Disguised as a man: After living with my boss for a month1
At my best friend Megan Johansson's insistence, I'd been roped into cross-dressing as a male assistant for a notorious misogynist CEO.
Last night, he barged into the room and found me holding a pair of pink panties.
His brows shot up in surprise. "You have a thing for these?"
I let out a sigh of relief—thankfully, he didn't seem to realize they were mine. But then he dropped a bombshell: he wanted us to live together for a month!
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I became the personal assistant to a CEO.
My best friend Megan Johansson hooked me up with the job, telling me I'd be her brother Owen Johansson's 24/7 personal secretary.
"Just how personal are we talking?" I scoffed. "Like a live-in nanny?"
Megan didn't miss a beat. "Full benefits, weekends off, occasional overtime with triple pay, room and board included, and a monthly salary of fifty grand. The only downside is..."
"Deal! Only a fool would hesitate for those perks!"
Frankly, anything less than instant agreement would be a slap in the face to such a generous job offer.
It wasn't until later that I found out Owen had gynophobia—an extreme fear of women. Megan didn't want some burly guy taking care of him, so she chose me for the job.
I looked down at my flat chest and then at my delicate features in the mirror. With some effort, I can pass as a man, right?
On interview day, my nerves were through the roof. I felt like, at any moment, someone might demand I drop my pants to prove my gender.
Luckily, Owen wasn't too severe in his assessment, and Megan sang my praises to the heavens. In the end, I got the job and moved into Owen's mansion, sharing meals and living space and sometimes even sleeping under the same roof—though not in the same room, of course.
Life was pretty smooth until one day, I was humming a tune, carrying my freshly washed pink strawberry panties out of the bathroom, and walked straight into Owen.
My brain went into overdrive, scrambling for an explanation.
Before I could speak, Owen gave me a strange look. His face twisted into an awkward expression as he patted my shoulder. "Say no more. Everyone has their quirks. I get it."
Good news: he didn't realize the panties were mine. Bad news: he thought I had a bizarre fetish for collecting women's underwear!
Oh, how I wished I could find a plausible excuse on the spot!