Stocking Stuffers

by Sara James

  Max could feel someone watching him watch her.

  With a start, Max looked back over his shoulder. No one was there. Not wanting to put his own wide hips on display, he stepped around her and put his back to the wall instead of the break room door like she had. “Here,” he said, kneeling down, “let me help you.”

  She thanked him and began to tell a story about a horrible mess she’d made in her kitchen at home while baking. The story was meant to prove to him how accident prone she was, but Max was only half-listening. His main focus was on making sure his suit’s coat was positioned in a way to hide his body’s shape. The last thing he wanted was to put his big, girly rear end on display for someone to notice and comment on. Or worse, not comment on, only to have some vile rumor spread through the office’s gossip network.

  Break time was over by the time he finished helping her. Excusing himself, he returned to his desk with his coffee. The phones had been slow all day due to a combination of the winter season and the approaching holiday. Doing customer support for a national garden supply company, it wasn’t a very demanding job most of the time beyond the occasional angry caller. Most people lodged their concerns and questions at the retailer rather than calling in to the company’s customer service number for support.

  As soon as he logged into his phone to make himself available to take calls, his phone rang. He noticed it was an unfamiliar internal extension rather than a customer call. He answered with a frown, wondering who in the small office could be calling him from an unknown extension. “Hello. This is Max.”

  “Hi, Max,” came the mirth-filled woman’s voice at the other end. “This is Holly.”

  His guts clenched like he had just been sucker punched. He adjusted his coat lapels forward and rotated his chair to face the wall of his cubicle. He used his years of customer service experience to keep his voice calm and level in spite of his emotions. “Hi, Holly. How can I help you?”

  Her giggle made him wince. “Don’t worry,” she stage-whispered without need on the other end of the line, “I know you can’t really talk. I just wanted to let you know I saw you looking at that woman’s bottom in the break room. She’s really sexy, isn’t she?”

  “Uh, huh,” he acknowledged, wanting to reach through the phone and strangle the woman at the other end. She must have been the one he had felt watching him. “I’m surprised to hear you say that.”

  “I bet. Hey, you know that song?” she continued in a more normal tone of voice, the words flowing out of her like a bird’s chirping. “The one how Santa always knows what you’re doing? That’s because he uses elves like me to keep track of all the boys and girls in the world. We’re very good at knowing who’s naughty and who’s nice.” There was a long pause. “Guess which one you are?”

  “I understand,” he answered, looking around to make sure he wasn’t drawing any attention.

  “I don’t think you do. But you will.” She giggled again. “Just remember: it’s never too late to start being nice. Now, be a good girl and open the bottom drawer of your desk. The one on the left side.”

  There should have been nothing in his left side bottom drawer but a loose collection of plastic shopping bags. It was where he put the bags he used to carry in his lunches. Every couple months he would gather them into one bag and take them all home with him. Instead, nestled on top of a cushion of bags as he opened the drawer was a wrapped package. The candy cane pattern of the wrapping paper was familiar to him.

  He closed the drawer a little harder than he intended. Jenna glanced at him from the cubicle opposite his across the aisle. Sorry, he mouthed. She smiled and returned her attention to her web browser, shopping for clothing online between calls. He turned back to face the wall of his cubicle and lowered his voice. “No,” he told her. “I’m not doing this. Not here. Not now.”

  “Oh, but you are.” Her tone was in no way aggressive or rude, but her tone was also filled with certainty that she would get her way. “I told you already at the mall, coal is out of fashion these days. This is how it works now. If you’re naughty, we help you learn to be good. Now, being good is all about the Golden Rule. ‘Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.’ If you learn your lesson by Christmas, all is forgiven. If you don’t … well, there’s always next year. And the year after that, and the year after that, and the year after that. I’m sure you’ll learn your lesson. Eventually.”

  He opened his mouth to scream into the mic of his headset before thinking better of it. He could feel his cheeks burn. “Next year?” he challenged her. “Next year?!?” His tone was crisp but not angry or loud. Or at least he hoped it wasn’t. On the inside, he was screaming in fear and frustration. He wasn’t about to stay a whole year half-transformed into a woman, let alone multiple years. “That seems a little excessive, don’t you think?”

  “It does,” she agreed, “but Santa only delivers packages once a year.” Her giggle made it clear she was aware of the double meaning, but she didn’t stop there. “Get it? Packages? Like, if you’re good, he’ll give you your package back.”

  He rolled his eyes. “I get it.”

  “Maybe,” she said. “Well see. You’re just going to have to learn to treat women with respect before Christmas. And be good. I’m still watching you to make sure you don’t do anything naughty. I’m under strict orders from the big guy himself to make sure you stop objectifying women.”

  Max had no idea that Santa was such a strident feminist. “OK,” he agreed, more to end the call than because he thought he needed to change. He treated women with respect! Every man that wasn’t homosexual looked at women’s bodies. Hell, even some gay men seemed preoccupied with women and how they looked, or they dressed up like them for fun. So what if he looked at women and admired their bodies?

  She took his answer at face value. “Good! Now open that package in your desk drawer. If you don’t, it will get impatient and open itself. You wouldn’t want to create a scene. Bye bye, Max! And be good.”

  The click of the line told him she’d hung up on him without him even having to look at the phone.

  He opened his desk drawer to look at the package again. It lurked there, like a serpent waiting to strike. He dreaded what was inside. Was it a wig? Makeup? Already having a woman’s tits and ass, what was left other than a pretty face and long hair?

  “That’s a pretty present.”

  Max jumped in surprise. Jenna could see he was off the phone. She could also see the package in his drawer. She was looking at it, clearly interested.

  Jenna always unsettled him. For one thing, she had short, blonde hair and a body like a model, but she was also a wife and mother of teenage kids, the oldest of which was already in college. She was a match for him in height at 5’10”. On the days she wore high heels, which was often, she towered over him. She was always nice to everybody and seemed to be unaware that she looked half her actual age. She had an uncanny knack for dressing in a way that was feminine and sexy without being provocative. As far as he could remember, she had never worn a short skirt or exposed her cleavage, but she was still the most attractive women in the office by a wide margin. She even liked sports and the outdoors, all without tarnishing her femininity. Her husband had definitely hit the jackpot.

  “Gag gift,” he improvised, shaken by her focus on the package. “From the woman that lives next door to me. She handed it to me as I was getting into my car this morning. I’m not really looking forward to opening it. It’s probably embarrassing. Or obscene. I don’t want to get in trouble by opening it here.”

  Far from being put off, Jenna seemed intrigued. “The girl next door, huh?”

  “Not really a girl. She’s in her sixties, but she doesn’t really act her age.” That much was true. There was a woman that lived next door to him. She was in her sixties and she did act like a teenage girl. It was almost painful to see her attempt to emulate the neighborhood teens. She tried so hard to be just like them. It was embarrassing how much she wanted those girls
to accept her as one of them. An inappropriate, juvenile gag gift would be just her speed.

  Jenna glanced around. No one else even noticed their conversation. They sat in a pair of cubicles that were somewhat isolated from the rest of the desks at the end of a dead end aisle. “Go ahead. No one’s going to notice. Even if they did, they wouldn’t care.”

  With the extra slow day, most people were either reading, browsing the internet or away from their desks getting something to drink or going to the bathroom. The manager didn’t seem to mind. Overall, the staff more than made up for the slow season during the rest of the year, especially the busy summer months. As long as the calls got answered and the customers got helped, that was all they really cared about.

  Part of him did want to get it over with. There was also that ominous warning Holly had given him about the package opening itself, whatever that meant. If he didn’t act, he might not be given a choice. “OK,” he agreed, spurred on by Jenna’s encouraging smile. “But don’t be surprised if I can’t show you what’s inside. I really don’t want to get in trouble.”

  “That’s OK,” she agreed with a nod. “I understand.”

  He pulled the package out of the drawer. Unlike he had at home, he was careful to untape the ends and remove the wrapping paper with care. The last thing he wanted was to draw other people’s attention with the sound of tearing paper. He folded the paper with slow precision and put it back in the still open drawer. He took the lid off the box.

  “What is it?” Jenna was on the literal edge of her seat, trying to catch a peek.

  Max kept the lid of the box in a position to block her view. Inside the box was a red satin corset with white fur trim. It looked to be a real corset rather than some lacy confection that was just for show to look sexy. It had metal strips with eyes and hooks at the front and heavy duty laces at the back. He doubted anyone would be able to put it on by themselves. Whoever wore it would need help with tightening those laces. Of course, magic was involved, so he knew the corset would find a way to tighten itself without any help from him.

  He turned to Jenna and gave her a weak smile. “Gag gift, as expected. Fake vomit.” That could become real vomit. He felt like throwing up as he considered how a corset might further transform his body. The more his body changed, the harder it was going to be to hide those changes from his coworkers and family.

  “Ew,” she said, making a sour face. Jenna didn’t like anything gross, so she immediately lost all interest in the box and it’s contents as he had hoped. “Why would she do that?”

  Putting the lid back on the box, he put it back in the desk drawer where he had found it. “That’s my neighbor,” he said with a shrug and a silent prayer of thanks for the neighbor lady that was saving his life in that moment. “The grosser something is, the funnier she thinks it is.”

  Jenna’s phone chose that moment to ring. Max wasn’t sure who was more relieved: him or her.

  With Jenna preoccupied with helping her customer, he swiveled in his chair and looked down at the box. It was open where before it had been closed. He glanced at Jenna; her back was turned. He looked down at the exposed corset. It dissolved into a burst of red and white glitter before circling his waist like a wide belt, tightening until it disappeared beneath his clothes.

  His suit hid what happened next, but he could feel it. The corset’s silken touch kissed his skin. It covered him from armpits to the widest part of his hips. It was almost pleasant until it began to tighten. Invisible hands pulled the laces tighter in bursts of constriction. He put both hands on his desk, bracing himself as the stiff garment forced his spine to straighten in convulsive bursts. Under his clothes, he could hear a creak as the sturdy fabric tightened around him with each marginal increase in pressure. He thought he might be pinched in half.

  It didn’t stop so much as cease to get worse. He looked down at his torso. Nothing looked different, but then he’d chosen the suit coat to hide his figure from view. It was still effective in that task. He’d find out how much the corset had changed his body once he could get home and take the damn thing off. Assuming he even could. The laces might be impossible for him to untie. They could be knotted, or beyond his reach.

  He looked down at the open drawer. In the now empty box, there was another card. This one had a cartoon of Santa on a tropical beach wearing red swimming trunks trimmed in white fur, surrounded by a beach filled by voluptuous, frolicking women in bikinis. He was looking at them over the top of his dark sunglasses. The cartoon bubble read, “Nice. Nice. Nice. Nice ...” Over and over again the word was repeated, indicating his approval of the women’s lush bodies.

  It made Max snort. So much for Santa not objectifying women. Or maybe it was supposed to indicate Santa’s approval of his transformation.

  Inside the card was the same pink glitter-ink he was coming to expect, written in the same feminine hand:

  Some people say

  That wide hips are a must

  While others profess

  That it’s all in the bust.

  But the part in-between

  Catches many men’s eye.

  With your new tiny waist

  It’s for you to decide.

  - Holly Day, Elf

  Somehow, Max was certain that when he got home and took the corset off, his love-handles and gut were no longer going to be detracting from the feminine figure he was developing feature by feature.

  Over the next two hours, he was extra glad the phones were slow. it was almost impossible to breathe with the corset on, let alone talk in a normal tone of voice.

  Home again, he closed the back door that opened into the kitchen and leaned against it. He was certain the combination of the corset and the ace bandages he had use to strap down his breasts were going to break his ribs and collapse his lungs. He had to get them off.

  First things first, though. The last thing he wanted to do was make dinner. He had already ordered a pizza before leaving work. The guy that took his order advised him it should arrive in half an hour, so the delivery person should be showing up in no more than a few minutes. He was eager for it to get there. The sooner the pizza was delivered, the sooner he could get comfortable. Until then, all he could do was wait. He’d gone all day without anyone noticing his transformed body. He wasn’t about to ruin that by letting it all hang out for a delivery person to see. The ace bandages, corset and suit would have to stay on until after they’d come and gone.

  He took the box with it’s card and put it in the living room under the tree. “Soon,” he promised it, looking forward to the moment the corset would come off, joining the bra and leggings under the tree.

  The bra caught his eye. Something about it seemed different. The white lace was still decorated with a snowflake pattern. Was it the cups? They seemed about the same size, but something about the shape of the underwire seemed off. Was the band slightly wider? He picked it up and examined it more closely without finding any obvious change. At least, not until he checked the tag. It said the bra size was 32F.

  He knew the tag had been different the night before. He knew it had been a 40C. He remembered how unimpressed he’d been with the size. He double checked the tag in the bra. It very clearly read 32F.

  He knew enough about bras from having sisters to know that the number was the band size. If it really had been a 40 and was now a 32, maybe the bra’s band had adjusted itself to match the reduced size of his torso. His stomach fell and began to tingle in dread. Could he really be that much smaller from the corset? And that was just his chest. The corset felt tightest around his waist. How much smaller would that be when he was able to measure it? And why were the cups so much bigger than before?

  The knock at the front door was a welcome distraction from his thoughts. He snapped to attention, aware he’d been bending forward from the waist, suit jacket riding up, putting his rear end on display. The room was empty, but it still felt like someone had been looking at him. He could almost hear the echos of Holly’s gi
ggling lingering in the air. “Very funny,” he told the empty room.

  It was a quick walk to the living room door. While it was technically the main entrance, he never used it except for deliveries and door-to-door salespeople. He checked the peephole. As expected, it was his pizza.

  The delivery person was young and female, likely a high school senior or a local college student that needed the extra income of a part-time job. She was braving the cold without a jacket between her car and cold apartment door, wearing a long sleeve t-shirt for extra warmth beneath the golf shirt she wore as a uniform. The snug fabric of the sleeves revealed her miniscule biceps as they held up his pizza, waiting for him to answer the door. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, revealing the delicate features of her young face. Her makeup was subtle and immaculate, giving the skin of her face a smooth, porcelain appearance. The only thing that seemed out of place was the masculine baseball cap she wore, tipped back to prevent it from obscuring her vision in the dark of the young night.

  He forced his eyes closed. “It had to be a girl,” he whispered. With a sigh, he opened the door for her, doing his best to focus on pulling out his wallet and paying. The last thing he wanted to do was look at a young woman. Looking at women’s bodies was what had gotten him in this mess in the first place.

  Still, it was impossible to pay with his eyes closed, so he couldn’t avoid seeing her, even if it was just a glance or two. Her delicate hands opened the insulated bag and slid out the box before handing it over to him. He tried to ignore them, but when she took the bills from his hand - a twenty and a five, enough to cover the pizza and her tip - he noticed her long nails were painted with red and white candy cane stripes for the holiday. The similarity to the wrapping paper Holly used made his skin crawl.

  She handed him back the five. “The pizza was only $14.95.”

  Max had a delivery job in college. He knew that tips could be shitty. “Keep it. Consider it a bonus for working so close to the holiday.”