The Secretary Experience

"I like that idea."

Gloria touched my hand and gave me a smile, "Good. I'll see you in my office," she paused, "next week."

I returned the smile, "Okay. Thank you, doc."

Bonnie and Gloria chatted for a moment, hugged, and then Gloria left. Bonnie came over and took a seat next to me. "She's great."

"She seems to be."

"Give me the information on your mom and dad. I'll find them for you." She continued after my nod, "I really don't want you to stay alone tonight. I'm going to crash here for a day or two."

"You really don't have to do that."

She let out an exasperated sigh, intentionally vocal for emphasis, "and you really don't have a choice."

I doubted that was true, but I could tell that she was determined, and I had hired her, and she had come to my rescue when I had truly needed her. How could I deny her when she was looking out for me? "Okay. Okay."

Bonnie went out to her car and brought in a small, beige suitcase. A large pink and white lanyard hung from one handle. She carried it to one of the spare bedrooms, setting it on the bed. "Relax," she told me. "I'm going to call Paul and tell him I'll not be home for a couple of days."

I felt guilty taking her away from her husband and told her as much. She rolled her eyes as if to tell me that I was being silly. "It happens and he understands."

"Maybe we can all go out for dinner. My treat. A way to apologize."

She rolled her eyes again. Then she gave a warm, caring smile and it lit her face. "That sounds delightful. I'm sure you and Paul will get along perfectly."

And we did. We went to dinner at Bonefish Grill, a pseudo-upscale restaurant that had good food and good drinks. I met Paul at our table; he'd arrived ten minutes earlier, giving a coy smile when he admitted that he hated being late for anything. "Me too," I said, shaking his hand with Bonnie's introduction. A glass of water was sitting alone on one side of the table and two glasses of merlot sat side by side on the other.

Bonnie and Paul kissed, both smiling. He seemed genuinely happy to see her and after they sat down, they seemed to share a palpable connection. The two were always touching. He would hold her hand or she would place her palm on his forearm. When they broke contact to take a sip of wine or a bite of dinner they'd separate briefly and then they'd be touching again, seeming always in contact. I doubted that they were aware of it. I noticed and it made me sad in a way I wasn't expecting.

Paul told me about his job working for Delta Airlines. Living in Atlanta I wasn't the least bit surprised. He made it sound exciting and watching him talk animatedly made me feel a little bit jealous. I'd been fired from my job, not once, but twice, and Paul seemed to enjoy his. I knew I needed to find something to do, something I was excited about, I just didn't have any idea what that could be. I didn't need to work, money wasn't really a concern, but I did need something to fill the day. Something I could enjoy without going through the motions. It was something I'd have to give some serious consideration.

We ate and we chatted. With my casts I struggled to cut my steak; one arm locked at the elbow made it more difficult than it needed to be, but not only was I able to do it I felt a sense of smug satisfaction that I wasn't going to let my casts hinder me. Bonnie watched me, studying my movements. Her eyes seemed to be always on me as I sat across from her and her husband working bites of mashed potatoes or asparagus into my mouth.

"I heard about your job. I'm sorry," Paul said as we were finishing dinner and waiting for desert to arrive, "any idea what you're going to do?"

I shrugged, "I was just thinking about that. I'm sure I'll find something. I'll probably start looking but until I get these casts off." The rest didn't need to be said.

Paul was an amenable man. He told a racy joke that had the three of us laughing and then sidled into a story about a little infant that had been left in an airplane lavatory, abandoned there by a woman far too young to have a child on her own. He talked about how he liked to both snow ski and water ski and then joked how waterskiing was easier because "the mountains were smaller." I think I snorted at that one, not because it was funny, but because of the innocent way he told it, like it was the most reasonable thing to expect water to be mountainous. I liked him and I liked his wife.

After dinner, my guilt for stealing his wife for a few nights making me offer to pay, Paul kissed Bonnie good night and then she drove me home in her sporty, red Camry. I left her alone to get ready for bed while I did the same.

I washed my face and the fingers on my hands that weren't captured in plaster. I brushed my teeth, finding that task just a bit harder thanks to my casts. I stripped off my clothes and then, standing naked in my closet I pulled out a simple night gown. I was yellow, soft and silky with white lace piping along its neck and truncated shoulders. I slipped it on, and then I made my way into the bedroom where I opened my underwear drawer and pulled out a matching pair of yellow lace panties. I slipped those on as well.

"That looks lovely," Bonnie said, standing in my doorway. She was wearing a dark red robe, the color of a pomegranate over a pair of white pajamas. Her hair was straight and tidy, looking far different than it had when she'd come to my rescue.

I looked down at what I was wearing and then up to Bonnie who was smiling but in a way that wasn't derogatory at all. She seemed amused, but more that that. She seemed accepting. "Did you forget I was here?" Even her tone wasn't mocking; it was full of worried compassion like she was a doctor giving a lollipop to a crying child that had skinned her knee bad enough to require stitches.

"No," I admitted, "It's just..." My voice trailed off. What was it? Did I want to admit that I wore either a nightgown or a teddy to bed every night. That muscle memory had a way of overwriting conscious thought? I simply put on what I always wore. There wasn't any thought involved. I probably should have given it some thought, but my mind had been preoccupied with everything I've forgotten. Why would I spend time worrying about things that I did not need to focus on?

"Well, it looks lovely. And when I saw your closet the other day. You have good taste."

My lips rose in a faint smile. I could feel the heat on my cheeks as embarrassment seemed to be all I was feeling in that moment. "Let me change," I said, hating the way my voice wavered a bit like heat rising from a desert highway.

"Don't be silly. This is your house and you should be comfortable."

"Right now, I'd be comfortable if you didn't see me like this."

"Okay." She didn't argue. She didn't push. She just backed away from my open bedroom door and let me change into a pair of black shorts and a simple blue t-shirt. My throat seemed tight and my bedroom seemed to be far too warm. I could still feel the sting of shame on my cheeks. Why hadn't I shut the door? Why hadn't I thought about what I was doing? How was I going to go out and face Bonnie? She'd seen my closet and that had been bad. Now she'd seen me dressed in a comfortable yellow nightgown and that was even worse.

I sat on the bed and put my face in my hands. I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. I wanted to disappear. Instead, I sat there, mute, and ashamed, lost and confused. Too much had happened far too quickly. I looked at the nightgown sitting on my bedroom floor. I wanted to wear it. I felt more like me wearing it. Bonnie had already seen me wearing it so why wasn't I? She had not seemed shocked or offended or angry; she hadn't uttered one word of condemnation. No, that came from me alone as I berated myself for the slip up that hadn't been a slip up. It had been me being me and why did I now thing that was wrong? That was simple; I'd never revealed what I liked to anyone.

From the kitchen I heard Bonnie call, "you okay?"

I didn't answer. I sat there, starting at the nightgown, wanting to wear it because it was mine and I liked it and it was part of me and I did not need a reason but ashamed to face Bonnie wearing what a man just did not wear.

"George?"

"Yeah, coming." I got up, picked up my nightgown and returned it to my closet, feeling a bit jealous of the clothes hanger, knowing that piece of cloth should be hanging on me.

In the kitchen Bonnie was steeping some tea. "You did not have to change for me."

I wasn't sure I agreed but I didn't exactly disagree either. "Maybe not," I shrugged.

"Want to tell me about it."

"Oh, hell no."

Bonnie laughed at that and that at least forced a genuine smile. "You sounded like Will Smith."

If I had it wasn't intentional. "If you say so."

"I do." She held up a coffee cup, "would you like a cup?"

I shook my head. "No thanks. I've already brushed my teeth." I opened a cabinet to grab a glass and filled it with ice and water from the refrigerator.

"So, George?"

She let the unasked question linger. I knew what she wanted to hear. I would be just as curious. But it wasn't something I wanted to talk about. Not at all. "Want to watch TV?"

She smiled again and took a sip of tea. "That would be lovely."

We spent the evening watching reruns of The Big Bang Theory. We both laughed. Bonnie told me her favorite character was Bernadette while mine was Howard. Bonnie laughed at that, "see, we make a good team."

I smiled and took a sip of water.

Occasionally Bonnie would glance at me. I had to wonder what she was thinking. Was she worrying about my health or was she instead focused on what she'd seen me wear and what I wanted to be wearing? Did I have to hide it from her? Hadn't the damage already been done? I'd kept my secret hidden for so long but wasn't my goal not to be hiding in the dark like some nocturnal animal but out in the warm, open light? Bonnie had not seemed disgusted. In fact, I was more disgusted with myself for revealing what I'd always kept hidden. Still, she'd seen my closet and she had seen me and what did it matter? Maybe it was time to do what I wanted to do. I was alone in the world and my brain was scrambled. What did it truly matter?

I took another sip of water. A third. Finally, as Raj was allowing his little dog Cinnamon to lick his face, I said, "What do you want to know?"

Bonnie clapped her hands, squealed, "Oh, goodie," and sat up, setting her coffee cup full of tea on the coffee table. "Tell me, tell me, tell me." She was as giddy as child entering Disney World for the first time, taking in the splendor, the sights, the sound, and the joy.

It had been eating her up. I was truly impressed that she'd been able to just sit there watching TV with me after seeing her reaction. "Well..." I began.

Chapter 4

It was a serendipitous discovery. I found a magazine one afternoon as I was walking home from school. It was the kind of magazine that boys hoped to find, and men genuinely bought. This was before the internet, before teenaged girls dressed so provocatively. Back when, how does that song go, a glimpse of stocking was looked on as something shocking. I was old enough to make such a purchase but was too embarrassed to do so. I was eighteen, but that hardly mattered. Maybe if I didn't live at home, but one does not wish on things that can't change.

I was walking through the woods that separated my high school from a trio of nearly identical subdivisions lined with nearly identical houses. There were paths that went around the woods, paths that skirted close to the cloying, cool canopy of trees, but those paths were frequented by just about everyone and during my early teenaged years I was more of an introvert than anything else. I enjoyed being alone. I liked quiet solitude with a book or napping or even staring up at the clouds and imagining what shapes those clouds hid. I saw a bunny rabbit and a tea bag, a duck, and a dog. Mostly I saw boobs covered with white, frosty nipples.

I remember picking up a stick to poke the moss that grew on only one side of the trees. I chased a bug with a twig, trying to pick it up to examine it closer only to watch it fall to the ground and flitter away beneath a blanket of decomposing leaves.

The air was hot but under the canopy of trees it was far cooler. I could hear kids screaming as they ran or walked or rode their bikes on those concrete paths while I enjoyed the somber presence of a forest that was alive. I heard the chittering of squirrels, the buzzing of insects and the crunch of leaves and twigs under my feet. I enjoyed the gentle sigh the forest made as the wind caressed dark green leaves. It was peaceful.

I heard an odd sound and turned my head. That's when I found my magazine. The summer breeze had ruffled its pages. The once glossy magazine was dirty and stiff but that didn't matter. What mattered is what joyous images I discovered in my new treasure. There were pictures of naked women, showing breasts covered with real nipples, not like the white, frosty ones I imagined in the clouds. They showed more than that, they showed everything; some with hair and some without. I enjoyed those, both on an intellectual level and a primal one as well. The tightening in my pants proved that. What I found even more interesting, and a little bit disturbing if I was being honest, was the odd fact that I enjoyed the earlier pictures in the photo sets so much more. The obscene ones, showing wide open pink, aroused me but the ones showing the women wearing lingerie, bras and panties, and delicious garter belts appealed to me so much more. Backing up, turning the stiff, bloated pages, back to the pictures of the women wearing skirts pulled up just high enough to show a glimpse of lace between their thighs enticed me even more than the pictures that were meant to be the most arousing. Flipping through the pictures, watching the women dress instead of undress was far more meaningful and alluring.

I sat down, my back pressed against the rough bark of a tree and flipped through my newest treasure. I started each picture set at the back, when the lovely women were stripped and spread, revealing the soft treasure between their thighs. I shifted, my hand adjusting my rigidness, and turned the page backwards, folding a stiff, muddied page over, hiding the lovely brunette with a tattoo of a scorpion on her left shoulder. She was now sitting on the bed, one hand covering her breasts and her legs slightly parted revealing a soft, moist cleft. And earlier picture had the dark-haired lady bent forward her breasts hanging down while her bra was just hiding the tips of her nipple. Another picture showed her panties sitting at her thighs, the gusset hanging on just a bit higher as the woman slowly peeled them down.

I turned the page anew. Now the woman was standing in front of a mirror wearing her lacy black panties and matching bra. Her stockings were sitting on the bed behind her while the delicate straps of her garter belt hung limply down her lovely thighs.

I stared at her lingerie.

The bra was tiny, far too small to hold the entirety of the young lady's breasts. I could see the bright nub of her nipples peaking through the thin lace. I ran one finger along the muddied page, slipping my finger along the line where her breasts met the bra. I could feel the rough edge of the lace not caring that it was dirt and grime I was feeling under my wandering finger. No, it wasn't dirt, I told myself. I was feeling her bra and the soft, warm flesh hiding beneath it.

The bra was black with tiny cups and thick straps. I could see some gentle floral pattern in the tantalizing lace of the cups. A tiny purple flower rested between the cups adding a small flash of decorative color.

I ran my finger along the rough page again, wanting to hold the bra in my hand. I couldn't explain why, but I wanted to touch the bra. Hold it. Smell it.

I wanted to wear it.

My fingers slipped down the woman's stomach to her tiny thong. A ribbon of lace topped the panties and an equal line of tatting raced lower to snake between the woman's thighs before coming up the back again. The panties were as thin as the bra and I could see the faintest trace of the velvety softness hidden by that lace.

I wanted to wear those panties, too. Maybe more than the bra.

Overhead a squirrel made a loud noise that sounded like a snort. I looked up, seeing the overhanging leaves and a few specks of blue that wasn't quite hidden from view. I never saw the squirrel. I turned back to the magazine, flipping the page again.

She was dressed now, wearing a short orange tartan skirt and a white sweater with a large, orange capital T embossed on the breast. Her brown hair was pulled back into a single ponytail somehow looked lighter than it had on the previous page. She wore the faintest wisp of a smile. Her cheeks were red, and her blue eyes seemed to hide the answer to so many unasked questions.

I looked at the skirt for a full two minutes, imagining how the hem would feel toying with my own thighs. Would it flit and flounce as I walked as I'd seen happen on so many of the girls in school? I was sure it would, and I was equally certain that it would feel amazing.

I sat there on the leaf covered earth, my back against a tree, with my eyes shut trying to figure out why my mind had latched onto the idea of wearing the skirt and bra, the sweater and panties. Why had those thoughts taken over, pushing aside the thoughts of what I could do in bed with a woman like that buxom brunette? I couldn't recall ever being so enamored by women's clothes, but I couldn't deny my thoughts or the racing of my heart or how my pants seemed so much tighter as I pictured pulling that simple pleated skirt up my thighs to fasten it around my waist.

The magazine fell from my lap to flutter on the ground. I reached for it, never opening my eyes. Instead I kept the thought of wearing that skirt dancing through my consciousness. I knew I'd have to try it, just to know that I didn't need it anymore. It would be a passing fancy, just a random thought that wormed into my brain and laid about a million eggs. Putting on a skirt or maybe a dress would hatch those eggs and send these alien thoughts away. I was sure of it.

I was wrong.

*****

"So that's when you knew you liked lingerie? And women's clothing?"

I gave Bonnie a weak nod, finding it so very hard to move my head at all.

"And when did you wear some for the first time?"

I didn't hesitate with my answer. "Two weeks later."

*****

I was old enough to stay home alone. That's a huge milestone in a young man's life. My parents were going out of town for the weekend, promising to return Sunday night. I was technically an adult, but still living at home so subject to the rules my parents imposed.

"You have grandma's number," my dad said, sounding serious but smiling. He, too, knew a corner was being turned. "Call if you have any problems."

"I promise," I said, meaning it. I was a little bit scared. I'd been home alone for a few hours and once, I'd put myself to bed before my parents made it home so that had felt like I'd been left alone for almost a full day but this time my mom and dad wouldn't be just a few minutes away. They were visiting my grandmother who lived in Savannah nearly four hours south. Close enough but not that close. It was a big step.

My mom gave me a kiss on the cheek; my dad kissed the top of my head. I watched them leave, somehow not believing that I had the house to myself and finding myself a little overwhelmed at the thought. It was a simple taste of freedom and it was delightful. I could do what I wanted, eat what I wanted, and stay up as late as I possibly could. There wasn't anyone there but me to tell me what to do.