The Job


The Job

by
Susan Brown

He was sitting behind a huge desk, one large enough to play table tennis on. A huge 27-inch iMac was to the side with its wireless keyboard and mouse placed strategically in front of him and a telephone on the other side; nothing else.

Sitting opposite him in a slightly lower chair, it seemed slightly intimidating and I assumed that was the purpose of our relative positions.

He looked like he was in his late twenties, but knew that he was in fact thirty-four. He was very fit looking and someone who had almost too perfect teeth. He was quite handsome and it was obvious, even to an untrained eye that he worked out on a regular basis. He was…

‘So erm, you feel that you are suited to the position that we are offering?’

I sat up straighter and pulled myself together. It didn’t help much that I fancied him. Any true-blooded woman that liked men would. I would have to focus.

‘Yes, I am more than qualified for the position.’

‘Are you, why do you say that?’

‘Well, you know my qualifications and experience from my CV and as you know, I have worked in this sector for some time.’

He glanced at his screen.

‘Remind me, why did you leave your previous position?’

‘I, erm did not see eye to eye with my superiors.’

‘In what way?’

‘They did not like fact that I had ideas of my own and also…’

I hesitated.

‘Go on.’

I sat up straighter.

‘The fact that I was born physically a male.’

‘Hmm, were they aware of this when they employed you?’

‘Yes, I was up front with them.’

‘But you found that it hindered your career?’

‘I believe so,’ I replied picking off a speck of dust from my skirt.
‘Do you think that you have a right to the job on offer because you are transgendered?’

I looked at him sharply.

‘Of course not.’

‘So you do not believe in positive discrimination?’

‘It’s irrelevant as far as I am concerned as I don’t believe that positive or any other discrimination applies to me. I have the knowledge and experience required to do the job and do it well. If I was deficient in any way then I suppose it could be argued that I might fill some sort of quota. However, I feel that every person should be able to be employed on merit, regardless of race, colour, creed, gender or disability. In any case, what is the point of employing somebody who is not up to the job? It demeans them as an employee and you as an employer. How would you like it if the only reason that you got your job was because of your gender and not on your merits?’

He looked at me; his right eyebrow raised questioningly, à la Roger Moore.

‘Do you want this job?’

‘Only on merit.’

‘So you practice what you preach?’

‘I’m not a preacher.’

‘You know what I mean.’

‘I repeat that I only want this job on merit. I am good at what I do and feel that I would be a valuable addition to your staff.’

‘If we did offer you a position, how would you deal with other members of staff?’

‘In what way?’

‘Well, although you pass very well as a woman…’

‘I am a woman.’

‘Yes, erm, I realise that, but others might think otherwise.’

‘That’s their problem.’

‘It’s my problem too if it affects productivity.’

I looked at him and thought for a moment.

‘I can see that employing me might be problem for you but I repeat my qualifications and experience make me ideally suited for the position.’

I could see that he was struggling with what to say next. I took my eyes off him and glanced around the room. It was a nice office, one that showed all the trappings of success, deep leather sofas dotted about, subtle lighting, expensive looking prints on the wall and a view of the London skyline which added thousands per square foot to the cost of the place.

Yes, it would be very nice for anyone to work here. London is a vibrant city and I had always loved it, even as a young boy wanting to change myself in ways that others might think wrong…

He coughed, bringing me back to the here and now.

‘Well, our company has a non-discriminatory policy and anyone who feels that you should not be here, perhaps should not be working for us.’

‘So, are you going to offer me a job?’

He sighed, looked at me for a moment and then picked up his phone.

‘Marcia, make sure that I am not disturbed for half an hour, this is taking a bit longer than I expected…No, we don’t need any refreshments.’

He put the phone down and stood up; I followed suit.

Walking up to me, he put his hand on my shoulders.

He was half a head taller than me and I looked up into his eyes. His eyes were blue and his hair was blond.

He was very handsome.

As he smiled, I smiled too.

He drew me in close and held me in an embrace. I closed my eyes and his lips touched mine.

I experienced a jolt of electricity go through me as our lips opened and we explored each other’s eager mouths.

After what seemed like hours but must have only been moments, we drew away from each other. I was slightly breathless and I could see the flush on his face.

I pulled the clean white handkerchief from the breast pocket of his Savile Row suit jacket, licked the corner and then wiped his lips free of the red lipstick that I had put there.

Taking my hand, he walked me over to the sofa and sat down. Sitting on his lap, I could feel the hardness through his impeccably cut trousers.

I wanted to pull his trousers down and do interesting things with what lay inside them, but this was business.

I played with his hair as he stroked one of my small but growing nipples.

‘Well, Mr Storey, you didn’t answer my question, have I got the job?’

He seemed to consider for a moment.

‘Regretfully, although you are eminently suited for the position and have all the relevant qualifications, I have to turn your application down.’

‘Is it because I am transgendered? You did say that you have a non-discriminatory policy.’

‘We do but I don’t think that the policy applies to you.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because, Mrs Storey, you are my wife and our two young children would object to you working with me; you’ll just have to stay at home and be a consultant like you always have. Anyway, three hours on a train every week day would drive you nuts and you know that you hated the last nanny.’

I sighed and looked down at my husband, best friend and lover.

‘Blast, I hate it when you are right!’

THE END


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