Maureen

1

 

 “Here she comes.” 

I folded my legs, bum perched on the edge of the video monitor station, and sniggered as I saw Maureen come out of the staff changing room on the little black and white monitor. Max, the store security guard chuckled too.

“Look at her,” I said, “Imagine having an arse like that.”

Max laughed.

“I don’t know who designed the uniforms at this store but they didn’t give a second though to fashion, did they?”

“Nope. They certainly didn’t.”

Max and I were two of the few people who didn’t have to wear the green dungarees and form fitting black T-shirts that the rest of the staff did. He needed to maintain his image as security officer and working in accounts, I had no need to appear before the general public. Even though I had been till trained when I started it had only been a formality. In reality I was never going to have to lower myself to that.

Maureen didn’t have that excuse though. She was a checkout operator. She had to sit at her till day in and day out scanning D.I.Y products through for hundreds of eager home improvement enthusiasts. I didn’t envy her. Far from it.

I pointed at the screen. “Look at the size of her thighs! She’s almost waddling! And those arms!”

I ran my hands up the backs of my own arms. Where Maureen was chubby, I was slim. Except for our hair we shared very few of the same attributes. I was beautiful and elegant. She was plain and dumpy. I put a lot of effort into the way I looked, spending over an hour every morning making my face look gorgeous, my hair look full and glossy. Maureen seemed to do nothing more than climb out of bed, tie her hair back and struggle into her clothes. It wasn’t surprising with a husband like hers. I’d seen him pick her up after work. He was as rough as a dog’s arse.

“She’s thick too you know,” said Max.

“I try not to talk to her.”

“Absolute dimwit. She’d have trouble doing anything more than working that till.”

I smiled to myself. I secretly didn’t think Max was the brightest button on the shirt but he didn’t need to know that.

Maureen walked off the edge of the screen and I scanned the other monitors to see if I could spot her.

“There,” said Max.

She was walking down an aisle, hammers on one side of her, nails and screws on the other. I looked at her round face and sneered. “Imagine looking like that,” I said, folding my arms. “Imagine being her.”

Max snorted. “No thanks.”

“She’s so pathetic. She’s got the worst job in this place and gets paid the least. She’s as thick as a brick and has to be carrying two or three stone in weight round more than she should be. Just imagine for a minute turning into her.”

We watched her lumbering up to her till and taking her seat.

“What a pathetic cow.”

“So here you are!” I turned, startled and stood up. My boss, John, was standing in the doorway, glaring at me. “I need those figures you’re supposed to be working on as soon as poss. You can’t be swanning about in here, making fun of people who work a lot harder than you.”

“Sorry John.”

“Go on. Get back to work.”

I walked past him, my cheeks burning, feeling angry and humiliated. He stood over me, watching as I went back to my desk in the adjoining room, his fists on his waist. I sat down and pretended to look busy until he walked off, then sat stewing. He was going to be laughing on the other side of his face in a couple of days when I got my promotion above him.

I’d been to the interview at head office a fortnight earlier and it had gone fantastically. The job was in the bag and I’d already handed my notice in there. I was going to hear for definite in the next day or so and when I did I was going to tell John exactly what I thought of him (as if he didn’t know already). His smug expression would disappear quickly enough.

It was going to be quite a blast later today because interviews were taking place for my role. I was sitting in and it was going to be funny seeing if any of the drones from the shop floor would go for it. There was nothing quite so funny as when a minion thought they could better themselves.

Imagine my surprise and delight to find out that Maureen was one of the people who applied.

 

 

2

 

 

I grinned to myself as Maureen squirmed in her seat in the hot little interview room. She looked silly in a blouse and skirt. I flattered myself that she’d aped the outfit I had on but she looked foolish. I looked elegant in my dark grey calf-length skirt and short sleeved white blouse. She looked like a badly wrapped parcel with her chubby arms and the folds of her stomach making creases in the tight fabric.

I sneered. “So Maureen… What makes you think you could work in accounts with such a poor work history?”

I felt John flinch to my right. The question had come out blunter than expected but what did it matter? All three of us knew this interview was a joke.

“I, er…” Maureen cleared her throat. “I have experience working… er…”

“As a checkout operator?” I smiled. “Doing the accounts for the company is a little bit more complicated than working a till you know Maureen.”

She flushed. “I know. Sorry. I meant that I have some other related experience.”

This was going to be good. “In what?”

Maureen cleared her throat. “I spent twelve years as an accountant before having my children.” The smile faltered on my lips. “The checkout job was a fill-in to keep me going part-time until I was ready to go back into a proper job.”

“Er…” I couldn’t think what to say. “Er… So you haven’t had any recent experience then. Pity.”

“No I have,” she said, brightening, becoming more confident. “My husband is a building contractor. I’ve been doing his books in my spare time so I’m fairly up to date.”

I faltered, unsure where to go from there. I hadn’t expected this and I needed a moment to formulate some new put-down.

“That’s interesting,” said John, taking over the initiative. “Tell us more about it.”

I stared at Maureen as she started to explain, feeling suddenly off-balance.

 

 

3

 

 

At the end of the day as I was leaving the shop I still felt irritable.

Putting Maureen down had been a favourite hobby of mine for months now. It irked me that she’d had answers to all my questions and it irked me more that John was actually considering her for my job when I left. When I was at head office I wasn’t planning on ever going back to that place but it would have been nice to pop in from time to time and make fun of Maureen. I didn’t want her to better herself. The last thing I wanted for her to think she was as good as me.

All afternoon I’d had a horrible daydream nightmare that she was going to dog my career, applying for every job I had when I moved on, steadily following me up the career tree. Although even then, at least I could feel I was ahead of her.

The sun was starting to set and the early autumn air was beginning to turn chilly as I emerged. Maureen was leaning against the wall in her dungarees, waiting to be picked up. I sidled up to her, conscious that every step of my mine was delicate and feminine in my heels and pretty clothes. I was so much better than her.

“Hello Maureen,” I said.

“Oh. Hello Christine.”

“You put on a good show at your interview today.”

She beamed. “Do you think so?”

“It was a shame you looked so frumpy.”

She visibly sagged. “Do you… Do you think I might have a chance?”

I crossed my arms and smiled. “Maureen, some people are academic. Others aren’t. You shouldn’t be ashamed that you’re only good enough to be a checkout operator.”

“Oh. Okay. Right.”

“One of the biggest things you can do is be happy with who you are. My advice is to just accept it. You’re Maureen the checkout girl. That’s all you ever will be.” I shrugged. “Seeya!”

I had a huge grin on my face. There had been tears in her eyes as I walked away.

I got in my BMW and put the key in the ignition. It was a bit beyond my means but with my promotion to head office imminent I’d be able to complete the payments overnight and own it for real. I watched as a battered old van pulled up next to Maureen. It looked like it was on its last legs.

Maureen really was crying now. The driver of the van got out to comfort her. He was a huge bald stocky man wearing blue overalls that he only wore up to his waist. He was wearing a dirty white vest that exposed his hairy shoulders. I watched as he put his arms round Maureen’s shoulders and started to sneer but I paused, feeling odd.

Looking at his muscular arms and shoulders and his thick neck I felt a strange quiver in my stomach.

No. It couldn’t be. But it was.

I felt envy. He was so masculine, so big. I had a sudden unbidden fantasy of him putting those arms round me. Then I had a second fantasy – a far darker one that I pushed out my mind as soon as it appeared.

I absolutely refused to allow myself to want to be in Maureen’s shoes.

 

 

4

 

 

But that night in bed, as my husband Ben made love to me in his reserved, diplomatic way, I got a vivid image of Maureen’s husband.

I ignored it, trying to concentrate on what I was doing but I couldn’t help it. I was bored.

Ben was doing nothing for me and I found myself closing my eyes and imagining that big hulk of a man pressing down on me, thrusting his huge cock into me and making me scream in pleasure. The fantasy lit me up, consuming me and in seconds I started to cum.

I lay awake for several hours afterward, thinking about what I’d done.

I had never had an unfaithful thought like that before when making love. I didn’t know where it had come from and I didn’t like it. Ben wouldn’t have liked it either. He hated the entire concept of infidelity with a vengeance.

But on the other hand, thinking about it made me feel good. It made me feel very good.

I closed my eyes again and slipped my fingers down toward my crotch.

 

 

5

 

 

Three weeks later I struggled into work late, feeling angry and dishevelled. I still hadn’t heard back about my promotion and was starting to worry. The loan company were grumbling about my car payments and it was starting to stress me out. I’d spent so long the night before dwelling on it that I’d overslept and had to come in without my usual daily routine of beauty treatments.

There wasn’t time to pick up my usual morning cappuccino so I’d grabbed a couple of chocolate bars from the petrol station. I had to admit I’d been eating far too much lately but it was a good reliever of worry and that was the highest priority at the moment.

I had to walk past the front of the tills to get to my office and I was dreading it this morning. I usually took the time to make some kind of sarcastic jab at Maureen about the way she looked but didn’t feel as though I looked good enough today to pull it off. Also my remarks usually commented on her weight and I was feeling a little sensitive about that issue at the moment. My eating binges did wonders for cheering me up but they hadn’t done a lot for my figure.

I was relieved to see that Maureen wasn’t in today. Sally, the other till operator was the only person on. She looked like she was struggling to keep up with the mass of people wanting to buy. Yet another administrative oversight (though thank God that this time it wasn’t my fault). I skirted past the checkouts, looped round to the door of the offices and pushed in.

“Sorry I’m late. I overslept.”

I jerked to a stop just inside the door.

Everyone was staring at me.

But I was staring at my desk. At the person sitting at the computer, a spreadsheet open, typing away.

It was Maureen.

She was wearing a sleeveless blouse and skirt, her hair tied up in a bun, make-up on her face. She looked ten times better. The clothes fit now, accentuating her figure but not exposing the folds of flesh. It was hard to believe.

She glanced at me and did a double take. “Christine? I thought you weren’t coming in.”

“What do you mean? What the hell’s going on?”

John appeared in his office doorway. “Christine? What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here? I work here! What’s she doing at my desk?”

John raised his hands. “Calm down.”

“Calm down? Calm down! I want to know why that fat bitch is sitting in my place?”

John took my arm and guided me toward his office. “Sorry everyone. Get back to work.”

He closed the door after us and I snatched my arm out of his grasp. “John! What’s going on!”

He sat down, not replying immediately. “You do remember what day this is.”

“No. What day is it?” I snapped.

“Christine you gave your notice in a month ago. You weren’t supposed to come in today.”

“What?”

“Friday was your last day.”

“But I haven’t heard back about my promotion yet. I didn’t realise… I need more time.”

John shook his head solemnly. “Maureen’s all set up now. It wouldn’t be fair to send her home.”

“You don’t need to send her home. Put her back out on the tills. There’s only Sally out there.”

John shook his head.

“Look,” I said, “I just need to keep working here until I hear back about my promotion. That should be any day now.”

John didn’t reply.

“I’ll call them look.” I reached for the phone.

John pulled it out of the way. “I’m sorry. I talked to head office this morning.”

My blood went cold. “What do you mean?”

“They’ve already given the job to somebody else. They forgot to write to you.” 

“That’s not possible. I… I quit my job. I bought a car and everything.”

“I’m sorry.”

I couldn’t believe this was happening to me. It was like my worst nightmare come true.

“Is there no way they might reconsider?”

John shrugged.

“Then I need to keep my job here. I withdraw my resignation. I’ll keep working here. Just get Maureen to go back down on the shop floor.”

John sighed. “That isn’t going to happen Christine.”

“Why not? I can do the job much better than that fat cow can.”

“I’m not entirely sure that’s true.”

I was flabbergasted. “What?”

John avoided eye contact. “To tell you the truth Christine, I’ve been looking for a way to get rid of you for a while now. You’ve made a mess of the accounts. We need someone in position with the right qualifications and experience to do the job. That’s Maureen. Frankly I made a mistake giving the post to you in the first place. I should have known a school leaver with no academic background to back her up was not going to work out.”

“No academic background? What are you on? Did you ever read my application form?”

“Sure I did. It’s right here.”

I snatched it up off the desk and turned to the academic background section. “Then what the hell is this?” I shoved the form in his face.

He didn’t even look at it. He lowered his eyes and looked away.

“All right. Let me read it out to you.” I turned the paper to face me and scanned down.

Then I frowned. “Has someone been meddling with this? It isn’t right.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Well where are all my GCSE’s and A Levels? Where’s my degree? The only thing it’s got down is a YTS as an office junior in an accounting firm. That’s worthless and I didn’t even do it. Someone’s doing this as a joke, aren’t they?”

John sighed again. “That’s the form you gave in when you applied of your job.”

“No it isn’t. It can’t be.”

“It’s your handwriting.”

I looked at the font of the form. “Yes. It is. But I didn’t write this. Someone’s playing a joke or something.”

He folded his arms. “Either way Christine. You can’t work here anymore. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“But I can’t. My car. My house. I need the income or my husband and I’ll lose everything.”

John got to his feet. “Okay look. I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll let you stay here for a few weeks while you apply for other jobs, how’s that?”

I almost threw my arms around him and kissed him. “That’s great!”

“You’ll have to pull your socks up. You’ve been slacking a lot lately and I expect my employees to do their best at all times, especially in such a customer oriented position.”

“Customer oriented? What do you mean?”

He started leading me toward the door. “On the tills.”

“What?”

“I told you,” he said gently, “Maureen has your job now and you weren’t that good at it even then. If you want to stay here you’re going to have to take her place on the checkouts.”

“I can’t possibly—“

“Listen Christine,” he snapped, “Either you accept this or you leave. It’s as simple as that.”

I stared at him coldly. “All right Goodbye John. I’m leaving.”

 

 

6

 

 

I cried all the way home.

How could this have happened? How could it have come to this?

That that jumped up stupid cow had tricked my boss into thinking she was better then me.

It wasn’t fair.

He was going to see though. I was going to shove that fake application form down his throat. I had all my certificates at home. With them I could prove what qualifications I’d got.

That made me cry all the more though. That wouldn’t really change anything. I had still quit my job. Legally I didn’t have a leg to stand on.

As I drove up the long suburban road to my house I wiped my eyes. My husband Ben had the day off and I didn’t want him to see me upset. There was a lot of activity in the street. Housewives were standing on their lawns looking at something up ahead. It looked like a mist was descending.

Then I caught my first whiff of the mist and realised it wasn’t water vapour. It was smoke!

I turned the last bend in the road and saw the fire engines. And then I saw my house, flames filling every window, smoke billowing up into the sky.

 

 

7

 

 

I wasn’t going to beg.

Whatever happened, I wouldn’t do that.

I parked the BMW up at the front of the D.I.Y store and walked up to the front doors.

For the second day running I looked a mess: no make-up, hair a mess. I didn’t own any make-up anymore. It was all gone – along with all my clothes and every possession I owned. Everything was gone. I’d spent the night in a bed & breakfast. And now I needed to go back in there and ask for the checkout job that John had offered. I needed it.

Ben had survived the fire. It was him that called the fire brigade. But we were in a terrible financial position until the insurance came through. Sitting together last night in a bed & breakfast we had worked it all out. My car was going to have to go back today. I couldn’t keep the payments up. We weren’t going to be able to survive unless I started bringing in a wage again.

I walked through the shop to the offices, still wearing the same blouse, skirt and heels I’d had on the day before. I felt like a wreck and my stomach ached. I hadn’t had any real food for forty eight hours or more. All I craved was chocolate and crisps.

In the main office, Maureen was working hard at my desk.

She watched me walk past and knock on John’s office door but didn’t say anything.

He didn’t look pleased to see me.

“I need to accept that job after all,” I said.

“You made it clear yesterday that you didn’t want it.”

“I changed my mind.”

He shrugged. “I’m not sure Christine. We are desperate. The guy I hired hasn’t turned up two days running, but I’m really not sure you’re up to it.”

“Up to it? I could do that job with my eyes shut. It’s menial. There’s nothing to it. An idiot could do it.”

“I don’t think so Christine.”

My pride shrivelled in my chest. “Please John. I need this job. I’ll do anything. I beg you. Please.”

 

 

8

 

 

He led me into the changing rooms.

“What are we doing here?”

“You can’t work on the tills dressed like that. I’m going to give you a uniform.”

All the strength went out of me. “I can’t bear to wear one of those. Please John.”

“Either you wear a uniform or you go home. Your choice.”

I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. I just nodded.

“We don’t have any new uniforms I’m afraid,” he said, “but Maureen doesn’t need hers anymore and was kind enough to say you could have it.” I stared in horror as he lifted a pair of folded up green dungarees and let them hang in front of him. “Here.” He handed me them.

I took them off him as though they were burning hot. “They’ll be too big for me.”

“You’ll have to make do,” he replied sharply. “Here are her shoes.” He handed me a pair of scrappy black trainers.

“I’ve got shoes.” I pointed to my high heels.

“Not regulation I’m afraid and far too classy for one of the drones.” He grinned.

This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t have been.

John left me alone.

I plopped down on the bench in the centre of the room and stared at the dungarees in my hand – at the black sleeveless shirt he’d left for me on the shelf – at Maureen’s old training shoes.

She was sitting at my desk, doing my job, wearing smart clothes; and here I was: expected to get dressed in this ugly unflattering uniform.

But what other choices did I have? Until I got another job: none.

Trying to cheer myself up I opened my handbag, took out the king-size Mars bar I’d been saving and guzzled it down.

I took off my blouse and skirt and looked at myself in the mirror.

I didn’t look as nice as I usually did. I frowned at the potbelly I was starting to develop. I lifted my arm and turned sideways then prodded the build-up of fat in my upper arm. I knew I should go to the gym after work but I knew I wasn’t going to be able to motivate myself. And I couldn’t afford it either.

I pulled the sleeveless top on over my head. It was a little loose. Then I pulled on the dungarees, wincing at how terrible I was going to look. The straps fit snugly on my shoulders.

I looked at my reflection.

My worst fears were confirmed. The uniform made me look awful.

My bum looked a lot bigger. The clothes did nothing for my figure. If anything I looked slightly plump. I knew I’d been eating too much but this was worse than I’d expected. My ragged hair made the ensemble even worse again. It needed tying back but I was loath to do that because that was the style Maureen had always worn on the shop floor. On the other hand it did look bad. I scrapped round until I found a discarded rubber band. It was a gaudy item to use but I didn’t have anything else.

Finally I sat down and picked up the shoes.

I looked at them.

They were a size too big for me. I hoped that would give me an excuse not to wear them.

I didn’t like the idea of wearing someone else’s shoes – especially with bare feet. Already, Maureen’s unwashed uniform’s smells were all over me. I hadn’t put any perfume on that morning but the dungarees had been doused in Maureen’s and they made me smell like her. Putting on these shoes would complete the circle. My sweat would mingle with hers.

I didn’t want to do it but I made myself, one at a time, step into Maureen’s shoes.

They fit better than I’d expected when I stood up.

With my hair tied back and no make-up and the extra weight I was carrying accentuated by the uniform, I didn’t look like me. My mental image was totally incompatible with this drone staring dully back at me from the mirror.

But I had no choice.

Until I found another job this drone was who I was.

I started to move toward the door but stopped when I caught a glimpse of a white oblong on my chest.

It was a nametag.

It said Maureen.

That was the crowning humiliation. Not only did I have to wear her clothes and do her job while she did mine. This nametag branded me as her.

To every customer to the shop, I was Maureen.

 

 

9

 

 

As I walked down through the shop I felt the mechanical eyes of the video surveillance cameras. I knew that Max would be watching me now – seeing how low I had fallen – and laughing. They probably all were. John and Max and the others. Maureen as well. Everyone was laughing at my expense – laughing at the miserable drone going to work on the checkout while they got on with the interesting work in the office.

It made me want to weep.

Up ahead I could see the bank of checkouts, a long queue of people backed up on the single one open, and I realised what this meant – what I would be doing all day – every day.

The tension in the waiting people shifted when they saw me approach. When I had worn my blouse and skirt I had been just another normal person. Now, with the green dungarees on, they recognised me as one of the drones.

I climbed behind the next free till and started to set it up and half the waiting people crowded across waiting for me to serve them.

When I keyed in the code John had given me the display that pointed to the customer changed. It said, “My name is Maureen. I am ready to help.”

I looked at the first customer and with my heart growing cold said, “May I help you?”

 

 

10

 

 

At the end of the shift I trudged out of the store and stared up into the bleak sky, fighting to hold my tears in until I was clear of the place. I’d never felt so pathetic in all my life.

The day had been horrifically hard and to make matters worse person after person had called me Maureen. I’d corrected the first few but had lost heart in the end. And worse, other staff members kept calling it me too with a glint of humour in their eyes. They all knew how ironic it was that I was in her place after making fun of her for so long.

I was still wearing Maureen’s shoes. Standing up all day had made my feet swell and my high heels had been too tight. I was glad that Maureen’s shoes were a size larger or I couldn’t have walked home but at the same time I felt miserable to be stuck in them. Also I’d been too desperate to get out of there to change clothes. I had my skirt and blouse under my arm. When I got to the changing room, Maureen had been in there. I felt mortified for her to see me like that, dressed in her uniform. And she had looked radiant. Glowing. I hadn’t been able to face it.

I looked either way across the car park.

I had had to drop my BMW off at the garage during my lunch break and get the bus back. The payments were overdue. That was all there was to it.

I couldn’t face getting the bus back to the bed & breakfast but walking was worse. It felt as though all my power had been stripped away. I stood, trying to motivate myself. I couldn’t.

Then I heard a man calling. “Maureen! Maureen!” I looked round curiously. Maureen’s stocky husband was jogging toward me. “Maureen!” He stopped. “Oh. Sorry. I thought you were my wife.”

I stared at him. How could that possibly be? “Maureen?”

“Yeah, sorry. From behind you’re a dead ringer.”

That wasn’t possible. She was dumpy and chubby. I was…

I looked into the dim reflection of the shop window.

Oh my God. With all the extra food I’d been chomping on I hadn’t realised.

At a glance, from a distance, with my hair tied back like hers and with these clothes on, I did look like her – like Maureen. Especially without high heels on to give me extra height.

I was dumpy.

“I look terrible. I’ve put so much weight on,” I whined.

He patted me on the shoulder. “You look good to me.”

I was thinking about my husband. He didn’t realise yet that I’d been demoted. When he saw how I’d let myself go he might go off me. At least Maureen’s husband thought I was attractive. It can’t have been that bad.

He still had his hand on my shoulder. I looked up at his face and found myself sizing him up. He was so muscular and big. It made me feel very feminine and little next to him. That was another bonus, just when I was feeling big and fat.

“Are you here waiting to pick Maureen up?” I asked.

“Sort of. Yeah. She popped out to say she might be working late and to wait five minutes and then go on if she didn’t come back out. When I saw you I thought she was going to be coming home after all. You waiting for a lift?”

“No.” I shrugged. “I did wonder if my husband might turn up to get me but he’s not here.”

“Want a lift with me?”

I smiled, relieved but shy. “Okay. Thanks.”

He led me several rows down the car park to his van. I was used to a man opening the car door for me but he ignored me and got behind the wheel. I grumbled to myself and pulled the passenger side door open. Inside it smelled musty. There were scraps of rubbish - empty plastic bottles and crisp packets - on the floor in the foot well. I was glad I didn’t have to drive in it more than once. Wearing Maureen’s shoes for a couple of weeks while I sorted myself out was one thing. I would have hated to live in them for the rest of my life.

Maureen’s husband slammed his door and looked at me without turning the ignition key. “How come you’re wearing my wife’s overalls - or is your name Maureen too?”

“My name isn’t Maureen. It’s Christine.”

“I’m Sam.”

“It’s just temporary until I get a set of my own. I hate them.”

Sam grinned. “They look good on you. Sexy. They look as good on you as they do on her.”

There was a moment of resentment when he said that but what appalled me wasn’t that I was worried I looked similar to her but that I wanted him to find me more attractive. I wanted to turn him on.

He put his hand on my knee. “I bet they’d look even sexier off.”

I looked down at his hairy hand then up his bare hairy arm to his massive torso and his shaven head. His skin was tanned. He had dimples in his unshaven cheeks when he smiled.

I realised, quite simply, that I wanted to have sex with him.

He was so big and masculine - so uncouth - and the opposite of my husband - but more than that, I wanted to do Maureen down. I wanted to seduce her man and prove he wanted me more than he wanted her. To win in that way at least.

“Where?” I said.

He grinned. “In the back.”

We climbed through into the back of his van. I struggled to get between the seats and had to wheeze to do it with my spare tyre. There was a blanket in the back laid roughly next to a bunch of tools. I hesitated, unsure suddenly. I didn’t want to do it here in such a filthy environment. The moment had caught me briefly but now it wavered.

He grabbed my wrist and pulled me down though and, smelling his sweat and aftershave, I got the sudden overpowering sense that I had had when I was fantasising sleeping with him when I had sex with my husband.

Truth be told, I’d been fantasising about him every day for weeks now and I had thought only of his big hands and strong shoulders when I’d made love to my husband.

I wanted him. I wanted him now.

He pulled the straps of my dungarees roughly off my shoulders and I gasped from pleasure. I wanted him to be rough. I wanted him to dominate me.

Then a thought came from nowhere - a dirty thought that I pushed away at first.

I wanted him to call me Maureen - to treat me like her.

He pulled the T-shirt off over my head, exposing my bra then roughly pulled one of my boobs free. I gripped his muscular shoulders.

He pulled my dungarees down around my hips.

I was still wearing Maureen’s shoes. Paradoxically I imagined I was her. I imagined this was really my husband doing these things to me - possessing me like this, dominating me.

I was soaking wet. I wanted him so badly.

He pulled his overalls down around his arse. His cock flicked out from hiding, every bit as huge and delicious as I’d imagined.

He grabbed my hips and pulled me down into position.

He thrust into me and I cried out from pain and passion.

Then the back doors of the van flew open.

Sam thrust into me but I beat at his chest, trying to get him to release me because I could see who was standing there.

It was Maureen.

She looked shocked and angry but amused too.

And beside her, far more disturbingly, was my husband, Ben.

Sam withdrew, rolled over on his side and said “Shit.”

Both Maureen and Ben stood there staring at us - at our shame.

We’d been caught in the act. There was no denying it.

“Ben!” I said, “This isn’t what it looks like. We weren’t…”

But I could see in his face that he knew exactly what we’d been doing. And I saw his face harden. I’d blown it. I’d blown it all.

 

 

11

 

 

Both couples split off.

I argued with Ben while Maureen fought with Sam.

I could tell immediately that both marriages were over - that this was a final straw for all of us.

“I can’t condone affairs,” said Ben, turning his back on me.

“This wasn’t an affair,” I pleaded, “We were just having sex.”

He looked at me coldly. “You knew how upset I would be if you ever did this Christine. It’s over. This is the end.”

“No!”

“And you’ve let yourself go so much.”

I looked down at my chubby belly distending the folds of my green dungarees.

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want you to come back to the bed and breakfast with me. You’ll have to get your own place.”

“Ben please!”

“I’ll talk to my lawyer tomorrow. You’ll hear from him soon.” He turned his back on me. “Goodbye.”

 

 

12

 

 

Maureen and Ben left together.

I could see them walking toward Ben’s car, talking about us - at how shocked they had been.

I didn’t care. I really didn’t. I didn’t need him. I didn’t need anybody.

“Well that’s not so good,” said Sam.

“No.”

“I guess Maureen didn’t work late after all.”

“No.”

“And she must have run into your husband and come and found us.”

“Yes.”

Sam paused then slipped his arm round my shoulder. “You wanna come back to my place and fuck? If they don’t want us we might as well enjoy ourselves.” He grinned.

I was shocked. How could he be so blasé about it?

Then I thought about all the crap that had happened to me and how good it would be to steal that bitch Maureen’s husband away from her then shrugged. “Why on Earth not?”

 

 

13

 

 

Sam and I had sex on the couch.

It was a vulgar brutal thing, messy and crude and did nothing to elevate my mood. The only bonus was that I may have lost my husband but I’d at least managed to do Maureen’s out of hers at the same time.

She might have stolen my job but she’d lost her man and her home. I sneered to myself.

On the other hand she hadn’t missed out on much. The house was tiny and cluttered. There were piles of rubbish and dirty pots. The heating was on the fritz and not all the lights were working.

Sam went into the kitchen and got a can of beer from the fridge while I sat staring at the roll of fat round my belly, planning what I was going to do next.

I had a horrible feeling that I was stuck in my job or something like it. I’d lost all my qualification certificates in the fire and with my boss so against me I wasn’t likely to get a good reference. I didn’t have much cash in my purse until I got paid and I was starting to think that I was going to have to try and persuade Sam to let me stay there as long as I could.

Would he go for that? And worse: what if he did?

I was already doing Maureen’s job. My figure was well on the way to being a duplicate of hers. I didn’t have any clothes left unburned. I was going to have to borrow hers. A one-night stand with such a brutish man and in such a squalid house was one thing. Did I really want to move in here?

The real question was did I have a choice? And would he take me?

Just thinking about begging Maureen’s husband to let me stay with him made my blood run cold but what else could I do?

I picked up the phone, dialled the bed & breakfast my husband was staying at and asked to be put through to his room.

A woman answered. “Hello?”

It was Maureen.

I was stunned. I couldn’t speak.

“Hello?”

“Maureen. It’s me, Christine. What the hell are you doing there?”

She laughed. “Well,” she said, “You seemed to be having such a good time with my husband, I thought I’d try out yours.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I thought I’d got one up on her having sex with Sam. Now I realised she had won out in the end because I was stuck with a stocky bald labourer in a scummy house. She’d got my handsome wealthy husband.

I slammed the phone down and burst into tears.

This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t be happening to me.

 

 

14

 

 

I opened my eyes to the morning and wondered for a moment where I was.

Then I remembered. I was in Maureen’s bed, wearing her night gown, sleeping with her husband.

Except he was mine now.

I rolled over and looked at him and for a second I got a wave of terror.

What had I done? What had happened to my life?

This wasn’t what I wanted, I didn’t want to be living with this goon.

He opened his eyes. “Mornin’ love.”

I forced a smile. “Morning.”

He rolled over in his sleep and mumbled, “Make me some breakfast will you Maureen.”

I rolled my eyes. That wasn’t going to happen. I might have slept with him overnight because my husband had left me but I wasn’t going to become his wife overnight. Especially if he forgot who I was and called me that of all things.

I noticed the time and got up, worried my boss was going to fire me unless I gave one hundred and ten percent. I went through to the bathroom and splashed some water on my face, not even taking the time to glance at my reflection.

I went to the wardrobe. The bulk of my clothes had been burned in the fire and I was hoping that something of Maureen’s would fit me. Half way through looking I paused, thinking back to the application form my boss had shown me the day before. There was something that stuck in my mind, making me think I’d missed some crucial clue but I couldn’t remember what it was.

I found a sleeveless top and a pair of leggings that looked about the right size and pulled them on. I didn’t want to wear the same scummy trainers I’d worn the day before so I hunted through for something else. I found a pair of red flat and pulled them on. They were a size larger than I was used to but again they fit fine. It was odd - as though my feet had grown. It didn’t make sense.

It was humiliating to have to wear her clothes and worse that they fit. The spare tyre round my middle filled her clothes and worse, strained the buttons a little.

I tied my hair back again so it would be out of my way then stood in front of the mirror to have see how bad I looked.

And I got the shock of my life.

Looking back at me from the mirror was Maureen.

I looked exactly like her - from the plain hair pulled back off my forehead, past the chubby face, the bulging breasts, the rolling tummy and the fat thighs.

I gaped at myself, stunned by the transformation, and as I stared - as I stared at Maureen’s face - my face - I realised with aching clarity what was odd about my application form that I had looked at the day before.

After looking at the list of qualifications, written in my own handwriting, woefully bleak, I had turned to the front cover, and I had looked at the name.

At the time I hadn’t even registered it, but I did now.

Clear as day, in my own handwriting, it said Maureen Harris.

Maureen Harris.

It wasn’t possible. None of it was possible.

I ran from the house, my work uniform under my arm.

Behind me Sam called “Maureen! Maureen!”

I stopped in the gateway and looked fearfully back. He was standing in the doorway in a vest and underpants.

“Do you want picking up tonight like usual Maureen?”

I gulped. What else could I say but… “Yes.” 

He grinned. “Great. Why don’t you get some steak in at lunch. You can cook it for me tonight.”

“Steak?”

“Sure. It’s Tuesday. We have steak every Tuesday.”

I turned and ran to the bus stop.

I got on the bus.

None of this was possible.

It wasn’t possible.

My name was Christine. I was a qualified accountant, not a frumpy fat checkout operator.

I got off outside the D.I.Y. store and hurried up through the car park. I had to confront this horrific turn of events head on. I had to face it.

In the doorway, Max, the security guard stood with folded arms. “Hi Maureen,” he said.

I lumbered past him with my head down, not speaking, finding my stride altered now I had more bulk to carry.

“Hi Maureen.”

“Hi Maureen.”

Every staff member I met called me that. They didn’t recognise me as Christine at all. I waddled on toward the offices, feeling increasingly filled with despair and pushed the door open.

Inside, sitting at my old desk, was a woman that looked exactly like me - like Christine.

She looked up, startled when I burst in.

Then the look of surprise turned into a sneer and she said, “Look who’s graced us with her presence. It’s fatty Maureen.”

I looked down at the folds of my stomach - felt the double chin at my throat and my chubby face.

“You shouldn’t be in here tubby,” said the fake Christine, “Why don’t you get out where you belong with the other drones?”

I stared at her, unable to comprehend what was happening to me.

“You’re doing my job,” I said feebly, “You’ve stolen my place.”

“Maureen,” she said, “Some people are academic. Others aren’t. You shouldn’t be ashamed that you’re only good enough to be a checkout operator.”

I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t form a defence.

“One of the biggest things you can do is be happy with who you are. My advice is to just accept it. You’re Maureen the checkout girl. That’s all you ever will be.”

This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t be true.

I couldn’t have switched places with her.

But I had.

She had my looks and my brains. She had my job and my husband.

And what did I have?

I had her chubby body and her slow-witted brain, her complete lack of qualifications and prospects - her crappy job.

She was in my shoes and I was in hers.

I had become Maureen in every way.

“My advice is to just accept it,” she had said, “You’re Maureen the checkout girl. That’s all you ever will be.”

She was right.

That’s all I would ever be.

There was no escaping it.

What could I do?

Nothing but go out there and do my job.