This story is a synthessis of an earlier work - one which, in many chapters, gained a great audience - more than many of my serials - So, in an effort to publish to a wider audience, composition has been made and a further book (2) will follow. For those who resent authors recycling their work - forgive me!

My husband's now known as Anne. I'm his wife, I'm someone who wants to put our relationship into context, and show how a marriage can grow if both parties develop eachothers' interests and pleasures. I know of My friend's challenges in her marriage to Ginger, but for me it's been very different and, I hope, you'll agree, much more fortunate.

How did it all begin? The steps towards a marriage where we are a man and a woman, most of the time, and two women when the fancy takes either of us?

Chapter 1
Perhaps it was at my instigation — and perhaps it wasn't. Perhaps he wanted it all along…. indeed, I know he did. But then, I must have done too. "They", whoever they are, say that marriages become set in their ways, sexually and in general. They say that some people never get to add spice to their lives. Did we know, when it began, that this was what was going on? Not at all.

We had spiced up our lives in many ways. He had become much more adept in oral love-making than I could ever have wished; he learned from his ability to "put himself in the other person's place" in business. He was successful. He could easily imagine what a woman like me would wish to have "done" to her. Me?? Well, I returned the compliment, though hardly as skilfully. We relish the soixante neuf we indulged so often, and we still do. That would be enough for many couples.

How did what begin, then? My husband's crossdressing. It wasn't really started from his teenage years. Of course, that was the Sixties, when he did experiment, with girly clothes and hair styles. He had long since locked those away as secrets before we married. No, his crossdressing was latent, maybe, but it was no feature of our early married life.

I can remember when the seeds were sewn for the first time. We were talking together in the wonderful warm time after a good long fuck. We had been at it for hours, it seemed. We had made foreplay an art form by this time, coaxing and playing with eachother but stopping short of a climax time and again. Sometimes we ache for release but go on to further, and higher heights of real pleasure.

We were talking, as lovers do, about what we had both enjoyed so much during the time just ended. I purred at the thought of his tongue parting the lips between my thighs; softly and sensually, slowly at times and faster as a rhythm developed…. until I had cum for the fourth, maybe the fifth time. He, by comparison, was still waiting for the first release. I enjoyed it most when, having saved himself for this, and brought me to a time when I couldn't cum again, he pulled himself up and entered my wet and wanting pussy.

He came inside me — which I do always appreciate! - and stayed inside for a while resting upon me as he subsided. He slowly slid down, his face licking the soft spot between my tits, and on and on, his tongue rounding my tummy button……. on his way "south". Soon, he was back in the depths of my Bermuda triangle, as we called it……. (things go in there and may never be seen again!)

He licked and licked as the cum he'd given me slowly slipped away. He brought a face up to meet my own, cum lubricating every inch of his face.. and then my own as we kissed deeply. We laid back together.
How were the seeds of his crossdressing sewn in this moment? Simply, and I don't know what made me suggest it…….. We were quiet, neither speaking for minutes on end. Luxuriating.

"You would taste extra special if you had some lipstick on", I said. The room went quiet. Silent...... He said nothing. He blushed.

He was silent for several minutes it seemed. His eyes told me that he understood and that it would be true; he would taste better....... But his eyes also showed, for an instant, a trace of his past obsession. He had worn make-up as a teenager.

We were lying in the bed, swathed in a light duvet. The smell of sex was strong in the air.
"There's one on the vanity unit. Go, please, and fetch it."

He didn't move, for a moment or two. He breathed deeply.

"What made you say that?", he whispered. His voice was light, almost joking. He had bought-in to the idea but maybe didn't want to admit it.

"I thought it, so I said it. You smell and taste very sexy………", I said, with equal lightness in my voice, hoping to encourage him.

Crossdressing was never further from my mind. I just knew that it would be incredibly sexy if we both shared a lipstick-laden kiss and, maybe, he would go down on me again wearing that creamy concoction.
He said nothing more, lying still in the bed for another minute or two, breathing more shallowly now. Then he reached over to the vanity unit where all my cosmetics were laid out. I had always worn a lot of make-up having had skin problems myself as a teenager.

The lipstick was an expensive one; a Dior Addiction, long-lasting one. Its case was beautifully sexy too. Our eyes met and stayed fixed upon eachother. He stroked the lipstick gently as he leaned back into the bed. He kissed the case with his lips slightly apart, making a gesture with his eyes that was totally unmistakable. My suggestion had been taken up.

"You first", he said.

Should I do so?, a thought flashed through my mind. What if I did….?

"Oh, no….. my treat is to have you kiss me", I replied.

If his teen years had involved experimenting with clothes and cosmetics, mine were taken up with exploring girl-on-girl experiences. I had been quite a "lipstick lesbian" for a year or two, before we met. So it was right for me if he wore the lipstick.

"Promise you'll kiss me again", he smiled.

"Only if you show me you enjoy it", I teased.

This was the turning point. Indeed, he did show he enjoyed it. He took off the cover of the lipstick slowly, holding the top between finger and thumb. He smelled the stick before slowly twisting the case to have it emerge, a deep burgundy colour with a shaped top. Unused until now.

He smelled the stick again and opened his mouth, lightly touching the top of the colour with his tongue. He was clearly enjoying himself.

He showed me the tip before moving it towards his lips. He had to steady his arms, resting on the bed, in order to get close enough to begin applying the colour to his still cum-laden lips. He licked his lips to remove what had been left behind, making his lips wet again.

"Difficult to apply lipstick to wet lips", I said. "Kiss me first."

He did so, beautifully, lingeringly, and seductively. Making me want more. But then he broke away and the lipstick was at his lips immediately. He made an arching sweep from the centre of his upper lip, first to the left and then to the right. He had obviously watched me do this and, for a man, he did a good job. The outline of his lips was near perfect but there wasn't enough colour.

"More." I whispered.

More indeed, from this moment, he took time to cover his upper lips again and again, leaving the vestiges of a cupid's bow in the centre, before sweeping across his lower lip several times. Each sweep was accompanied by a breathless "mmmmmmm". He was making sure I knew he was enjoying this.
Finally, he licked his lips to let them shine….. No need to apply lipgloss.

He held the lipstick up to me. Gesturing, but saying nothing. Meaning it was my turn. But, no, I wasn't having any of that… not yet. There would be ample time. I just smiled.

"Kiss me, lover." I whispered. "That's what you've earned. You proved you enjoyed that."

We locked together, the taste of his lipstick and the cum blending into a dreamy mist in my head. I had kissed girls before that had done as much for me, but never had the sensation with a man.

He was different. Very different. I was lying in his arms, savouring his kiss and sensing an orgasm rising, even though I hadn't been touched intimately for maybe half an hour. My hand reached down to just help me along that pathway. He continued to kiss me fully on the lips and lipstick smeared across both our faces. I flew into a frenzy for what seemed hours and eventually broke from his embrace. Our lips parted.

He started to move south again but I couldn't bear the thought of cumming again so soon….. "No! No!" I shouted…… "Not because I don't want you to, but please just take me slowly…." My breathing took time to slow. He rested his head on my tits. We laid quietly. Then a lipsticked lip surrounded one of my nipples which remained hard and aroused. Though I couldn't see, I felt a light touch on the other nipple. He was putting lipstick on that one too. The lipstick then was applied to his own lips and he laid back in my arms.

Near exhaustion, I raised my hand and touched his hair, tracing a line down across his forehead and down his nose, reaching his lips.

He kissed my finger and then took it into his mouth. Lipstick around the finger would find its way elsewhere soon. My hand went back to his hair, as I softly stroked his fringe. If he was a girl, he'd have bangs. The rest was, and remains, longer than most guys' hair. I stroked it gently, putting fingers into the top and the sides, stroking this way and that. I raised one thick strand from the crown of his head. I stretched it to its fullest length. It was as long as my own. I smoothed it down again. Something inside me suggested not stopping here. He was in my hands. He had done as I suggested with the lipstick. We would use that again in our love-making.

His hands moved across my body, wrapped is it was in my favourite peach satin nightie. He traced the lace along the tops above my tits and reached up as the straps rose to my shoulders. His hand slid under the straps and stayed there.

The seeds of our enjoyment of his crossdressing had been planted. Here I was with a man wearing lipstick, caressing his hair as he fondled the satin of my nightie. Knowing of his past enjoyment of crossing, and feeling equally attracted to a girl as a boy myself, I reached an unconscious decision. This was here to stay as a part of our loving. Almost whatever he felt.

I touched his hair again and took a strand more tightly, rolling it round my finger. I held it. He twisted a strap from my nightie and tugged it. I pulled his hair again. He almost purred in pleasure.
"Let me brush your hair." I said, not asking for agreement. "Then you can do mine." I reached for the hairbrush beside the bed.

"Not unless you have some lipstick too." was his reply, offering the open lipstick to me..
Slowly, he sat up in the bed and turned his back towards me. He smiled. His lipstick was still smeared but the second application was bold enough. I put colour on my own lips for the first time today. The smell was, again, captivating. The taste, likewise. The feel of the creaminess on my lips was sensual in the extreme.

I took the hairbrush and drew the hair from the back of his head to the side and back towards the other side. I reached over his head and brushed the hair away from his face. It reached over his crown. I repeated the strokes several times, increasingly strongly to remove slight tangles and make it sleeker. I picked up the hair from his crown and, who knows why, I began to lightly back-comb or tease it, perhaps to add volume. Now I know, it was to make the style more feminine. I parted the hair down his head from crown to the front and smoothed the sides. His hair cried out for bangs at the front but the cut wouldn't allow this. I back-combed the crown some more. Oh, if only I could work on the cut, I thought…….

He hadn't moved through all of this. Where was it taking us? We had passed a turning point. The look was very much different to that we had started with on him. Writing this, I know it was my choice rather than his — but he was happily compliant with my suggestions, wasn't he?
He shivered quite suddenly. "I'm cold", he said.

It was then I asked if he would be comfortable wearing something slinky……

"Another time" was the reaction to my question.

I had asked if "something slinky" would be nice to wear.

Perhaps it was because it was just as we came to the end of the after-glow felt having made love for what-seemed-like hours. We had ventured into the realms of make-up and things that had tempted me……. Unusually….. You see, I'm the wife……… My name is Zoe. He's the husband. His name is Andy.... for now.
We were exhausted, I told myself — though disappointed — and we turned to sleep. I was disappointed because I wouldn't have offered the idea of something "slinky" to sleep in unless I had thought he would love it. I didn't take it as a rebuff, or an outright refusal, more a genuine, "not now, maybe later".
As we turned away from eachother, I said "Maybe some fresh lipstick to wake up to?"

"Mmmmmmm…." came his response. "You too, though…."

We turned back to face eachother and I turned down the gold lipstick case to reveal the deep burgundy shade of creamy ecstasy…… I lined the outer limits of my own lips, filling the central portion with a thick creamy coat that I knew would last for hours, if left undisturbed!

I faced him, smiling quietly as I could leave him with the feeling that all of this was my idea…. really, honest, it was. His eyes were dreamy as I did the same to his lips as I had done to my own. A line to the margins of his lips with the point of the lipstick, followed by a filling-in to make a beautiful colourful, dark burgundy, slash upon his face.

"Lick your lips before we kiss, one last time." I said — and he did, minimizing the risk of smudging the colour…. before we kissed for the first time the following morning. Long lasting formula, the Dior Addiction lipstick promised. I was determined to test the promise.

AS we turned away to sleep, I thought again of how this had come about. The sex we had enjoyed was always good, but this had been spectacular. I hadn't planned this "diversion" at all. But it had happened. And how much I had enjoyed it. I yearned to do it all over again.

Morning came — perhaps too soon.

I awoke first, looking over at a husband who had turned in the night and who was facing me, his lipstick still nearly faultless. How good he had tasted through that and the delicious cum that he had found between my thighs. I stroked his hair, very gently. The hair that I had played with so provocatively last night. He didn't stir, even at that. I resisted the urge to kiss him fully on those deep red lips, until I had slipped from the bed, refreshed my own lips and brushed my own hair.

As I turned back to join him, his eyes opened. A smile spread across his face, welcomingly. Though barely awake, it seemed that sex was again in his mind — as it was certainly in my own.

Not for long, however, because a frown replaced the smile on his face. A look of… what was it?… Guilt? His face changed and he appeared very confused, even shy. He licked his lips. Gently at first, then quite furiously, removing the colour that had been so lovingly applied. There was a silence. What to be said? It was clear something was wrong. Sudden shyness.

"We shouldn't have…." He began. But the words faltered.
"Shouldn't have done what?" I whispered.

I knew then that the hoped-for repeat of the night's delights were lost — for now if not for ever.
He shook his head. He licked his mouth again, as if to make sure it had all gone.

I had guessed about the experiences of his past, before we were married. Cross-dressing at times; a "hobby" now long since forgotten. Never forgotten — that's for sure….. maybe just put away for "one day". But never forgotten. CDs I have met subsequently confess that "it's never forgotten." Perhaps I had exposed a nerve that once was raw and in need of continuing stimulation, but which had been bandaged and hidden away. My own taste for a fling with another girl — indulged many times in my young days — had likewise been tucked away… but of course, never forgotten.

All seemed lost….. He didn't answer, except to say "I must have a shower."

I lay in bed as he did so. Should I apologize? Not really, it had been a mutual expression of desire, last night. Nothing premeditated. Nothing to say "sorry" for. It was something I had loved doing — and would do again given half the chance. No, I wouldn't apologize. Maybe he felt he should. As though this wasn't "normal". as IF! It was entirely natural and something not to feel guilty about.
We spent the rest of that day "being busy" — as we often did when, having had an argument, neither would apologize or admit being in the wrong.

Leastwise, we did until early evening. It was the weekend. And as it was the weekend, we came to the time when, if either of us fancied the idea, all we had to say was "It's 5 o'clock" and the other would know that it was a good time for a fuck.

I was still feeling quite horny from the night before and so it seemed a natural way to bring us back together.

"It's 5 o'clock….." I said, with my usual "look-in-my-eye". "You busy?…." I asked.

"Not at all……", was his reply. "I was hoping you'd ask."

Another turning point? Should I… dare I, refer back to last evening…….?? I decided not to.

Yet.

I was tempted to mention it. I was tempted to lead in with "slinky" talk, but easily realized that would be a mistake — for the time being.

He approached me across the living room. His smile showed the day's distance was gone. That was exhilarating. He touched my nose lightly with a finger and left it there….. tracing the line down towards my lips and drew me close. We kissed.

"Here or upstairs?" — another frequently asked question! — this time he was the one to ask. So, it was my choice. Here would be nice…… but sex never lasts as long on the living room floor, it seems to me. And besides, last night was "upstairs"…… and I felt like continuing "last night".

"Oooooh, I think upstairs would be best…." I said, taking him by the hand. "..Close your eyes."

I unbuttoned his shirt and slipped my hand inside, playing with his nipples as I did so. He visibly shook…. but didn't repel the sensation. I loosened all the rest of the shirtbuttons and removed the garment by sliding it down his arms…. at the same time playing with a nipple that was, by now, hardened. I leant down, as he stood there, and placed a kiss upon this erect part of his chest, leaving a delightful circle of lipstick around it.

Yes, lipstick. Before the first exchange of words at 5 o'clock, I had freshened my lipstick and mascara, adding some eye shadow as it was "coming up evening time". I wanted to send a message. I was ready for anything.

He laughed. The lipstick was delightful and said only one thing….. "more".
Looking back, this was also a turning point in a way. Lipstick was again in both our minds - impossible to ignore. It was.

I told him to take a shower — to give me time to freshen myself too. And to give me time to think. I decided that it was best to lake things take their own course — not to drive things forward in whatever direction.

I was freshened before he emerged from the shower.

"Leave your hair to dry naturally." I called to him. I fancied running my hands through his still-wet hair. He emerged from the bathroom and, near dry, spread himself across the bed.
"Let me just do my hair." I said, taking a brush from the dressing table and turning to the mirror.
My hair. Before sex, it was something I had to have right to feel sexy. My hair. Once described, by myself, when I was angry with him, as "looking like a tart's"…… Done for him, because he likes it that way. Red — bright red — with blonde highlights framing my face.

I left him on the bed, anticipating. Growing hard. For just long enough for the "tease" to be recognized.

My hair, deliberately, took time, as I played with the style. Making it very much one to "stay in with" rather than be seen out with. I looked in the mirror for a final time. Right……it was…… In fact, I would have fucked myself if it was possible. It does a girl good to feel that way.
A thought flashed through my mind. Would he feel that way if he looked in the mirror as I had?
I turned towards the wardrobe to select a nightgown — the prettiest I could find. Another peach satin one. Or what about the light blue one with lacy trim? As I stood there with the two of them in my hands, I was tempted, again, oh so tempted, to turn to him and offer a choice….. one for me, one for him?
No, not…. yet…….. I knew that one day I would, but maybe not today. I didn't want to push him. I realized that I loved him even more ……. "this way".

I did offer a choice though…… "Which would you like me to wear, honey?"

"The blue one would be lovely." He answered. So I hung the peach satin gown on the wardrobe door.

At long last, hair and make-up done, feeling a Million Dollars, I slid onto bed alongside him, the red circle around his nipple crying out to be replenished.

At the side of the bed, I sat with the folds of blue silk around my body. On impulse, I took several layers of silk in one hand and began to stroke the body that laid beside me. I didn't need to ask permission. He purred quietly.

I toyed with it and the nipple stood hard again.

"Yours need some lipstick too…." He said, completely surprising me. My nipples.

"And how is the lipstick to get there?" I asked with a giggle. Just at the thought. He was hard by now and his cock invited me to climb upon him. For that, I needed no second invitation. I fucked him from above for, it was to seem like, hours.

He said "you must know where the lipstick is.. and what to do with it."

I could reach it beside the bed, even from above him. I found the Dior and put it to his lips, shaping them beautifully with coat after coat, to make sure it lasted. I reminded him to lick them, to avoid losing their shape and intensity.

I played with his nipples a lot. We would cum together, for sure. And we did.

In the delightful afterglow, I found myself thinking about the previous night and the fuck we had just enjoyed. Both had been phenomenal. Both had lasted almost endlessly. Both had a frisson of indulgence of something we knew would be part of our future. At least I hoped so.

"Fresh lipstick?" The words slipped out of my mouth…. I half regretted it the very moment later. But I needn't have done. What was I saying? We had fucked delightfully. I risked ruining the moment. Too hasty? We lay beside eachother.

I dared not force him further in this direction. I so much wanted anything we do to be his choice — at this time in our lives, we have a lot worth sharing. I needn't have worried.

He smiled. "I've thought a lot during today."

I smiled, in hope rather than expectation.

"Last night…." I held my breath. What was he going to say? Had I gone too far? Had I uncovered hidden desires that he was scared of? Was my "lipstick lesbian" side too strong?

"Last night was heaven." He said. He breathed deeply, as if to prepare for an explanation. His voice was trembling. "…..it was heaven……. and today, I felt it shouldn't have been quite so delicious!"

I felt I had to speak, to relieve the tension, but what should I say? "Ahh, the guilt trip!" I joked.
Was that the right tone? It sounded mocking all of a sudden…. but I didn't mean it so. It sounded like I'd "been here, done this" many times before. I didn't mean that and I had to show him. So I snuggled into his arms and just said "No need".

"Well, there's a risk….. that I might like it too much!" He joked in return, but I knew that he was suddenly serious. He might just do that and he knew it.

"Whatever, is all fine with me." I comforted him. "Little bits of fun can't harm anyone."

" Well, maybe I hope that's true. I loved the creamy taste of the lipstick and the way it must look. And then there was the way you played with my hair…. Will you do that again too? You know how much I love your hair. That was fun." He paused. "……………Can we do that all again?"

We had finished a wonderful fuck. This wonderful man was saying this to me. What could I say, but "YES!" I reflected on the gentleness he had shown during our love-making and the almost girly feelings he was showing about caring for our sensual sharing of temptations. Who's leading who, I wondered?

So, I reached for the lipstick and the hairbrush…………….

Chapter 2

My husband's now known as Anne. I'm his wife, I'm someone who wants to put our relationship into context, and show how a marriage can grow if both parties develop eachothers' interests and pleasures. I know of my friend's difficulties in her marriage to Ginger, but for me it's been very different and, I hope, you'll agree, much more fortunate.

It's important to have read my chapter 1 to know how this story began.

Zoe wants to put her relationship with her husband into context, and show how a marriage does grow if both parties develop eachothers' interests and pleasures. Only 24 hours has passed since the first chapter began…

The second evening…… It's 5 o'clock and, it being the weekend, that means time for a fuck, if both of us felt so moved. I did so… and made it clear.

We always enjoyed a fuck at this time - sometimes a real quick one, sometimes a long slow and luxuriating one. Last evening had been a long, long one — and wonderful by any standards. As I prepared myself to make the suggestion, my pulse began to quicken.

Tonight was bound to be different, because of last night….. Maybe not better, hopefully, not worse…. but different, certainly.

Now, we're back upstairs after a morning's "regret", "guilt", or even "shame"…. at least, it had seemed that way. What emotions had he gone through? What turmoil in his mind?

By comparison, I was simply purring over the love-making we had enjoyed together. He was thoughtful and quiet all day — until I had said "It's 5 o'clock, are you busy?" I was feeling like a million Bucks, it's true. How was he feeling — it soon became clear. He was a willing and, indeed, an eager participant in what had been so enjoyable. We both wanted more.

I confess, writing this years later, that it was all unplanned, how it began, but it seemed so natural for us both — maybe not for everyone — but nothing to be ashamed of, guilty about, or regretful for. I say that, even though there have been big ups and downs since then — maybe some of which I'll write about. I guess, you could say that I had opened Pandora's Box without any knowledge of what was inside.
I couldn't foresee or plan for where "it" would go. "It?" .....His crossdressing. There had been none of that up to this time — the second evening. By then, I knew it would go further…... "It" again… It has a mind of its own perhaps. But I didn't know how far and how fast. Looking back, I think it's gone fast enough and the "Downs" have only come when "it" has gone too fast… or too much of a big step at one time.
Back to the evening concerned……. We were beside eachother in bed, or rather on the bed, with the folds of my blue silk nightgown stroking over his body. I reached for the lipstick at his suggestion — at least I think it was his…. or was it mine? I know that I wanted him to use it…..

"You should learn to do this for yourself." I breathed, as I outlined the shape of his lips with the golden-cased stick. The deep burgundy colour looked as rich and as sensual as the night before and this morning when we woke. I would have suggested he wore it all day had he not removed it all before showering.

"Maybe we can go out and buy me my own." He said, between the strokes of the stick across his mouth. "Maybe I should have my own."

"Maybe you should." I agreed. "We should go shopping tomorrow." As I coloured my own lips. "Maybe you'd like some eye shadow?"

Was that another turning point — too soon? In retrospect, it was. A turning point, that is.

We kissed, after both licking our lips to preserve the beauty of the moment. H didn't react to the suggestion - at least outwardly. I would find out when we were shopping whether it had met with his approval and agreement — or whether another bout of regret would ensue.

His kissing became more urgent than before, bringing me to a wonderful, moist-between-the-thighs feeling in no time at all. There was going to be fireworks…. if I as lucky as I hoped to be!

He "went South" very soon, sooner than usual, and lived up to the promise better than ever. As he reached my pussy, I cried out in anticipation…… and almost cruelly, he paused, breathing warm breath over my anxious thighs and the folds of my love nest. He actually paused long enough for me to wonder if he had gone cold…..

What he was doing was tantalizing..... It was just what another woman might do... but not a man!

I smoothed the silk of my nightie over his neck. Not being able to see his face, I couldn't tell his thoughts…. but he was merely teasing me, before his tongue slipped gently into the labia on either side. He tongued me for minutes before straying deep into my pussy. His tongue touched what I now believe to be my "G-spot" deep inside.

His hand moved to the pillow next to my head where, it proved, he had secreted the toy we both loved; my "fucker", a nine-inch long, three-inch round, veined and headed dildo (what a bizarre word) that we called our fucker. It was an old friend!

He regularly brought me to intense orgasms with this lovely thing. It lacked the fake bollocks that so many have, and it wasn't a vibrating version — just a lovely strong, thick "fill-me-up" fucker. I recalled thinking that I would fuck myself if I could… well, in a sense, I had done, many times, when using this toy alone.

He had long ago learnt that my pleasure was especially strong if he licked me with the fucker in place, deep inside. I forgot that its "head" felt so good. But I also remembered that it was even more sensual if placed with the "head" going in last…. so that it would stand out an inch or two, allowing him to like me around a cock that seemed to be mine. The orgasm that followed was phenomenal and left me breathless.

In a moment, I could have my fantasy of a girl going down on me, changing to her — in this case, Ginger, sucking my fucker. Never had I, or we, been tempted to use the fucker on him. He was accustomed to giving it a very thorough licking before penetrating me, so he was no stranger to its more intimate shapes. The second orgasm was equally moving, coming so soon after the first.

We laid back, both needing a rest. We had kissed and fucked for a long time. I realized that we had my having hairbrush close by. Something reminded me. He had specifically asked to have me play with his hair again. He had enjoyed that a lot, I could tell. He hadn't yet cum, but it didn't seem to bother him. His cock was soft but very well, and invited being licked. I loved the taste of his pre-cum juices.
He loved my hair. Hair was his "thing" — or fetish, you could call it. He confessed later — one time when beautifully coiffed in our favourite salon — that he always looked first at a woman's hair, before any other physical feature. He had by then to come to the stage where he evaluated other women's hair by the answer to the question: "How would I look with hair like that?"

"Ready for your hair to be styled?" I asked.

"Ready as I'll ever be." was his answer.

"Then go and moisten it all, towel it dry and come back."

I had decided to give him the full experience of a woman's hair styling. A woman's hairstyle on a man. My husband. OK, This was my instigation. My idea. He hadn't asked for that.

His steps to the bathroom were quick and silent. Those toenails could do with some lacquer and colour, I thought. (How many wives have thought that of their husbands? Not too many, I suspect!)

He was back from the bathroom in a flash…….. but naked. Somehow, that was incongruous. He needed to be clothed, in my mind. His body needed to be clothed but he didn't realize that. He sat before me, expecting me to get on with his hair.

At this moment, a thousand thoughts rushed through my brain. He was a willing player in this theatre. He would be delighted whatever I would do. Could I risk shattering that by suggesting he get dressed — and, if so, into what precisely? I had a split second to decide — I know now — and this was a moment that might clearly change the course of the immediate future.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" He asked. "I want you to make my hair as good as yours."
He reached up and touched the kiss curl that swept down beside my ear and up again, a lightly streaked curl that he had once called my "Fuck Me" curl.

His hair was as long as my own, even then, and was ready for rollers, if only quite small ones for the most part. I found myself thinking of how I would set it when his voice came again.

"I said, what are you waiting for, honey?"

Now or never. Would I, should I, suggest that nobody has their hair done when they're naked? Or should I not break the moment and just get on with it…… I could point to the peach satin nightgown still on the wardrobe door. I could point to its matching satin dressing gown on the back of the bedroom door. Both would fit him well enough. But both could send a shockwave through the room that might break the spell that bound us together.

In that moment I decided… Take the chance! He should slip the nightgown and dressing gown on. "Just slip these on, darling. You'll love the feel they give....." I didn't have to make the same suggestion twice.

He looked lovely, standing by the wardrobe mirrored door. "They don't do as much for me as they do for you, honey!", he exclaimed.

"You say the most wonderful things. Just enjoy the silkiness...... Now, while we rest, I know that you love my hair and I love you for it too." My mind was made up. "Turn around and I'll do my best — you want hair like mine, you shall have it……. apart from the colour, that is!".

Not then, but later, at a similar moment, his fem name was conceived……. Every CD has to have one and it was his love of my own hair - its style and its colour — that gave him the name Annie. Close enough to Andy, his natural given name.

"Face the mirror, Annie" I instructed him. "You have to see every move."

"Annie???.... Oh, I see......" He immediately got the link....So I can do it myself?" He asked

"No, No, Annie, not unless you want to — one day — no, so you can see the care that it takes and the love I shall put into every curl…… as I roll them up, and as I brush them out when you're dry."
Sensual, this was going to be. We hadn't got near fucking again yet, but already I was yearning for another good fuck to follow. He could detect that, I was sure. He was breathing quite shallowly once again. His heart rate was about 150, I'm sure…….

I brushed his hair though, left and right; from nape to crown; from up and down. No tangles remained.
The tailcomb I needed was on the vanity unit across the room. I left him sitting there to get it. As I returned, he was touching the strands of hair on his forehead, entwining them around his fingers.

"I've never had rollers in my hair." He said with a smile.

"Well, now's your chance, Annie. do you like your new name, my lover?"

"There are worse things to be called. I quite like it in fact...." He answered, his eyes not looking in the mirror, showing a kind of shyness.

I laughed and began in earnest. His hair was already drying so sped was important. The tray of rollers that I usually used on my own hair was right beside where the tailcomb had been. There were more than enough for his head. I guessed around 20 or 25 would do it. Maybe three or four larger ones for the crown but mostly about one inch in diameter, allowing hair of about 3 ½ to 4 inches to be rolled tightly.

"And you've never fucked anyone with rollers in your hair, I'll bet." I challenged him. If this worked, I would have him fuck me with his hair all tightly rolled before I treated him to the comb-out and the resulting style.

"That would be tempting….." His voice tailed off.

"Gotcha!" I thought — that's a contract…….

At this point, again, I confess, I was driving the development of the fore-play — well, I can call it that, as it was "fore" something special, even though we had been fucking for an hour or more already. I lost thoughts of the risks involved. I had thought that he was thinking this was something we shouldn't be doing….. I had thought that he would be scared of getting "carried away" but, there and then, that didn't matter to me at all. I felt I was in control — both of myself (which I clearly was NOT), and of Annie's desires.

Where would this leads us? To his fucking me with my nightgown on and with rollers in his hair — that's where….. And MAYBE, just maybe, the slinky peach satin nightie might get removed when I fucked him in return?

I parted his hair centrally from crown to forehead and placed large rollers either side of this line, high on his head. I placed a second roller either side, further forward, to extend a parting that would run from behind his fringe, to the crown where I then placed two large rollers running side to side — that would create an uplift at the crown.

All of these were rolled tightly, to ensure the curls would hold through some energetic sex that I really hoped was to come, but maybe not last until morning.

I next rolled-in two layers of curls below the crown, incorporating the fringe that would fall to his eyes. This left the shorter hair below ear level that could only go round smaller rollers — but where tighter curls would be found.

Every curl would flow away from the crown. The height of the crown would be determined by the back-combing I might, or might not do. And there it was. Done. I couldn't resist biting his ear, below a roller that was the last to go in. "Mmmmmmmm……" We agreed together! He knew, that I knew, that he was expected to fuck me… and soon! His hands began to wander towards my tits, encased in the blue silk.

"Not so fast!" I said strongly. "You have to have setting lotion spray."

The smell of the lotion just added to the exaggerated atmosphere we sensed as we laid back together.

"More lipstick"…………….. He said!

"For you and for me." I said.

"And what about eye shadow? You said......." He said!

"No eye shadow, no fuck!" I said!

I was yearning to get his cock inside me but the fucker would have to do for now. His cock was still soft and wet....... I'd take care of that later. But for now, I wanted to be fucked... senseless if possible!

I found it beside my pillow, offered it to him to lick, and he slid it gently inside me again.

"Where's the eye shadow?" He asked.

"You'd better find it if you want a fuck, my Annie" I taunted him.

There was a playfulness about this time that would be impossible to create if you tried. It just happened and it was wonderful. It was the sort of intimacy that couples rarely achieve (if achieving is your bag!)…. so few are as lucky are we were then. The world did not exist for either of us in that moment.

He jumped from the bed, desperate to find the cosmetics that were so familiar to me, and so fantastic for him. He wanted the fuck and he wanted the cosmetics.

All of a sudden, from nowhere, I was tempted to play an Ace from the bottom of the deck. He didn't know what was coming.

"And if you touch another cosmetic before you find it, you have to use that as well." It was a taunt, and invitation, a temptation, and there were consequences I had yet to imagine.
Guess if he did?

Touch….. touch…. touch…. that's what I meant…. and that's what I said to my husband, Annie.

"And I mean it...if you touch another cosmetic, you have to use that as well."

He was standing at the dressing table. His hair was tightly wound in rollers and sprayed with setting lotion. He was naked, despite my urge to suggest he wore a slinky wrap of some kind.

He had to find the eye shadow, or else…………… no fuck!

But. But. If he was unable to find it, we were going to fuck anyway, I would make sure of that.

"Where is it? What colour case will it have? How big is the case?" He sounded desperate.

"Can't tell you!" I teased once more. "But you'd better make sure before you choose."

"I can't……."

"You have to, or else you'll end up with a full make-up to go with your beautiful hair."

His cock was huge again by this time, as he stood there. Nowhere to hide… except to push it between his legs and tighten his thigh muscles to keep it hidden. It embarrassed him that he had become so excited. He need not have been. The wetness in my pussy was equal if not greater. To see this honey of a man whom I loved, standing near my bed with his hair in rollers and lipstick over his mouth, meant I was as horny as I had been in weeks.

His cock was hidden. "Hurry up, or your hair will be dry." I urged him.

His hand strayed across the drawer of cosmetics and alighted upon a first package. The burgundy plastic case hid what was inside. Was it eye shadow?

Nothing like it! He had found the pot of foundation that I use every day.

Ideal. He could wear that anytime as far as I was concerned.

"No, my love. That's not it……. But you'll get to know that well when I have showed you how good it makes your complexion. It makes a great base for any other cosmetics you choose."

I was suddenly aware that my tone of voice had changed. It was just as though I was talking to a younger, perhaps inexperienced girl….. Annie, a girl…. not my husband.

My perspective looking back is that this was a turning point for me — if not for him, because he may not have noticed. I was talking that way because I wanted him to be this, or more, feminine. Standing there before me, it was like my teenage experiences with other girls. I relished the memories all of a sudden.

"You shall wear foundation for the rest of the weekend." I said, inviting no argument.

"You meant for that to happen, didn't you?" He said, with a knowing smile.
He later confessed that it was at this time that he began to hope that "things" would go quite a lot further than just a little make-up and "girl-on-girl" flirtation — that he would find himself "given over" to whatever I chose for him. He liked the teasing "game" we had been playing.

"Yes, but only in the moments before you chose it." I confessed.

His cock sprang from between his legs, again, adding a little to his embarrassment. I was conscious that clothing would help and even add to the sensuality of his situation, but maybe he still wasn't ready for that. Something tight around him? I had some nice stretchy lycra foundation garments — body smoothers, they're called……. But no, not …….yet.

He later confessed also that the idea of wearing some of my clothes struck hi at the same time…… a kind-of "sixth sense" struck up between us…… but neither of us said a word about it at the time.

"You'll have to let me deal with that….. (looking at his cock that wouldn't behave itself)… …come here!" I demanded. It was easy to take his cock between my lipsticked lips and begin a delightful, slow but certain blow-job. One that he would remember for the rest of his life! He was, or him, unusually huge that time… such a joy compared to the uncertain, confidence-lacking cock that often disappointed me and made him feel sad.

**********

He was back at the dressing table, but now the daylight from the window had faded. It was getting dark. How long had we been upstairs? His cock was now tiny and I had the taste of his delicious cum on my lips. I was in heaven. My hands were gently playing "down South" as I parted my labia to explore the clitoris that surely pulsed under each stroking. I had cum myself and was wet, quite literally wet.

He was where I had told him to be. Searching for the right cosmetics. His lipstick refreshed already.

"There are too many to choose from here!" He argued.

He needed a clue and so I gave him one simple one…… "Look for a flat little case that's no bigger than your four fingers across. It will have two or three little squares of colour, packed flat."

"Easy!!" He cried, grabbing what proved to be the right package. So there it was, the eye shadow he would have to wear. I knew it was a selection that included a pale purple, a deep dark purple and a white/frosted shade. Wonderfully sexy — for a night out even! Not now, but later.

"Come back here and let's feel your hair……" I said, as seductively as I knew how. "…..let me unroll one of these tight little curls….."

He sat down before me, with the eye shadow in hand, as I reached towards his forehead and unpinned one of the two curls that would make his fringe. It was still damp. I rolled the curl back even more tightly. He winced as the tightness of the curl connected……. He looked absolutely gorgeous, and I told him so. "You're a real honey!" I exclaimed.

Turning, he looked into my eyes, saying "Well, it's my turn to treat you right." Bliss. I dreamed of what was to come. A head crowned in rollers going down on my thighs, parting my labia once again. "I'll try to be like a girl would be. As good as she can be." He whispered. He threw his head back, showing me the full crescent of rollers around his crown. Tight. As I had enforced them. The style I had in mind, as feminine as could be.

It was as if the rollers in his hair shouted "I'm different!" So, when his hands strayed towards my tits, I knew I was in for a treat.. His mouth moved towards the first of my nipples whilst his finger and thumb teased the other, squeezing it tightly. His lips closed in on the first. His teeth closed in around the nipple and he began to nibble, lightly and flirtatiously at first. As the passion rose in both of us again, he chewed harder and harder, to my great delight.

His rollers made me imagine, just for a moment or two… or three, that he was "she" — I had made a long step in the imagined relationship we share in the last few minutes. The look of the man, with his face in part made-up, with his hair in part styled, with his body unclothed but needing satin or silk. But he was still my husband. There have been times, since then, that I have wondered what I started - times when I have wondered if my husband is "still here" because Pandora's Box has many secrets and we had only just explored the very first level.

Before very long, his head was at my bushy little love nest, his tongue was again between my labia. My legs were spread wider than ever because of the rollers in his hair. I leant back and indulged myself even more, floating in a wonderland of pleasure that he bestowed with his tongue. Just as a woman would do for a girl. He was so good at that, he should write a book. He could call it "Confessions of a male lesbian".

My orgasm was thunderous. I literally shook from head to toe for several minutes. Exhaustingly so. I was left nearly shattered. I was out of breath. I was almost unable to open my eyes, but when I did so, there he was……

"I felt chilly….." was all he said, standing there in the peach satin dressing gown that had hung on the wardrobe door. He now looked sensational. He looked female.

The temptation had been too strong, he said, watching me in that wonderful post-coital haze that overwhelmed me. He had seen the dressing gown where I had hung it. I was quiet. He didn't need to ask.
He slipped, silently, from the bed. Trembling, he said, his hands had stroked the satin which was refreshingly cool to the touch. He took the garment down from its hook. He had looked over at me and wondered "if I should" — as he put it. He trembled at the thought that this might break the spell under which we were spinning.

"Then come back to bed, darling." As my haze cleared, I motioned to the pillow next to my head. And we hugged. The silk of my nightgown and the satin of his dressing gown flowed together.

In a wonderful slinky melee, the tenderness was overwhelming and it felt we could spend the night just as were, entwined.

**********

There was time, however, to eat a light supper together, to enjoy a glass of wine — as all our activities of the day had been sans alcohol……. (as the French would say). I think we both needed a drink — and we deserved one!

I thought instantly that Annie - I decided to call him that all the time we were playing this way - had something important to learn about wearing lipstick…… She had to learn. How to avoid leaving a smear of colour on the glass. What better lesson to teach than with a glass of champagne in our hands. We always kept a bottle in the fridge and there was one ready for us then. A suggestion was easy to make. "Time for fizz??" I asked.

"As if you haven't been fizzing all day!" He said. "I'll get to it." And off he went, rising from the bed in my dressing gown that swept his lower legs. He paused in the doorway and looked back. "This is really ok, isn't it?" He asked. As if he was in need of approval or reassurance.

"Of course, it is darling."

Putting on that dressing gown had been a big step for him — taken all by himself, laden with ulterior motives, or not. Maybe he was just "chilly". Or maybe the satin excited him. A thought came to my mind — again, one of whether to push forward or not at this time. Should I say, as I wanted to: "We'll need to go shopping for something like that for you." Should I push him towards wearing some of my other clothes? What about owning a garment of his own……. perhaps the first of many? Should I risk it?

I decided not to provoke what could be a storm of uncontrolled developments that I couldn't foretell as desirable. I wanted this. He wanted this. It was enough. He would go downstairs to get the drinks. He would walk the length and breadth of the house, in my dressing gown. He would feel the sexy touch of the satin on his skin. This was just wonderful enough.

His hair would be dry by now, that was for certain. Should I let him sleep in his rollers or should we play with his hair to finish the evening. Before sleeping. Before waking once more to who-knows-what. I thought so, as I heard him moving things around in the kitchen. I thought of the phrase "I've started, so I'll finish………"

He returned with a tray, carrying a half-bottle of Champagne and some "nibbles".

"It really is alright, you know." I said, as he sat down. "I love you even more. You're such a wonderful sensitive man. No wonder you can treat me so well. Hold my hand and squeeze me, to make sure I am awake!"

He looked at me longingly, for a long time, before answering. "Love comes in all sorts of shapes and sizes and colours, I know. But I didn't expect ever to be sitting here with a beautiful woman like you, dressed as I am. It's a very different scenario and one that few could understand. But it's feeling right for me…. but only if it surely is for you. I need to have that reassurance. Like this morning. It was how you said… regretful, even guilty."

"Let's not rush ourselves." … was all I could say.

I couldn't wait to get my hands on his hair. To unroll every curler and transform the rolls into curls and swirls around his face. To lift and backcomb the crown. To tease the fringe. To complement the lips that were smiling at me. To add colour to his eyelids as he seemed to want me to do.
But first, the Champagne!

It was a time to lose my thoughts of here and now………………. While we luxuriated in the taste of the wine and the warmth of the sex we were sharing, my thoughts went back to teenage years and the first experiences I could recall of sex with another girl. The heady days of stolen kisses and admissions of "having a crush", of laying awake thinking what it would be like to taste another girl's most private parts — that was what we were told they were — "private parts". The first time that I could recall happened at school, inevitably.

I had felt unattractive since puberty and longed for the long blonde hair of a particular girl. Karen was her name. I loved her sparkling eyes and wide, wide, smile. One day, pretending to be heartbroken at an argument with a boy we both knew, I confessed that I wanted more to be close to her, not to any boy.
Then things happened with a speed that was breath-taking. She proved to be an aggressive lover — given the slightest encouragement that I had given her. She led where I followed. She pushed and I succumbed. There were times when we were together that I knew we would be discovered.

Did she care?

Did she hell! We never were. By the time we broke up, over something truly silly, as girls do,

I had learnt a lot about how to love a woman — and how to be loved by a woman. That would help if Annie was keen to learn.

Back to reality. Here and now. Where I was the instigator of such things as I had never imagined to indulge myself with. Whatever willingness I had seen in my husband's joyful role-playing, he was still just a man playing "girly" for a night. I could encourage that without being threatened in any way. I was in control — no matter how much I said to myself that it was a "50:50 thing".

"Champagne… to celebrate…. Wonderful sex with a wonderful woman, Zoe!" He gushed.

"Champagne… to celebrate with a wonderful man, Annie!" I agreed.

"Shall we colour your eyelids before or after we do your hair?" I put the choice to him…. after all, it was his call to make. If it were my call, I'd do the hair last of all. I'd do the eyelids with shadow first and find that they were incomplete without some mascara. I had ignored that possibility in the teasing game, but it was true. He had to have longer lashes, oh and dark silky liquid lines to define his eyelids — top and bottom — to make the eyeshadow have its full impact. That meant eyeliner too! Then, and only then, would I finish the story of tonight, by dressing his hair in the most sexy and feminine style I could possibly create.

All the way through, I would stroke the satin that covered his shoulders.

"I've been longing for you to do the hair, just longing to see how you can make it look. Bet it's going to be difficult but whatever, I'm loving the feeling…….." was his answer.
He related his foray alone into the house a few moments ago:

"I looked in a mirror on the stairs as I went down. It's truly erotic, of all things, to be walking around with tight curlers all over my head. Like I have no choice in the matter. It's going to happen.
You're going to dress it, the way you said you would, as much like your own — which I just love!"
His breath was shallow again. "Please do that first Zoe."

My thoughts were elsewhere again: My hair, which he admired, had been as it was for months and months — probably as long as we had been married. Yes, that was it. I had changed the style and colour about six months before we married. For the wedding. I had been a redhead ever since. Mousey brown in the few months before that. Not always that way though! I had been many different colours while we were courting — sometimes he would never know what colour I'd be from one week to another. He always said he loved it, whatever I'd become…… blonde, frosted, beige, sometimes burgundy wine or raven black.

I'd added highlights to my auburn colour in the last days before marriage — so he would see me that way first when we had the ceremony. And I had been auburn with highlights ever since.

Andy loved it so much, it turned out, that his fantasy later became to change Annie's colour to the same auburn with highlights. Now was that my fault? Or his simple preference? When we eventually did it, was that my indulgence, or his? That would come later — and in this story, several chapters later.

Very well, the eyeshadow — and the mascara and the eyeliner — would wait.
I took the first roller in my fingers and tugged it gently, releasing the pin that held it to his scalp.

The curl sprang into life and settled on his forehead. The second did likewise. Already, he had a fringe to frame his eyes. I worked back along the parting, from front to his crown, releasing the curls that, in turn, sprang into line. The larger rollers over the crown were wound only one turn, so the curls were much larger and his hair gained height and volume as a result. They sat proudly above the rest which were unwound in lines around the back and sides of his head. All over his head - just like that — wonderfully pronounced and almost formal in their design, each one stiff and kind-of erect.

"How does that look?" I smiled into the mirror and saw his eyes transfixed on the image in front of him. He said nothing.

"Girly enough for you, Annie?" I asked provocatively.

My hands fell to rest on his shoulders, still encased in the peach satin of the dressing gown.

I stroked the material across the back of his neck and ran a finger up into the backmost curls.

Still he said nothing. Had I provoked the wrong thoughts with the "girly" question?

Seconds of silence between us extended into minutes - it seemed - before I took the brush and gently — everso gently — smoothed the curls over. Not disturbing their shape or individuality. Just softening the style slightly.

Still nothing was said.

I took a curl from the crown with the tailcomb and backcombed it gently, right to the roots.

A second crown curl followed. I was making a more elaborate style take shape. Still no words. There were thoughts in my mind that were in conflict. His silence could mean loads of things. Fear, rejection, panic, "rabbit-in-the-headlights", plain embarrassment, or perhaps, disbelief? Alternatively, it could mean I was doing just what was right.

Then, it came, the judgement from the victim!?

"It's just wonderful. I love it. I just love it."

He paused.

"Could you do something with the colour one day?"

I had to answer, honestly, but without committing us to anything.

"Of course, darling, if you would like that. It doesn't have to be permanent. We could have a lot of fun with some of the funky colours that are "wash-in, wash-out" you know. We could do that ourselves and one day you might go to a salon, if you like."

Nothing more was said — but more than one seed had been sewn in that moment. Seeds that didn't take long to germinate, as you'll hear in a chapter that has yet to be written.

"So, to finish the creation, let's deal with your eyes………. and then let's fuck once more before sleep takes us away!" I picked up the eyeshadow that he had found, put the foundation away for another time, and made sure where the mascara and eyeliner were for the finishing touches tonight.

Chapter 3

My husband's now known as Anne. I'm his wife, I'm someone who wants to put our relationship into context, and show how a marriage can grow if both parties develop eachothers' interests and pleasures.

Less than 36 hours since the indulgence began, I find myself in a quandary or a dilemma. After a wonderful weekend of love and sex and fantasy, I am facing my husband, Andy, over the dressing table in our bedroom. At home. Protected. Together. Loving. Sharing. He has his hair styled rather like my own.
He has deep red lipstick on his face. He is wearing my peach satin dressing gown and he is waiting for me to put eyeshadow on his eyelids. He wants me to do so. He has discovered that these things make him feel sexy — as if he needed to feel more sexy!.

We have enjoyed wonderful sex for hours and hours, drifting in and out of male/female and just a suggestion of female/female lovemaking. He's been girly…. increasingly so. There's joy in my mind because I have loved every minute of the last two thousand (for that's all it is….) and I have no idea where the next 2000 will take us. The quandary is whether that has all taken place too fast. At this rate, who knows where we might end up. And I'm not sure I know if I want to go there. Well, I'm not sure
I want to go so fast. So, like him feeling regrets yesterday, now I'm concerned...

"You'll have to hold your head very steady, honey." I told him, knowing that he would flinch when the eyeshadow first was applied. Having anything put near the eye provokes a natural reaction; one that girls learn very quickly to master when first they try using make-up.

"Yes, Zoe, I know. I haven't tried that for years but I can remember. In fact, it was the mascara that gave the most trouble as I remember……"

The tiny brush was easily loaded with eyeshadow from the little palette in my hand. I chose the deep purple for the lower area on his upper eyelids. Its impact was immediate.

His eyes seem to come alive. I swept the colour upward to the edge of the lids, meeting his eyebrows and giving a sultry tone to his face. Then I changed to the lighter purple and swept that across the fold in his eyelid that's deep in the crease above the lashes. Finally, a sweep of the much lighter, frosted shadow completed the look — a vampish aura descended about his face.

"You look really, really sexy, my love." I murmured "… but the look is incomplete without the mascara you said you've used before - a long time ago……. Did you ever use eyeliner? I have some superb quick-drying liquid liner, if you'll let me try it on you."

I noticed that his hands were no longer in his lap. They were stroking the arms that were contained in the dressing gown's satin folds. Moving to stand behind him again, I slipped my hands back to his shoulders and stroked him through the material whilst looking in his eyes in the mirror.

I looked in his eyes, seeking approval to proceed. "Annie, my love. Mascara and liner, or just the mascara tonight?"

One of his hands moved slowly towards his legs and stroked against his thigh. Soon, he had his cock in his hands, covered only in satin. He stroked more and quietly said "Just the mascara, please." So, I turned back to face him with the mascara wand in my hand and as I began he gently wanked himself, the pleasure being all-consuming.

Looking back, I could have felt excluded from this pleasure but my own pussy was so wet still, I could hardly complain. I spread the wand across the lashes that were relatively thin. It would need a serious amount of product to make his lashes look really as vampish as the eye colour demanded. Maybe one day, he should try false lashes, I wondered.

By now, I realized that his face looked distinctly more feminine than my own. He had more than enough make-up on and his hair that surrounded the image I was creating just make the picture hard to comprehend. After all, he was a relatively ordinary guy — not "pretty" as some guys are — he just seemed to take to the look naturally and, whilst still a guy in make-up and hair — he was still a guy ……100%.
His wank ended in a quite quiet (for him) orgasm and his cum made a tasty indulgence for me as I surrounded his cock with my still-lippy lips.

Later, (how much later?), he looked in the mirror and whispered

"You're soooooo clever! Zoe...... You've made me look what I am certainly not… and you've made me feel very sexy about it. It shouldn't be this easy. In really like the feeling…… Is it good for you… tell me…. Is it ok??"

His eyes flashed and he shook his head lightly, making his curls bounce in a very feminine way.
What the hell? This was role-play and much of sex is based on being something that you're not. Who was I to arbitrate on what is and what isn't acceptable. I had been pushing this forward. There was no doubt of that. Was it ok with me… of course it was. He's my husband and we're in this together, I mused.

"Will you sleep this way?" I enquired. "Would you like to wake up this way? remember, I have to work tomorrow and you have a day at home. So you could stay this way for a little longer if you wish." That was the case — I had to wake early to be away from the home for most of the day. He, on the other hand, could stay as he was and lounge around the house if he wanted.

"You could have a nice long bath and freshen yourself up for when I get home."

"I'd like to sleep this way, it's so comfortable. Let's see about tomorrow when it comes."

"Then you should slip out of the dressing gown and use the nightgown that matches it, you know. Girls feel better in nice nighties. I was as encouraging as I could possibly be.

The following morning, as I dressed for work, he woke later than I did and was sleepy still as I returned from the bathroom. I opened my wardrobe, wondering what to wear. Standing in my bra and panties, I hummed gently as I decided. There were plenty of dresses and suits to choose from.

"I think a boyish look would suit you today." He said. "In fact, as I've enjoyed your things quite so much, I think you should try a shirt and tie from my wardrobe. Then you'd be conscious all the time of what I'm wearing if I stay like this at home."

"Whoa!, that's unexpected!" I said. Now he was moving things forward. Last night's thoughts came flooding back….. . At this rate, who knows where we might end up. And I'm not sure I know if I want to go there. Well, I'm not sue I want to go so fast. So, like him feeling regrets yesterday, now I'm concerned...

But the thought wasn't at all irrational. Maybe I was just in "work mode". "Okay, good idea."
In fact, the day turned out very well indeed.

We spoke on the phone several times and I leant that he was indeed enjoying a day lunging around the house. He had a bath soon after I left and set about restoring his make-up. Surely, he should have taken it off by now? But then, if he took it all off, he couldn't put fresh colours in place the way I had done last evening. The impact would be lost, he said, and he wanted to hold on to it.

I didn't know until I got home, feeling great after a day I had made some bold decisions at work, that whilst I had been in work mode… he had been in "wank mode".

When I entered the house, all seemed quiet. I called out "I'm home!"

Whilst downstairs was quiet and orderly, I wasn't prepared for the scene I encountered on climbing the stairs. It was mayhem, like there had been a burglary. The bed wasn't made, there were clothes everywhere…. my clothes, not his clothes. It wasn't a pretty sight to a tidy-minded girl like me, to tell the truth. What had been going on?!

He appeared at the bathroom door. He had been crying, if he was not still doing so.

His make-up was ruined and streaks of black mascara lined his cheeks. His hands were covered in purple eyeshadow, where he had rubbed his eyes no doubt. There were mascara stains on the nightie that he was still wearing. His hair was dishevelled, not anything like the pretty style in which I had left it this morning.

He confessed that his morning went downhill from a luxury start where he felt really good about the way he looked. He had wanked, he admitted, and he had wanked again some time later. The whole morning was taken up with self-indulgence. The clothes that were spread around the room had been held up in front of him, dress by dress, as he imagined wearing them. He admitted, as if racked by guilt. The wanking left him almost exhausted. He said his bollocks ached. (Too much information!) Then the doubts had set in; his mind back in the guilt of the previous morning.

Next, he took a bath but found that his make-up began to lose its completeness. His skin had sweated and his contentment was replaced by concern for "what we had done". He wanted to remove the make-up but couldn't find the creams to do that.

His cock had risen again and he saw that there was more to this than he knew….. His sexual drive had been hi-jacked, he said, by his looking "this way".

"Well, not the way you look now." I argued, as he looked a complete mess.

"Did you wear any of my dresses?" I asked, kind-of feeling violated…… "Without my permission." I thought to add, but didn't. This had been a "together thing" An indulgence for both of us last night and the night before. Not now. In fact, Yes, I was finding myself angry at him…

Tears welled up in his eyes as he realized what I was thinking. He had to justify himself.

"No, please…. darling… It wasn't like that…… No, I didn't — you should be able to tell. I'm telling the truth. I'm sorry I made a mess but I haven't…….. worn…. any of them…."

"Well, it doesn't seem that you've taken much care…. and look at yourself… Look in the mirror You look like Elizabeth Bloody Taylor in a hysterical fit!" I rounded on him, unwittingly.

Oh, shit! This was all going wrong…. It had been wonderful — for both of us — last night, and even this morning. Now we were on the verge of an outright fight….. Too fast… that was the trouble. I knew it! If only we hadn't gone so far…. so soon if you want to say….. But he shouldn't have done this, especially with my clothes!

"Deep down, I want you to enjoy yourself, darling." I said, falteringly, "…..but I'm not so sure, at all, about you doing this alone. It was my mistake…. I even suggested it…. I didn't think you'd stay dressed all day… sill less end up in such a state. For goodness' sake, go and have a bath again. The cleansing products are all beside my bathroom vanitory."

He looked at me in an apologetic sideways look, and turned his back without a word.

The bath water began to run. The steam indicated that the water would be punishingly hot. The vanitory drawer slammed shut. He had found the cleansing creams. Now he was resentful. What did he expect!?

I sat on the side of the bed, close to tears. A wife who had indulged herself…. and her husband…. in something she couldn't control. What was I to do? Apologize? — well, no……. I'd tried that a moment ago and it didn't ring true. We had decided on this track…. we had gone along with eachother. We found ourselves in the mess we'd suddenly found ourselves in.

The best way would be to fuck ourselves out of it….. Lots of people can't do that; they harbour grudges that mean sex suffers. Luckily, we weren't like that…. We usually could "fuck ourselves back to normal" in times of trouble. And this seemed to be one… and this seemed the best solution….. But I still had my concerns. I was disappointed we had reached this. I enjoyed everything we had done. As he had. Now he was all guilt-laden, I had to make him comfortable… if we weren't to lose what we had begun.

I stayed on the bed, his shirt and tie feeling somehow reassuring to me. I had worn his clothes all day… well, some of them. I had felt close to him. He had worn my nightclothes. Hopefully, he would have felt close to me, before becoming overwhelmed. Hopefully he would have had me in his mind as he wanked. I certainly thought of him many time in my own little world when I was giving myself pleasure. My thoughts surrounded how much I had fancied him as a 'her' last night — well, almost a 'her'…… He/she looked
lovely then, not as she had done a moment ago before we separated. Then again, I still fancied him as 'him'. A fuck as "he and she" would be the best way to calm things down.

Would we ever get back to "he/she and she"? I hoped so.

But not in a rush! I had to put the brakes on.

He seemed to have done that to himself in any case.

A fuck. That's what we needed.

When he emerged from the bathroom, his skin was almost red all over. The heat of the bath had been intense. Steam wallowed out from the doorway behind him. His hair no longer in soft curls, but rather slicked back behind his ears. Wrapped in just a single bath sheet, almost from shoulder to toe, he stood there…

"Soooooo sorry! I messed up, big time, didn't I?

It was early evening and I was tired from the day's work. I needed a drink.

"Two martinis??" I said.

"Not half!!" He replied.

We had often used the suggestion of a Martini as double-meaning for a fuck, after we had the Martini!

"Just ice and a slice? Don't get dressed. Just stay as you are, my honey." I implored him. "Just dry your skin and powder everywhere. That'll make you feel good. And then we can talk over a drink, downstairs."

He smiled. He was recovering his equilibrium from the pre-bath skirmish. Anger had subsided.

He followed me down the stairs after a few minutes. Whilst I had poured the two Martinis, which were big ones, he had clearly spent time brushing and arranging his hair. He had parted it centrally from forehead to crown, just as I had set it last night. He had drawn a comb through the rest to leave waves left and right. He had really tried to create an impression -and it was noticed.

"Your hair looks nice." I complemented but said nothing more. We touched glasses and said "Cheers" before sipping the nectar. As it was the first alcohol of the day, it really hit the spot. We sat together on a warm sofa in the living room.

"How was your day at work?" He enquired, just as a "wife" would do to a "husband" — there was a curious role reversal at play here, without any conscious action on either part. I had been at work. He/she had been at home. A fuck on that basis wouldn't work to restore the balance between us. This rapport was for tomorrow, or later. Today was for him to be him and me to be her.

"Work's not for now." I reached under his towel and felt for his cock. It was small and subsided — presumably from all the wanking of the daytime. "The Fucker's for now." He said, admitting that he wasn't ready. "I'll get it." And he ran up the stairs, two at a time!

The rest of the evening, we played all over the house. Fucking on the sofa, on the floor, in bed and even on the stairs. Exhausted, we retired to be… this time to sleep, at gone midnight.

My concerns of early evening time were allayed for now but I faced a choice — probably in the morning. I expected to find a changed man. But changed in what way. Would he be the dominant, or rather male, one?
Or would he be girly again? What did he expect of me? To push back, or for me to be fucked as she by he/him?

In a single day, I had gone from almost a "lesbian wife" when we woke up, to mildly cross-dressing in his clothes, to an offended "wife of a closet CD", to a happy-to-be fucked-by-hubby type of wife. Which of these was I happiest to be? I really didn't know — but as the story will unfold, I will find out.
As I drifted off to sleep, I ran my hands through my hair on the pillow. My silky red hair. Maybe it was time for a change?

Chapter 4

Andy's wife, Zoe, here again I'm getting some control over how my desires are shaping my husband in ways he, nor I, perhaps ever expected... We are gently moving towards his being girly when he fancies being girly... not all the time.. but whenever! This is requiring an intensive first phase.

……The story so far has been one of my thoughts and actions as the wife of a young man who had, shall we say, a tendency to cross-dress. It had been developed, unwittingly, in his college days. He had helped a friend during her time as a junior hair stylist. Along with two other friends, he had volunteered to be a model in a hairdressing competition. Little did he know, this required his being a girl for the duration of a major event. He'd been left with a subconscious fetish which would under-pin the games we were playing.

The Morning After.

I remember as if it was yesterday. My husband and me. Last night we'd had just survived a pig of a day.
A beautiful start with my hubby dressed and "glammed-up" for me. My day at the office wearing a shirt and tie of his, to remind me of the way he would be dressed all day at home……… It all had gone "pear-shaped" when I returned home, to find him in a mess…. a complete mess. He had over-indulged himself and got into a state where my dressing skills were wasted. If we were to go on with my plans, to expose his
girly side, we would have to regress and recover…. fast!

We had done so. His feelings of guilt assuaged, we had made love last evening - for hours - and slept
soundly, caringly, gently, together. All wasn't lost. He hadn't "got it up" but had used our little fucker with his usual skills….. I was well and truly fucked by the time sleep came around. It was heaven. ……Though I remember wondering if this would be a pattern for behaviours in future.

Would it be me indulging my passion for his transformation, followed every time with his getting carried away with the idea and ruining everything? Was it me ruining everything/ Should I stop pressuring him?

Was I pressuring him anyway? He'd broken down yesterday but, tomorrow, ……?? The first phase had
obviously been too intense.

I loved the feel of him, I imagined him dressed as I had enticed him to be. Underwear to die for. Soft and silky. His girly "side" exposed. His face made-up with the most expensive cosmetics.

I could find for him. As subtle a look as I could create. (There might be times for a Tart to emerge in him, but for now, subtle and girly was good). He agreed. In two days, he had become quite choosy about his cosmetics. So, OK, he'd cracked a little yesterday. Tomorrow was to be better.

That told me my plan was taking shape well.

I woke the next morning, again well before he did. I showered and caressed my own skin with a great soft bath sheet. I smoothed my skin with moisturizer. I massaged my tits and played with the nipples which responded quickly. I was horny — especially after the fucker last night.

"Go shower, honey!....... Andy! Are you listening to me?" I implored him as he woke. "Get ready for me".
Sleepily, he rose from the bed and went to the bathroom. While he was there, I forced myself to decide how he would spend the day. Was I to let him alone with himself, like yesterday, and risk him having another set-back? Or should I plan his day for him? Not give him any excuse to go wanking the day away.
I thought so. He would do as I told him and stay on "my" track.

My thoughts from the night-time became formalized; my plan was hatched in the time he was away! He returned from the bathroom, wrapped in a bath sheet and with a towel around his head, hiding his hair.

He smiled, looking down at me on the bed. "Zoe, my honey, You're gorgeous….." He began.

"Not half as gorgeous as you are, honey." I said. "Come here and cuddle me." The towel in front of him
rose slowly indicating an excitement stirring. "I want you to fuck me, just the same as last night….." I continued. "Mmmmmm…." he purred.

"But not now……………….Tonight!………" "Oh, you TEASER!!!" he exclaimed, frustration sweeping over.

"I want you to spend all day getting ready. This is a big test. Nothing like yesterday……. You've got things to do every hour of the day… and if you do them well, we'll be ideally set for a wonderful night tonight." (When has a wife laid out such ideas?, I wondered).

"Why not now?" He asked.

"Because, you're not ready!……." I said, purposely missing the point.

"Yes, I am, Zoeeeee, I am…….." He pointed to the divide in his towel where his cock now emerged. "Really, I am!"

"Not in that way…." I joked seductively. "That's the 'extra' you promised me….. well, I mean the rest of you. Today, my girl, you'll be a girl for me when I get home. Then, and only then shall we fuck eachother senseless!"

"Aw, c'mon Zoe...... What things do you have for me to do, then?" He enquired suspiciously.

"Nothing you wouldn't find easy. No need to worry.....Annie... honest..... Nothing that will change your appearance permanently. Just things that you'll relish and maybe like to do some more."

It was my intention, quite literally, to make sure that he was occupied all through the day -a long time when you're alone. A long time when other temptations are around you. I wanted him to savour every little aspect of a "Girl's Day IN". My initial idea to send him out shopping was a step too far I decided. He could do that maybe next week. Not dressed outwardly, but underneath! But not yet. Not today. Today was for him "at home, but organized".

If it worked, and if he kept his side of our promise, I would come home to a pretty husband who was ready to fuck!

"What things!??? Let's get a coffee and sit down to run through what you'll be doing." quietly, flirting, I whispered.

We sat at the breakfast table, both in our soft bath sheets. The coffee was hot and there was a spicy atmosphere. "I'm getting to like the idea." He whispered back. "This is all I have to do… lounge about all day?"

"On the contrary, Annie my honey. You won't have much time for that! Before I leave, we'll set your hair and you'll have to deal with that once it's dried — maybe before lunch. You can stay in the towel if you wish but you might like to use my long satin dressing gown. Your hair will take half an hour to style.
Then I'll leave. It's up to you if you want to allow it to dry naturally, or whether you want to use the domed salon dryer I have in the spare room. As you'll be in rollers, I'd suggest you use that. It will be the only time you have to 'lounge around'!!"

"I can read some of your girly magazines then, Zoe? … Catch up on some make-up and beauty tips?" He mocked me… or rather himself. He knew he had to do all of this if we were to have that fuck when I returned from work!

I paused to reflect on what was going on here. I'm deeply in love with this man who, for whatever reason, isn't a great confident butch, macho, alpha male…… he's got a lovely tender side which I adore.

That manifests itself in the way he loves me…. he can put himself in my place anytime — and especially when we're making love. I've tempted him to indulge me. I like the feel of him when he's "being girly"…. and he doesn't object at all. What could possibly be wrong??? Nothing….. nothing at all, but it's not surprising to have slight concerns if you're 'pushing back boundaries' like I am.

"Quite right, you can. In fact, there's another task for you! I want you to find at least three beauty procedures that we both can try next weekend, from those magazines…… Both of us!" I joked… but I meant it, and he knew I meant it!

"The next thing you will do, before getting dressed, is to take my tube of Veet and remove all the hair from your tits. Not the whole of your chest — just your tits. If I am to nibble your nipples when we're fucking, I want no hairs in the way. Understand?"

"Mmmmmm….I like the sound of the nibbling, darling." He said as he leant his head back. "There are some real bonuses in this, I'm beginning to think."

"Well, you're not at all finished with that….. When you've finished with the Veet crá¨me, you'll want to moisturize your tits and that could take a while! There's some Chanel5 Body Lotion on my dressing table.
Take your time and luxuriate in the wonderful perfume while you soften your nipples…. for me!"

I went on, knowing the effect that would have on him and his libido. "Don't you DARE use the lotion on your cock! No wanking today…. I want you all for myself when you cum in my pussy!"

And I wasn't joking! "Wank today and this has to stop!" I threatened him. (I hoped and prayed he wouldn't let me down.) "Don't you DARE let me down!"

"I won't, Zoe honey, I promise. Yesterday was a mess and I'm sooooo sorry for that!" He wimpered.

"OK, Annie, enough said." I continued. "That will take you to mid-morning and you're not even dressed yet. So, next, I want you to choose some undies to wear. You can go through my underwear drawers and LOOK — but DON'T TOUCH ….. until you've made your choice. NO rummaging through them all and getting tempted again!" I was scolding him for yesterday really, just as much as I was threatening him with something I hoped wouldn't be necessary.

"Put on the sexiest undies you can find. Leave the suspender belt and stockings I've laid out until later. Now, do the same with my shoes. We're lucky that you're only a size larger than me… you'll fit some of the shoes I've stretched as I've worn them. Then, you're alone remember, you can parade around the bedroom in heels and undies….. with your hair in rollers. What a picture! I insist that you call me at the office and tell me exactly what you've been doing and what you've chosen to wear. I'll then give you some hints about how to deal with your hair."

"What a morning!" He breathlessly murmured, clearly finding the talk of this making him horny once more.

"DON'T you dare soil my knickers!" "Before we have talked, and before your light lunch, you can go to my wardrobe and you can choose anything from the right-hand side.... The dresses and blouses on the right... got it? Don't even look in the left-hand side. That is all my more everyday gear and you don't want to look 'everyday' do you? When you've made your choice, call me again."

By this stage in his briefing, I had set the scene for more than enough of my fantasy for my homecoming. However, this would not keep him occupied for the whole day. In my plan, I had yet to get him dressed in his outer/boy clothes, style his hair and do his make-up… and nails! yes, his nails could be very time-consuming, couldn't they? I thought. He must have used nail polish before and so he could be set a high standard of finish even though he would be "out of practice".

"OK, so your hair would be dry by then, ready for styling. Your tits would be shaved and moisturized and you'll be dressed in my undies and shoes. And you'll have chosen which of my dresses you'll be wearing when I get home tonight..... oh! and all before lunch!!"

I re-capped for my own benefit as much as his. Where to take him next? I decided that his lunch could wait — he had to practice eating without messing his lipstick. Before that, his hair should be taken from its nice tight roller-set and allowed to relax before styling. So that meant, hair and make-up, then lunch — a light girly salad and a slimline tonic water... NO GIN!!

"You'll next have to go to the vanity unit and look at yourself in the mirror. All girly, you'll be, with your hair in nice tight rollers. Make time to absorb the image you'll see. Then begin to remove the rollers. Annie! Now listen, this part is important.... Start with the larger ones around your crown. Leave the smaller ones around the nape of your neck until last. Leave each curl as a springy roll against your scalp. Go slowly, taking care with each one — they're all precious. Don't whatever you do, get the hair in a tangle. Feel the way the curls are placed in different directions. Enjoy the experience….. and remember, …. leave your cock out of this; tucked away." I pictured him doing this as I talked him through the instructions. Just the thought of him doing this essentially female thing make me slightly wet around the pussy. Delicious.

"When you've taken out the last one, admire yourself in the mirror again!" I meant for him to take as much time as possible over this. "You'll be calling me on the phone very soon after, so keep the details and the way you're feeling in your mind. I'll want to hear all about it!"

Sharing……. that was the essential part of the plan. I would insist on hearing every detail and how he was feeling during such a feminine past-time.

"You don't get to call me until you have your make-up sorted out. So, still at the dressing table, you'll find I've laid out some of my delicious cosmetics for you to use. DON'T over do it!
Remember…. 'Less is More'……… Less is more attractive. So, use light foundation and blusher, bright but light eyeshadow, a little mascara, and as much lipstick as you like!"

That would take a while because he was unlikely to get it right first time.

"Use the foundation all over your face; make sure you cover where your beard growth comes and well beyond. Go down your neck. Get up to your hair-line. Cover your cheekbones. Lightly cover your under-eye areas and the lids too. That will make your eyeshadow take better and last longer. Finish off with some blusher on the big brush. If you like the look it gives, we'll get you some crá¨me blusher that will be easier for you, next time. Be very careful NOT to get any product on my lovely slinky dressing gown that you'll still be wearing!"

I imagined him doing this, alone, half-dressed in my undies with his hair in curls, wearing low-heeled stiletto shoes, sitting at my dressing table.

"Next time?" he said, almost flirtatiously. His eyes looked like Diana's — everyone knows "that" look that she gave to the cameras all her life.

"Choose your eyeshadow with care and use at least two colours — one for the brightness — a white or silver — and the other for vivid colour - I'd suggest blue because there's a brilliant blue in the palette. Finish your eyes with mascara….. and remember! that's the tricky one! Go gently… it doesn't matter how many strokes of the brush you make…. just keep adding that intense black shade. I'll do something with my liquid liner when I get home…. I can't expect you to do that yourself…. yet!"

I had plans for that stage…………….. but a long time ahead.

"Finally, Annie, you can indulge your love of lipstick and put as much as you like of whatever shade you want… there are several to choose from………. Get right up close to the make-up mirror. Admire your new look. Take pleasure in this "you" that you can see……………….Then, you must call me. Sitting at the dressing table…………………. Oh no, there's something I've forgotten — before you call — go back to the wardrobe and select a pair of stockings and a suspender belt to wear. Put on the 'garter' as they call it someplaces.
Take off your shoes and smooth your hands over your legs. Don't worry about the hairs there - we'll deal with those another day - and slip those wonderful 7-denier stockings up your legs. That's one of the sexiest feelings a girl can experience. And then fix the stockings to the suspenders. The front ones are easy but you may have trouble with the ones at the back. Be patient. Don't get in a flurry; you'll get hot and bothered. Take your time."

He was still silent, his head tilted back, clearly imagining the wonders of what was to come.

"……………….Then, you must call me. Sitting at the dressing table…………………" I said.

A frown spread over his face………………. "What if I make a mess of it? What if you come home and find me with mascara everywhere again and other stuff………??? It's wonderful to think about doing all of this but……." I had to stop him…. Build his confidence……

"Don't you worry, Annie, my lover. You'll do fine. You know how much you fancy doing this so just take your time! I trust you to go for it the best way that you can and I'll help you with any little mistakes……. You know how much I fancy you — boy and girl — let's just enjoy ourselves. Now, go and find me a shirt and tie to wear from your wardrobe. be prepared to justify which dress you have chosen and WHY!!"

I had changed the subject. He was distracted once more. No longer haunted by yesterday's loss of confidence. I had saved the situation.

It was getting late and I had to be leaving for work in less than half an hour. I had to set his hair in that time… and we hadn't sorted what he would be doing all afternoon. Was there enough time? Maybe not, but I'd still love to come home to find him as we had described and agreed already. If all that took longer, I could easily arrive home and style his hair.

Quickly, as I was waiting for him, I went to the hand basin and wetted my own hair. I ran to the dressing table mirror and took my canister of hair mousse — L'Oreal's Elvive extra strong hold for colour treated hair — and I piled a handful into the crown of my now wet hair.

I worked it through and combed the hair flat to my scalp. As boyish as I could make it in just two or three minutes. All to add to the role I might play on my return — androgynous at the very least. In fact, I quite was taken with the image I saw. But I needed lipstick! I was just finishing a double dose of my favourite Dior's Diorific, long-lasting, Gypsy Rose.

He sat at the dressing table, having laid the shirt and tie on the bed, removing the towel from his head. His hair was just damp, a little too dry for my liking so I sprayed it heavily with Chanel's eau de parfum and added a similar handful of styling mousse as I had used myself a moment before.

"This will make sure the style lasts tonight." I smiled at him.
There was no time to lose. I combed his hair through for a last time and sectioned a lock from his crown. I took the first and largest roller from the tray and began to wind it into his scalp. Tightly, it had to be. he needed to feel the tug of each and every roller. Another followed, my hands moving swiftly. In a minute or two, the whole of the top of his head was covered. There would be a wonderful curly style to make as a result tonight.

"We have other things for you to do before I get home, so listen carefully. First, when we have talked together on the phone and shared some of your experiences, I want you to have lunch… a light lunch that's only there for you to practice not spoiling your lipstick! So, a salad will be perfect. There's plenty to find in the fridge. You can have no more than a glass of wine….. again, whatever you choose to drink, it's for you to practice not leaving lipstick on your glass. You must lick the glass before sipping — like I do myself, always, and you've noticed. That will prolong the lips of those luscious lips!" Small details but important ones, I thought!

As I rolled his hair, I gave instructions. "Then, I want you to wash your hands in warm soapy water. Do the same with your toes. Then, you must dry them very carefully because your next task is to shape them and paint them with nail polish. Take an emery board and file them to a perfect shape. Never mind their length — they can grow longer in time..." (I had plans!!).

"....Then, you should apply a base coat to each and every toe and finger nail. It's clear and helps the colour you'll be using to take better. It also has a strengthener to harden your nails for the future. (He would have claws to die for, one day!). Finally, and with very thin coats, you'll have to apply the colour. You should wait for each to dry over 10-15 minutes. Slow and clean sweeps of the brush.
Don't "dab" at the nails……. And you'll find it wonderful, the smell of the polish and the texture of the nails when you've finished."

Then you can return to the wardrobe to get your chosen dress or skirt and blouse. You'll know exactly which one because you'll have described it in minute detail when we talk on the phone. You will KNOW why you chose that one. I leave the reasons up to you! Make sure they're nice and girly won't you, darling Annie! Only then will you be ready to receive me on my return."

His eyes closed as I was saying all of this. I hoped he was listening and taking in the details.

I could tell he was somehow submerged into the total experience he was having.

I carried on, working with smaller rollers around the level of his ears and below. Just an inch in diameter there, but there was enough hair to roll around two or three times. Tightly, angled this way and that. I was creating a style from my imagination. How would he look? Heaven knows, but it was the process that was important - more than the ultimate look, s much as I wanted it to be soft, silky, fluffy and girly.

Soon, we were done and I had to dress myself and leave. "Don't have the dryer on too hot, my love. Take time and enjoy it and you won't damage your hair either. When you're finished, leave the rollers in to allow your hair to cool and fix the set better. Have a wonderful day"

Now might be a good time for him to add some thoughts. I'll return in my next chapter with my homecoming that day (Day 3) and how he had done with meeting my instructions.

LOL Andy's loving Wife, Zoe

I've asked him to recall the time when we were "just beginning"………………..
A Husband's indulgence of his Wife's passion.... or his own?!
>WannabeGinger

I've asked him to recall the time when we were "just beginning"………………..
HI, my name's Andy, and I've never tried writing like this, especially not about something deeply personal like...well, my dressing..... It's great to have a wife who understands..... Where to begin... well, near the beginning...... It was college days for me... none of this "when I was eight..." malarky.... I was a testosterone-filled young man of 17...... when it began......

It's easy to recall college days. It's less easy to recall the time when my wife and I began to "play games", games that involved my feminine side… which I now firmly embrace.
I know I'm not homosexual. I know I'm not "trapped in the wrong body". Looking back, I don't know when I came to terms with the "me" that just loves the feminine side of life……… Just occasionally. It must have been at this "just beginning" time.

In my college days, I wasn't one of the "guys" especially. I did my studies. I kept out of major sports, not having the brains to avoid the need to study at weekends. I did enjoy the beers with other guys some evenings but never went on the 'binge' as many did. Maybe this made me a little different from the rest.

I did enjoy hanging around the Students' Union where there was always a good social scene, especially with the girls. I got close to quite a few of them and enjoyed romances with a small number… well, actually, just two. Call it love? No, I don't think so, but maybe being in love with the idea of "being in love".

I certainly fancied getting inside their panties……. in the more usual sense of the words.

I fancied the idea of breaking my 'duck' as far as sex was concerned. I particularly came to admire a girl called Karen who was studying for a Hair & Beauty qualification. She was a peach! Her long dark hair was lustrous and shining. Just invited a touch. She, on the other hand, didn't invite me to touch anything else! I came to learn that she was uncertain of her sexuality and was most probably bisexual. I was good to have as a friend, but platonic was all it would ever be, it seemed. Well, I'd like us to go further. I could have handled that "bi-" side to her! Perhaps we were always going to be "just good friends".

However, a time came when she needed help. It's my story but it was written by that close friend "in the first person", as though it was he/she involved. and you, dear Reader, may have read my account of that time in my life. This brought me much closer to another of Karen's friends…… Ginger. (There was another girl, Margot, who was definitely of a lesbian tendency and had a scary Mother who was probably that way inclined as well). Ginger was a darling. I fell head over heels in love for her…… I say "for her" because she clearly didn't fall over backwards "for" me……. at least initially, she didn't.

I just adored her. Her body was wonderful….. I think the kind word is 'pneumatic'… all the right curves in all the right places….. Tits to die for, and a face to match.
Ginger was also helping Karen with her hairdressing training. There was to be a competition. Ginger also volunteered to be a model for Karen in that competition. Margot did too. So, what did I do? …..I volunteered, without knowing what was involved at all. That led to my dressing. That led to my having my hair styled and coloured. That led to my living with Ginger for several months. My darling wife, Zoe, knows the rest of the story and it does not bear telling here.

When Ginger and I split, I put my dressing away in the metaphorical "box" that most CDs have in their minds. Push it away. Hope it doesn't return……. at least not in an embarrassing way. Keep the lid on the box. T hat was my mantra.

Months went by. I began to ease up on feeling that I might yet go back to dressing. My hair colour reverted to natural. No longer did I have to tell friends and family that I'd dyed my hair 'for a laugh'. It was behind me.

I was a solo guy, looking for a girl, like many of my mates.

My conundrum stayed in its "box". Thoughts of cross-dressing were banished. But I guess I did indulge my fetish increasingly. That was for Hair… beautiful shiny, styled and conditioned Hair. better still, beautifully coloured Hair. It occupied my waking thoughts and my "going to sleep" thoughts. It occupied my masturbations. It occupied many of my fantasies. Often, I would be the subject of the styling and colouring. Often, I would be left with a fantasy hairstyle to die for! It was always accompanied by dream-like fantasies of the underwear I would be wearing... At this time, it wasn't in my mind to go out and try to "pass" as female. No way. I was firmly in the closet!

Every day I would be distracted by the hair that women I worked with, or passed in the street, had as their "crowning glories". I noticed that women who cared for their hair, generally cared for themselves much better than others. They used the right amount of cosmetics, and used them well. They dressed with impeccable style and confidence……… Just as I thought I might, if I were dressing still — which I wasn't.

I did imagine their underwear, and before long, the temptation to buy some for myself returned. By now,
I was in employment and earning a good salary. No problem then to pass by quite stores at quiet times
where they sell quite beautiful lingerie. I concentrated on bras, suspenders, stockings and camisoles. Enough to make many a lonely evening just pure bliss!

A few would be my fantasy lovers, playing games with their hair as I fucked them wildly.
Rather few did that in reality. Indeed, none did, until I met my darling wife. Heaven would, therefore, have to wait.

I loved my private thoughts. They recurred and developed. I adored many women's hair. Indeed, countless women, some celebrities, some just everyday adorables I saw in the street or on the train. I imagined how I would look with their styles re-created. Such is the world of the fantasist I had become.

My hair grew as long as I thought acceptable in "polite society" — long enough not to draw derision from workmates, but long enough to play with when I was alone. I became quite adept with a styling brush and even worked with rollers. I practised setting my hair when I knew that I had a long weekend without commitments. I even dallied with colour, albeit temporary rinses, when I knew I'd have enough time before work on Monday for the colour to disperse.

I read some stories that I found on a wonderful website — Crystal's Storysite. I found the story of my dreams with Marti B and her story "Two Fifteen" where a young man takes up every ounce of his courage to go into a salon and, little by little, have himself gradually transformed. I SO much wanted to follow his path. Only problem came at the end where, instead of keeping up the joy of his femininity with return visits to the salon, he drifted off for months only to return fully transformed and living as a woman. Too far for me, that one..... It confirmed in me the view that I needed to be feminine, just some of the time.... Go the whole way? heavens no! Kiss guys and get fucked by them? NO THANK YOU! Guys have disgusting habits - I know, I Am one, remember! Why would any sane woman want to have one fuck their brains out. No, No, far better to fuck woman-to-woman. By the time I was 20, I knew I was a lesbian!
Changing sex was never my idea. Never in my mind at all. Not even tempted as far as my wife and I were able to push our experimentation with my looks. Not even tempted when indulging oral sex as girl and girl (well, one with added extras, ok). I'm a bloke at heart. I may love to transform my face and my hair and I may love to wear slinky underwear, but deep down, I'm a bloke and I love to fuck.

That's me really. That's how I'd express myself and when she asked for my contribution to her side of
our story, I have thought as I wrote and this is what you're ending up with, my friendly reader.

I can remember the first few days that she's describing in this story only if I try hard. It all seemed to happen so fast. I do remember the flirtation and the first playing with lipstick and the first time I did wear her undies. Those were precious moments. I do remember the day soon after when I lost the plot completely and she found me as a very sad case having been alone all day.

We did make up after I recovered my sense of proportion. I wouldn't do that again — wank myself five or six times in a day, strewing her clothes about having been tempted to wear them….. Then the 'reconciliation' that evening. We fucked beautifully as boy and girl. The next day, I had expected to go back to being a guy but no! She insisted — though I might have had a choice, I'm not sure — I think she insisted that I spend the day getting 'girly' for her. I've done this many times since then…. and always I hope I get a little better. That day, I was making mistakes… but having the cool to slow down and go back, cleanse my skin, for example, and try again. It seemed to take for ever. But what a day!

We've talked about it many times. That was a crucial day for the way we are now — the way we are as lovers and husband and wife. Am I glad for that day!!!

I'm sure Zoe will write you more. She seems to have got her teeth into this project... with WannabeGinger, her friend's, help!

Andy...... or as I am today, Annie. xx.

TO BE CONTINUED……………IN CHAPTER 5! YOU’LL FIND THIS IN BOOK 2!