Chapter 13: Opportunity Knocks
That is why, when Jim called Lisa's cubicle at 2 o'clock, she told
him she needed fifteen minutes to finish something up. During
those fifteen minutes, she goes to the bathroom and removes her
pantyhose.
Looking at herself in the mirror reminds her of why she had chosen
to wear the nylons in the first place. Her tiny miniskirt really
only barely comes a few inches past the juncture of her thighs,
and with her red high heeled pumps, her legs are very obviously on
display. Her blouse is unbuttoned to reveal her lacy cami.
Looking at herself in the mirror reminds her of last Friday. She
remembers seeing herself in the mirror then, just as now, thinking
how sexual she looked. Indeed, her professional stature, her
intellect, her bossy personality - none of that is visible. All
she sees is something sexual; something that desires pleasure. She
remembers sneaking her hand under her skirt and giving herself
that pleasure last Friday. She remembers how good it felt.
But then she remembers Cheryl interrupting her, and how guilty she
felt. Not this time, she thinks. She fights the temptation to
touch herself. She tugs down her skirt and marches straight to
Cheryl's cubicle.
When she looks in on Cheryl, she sees that she is in a meeting
with Art, another colleague. Cheryl sees Lisa. "Lisa, you have
something for me?"
Lisa's pantyhose are balled up in her hands. Art is staring at
her; at her blushing face, her silky underwear, at her exposed
legs. "Yeah, um, I'll just get it to you later."
"Nonsense," says Cheryl, "give them to me now."
Unsure, Lisa hands the balled up nylons to Cheryl, who makes no
effort to hide their identity to Art. "Have a good meeting."
Lisa rushes away as fast as she can in her heels, not waiting to
see Art's reaction. She feels humiliated, but she remembers
Cheryl's promise: soon she will get to give herself the pleasure
she's been longing for all day.
She knocks timidly on Jim's door. "Come in."
She enters the spacious office and sees that Jim is seated at his
art-deco desk. On that desk is a pair of white cardboard boxes.
"Have a seat," he says.
Lisa looks at the low armchair facing Jim's desk. With her
pantyhose gone, sitting in this skirt seems indecent. But she
thinks of no other choice and sits. She feels her bare ass on its
leather.
"Red!" says Jim.
"What?"
"Your . . . shoes. I mean. Your shoes. Red. I like your red
shoes."
Lisa blushes. He must mean my panties. She rests her hands at her
crotch to try to hide them. An awkward silence ensues.
"Thanks. About the shoes, I mean." She thinks for a second,
remembering what Cheryl asked her to do. "Do you think the heels
are too high for the office?"
"Not at all," says Jim. "High heels give you more authority, I
think. They are very professional."
"Sure," says Lisa, "but what about bare legs? Don't you think my
bare legs and short miniskirt are a little bit unprofessional? I
shouldn't have worn this today. Let me apologize . . ."
"Nonsense," says Jim. "Just like I told you last week, I have no
problem with bare legs; in fact I like your attire."
"Yes but surely bare legs are simply too casual and too
unprofessional for the office? Would you want me to meet a client
like this?"
Jim smiled. "We have no dress code here, Lisa. You can wear what
you want to wear - including when you meet with clients. Looking
at your reports, whatever you're doing is clearly working, so wear
whatever you want."
"But sir, I . . . "
"Call me Jim. And really, don't worry about it. Yes, your skirt
is a little shorter than the norm, but it looks good on you. Wear
it whenever you want."
Lisa slumps into the chair, defeated. Jim was not going to save
her.
"However," says Jim, "this leads me to the reason I wanted to talk
to you."
Lisa absentmindedly crosses her legs, and the skirt rides up
revealing most of her ass. She uncrosses and tugs her skirt back
down again. She sees that Jim's gaze is directly at her crotch.
"I, um," Jim stammers, "I want you to get the assistant director
position. I want the promotion to go to you."
"I'm glad to hear it, sir," says Lisa.
"I told you to call me Jim. Now, my opinion is important, but
unfortunately it's not entirely up to me. The other directors
have a say, too, and they are inclined to choose someone with more
seniority than you, like George or Cheryl."
"Well, sir, I would understand if . . . "
"Nonsense. We both know you're more qualified than either of
them. The other directors have seen your reports but they haven't
met you in person. That's what I want to change. I want there to
be a meeting before they decide."
"When are they going to decide?"
"Monday morning. And, unfortunately, I couldn't think of a
business-related opportunity for such a meeting. But I did think
of one thing . . ."
Lisa is nervous and excited. She has been working hard for this
promotion.
"Golf," says Jim.
"Golf?"
"Golf."
Lisa looks confused. Golf?
"On Friday mornings, me and a couple of the directors meet to play
golf up north. It's the only chance for you to meet these guys.
I want you to come with us."
"But I don't play golf."
"That's okay. You can be my caddy."
"Caddy?"
"Look, it's not important. All that is important is that you're
there, and that you talk to the directors and show them that
you're not too young for the job."
Lisa looks confused, but she says, "Okay, Jim, I'll go golfing
with you."
"Great. But, there's one thing . . . I hate to mention it, but I
thought it might be an issue. See, this office has no dress code,
but the golf club does. And you couldn't go dressed like . . .
that."
Lisa feels blood rush to her face and to her crotch. "No, sir, of
course not, I wouldn't. I mean, I only . . . "
"Lisa, don't worry. I told you I think you look fine. It's just
the golf club that's a little stuck up. That's why I bought you
these." He pushes the white boxes towards her. "I didn't want
you to feel out of place, so I bought you some clothes to wear.
You'll look like you golf every other day in these."
Lisa opens up the first box and sees a white and green golf shirt.
"They should be your size," says Jim. "Meet me at the office at
6am and we'll drive together to the course."
Lisa thanks him, still flustered. She takes the boxes, and
leaves.
Cheryl is waiting outside the door. "Well?" she asks, as the two
women walk back towards her cubicle.
Lisa stands several inches taller than Cheryl, especially in her
high heels, but the heels, her tiny skirt, and unbuttoned blouse
in contrast to Cheryl's simple elegance makes her feel vulnerable
to Cheryl's judgment. "He thinks my bare legs are okay," says
Lisa.
"Well, then, that's it. There's no need for you to ever wear
pantyhose again."
Lisa feels a new wetness in her crotch. She feels the air
currents beneath her tiny skirt; her skimpy silk panties provide
almost no protection. And now she is forbidden the protection of
her pantyhose!
"What else did he say?" asks Cheryl.
"He . . . he wants me to go golfing on Friday. He asked me to go
golfing with him."
"He invited you to Friday golf?" Cheryl is silent for a moment.
"Interesting. Very interesting. Oh, I have a great idea. Are
you leaving from here?"
"Yeah, I guess. 6am."
"Great. I want you to come a little early - say 5:30. I might
have some advice for you."
"Advice?" Lisa looks worriedly at Cheryl.
"Oh, and see if you can wear a skirt that day. I want that day to
be another skirt day."
"Actually, he bought me some clothes to wear. It's probably a
pair of shorts."
"Probably?"
At this point the women have reached Lisa's cubicle. "I think
so," says Lisa, but to make sure she opens the second box. She
pulls out the white cotton garment.
It is a skirt. Pleated. She holds the skirt against herself and
sees that it comes nearly to her knees. She looks at the tag:
"Bob's Golf World. $218."
"Oh my god," says Lisa, "it's over two hundred dollars!"
Cheryl grins. "I always suspected Jim was a . . . well, he's a
good guy. What a nice gift. A golf skirt. So, it looks like
Friday will be another skirt day. I'll see you at 5:30." And
Cheryl walks away.
