by Cal Y. Pygia


Samantha Johnson, the new hire, was exquisitely beautiful. James Mann thought her the most gorgeous woman he'd ever met. He'd love to ask her out, but her good looks were somehow intimidating. He feared she'd reject him. If she did, he'd feel mortified. It was better, he told himself, to fantasize about asking her. That way, he'd control her answer, and her answer would always be yes.

The day that Mr. Sloane hired Sam as his new secretary, the office employees invited her to lunch. It was nothing fancy, just a welcome-aboard gesture. They met at the diner across the street from the office. James had hoped to sit with Sam, but her booth was full before he entered the restaurant. Ed Neely, Joe Parker, and Lou Alister were the lucky bastards, salesmen all, who'd managed to occupy the seats in her booth. James hated salesmen. They were so damned pushy.

He had to content himself with worshiping her from afar, between the perky waitress's visits to his table.

Sam had long, curly blonde hair that cascaded over her delicate shoulders, falling half way down her sculpted back. Her breasts were high, full, round, and firm. She'd left the top three buttons open to ensure that she showed plenty of cleavage. The tight silk blouse that she wore also showed the outlines of her puffy areolas and the stiff points of her jutting nipples. She also wore a red mini-skirt slit up the thigh that revealed her long, sleek, tapering legs through the fine mesh of her stockings. It was obvious that she wasn't wearing a bra. James wondered whether she was wearing panties and, if so, what type and color they were.

Ed said something, and Sam laughed. She was even more beautiful when her eyes went crescent and her lips curved upward, parting to frame her dazzling white teeth. A stab of jealousy pierced James' heart. He glared at Ed, without realizing it, and muttered, "Bastard!"

Joe said something. Again, Samantha laughed. Again, James scowled, mumbling, "Asshole!"

Next, Lou made a remark. Samantha chuckled. James frowned and cursed.

The bastards were telling jokes, he thought. Knowing Ed, Joe, and Alister, they were probably telling off-color stories. That's about the only kind they knew. No, James corrected himself. Samantha wouldn't laugh at risqué jokes! She might blush. She might even slap the face of a man who told her such a gag. But a lady with as much obvious breeding as Sam wouldn't laugh. She couldn't.

Throughout the rest of his luncheon, James continued to watch Sam. She continued to giggle and laugh at whatever comments the terrible trio made, probably, James consoled himself, only to be polite. Inwardly, Sam no doubt thought their jokes as coarse and uncouth as she found Ed, Joe, and Lou themselves. The hour James spent watching the salesmen entertain Samantha seemed to last forever. Finally, the agonizing spectacle ended. After paying their bills, everyone made his or her way outside, to return to the office.

While they'd been inside the diner, it had begun to rain. James wished he had an umbrella. He could come to Sam's rescue, sharing his umbrella with her. It would be delightful to walk beside her, close enough to prevent the rain from falling upon either of them. He'd walk slowly, to maximize the time he could spend next to her, savoring her perfume, her gestures, her conversation, and, most of all, her beauty. Unfortunately, he didn't have an umbrella - but Lou had one. The obnoxious salesman was the one to come to Sam's rescue, to walk beside her through the downpour, her hero. Bastard! James thought, scowling at him.

The rain had made the streets and sidewalks slippery. Watch your step, Sam, James thought. He'd hate to see her take a fall on the asphalt or concrete.

No sooner had he thought this thought than it happened. Samantha, stepping from the crosswalk, onto the sidewalk in front of the high-rise building that housed their offices, slipped and fell - hard. That wasn't all. She sprawled on the sidewalk, offering everyone who was near enough to her to see, including James, a view of her ass and genitals. Ed, Joe, Lou, and James himself, as well as others, gasped in astonishment.

"My God!" Ed cried, shocked. "Do you se what I see?"

"Damn!" Lou exclaimed.

"She's a he!" Joe thundered.

It was true! As hard as it was to believe, the beautiful, sexy Samantha was a man - a man with tits who was better looking and more feminine than most women, but a man, nevertheless.

Ed scowled at Samantha. "Freak," he muttered.

Joe and Lou shook their heads at her in disgust as they stepped over her.

James wanted to stop. He wanted to ask whether she was all right. He wanted to help her to her feet. Instead, he left her lying on the sidewalk, in the rain, her private parts exposed to passersby and onlookers, possibly hurt. He remembered the contempt and disgust in which Ed, Joe, and Lou had regarded Sam, and he didn't want to be treated in the same manner. To show any concern, any sympathy, any kindness toward the man who'd passed himself off as a woman would be to incur the same abusive treatment from them that the salesmen showed to Samantha. No doubt, they'd begin calling him a "queer" if he showed any compassion for the fallen secretary. As much as he'd like to help her, he knew that Ed, Joe, and Lou would make his working life a living hell if he did. Feeling like a heel, he followed their lead, stepping over Samantha, to leave her lying on the sidewalk, in the pouring rain, with her ass, cock, and balls on display.

James was ashamed of the way he'd behaved. At heart, he was a decent man. His biggest weakness was that he gave too much thought to what other people might think and say about him. From his earliest childhood days, James had been mindful of other people's opinions and eager to please. As a result, he was easily manipulated and seldom pleased anyone, despite his best and continuous efforts to do so. He'd developed few ideas, beliefs, or values of his own and had only a minimal self. Mostly, he was a reflection of what others thought, felt, believed, and valued - or what he thought they thought, felt, believed, and valued. He was full of contradictions and as changeable as the wind. He'd left Samantha lying on the sidewalk, in the rain, with her mini-skirt bunched around her hips, revealing her buttocks and genitals because of what Ed, Joe, and Lou had said to her and because he didn't want to be called the same names they'd called her. What a hero! he castigated himself. What a knight in shining armor. He'd imagined himself as Sam's rescuer, but had left her lying on the sidewalk, in the pouring rain.

Of course, her cock and balls had shocked him, as they had everyone else. Samantha had been the talk of the office since her mishap. The female employees were a little less cruel than the male, but they also ridiculed Samantha behind her back. Ed, Joe, and Lou not only gossiped about her behind her back, but they were also unkind to her face. On the elevator, they called her "freak," "queer," and "wannabe woman." In the office, they made faces at her. Whenever they accepted a memo or a form or a letter from her, they took the document by its corner, between the thumb and forefinger, as if it might be contaminated. James did none of these things. Instead, he avoided her. He wasn't guilty of insulting her. His sins were sins of omission, rather than sins of commission. He failed to offer Samantha friendship, sympathy, or moral support.

James was amazed at Sam's courage. Although she was obviously hurt by the cruel and insulting comments that Ed, Joe, and Lou heaped upon her and by the gossip among the female employees, she seldom exhibited her feelings, and she never lost her temper. She didn't cry, either, or quit her job. She never approached her boss to plead with him to put an end to her coworkers' abuse. She endured it, perhaps because, unlike James, she knew and loved herself well and was true to who she was. Other people's opinions might annoy her, but she wouldn't live her life by what others thought of her. She had valor. She had honor.

She was beautiful, too, as beautiful as the first day James had seen her, and he found that he continued to think about her and to fantasize about her. He continued to desire her. He was bothered by his feelings for her, because, he supposed, his infatuation with a transsexual meant that he must be gay. After all, despite her feminine appearance, Samantha - or Sam - did have a cock and balls. As days became weeks, he found himself thinking more and more of Samantha, remembering how she'd looked, sprawled on the sidewalk, in the pouring rain, her mini-skirt scrunched up to reveal her penis and testicles. He no longer found the idea of her having male genitals repugnant or offensive. Rather, the incongruity of a woman with a cock and balls was exciting. It was arousing. It gave him the stiffest, longest, thickest erection he'd ever had. Was he a queer? Even this question, which had troubled him before, no longer bothered him. If being attracted to a gorgeous creature like Sam meant that he was a queer, very well, then, he was a queer.

More and more, James masturbated to visions of himself making love to Samantha, imagining his lips on her soft, luscious lips, his hands upon her round, silken breasts, his cock between her sleek, full buttocks. His orgasms were more intense and pleasurable than any he'd ever had, either as a result of fucking a genetic female or from masturbating, and he'd shoot geysers of thick, hot semen all over his chest and belly, decorating himself with pools of his liquid passion, like melted pearls, as mementos of his love for the world's most gorgeous shemale.

A month after Sam had taken the nasty spill on the rain-slick sidewalk, James decided to ask her for a date. He had no choice. If he didn't, he'd go insane.

Of course, he'd have to wait for the right moment. He'd have to catch her alone. If anyone else in the office found him even so much as chatting with Sam, let alone asking her for a date, he'd be as scorned and reviled as Samantha herself.

James' chance came on Wednesday of the same week he'd determined to invite her to dinner and a movie. He was working late. Everyone else had left the office, Sam included. The cleaning crew had come and gone, and James was alone at his desk, a mountain of paperwork to clear, when Samantha's voice startled him.

"Hello, James," she said.

He jerked upright in his chair.

"Don't worry," Sam said, "I'm not here to jump your bones." She held up her purse. "I forgot this."

"That's not why I jumped. I thought I was alone. You startled me."

She rolled her eyes. "Whatever." She turned to leave. James looked at her ass, through the tight slacks she was wearing. His cock stirred at the sight of the sleek, round mounds. "Wait! Don't go."

She paused, turning, and James' gaze went to her breasts. "Why not?" she asked. "You have a new insult for me? Another joke at my expense? A vile name you haven't called me yet?"

"I haven't insulted you," James reminded her. "I haven't told any jokes about you, either, and I haven't called you any names other than 'Samantha.'" He paused, swallowed. "In fact," he admitted, "I'm attracted to you."

She laughed.

"Really," James insisted. "I am."



"Oh?" She waited, hands crossed below her magnificent breasts, her expression indicating that she knew some insensitive remark or offensive comment would be forthcoming.

James nodded. "I can't get the thought of you out of my mind."

Sam's posture relaxed somewhat, but she remained wary. "My having a penis and testicles doesn't bother you?"

"On the contrary, I find them unbelievably exciting. Fascinating, really."

"I didn't know you were gay."

"I'm not, or, if I am, I didn't know it, either, until I met you."

Sam lowered her arms. "You're really attracted to me?"

"'Attracted' is too mild. I'm obsessed with you. I can't eat or sleep or think because of you. In fact, I've been wanting to invite you to dinner and a movie."

Her eyes glittered. "You have?"


She smiled, as if she were flattered to hear of James' infatuation with her. Then, her eyes hardened. "Then, why have you allowed those pinheads, Ed, Joe, and Lou to insult me? Why have you let the ladies in the office gossip about me behind my back? Why haven't you said anything or done anything to defend me or to protect me?

"I wanted to," James confessed, "but - well, it's just that - "

"You didn't want to be insulted and affronted the way I was?"

He nodded before hanging his head. "Yes."

"That's too bad," she said. "I was attracted to you, too, before I realized what a timid little milquetoast you are. It was obvious to me that you were attracted to me. It was obvious to me that you didn't share the opinions of the others who've insulted and abused me since their discovery of my little secret. I thought you were good looking and kind, but you're only good looking. There's nothing kind about standing by and watching idiots and losers like Ed, Joe, and Lou torment someone for no other reason than her being a woman trapped inside a man's body. I'd hoped you might be a knight in shining armor, but you turned out to be more a mouse than a man."

James looked up at her, his eyes brimming with tears. "You're right," he admitted. "Give me another chance. I'll make it up to you, I promise."

She sniggered, contempt on her lovely face. "You had your chance, James. I could have been the best girlfriend you ever had - and the best lay - but you're not man enough to know what you want. You're too afraid of what others might think or say. You could have had me, but now, loser that you are, you have no one."

She turned, walking across the carpeted office, toward the door that led to the elevator in the hallway.

"Please," James moaned, "give me another chance."

She never bothered to look back, and she didn't return to work the next day.

The last James ever saw of the shemale who could have been the love of his life was her splendid, tight ass as she walked away from him.

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