Let me see, where was I? Oh, yes. I think I was telling you about Dillon McKlusky. You remember him, don’t you? I went for an job interview, only to find this sack of bile, a bully from my childhood, was supposed to be interviewing me.
I’d love you to be part of Fiona’s Admirers club, which I manage for her. But in the meantime I’m going to tell you a little more about McKlusky and what happened next.
There’s no doubt that as a trans woman, when a man’s eyes drop to your cleavage – in my case $8,000 of Brazilian excellence – you quickly realise that as much as he may think he is in control, I know very well who has the power in this equation. McKlusky conducted the most perfunctory of interviews and sure enough a few days later a job offer arrived through the mail.
Now for those of you who do not know, I have to point out that Dillon had ruined my life in that small town, with his endless bullying and taunting. For me, a young teenager at the time, it was a humiliation almost too much to bear. However, I did survive. However, after leaving that interview, with McKlusky looking so smug in his Men’s Wearhouse suit, I resolved to find my own revenge on him, in my own time.
McKlusky had no idea who I was. His powers of observation went no further than enjoying my generous cleavage and firm breasts. His filthy eyes had drunk in the shape of my body greedily, like a pig at the water trough on a hot day.
Late in the afternoon I positioned myself in a Starbucks across the road from his office and watched for him. Sure enough, at about 4.50 he left the office, and made his way to a hotel across the street. I followed at a discrete distance, and from behind some dark glasses watched as he entered, then walked into the bar. I watched through the window as he took a seat at the bar and ordered a drink. After a little while he ordered another and sat and drank the second one. He was alone. There was no indication anyone would join him.
I watched for a little longer, then left. I had enough information for one night. I returned the following day and the one after that. Each night he came to the hotel, and each night he drank two or three drinks. He did so alone and then left and boarded a train at the nearby station. I decided that the next night I would also be in the bar when he arrived.
I reasoned that if I were to wait in the bar, he could hardly claim I was following him. After all, following from infront seemed a little far fetched. And so it was with a sense of excitement and lust for the kill that I waited in the hotel bar that Friday evening.
With mounting anticipation I awaited McKlusky in the bar. I wore a short summer dress, quite low cut and informal, and heels. My push up bra was already exaggerating what a surgeon in Rio de Janeiro had crafted so skillfully. I sat at a table by the window, reading my Kindle, and sipping a glass of wine.
Dillon McKlusky arrived bang on time just before 5 pm, but this time he was not alone. With him were three other staff, all male, and I found my heart was pounding. I thought about slipping quietly from the bar, but held my place, and waited. In a moment the three men were at the bar, clutching their glasses.
I noticed on of the men glance my way, but behind my large sunglases I am sure he had no idea I was watching them far more closely than they were watching me. I deliberately and slowly took a sip of my wine.
With his back to me, I noticed the other two men look at him, as though he’d said something, and gingerly they too glanced my way. And there it was. The spark of recognition from McKlusky.
I had him. He turned away, and after a few minutes of talking to his two friends he rose and at first headed to the bathroom, then glanced my way and with an overt show of recognition walked over to my table.
“Excuse me,” he said. “It’s Julie isn’t it?”
I did my best to look engrossed in my book, and distractedly looked up.
“Oh,” I said. “It’s Mr. McDermott, right?” I said, babbling.
“McKlusky.” He corrected.
“Oh yes,” I said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t recognize you.”
“May I join you,” sleazed McKlusky.
“Well, I had a friend joining me, but they are running a little late. Of course you can.”
He sat opposite me and was about to start talking, when I interupted him. “I won’t be taking the job Mr. McKlusky. Another offer came up.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, he said. But then, that means this will be all pleasure and not work.” He smiled.
I knew that smile. It was the same smile the teenage boy had so cruelly found when tormenting me as a child. If he only knew what I had in store for him.
I shall tell you more next time I write.
Have a lovely time till then,
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