She must have kissed me. My legs feel cool. Theymust have taken my pants off for some reason.My head clears and I'm ready to sit up."Here dear. Let me...help you."Barbara helps me sit up. My hair falls into my face and she brushes itback for me. I look down and see I'm wearing a skirt and gold heels. Ihave breasts pressing against a flimsy black top too. My fingernails areperfectly manicured and painted hot pink. This isn't a dream. I'm reallywearing sexy girls clothes. What the fuck.While. I am impressedwith your diligence, but I am forced to admit that I have not left yousufficient time after work. Starting next Monday you do not have to behome until 6:30pm. I'm pleased to see you understood my purpose in asking you to cutup your suit. I want you to know I find the wardrobe choices you made thisweek were very attractive, exactly what I hoped to see. However, the earringsyou wore on Monday do not suit you. They were too large and garish. Jewelryshould enhance, not distract. Get. But the dairy was going so well, especially with the new Milk Bar, that we kept it going, with just Joe, Granny Harris and myself as secretary, on the board. The telephone on my desk rang, so I answered. It was Suzanne in Reception saying I had a visitor. I wasn’t expecting anyone, so I asked her who it was. The answer came back, “A Mister di Angelo is here to see you.”The only di Angelo I knew was my late husband Gianni, who I understood was killed in 1929 in Canada, murdered with his only. Though liking what she saw, a bit of a grimace crossed her face as she stare at her 34B chest. She wondered how she would look with a 36B or a 34C bust and had considered getting an augmentation but was worried it would look awkward in contrast to her 22” waist. She liked her hips, a nice 32”, not so large as to bulge below her waist nor so small they didn’t seem to exist. Besides, from behind, they were nicely accentuated but her firm little ass. Her legs were well toned, not muscular, but not.
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