BE FOREWARNED. The following story contains sexually explicit material not suited for those who have not yet achieved the age of maturity. If you should fall into this category, do not read further. Consult the laws of your community to clarify if you are eligible to read adult sexual material. The theme is transsexual. If this type of reading matter offends you, read no further. Go do something else. Standard disclaimer applies. Any association with real people, places, events, or entities is purely coincidental.

 

Meritorious Induction

by

Virginia Kane
Copyright 2001. All rights reserved.

 

Chapter One.

A very good-looking woman approached me while I was dutifully soliciting some advertising, radio time, from the owner in a local cocktail lounge. That’s my job. I sell commercial time for a suburban-based radio station. The money is good, as long as advertisers are satisfied with consumer response and they subscribe for additional airtime on a recurring basis. I get paid by the minute, so to speak. One minor drawback is: I often do have to compose text for the commercials, since advertisers are not very good at wording radio spots for maximum effect.

Otherwise, ---- well, that’s not the point. The point is: this "girl" approached me in the bar and came on to me, fast and furious. It’s not a common occurrence for me to enjoy. One hand would suffice to indicate the number of times a pretty girl "hit" on me in any bar, day or night time, with a few unused fingers left over.

Fortunately, the bartender on duty at the time was the business’ owner; at least, he claimed to be; so, he was all ears to hear my "schpiel" because the bar was empty. He was interested enough, but excused himself to answer the phone just before the girl arrived and approached me. I lost interest in my purpose for being there, as the lady introduced herself, then asked for the whereabouts of "Larry", I guessed he was the man busy on the phone inside the small office in the back, behind the raised audio equipment booth.

I pointed in that direction, and she nodded her understanding. Without any further promulgation on my part, she sat next to me, put her hand on my thigh nearer to her and smiled. "What brings you out so early, handsome?"

I froze. I’m not handsome, nor am I used to being fondled, especially by anyone with a great figure and pretty face. She could tell that I was thrown for a loop.

"Ew, a newbie! Is this your first time ‘out’?"

At the time, I didn’t catch the significance, but nodded affirmatively anyway, wondering where the conversation with this young lady was going. Apparently, for some reason, she appreciated dialogue with a man not familiar with the place. It was, in fact, my initial visit to this particular bar. My territory recently expanded to include the street it is on, due to my employer’s last territorial redistricting.

I was "canvassing" the area, and tried to explain to her that my presence was due to work. Door-to-door was the most effective means of assuring coverage in the least amount of time. For some reason, I thought it important to tell her so.

"You can say that, again." Her hand began to creep up toward my crotch as she uttered her last comment. "The direct approach is always the best way to scout out a prospect, honey. Don’t you think?"

I assumed that I was the prospect, in this case, and she didn’t hesitate to let me know what she was prospecting for. I was willing to see how far she would go, but I wasn’t prepared for what happened next.

"Hey, Carla! Back off. That’s not him. He’s selling, not buying." The owner rushed behind the bar toward us to shed light on the situation. "This gentleman came in trying to sell me commercial time on the radio. The other dude split in a huff over a hour ago because you stood him up." It dawned on me. The pretty lady was a genuine hooker. No wonder she was spiffed up to the nines. I gave her classy chassis a good going over again, just to nail down my guess.

"All men are potential buyers, Larry. We were discussing marketing techniques a moment ago, while you were busy. It seems that strategy in sales is common, regardless of what the product is. Besides, he sells time, just like me. We have a lot in common. Don’t we, honey?" She looked me up-and-down, like I was in the same line of business she was in. "Seeing that our customer is fully satisfied is our primary goal. I’ll bet we could teach each other a lot of tactics that would help us to reach new quotas. Care for a free, home demonstration, lover?"

I was still on the clock, and hadn’t cinched the sale with ‘Larry’ yet. "I’d love to, but I’m working right now." I was tempted. It had been a long sex-void dry spell for me. My overweight body was a turn-off to most girls. I’d have loved to take her up on her tantalizing offer, but I needed to close at least one sale. I couldn’t let good fortune falling in my lap deter me from my responsibilities to my landlord. Since I’m paid on commission, I wouldn’t be able to pay the next month’s rent on time, unless I produced some results. I wasn’t about to let the additional territory recently awarded to me lay fallow. I looked to the owner/bartender for a reaction.

"I’ll be here waiting when you get back. Go on. You might find that you’ll enjoy a mid-day break with Carla. Might change your luck." He was suggesting that I take full advantage of what seemed to be a rare opportunity, indeed. A free sample from a classy hooker is unheard of, as far as I know.

She slid her arm around my waist. "I know just the thing to make your day." She slid a hand over my aroused groin and let it linger there. The owner/bartender put a key down on the bar, which she picked up without making comment.

She led me by the hand like a small, obedient child to the back door. From, there, we took the outside staircase to the second floor. For a very old building in a less than desirable neighborhood, the condition of the interior hallway of the building was neat and well maintained. It must have been recently renovated. The key that the owner gave to Carla fit the entry deadbolt lock of a smartly appointed studio apartment up above the cocktail lounge.

"Nice place you have here."

"It’s not mine. Come here and kiss me." I put my hands on the sides of her hips, while her hands grasped my head, as her lips met mine in a passionate, open-mouthed lip-lock. She sucked my willing tongue right out of my mouth, into hers, in a tempting display of what her intentions were. As I wrapped my arms around her, her hands began to wander lower, pausing to pinch my nipples through my shirt, before proceeding to my butt, where she pulled my groin hard against hers.

My manhood asserted itself. It was then I noticed her skirt had a similar insistent prod returning the gesture. I pushed her away. "You’re a man!"

"I wondered how soon you’d figure that out." She smiled. "I thought you might know initially, seeing as you were sitting a gay bar. When Larry alerted me that you weren’t the same man who asked about me earlier, I decided to find out how far we’d get before you’d discover my hidden secret."

My ardor had subsided, and so did hers, I noticed. "Does the notion of being in an apartment, alone with a man that looks very much like a woman, bother you?"

"I don’t mean to be crude, but I’m straight as an arrow. I was curious to see what sex with a prostitute was like, because I’ve never had sex with someone that did it for a living. I admit that I was going to take full advantage of your offer for a free sample. However, I’m not sure that I’m interested in what you can offer."

"What? A prostitute?" She exclaimed. I’m not a hooker. I’m in sales, just like you."

"You’re not? You are?"

"Of course not! When I spotted you waiting patiently in the bar, I thought that you were someone who knew of me, and knew what I sell. I sell time-share property. Larry called earlier to tell me that someone I spoke to recently in the bar wanted to meet with "Carla" and discuss future vacation plans at a location that I handle in Florida. When I first arrived, I thought you were he."

"I still don’t understand. Why were you so brazenly suggestive downstairs?"

"The particular time-share property the man asked about is located on the Florida Keys." She paused to see if that shed any light on the situation. It didn’t.

I shrugged.

"Men who want to experiment with living life as a woman for a whole week at a time, on a regular basis, can buy a week of time-share at this particular complex to give the exercise a good try in relative safety, because this particular complex is a well-known haven for transvestites. Men who are interested in meeting with other men who pose as women travel to the bars near there to find them, without any fear of upsetting their lives and reputations back home.

I handle a full line of time-share condos available, worldwide. I only dress up as ‘Carla’ to show potential customers who are interested in the complex out on the Keys just how convincing a guy can be, if he’s willing to try hard. You must admit, I proved my point, as I had you completely fooled until I purposely decided to let you find out what I keep hidden away underneath this skirt."

"Interesting. You dress up this way just to sell real estate?"

"I dress up this way because I enjoy dressing up this way. I also happen to sell a lot more time-share units for that particular complex, when I’m dressed this way. If an interested guy has potential, I advise him that I can teach him how to be as convincing as I am. Talking about the benefits can only get you so far with some people. Demonstrating what you claim makes selling an unusual idea a cinch."

"What’s it like?"

"What’s selling time-shares in drag like? A bit different than selling while wearing my regular men’s clothes, that’s for sure. I have to be far more conscious of the fact that the customer’s mind will wander far away from the product, and into the realm of fantasy. Normally, I take advantage of that penchant, and allow them to visualize the offered property as the specific answer to their imagined need. "

"No, I mean, what’s it like to get dressed up like a woman?"

"Interested in trying it out, yourself?"

"No way! Can you imagine how bad I’d look? They don’t even make women’s clothes to fit a heavy guy like me. It must be nice to be thin enough to be able to get away with it. You have a body that looks great in a dress, if you don’t mind my saying. However, there’s no way I could."

"When you decide that you aren’t a sniveling weasel that has to hide behind a wimpy ploy like the blubber he carries around, let me know. You’d be surprised."

Wow! She really put that shoe down hard. I guess the party was over. I was red as a beet from her blatant insult. "Did I say something insulting to trigger that?" I had to find a way to save some face before making a hasty retreat. She told me exactly what she thought of heavy men. It was plain she was prejudiced.

"If you think that I’d be so cruel as to make someone up to be a laughing stock, there’s no sense in discussing the matter. I do what I do, well. No ‘dresser’ that I ever took under my wing, looks bad, if I have anything to say. If I feel a person hasn’t any potential, I’ll be the first to say so. All my protégés know they owe me the courtesy of showing the world their best side, not to make a mockery of what I taught them. I dressed up a bit tawdry today because of where I was to meet a prospective customer. I don’t usually dress this trashy.

I could show you how to look prim and proper as a school marm. You need to get rid of some excess cargo, true, but to look genuinely feminine you’d need to have some secondary adipose tissue to project that ‘softer’ look."

"Whoa! What makes you think I want to try dressing up like a woman?"

"You thought it was interesting. Then, you asked what it was like. You didn’t bolt out of here in a rage or in panic. You’re still here. Admit it. The thought did run through your mind, if only for a moment. Did it not?"

"Yeah, but only for a second, out of curiosity."

"Let me show you something." She dug into her purse for a wallet. "Here. Do you think this person has more or less potential than you do?"

"Hmm." The picture was of a very obese young man. "I’d say less."

"So would I. This is a very complimentary picture of me, less than five years ago. Attaining a difficult goal requires developing finite objectives. I couldn’t have done what I did without having a definite purpose that obsessively drove me onward. Becoming a very attractive woman was the purpose I eventually chose to help dedicate myself to fulfill my dream of being financially well off. I am now. At the time, I was nearly destitute. I had hit rock bottom. The only way to go: was up.

 

 

Chapter Two.

 

Tell me, fellow salesperson, how is your present financial estate?"

"To be honest, not good. I’m nearly penniless. I seem to make some headway, but then, for some reason, I get mired knee-deep in bills when I least expect it. I get behind in my credit cards because sales are slow. My car breaks down. I get a respiratory infection and can’t communicate. You name it, it happened. I can’t seem to keep my head above water for any length of time."

"That’s about where I was five years ago. I found myself constantly wishing that I had a secret weapon to help me sell what I was selling, back then. I noticed the leader in the sales department was a damned good-looking woman. I was very jealous of her. All of us were, and for good cause. She outsold the next highest-ranking commissioned agent by a margin of two-to-one.

The boss had her approach me to give me some advice, as I was about to lose my job. Her advice was to make a serious decision about my future. I had to be caustic with myself, just as I was with you a moment ago. To improve my selling ability, I had to acknowledge that looks are more important than we imagine. To improve, she said, I would have to become attractive to my potential customers. That was a serious blow to my fragile ego. I had tried to lose weight for years. Nothing ever worked.

She said the primary goal had to have an ulterior motive, one that would drive me beyond complacency about my stature. I had to find a goal to pursue that would force me to shed excess fat as a fringe benefit, not the primary objective.

I thought it was hopeless until she told me that she was in an auto accident when she was a teen that disfigured her hip to the extent that she could barely walk, even with the aid of a cane. I seriously questioned her honesty with me, because she showed no sign of a limp. Fervent determination to overcome her physical handicap was great enough for her to seek out the foremost doctors to surgically correct her deformity. She suggested that I do the same. Strange, she never told me what her ulterior goal was that gave her the drive. She said her goal wasn’t important to know, as my goal would be something altogether different.

At first, I thought she was suggesting having my body fat surgically removed. She insisted that wasn’t what she meant. She meant that I had to search my soul for ways to overcome all my weaknesses, the most obvious of which was gluttony. If I truly wanted to achieve a successful career in the field of selling, I would have to become a ‘magnet’ to my potential customer base.

My initial imagined goal was to become the epitome of an attractive male: a lust buster, not just lose weight. I envisioned what would make customers to buy from me, under the worst circumstances. The only images that kept appearing in my mind were that of that lovely successful woman, and different versions of her. I discounted it, as it wasn’t possible. After all, I was a man, not a woman.

I lost my job. I was soon nearing the end of my rope, with unemployment benefits running out. I had to get a job outside of public view. I knew my appearance was my biggest detriment to my ability to sell. Even with a degree in marketing behind me, with my tail between my legs, I gave up and became a sanitary engineer."

"A what?"

"I collected garbage. I took a job no one wanted. I was miserable. I found that the people I once thought were my friends wanted nothing to do with me. I soon discovered the only friends a garbage man has are other garbage men. If you can understand that, you’ll understand what happened next. Within the realm of garbage collectors, I sought friendship among men with the same social taboo. We were alike, a small fragment of society, ostracized. I had little hope of ever doing something else, back then. I felt trapped in a life I hated by fate."

"How did you escape?"

"I discovered that my new friends liked their lives. I couldn’t believe it. They were at ease with what they were. They accepted the fate. I couldn’t. I didn’t belong in that world. It showed. They soon began to make comments. They rejected me, as I didn’t fit into their group. I could not be happy working in that occupation.

I wanted to return to sales. Selling was an important goal for me. Success wasn’t. Acceptance wasn’t. If I could sell ice cubes to Eskimos, I’d be happy. I belonged in the realm of sales, and decided to do something to return to it, as soon as I could. I realized that I had to be acceptable, fit in, so to speak. That’s the key to what the woman was telling me, the message I failed to grasp.

I assumed that I was a natural. I wasn’t. I had to work at "becoming" as hard as I worked at "doing". I had to become what customers would perceive was a person they’d buy from. I had to qualify. At the time, I didn’t how. Now, I do."

"So! Dressing up like good-looking doll makes you qualify?"

"No! No! No! You’re missing the whole point. Dressing up has nothing to do with my being qualified. Dressing up, or rather, being able to dress as a woman had a lot to do with what I chose to encourage me to improve my appearance. I had to realize that appearance was a major factor in my performance as a salesperson."

"I think you lost me, Carla."

"I started out by resolving to minimize my obesity. I acquired a stiff back brace to camouflage my rotund waist. I was only kidding myself, but it worked, to some degree. I felt that it was a way of ‘cheating’ the scale. Guilt set in, so I pushed myself away from the table with more and more resolve. With a tightly girded stomach, I often felt too full to eat quite as much as I was used to eating.

Soon, I was purchasing smaller sized body braces from a medical supply store. Within a year, I was buying them off the shelf from a corsetiere, at half the price. Who could tell if the new ones had delicate patterns of roses all over them? The corsets made me feel secure for my size, which was definitely on a decline. I was very pleased with my progress. Yet, I felt I wasn’t ready to face the public."

"How were you able to make presentations without seeing prospects?"

"I became a telephone solicitor, in a ‘boiler room’."

"Good grief! That’s the ‘pits’!"

"I had little choice. I hadn’t been successful, face-to-face, which I learned the hard way. I was unable to wrangle any other selling job. As a phone solicitor, I continued doing miserably until I tried using a sultry voice. I figured ‘what the heck’, they can’t see me. What difference would it make? I made a significant difference. My closing rate skyrocketed because the prospects had very vivid imaginations. I got some goofy looks from the other phone solicitors, until they caught on to what I was doing. Before long, the others were mimicking me."

"You mean other guys did it, too?"

"Only one other man worked in that pit. The women started using their best sexy voices on the phones. The guy almost quit, because his closing rate went from the best to the worst over the ensuing months. He felt he didn’t have a chance against us ‘girls’. His voice was a deep baritone. After he limited his calls to female prospects and used a suave voice over the phone, his lead rate soared. Does that tell you anything?"

"I should become a phone solicitor, like you did?"

"No! No! No! We proved that customer benefits are benefits whether they are real or perceived. The phone customers imagined that we were sexy, and buying the product from us would make them sexier. The whole concept is ludicrous, but it sold overpriced discount coupons books for dining at expensive restaurants. You have no idea how many horny guys asked if I would go out to dinner with them if they bought the coupon books."

"It still doesn’t explain how you’re dressed."

"One day, a fast-talking prospect turned the tables on me. He agreed to buy the coupon book offer if I’d accept an all expense-paid trip to the Bahamas with him to sign up a new time-share company. Of course, I couldn’t accept, but he was so persuasive, I decided to cook his goose and suggested we go out to dinner, instead. I’d never done it before, but this bozo had it coming.

He agreed, cock-sure that he’d be able to entice me to go to the Bahamas with him over dinner. I was going to show him how silly he was to offer someone that kind of free trip over the telephone, sight unseen.

Did I get a weird surprise! The maitre-d escorted me to a very charming alcove in the best restaurant in town, where my free dinner date was patiently waiting for me. As I approached, he stood, bent to the waist and kissed the back of my hand and treated me as if I was the girl of his dreams. I turned red-faced, and I thought the maitre-d would throw us both out. Instead, he closed curtains on the booth, to provide us total privacy. I tried rejecting his offer to dinner, but he refused, saying a deal was a deal. What’s more, my ‘date’ continued to treat me like I was a lady for the rest of the evening.

We had a good laugh, but he was intent on enticing me to accompany him to the Bahamas, even though he knew I was a guy. Seems he wanted to recruit me as a telephone solicitor for him, as he was far more interested in my phone voice, than my physical attributes. After a few libations, I slipped into my female voice to satisfy his continued insistence. He was thrilled by the ease with which I could adapt my voice to that of a woman at a moment’s notice. He then suggested that I could be more successful if I practiced having both: a sexy male voice as well as a sultry female voice for the phone. Funny, I hadn’t considered that.

He was an excellent conversationalist and I began to relax in his presence while we sipped a few more cocktails. My initial fear of reprisal for fooling him about my gender was relieved after he admitted that he attempted using the same ploy as I without much success. He encouraged me to continue to use my sexy feminine voice with him for the remainder of the evening.

While we dined on superb lobster, he eluded to the fact that many affluent people use time-share property for extra-marital dalliances. A suggestive voice dripping with sex could entice such potential customers to sign on without hesitation. I told him I’d think about it. He insisted I think it over while looking out over the Atlantic Ocean from the vantage of a condominium balcony with him at my side. My one raised eyebrow didn’t escape his notice.

Sipping on after-diner cordials, he then cautiously suggested we could take turns being the entertained ‘lady’ while taking in the ocean view. That stopped me cold. I hadn’t considered the prospect of participating in ‘that’ visual image.

I wondered if he already guessed that I was firmly corseted underneath a dinner jacket and dress shirt to discourage the temptation of overindulgence. Was he acutely perceptive? We were sitting side-by-side in the plush booth. He could have detected the soft sounds of my nylons when I first arrived. I wore them to insure the corset wouldn’t ride up. His next move confirmed his perception. His hand slid into my dinner jacket and made contact with one of the corset stays."

"Oh, my! He found you out!"

"’I thought so.’ is all that he said. He smiled. I was tipsy from the drinks. His hand went further around me as he leaned forward and kissed me. I succumbed to his warmth and tenderness. Why I did, I can’t say. Being an object of another man’s physical desire was never my intention, but his kiss felt wonderful to me at the time. Suddenly, the significance of his kiss struck home. He was seducing me!"

"I would have slugged him!"

"Would you? I doubt it. He was an excellent salesman. His timing was perfect. He knew the moment I was vulnerable, and made his play. Earlier, when you first let me kiss you, why didn’t you slug me when you discovered my hidden asset? You reacted in the same fashion as I. You were surprised, yes, but not threatened."

"Oh. I was intrigued, I guess. My curiosity prompted me to find out why any man would want to pose as a woman. You notice that I didn’t suggest you try kissing me again."

"I don’t ever have to kiss you again. One kiss is adequate proof."

"Proof? Proof of what?"

"Proof that perception is stronger than reality. When you go back downstairs, try touching Larry. It doesn’t have to be a bold grasp, or something outright ‘gay’ in meaning. Simply touch the back of his hand and speak softly. He happens to be a sucker for ‘chubs’. He’ll agree to buy anything from you if he perceives you as desirable. That’s all you need do. He’ll sign up for whatever you suggest."

"He wasn’t receptive to me earlier. I could tell. He was throwing out objections to me before I asked the first closing question. Are you sure?"

"Yes he was. You simply weren’t aware of his buying signal. I caught it."

"No way! He dodged and weaved at every word."

"Look! I’m willing to make a wager on it."

"----Okay! Name your stakes."

"I win: I take you down to Florida Keys with me to survey the property. I will not entice you into anything personal. I want a chance to have you consider joining my selling staff. You win: I’ll buy dinner at the swankest restaurant in town. No limit on the price of the meal."

"Sounds fair. I’ll try two of my best closing questions on Larry, first. If he declines, I’ll touch his wrist, than try a third and, if need be, a fourth. If he buys, you win. If he still declines, it’s a draw."

"Deal." We shook on it and returned to the bar.

 

 

Chapter Four.

 

So, that’s how I lost all the weight. I’m sitting in my boudoir, in my dressing gown, as I type this story out for your enjoyment. My newest corset hugs my diminished tummy in, so that I can fit into a size sixteen dress. Okay, okay, I’m not calendar material, but I’m working on it. My income and attitude improved immensely since I lost the bet. I still sell commercial radio time, but I can easily afford to spend a few weeks down here at my Florida Keys condo each winter, getting a sexy tan. J .

Fini.

 

 

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© 2001 by Virginia Kane. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.