The name of my boss was Alan, a fictitious name, of course. Alan was a stern, middle-aged man of 42. I had started working under him when I was just 25, fresh from university. Our relationship was a complicated one, to say the least. We didn't get along at first, but we had our smoke breaks together. During those breaks, he often berated me for not meeting his high expectations. 

But there was a significant shift in our dynamics about three years into my tenure. It was during a hot summer day. I was clad in a short sleeveless top and shorts, my entire body was hairless, from my legs to my arms. I even had no facial hair due to a phase in my life when I had taken hormones. Though I had stopped, it seemed to have stunted the growth of my male body hair.

Alan seemed to be curiously observant during these smoke breaks. His probing questions began - whether I shaved my leg hair, why I would do that. He found it odd that my body was slim and graceful, like that of a young woman, even though I was a fairly tall man, standing at 182 cm and weighing only 68 kg.

His gaze seemed to linger more and more on me, scrutinizing my physique with an unreadable expression. It felt like something was brewing beneath the surface, an unspoken tension that seemed to thicken the summer air. It was an eerie prelude to the tantalizing turn our relationship was about to take.

To be continued...