Disguised as a man: After living with my boss for a month

At my best friend Megan Johansson's insistence, I'd been roped into cross-dressing as a male assistant for a notorious misogynist CEO.

Last night, he barged into the room and found me holding a pair of pink panties.

His brows shot up in surprise. "You have a thing for these?"

I let out a sigh of relief—thankfully, he didn't seem to realize they were mine. But then he dropped a bombshell: he wanted us to live together for a month!

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I became the personal assistant to a CEO.

My best friend Megan Johansson hooked me up with the job, telling me I'd be her brother Owen Johansson's 24/7 personal secretary.

"Just how personal are we talking?" I scoffed. "Like a live-in nanny?"

Megan didn't miss a beat. "Full benefits, weekends off, occasional overtime with triple pay, room and board included, and a monthly salary of fifty grand. The only downside is..."

"Deal! Only a fool would hesitate for those perks!"

Frankly, anything less than instant agreement would be a slap in the face to such a generous job offer.

It wasn't until later that I found out Owen had gynophobia—an extreme fear of women. Megan didn't want some burly guy taking care of him, so she chose me for the job.

I looked down at my flat chest and then at my delicate features in the mirror. With some effort, I can pass as a man, right?

On interview day, my nerves were through the roof. I felt like, at any moment, someone might demand I drop my pants to prove my gender.

Luckily, Owen wasn't too severe in his assessment, and Megan sang my praises to the heavens. In the end, I got the job and moved into Owen's mansion, sharing meals and living space and sometimes even sleeping under the same roof—though not in the same room, of course.

Life was pretty smooth until one day, I was humming a tune, carrying my freshly washed pink strawberry panties out of the bathroom, and walked straight into Owen.

My brain went into overdrive, scrambling for an explanation.

Before I could speak, Owen gave me a strange look. His face twisted into an awkward expression as he patted my shoulder. "Say no more. Everyone has their quirks. I get it."

Good news: he didn't realize the panties were mine. Bad news: he thought I had a bizarre fetish for collecting women's underwear!

Oh, how I wished I could find a plausible excuse on the spot!

Owen, ever practical, spared me further embarrassment. "Starting tomorrow, we're going on a business trip."

With a few quick coughs to mask his discomfort, he made a hasty exit.

I couldn't help but chuckle at the sight of the usually composed CEO fleeing over a pair of panties. Who would've thought the stern, aloof boss would be so easily flustered?

Living with Owen revealed surprises daily. In public, he was icy and intimidating, but at home, he could be as clingy as a puppy. With no awkwardness about gender boundaries, he grew more comfortable and less reserved around me.

Our male friendship was seriously perplexing. Owen didn't hesitate to share a bottle of water with me, waltz into my room without knocking, or lounge around in just his boxers and a towel post-shower. He even draped himself over me like a boneless cat and sometimes asked me to feel his progress at the gym.

As if I'd be swayed by such minor privileges.

Damn it, those rock-hard abs were tempting! Irritated, I ran my hands all over his sculpted muscles, giving them a thorough exploration.

Megan assured me that Owen was only intimidating on the surface; once one got to know him, he was easygoing. But she also warned me sternly not to let him discover my true gender.

I swore, "Don't worry. I wouldn't risk losing such a good gig."

After a bit more banter, we ended the call, and I heaved a long sigh before heading to the bathroom.

Cameron, oh Cameron, how long are you planning to keep up this masquerade as a man? Are you really going to be Owen's "bro" for the rest of your life?

But then again, it was not like I could get this close to him if I weren't playing the role. I had to keep telling myself to stick with it and make the best of the situation.

But the unexpected hit fast.

On the first day of our business trip, we ran into a major snag. The hotel messed up our reservation, leaving us with just one king-size bed. As I was debating whether to sleep in the lobby, Owen draped his arm over my shoulder and said, "It's just for one night. Let's share the bed."

My heart skipped a beat. This wasn't exactly something I could just "make do" with. What if my cover is blown right then and there?

Maybe my shock showed too clearly. Owen shrugged nonchalantly. "We're buddies, right? Isn't there anything I have that you don't?"

I nervously touched my nose, thinking, Well, I certainly don't have your… you-know-what!

That night, clutching a pillow and feeling awkward, I stood by the bed. Owen, in his loose bathrobe, patted the spot next to him and said, "Come on, are you afraid I'm going to bite?"