wearing. I know the compassion you share for your staff; I know the resolve you possess. I know you and you'll get through this and come out even better."

I wanted to doubt her but there was a conviction in her tone that gave me pause. I had built my business from nothing and it had made me wealthy. I enjoyed what I did, and I was good at it. Maybe Peyton was right. So what if I had to build anew. The staff that remained were loyal and good and my reputation was solid. The customers that left were closed-minded and maybe it would be good to branch out in a new, forward-thinking way. It's not like I had a choice. You can't change the past, but you could look to the future.

Over the next nine weeks my business solidified. The idea I had had after the mass exodus had been simple. I advertised myself. I poured a bit of money back into the company and ran a few print ads coming out as Louise. It seemed to work. I gained two new clients and hired a new salesman. Her name was Meredith and she had just left one of the big companies in New York. You know the kind, the ones who make commercials for the Super Bowl. She had just transferred to the area and needed a job and my outfit was the only one she wanted. She chose me because of the way I dressed. "My wife is going to love you, Louise," she said following her interview. I couldn't want to meet her.

After hiring Meredith my business grew again. Six weeks after hiring Meredith I was back to needing to expand my staff again. Meredith helped with that, too, brining in clients from her old big-city business. It turned out Peyton had been right. Rebounding had been easy-peasy. Mostly. At the onset I had lost a bit of sleep but that had now passed, and the future looked bright.

I had thought going to work as a woman would be the biggest of firsts. It wasn't. It was the second biggest.

With my business back to a new, better normal and my staff no longer phased by how I dressed, and my personal life damned near perfect, I had a revelation. I was sitting in my office, working on a proposal for a new print ad for deodorant when it hit me. My mind had wandered to where it always did when I was working on autopilot: Peyton. What had started out with a deliciously wicked introduction had blossomed into the best relationship of my life. Peyton, more than anything else, was the most important thing in my life. If my business hadn't recovered, I know I would have been okay because Peyton was with me.

Casting aside thoughts of deodorant I picked up the phone.

After work I drove to Peyton's house. She was still in her scrubs. I was wearing a cream-colored blouse with a dark maroon skirt. Two strands of pearls encircled my neck and matching earrings adorned my lobes. I no longer wore a wig. My own hair had grown out long enough that I now had bimonthly appointments to get it coiffed and styled. Next week I was going to add some auburn highlights because Peyton had seen the color in a magazine and decided it would look good on me. And since she was still in charge, and always would be, my hair would be changed to suit her mood. I was her Barbie doll and I was okay with that. "Go change," I said, "we're going out."

Peyton went to change. She came out of the bedroom in a simple floral dress that ended just above the knee. She was wearing two-inch heels. It was another one of the rules she had put in place. Not only was my cock still trapped in its prison, but now it was mandated that whenever we went out my heels had to be higher than hers. She got a thrill out of that and to tell the truth, so did I. In fact, my lowest heel was still taller than Peyton's highest.

I drove to the restaurant where I'd called ahead for a reservation. It wasn't exactly a five-star restaurant, but it was clean with good food. It was same restaurant where Peyton and I had had our first date. She sat opposite me, the little candle on the table sending soft shadows across her lovely face. Brad didn't wait on us this time; we had a waitress named Kathryn. She was every bit as attentive as Brad had been so many months ago, but I didn't really notice. Peyton smiled at me, "what's on your mind, Sweetness. You're acting strange."

"Am I?"

She nodded but kept smiling, "yep!"

I licked my lips, tasting my lipstick. I smiled back at her. I reached out and took her hands. "I was thinking about you today."

She let out a little laugh. I felt her foot slide up my leg. I knew what she was thinking, "I bet you were. I wonder if our panties match?" Her fingers tickled my wrist

I let her foot toy with my leg. "I was. I think about you a lot to be honest."

She beamed but said nothing.

One last first came spilling from my painted lips. "I love you." It had finally dawned on me at work, working on a new advertisement for a woman's deodorant, that my feelings for Peyton weren't imagined, but real and they surpassed anything I'd ever felt for Linda. I know that wasn't fair to my ex-wife, but it was honest and sitting in that booth, I was feeling true, honest emotions. I had been for a while. Except for our daughters, it was the last time I told someone I loved them for the first time.

Peyton didn't hesitate. She smiled and said, "I love you, too."