This is the third part of a trilogy by three different authors. If you haven’t read “Torn” by patricia51 and "A Typical Day" by Chagrined this won’t mean much to you. They are both worth the read.

Consider these two stories as the prolog.

Resolution

By Patty Marie

While we attend church regularly, I’ll admit to not being a praying man, but I prayed laying in bed that night. “God, help me, help us. I don’t understand this. I don’t know what to do. All I know is that I don’t want to lose my wife; I don’t want our children to suffer a divorce. God, what ever miracle you can pull off show her, show me, show us the way we should go. … God help me… help us.

I awoke groggy in the morning. I didn’t sleep well after her revelation the night before. Then there was the dream that kept waking me in the night. It was a reoccurring dream. There, on our bed was my wife and another woman. My wife was laying on her back, nude, except for garter belt and stockings. Between her legs the other woman knelt, her long hair obscuring her face as she pleasured my wife with her mouth. She was wearing diaphanous blue baby-doll pajama that barely covered her skinny buttocks. My wife was wracked with the violence of her climax. As it subsided, the woman crawled up her body and they embraced and soon she began to grind her hips into my wife’s crotch as my wife smiled and kissed her, wrapping her legs around her to give her better access. It was at that point I always woke up. What was disconcerting about the whole thing was the other woman. There was something familiar about her, like I should know her.

It was the dream that woke me as the first rays of the sun turned the dawn gray. I was drenched in sweat and highly aroused. I looked over at Erica's sleeping form. I knew that after what I had learned yesterday, there would be no relief there. I had denied the arousal three times though the night but this time I had to do something. I quietly got out of bed and headed for the bathroom and a shower. A cold shower wouldn’t do, not after being aroused by that damned dream all night. It was a hot shower and heavy stroking my swollen, throbbing member.

I stood leaning against the wall with the water cascading over me as I recovered from what had to be the strongest climax to have come from self-pleasuring ever. It took some time for me to recover. What the hell was with that dream and why the hell was I so aroused that I had to pleasure myself? OK, OK, so I’m like most guys and a little lesbian action is arousing, but not when one of them is your wife. That’s just wrong. When I had dried, I wrapped myself in a towel and came back to the bedroom. Erica had gotten up while I was in the shower and was gone. I wasn’t sure where. Did she get dressed and leave? Or is she just in the kitchen?

Erica was just pouring coffee when I got to the kitchen. She sugared the first cup and sat it on the table near the spot where I normally sat. She flashed a nervous smile and fixed a second cup the way she liked it. We sat at the table in awkward silence. I’m not really a morning person and neither is Erica. It usually takes several cups of coffee to make us sociable, but there’s usually some conversation, if only to complain about something. Today it could be not being able to sleep, waking up too early or any number of things. But still, we just sat not looking at each other.

Two cups of coffee later, Erica opened the fridge and said, “Eggs?” without looking at me.

“Yeah,” I replied.

A few minutes later, she sat breakfast in front of me and we ate in silence. She would glance at me as I ate. I couldn’t bring myself to look her in the eye. Instead, I just ate and stared out the window watching the day come alive. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, flowers were opening… all was right with the world. All except my marriage. My wife of fifteen years didn’t want me sexually anymore; she wanted a woman. Apparently any woman. It’s not like she “fell in love” with a woman. It’s more like she was in love with the idea of having a woman.

What the hell! How does a woman wake up one day and decide she’s a lesbian? OK, bi that I could understand. Not condone acting out on it but I could understand how she might realize she also found women attractive as well as men. But Erica… well, our sex life had been pretty good. I mean either I had been able to bring her off or she could have given Meg Ryan a run for her money in “When Harry Met Sally.” But I mean really… for fifteen years? No, I refused to believe that. If she’d been faking, then why would she have instigated sex all those times? I mean, I could see her faking it if she just responded to when I wanted something, but for her to cuddle up to me and get me interested when I hadn’t really been thinking about it? No, she had to have liked it.

Oh God? What do I do?

I couldn’t just sit there. I went to the garage and started cleaning out the junk that had been accumulating for years. How ironic, I thought to myself. Erica’s been after me to clean out the garage for years and now she’s become a lesbian I’m doing it without being asked… Then I laughed to myself. It was just too far fetched that she had done all this to manipulate me into cleaning the garage. No, I just needed to do something to maintain my sanity. It wasn’t that I abhorred her. To the contrary. I loved her. It just hurt too much to know that when she looked at me, she didn’t want me the way I wanted her.

I poured myself into my work. I soon filled the back of the pickup with junk and pulled the utility trailer from beside the house, hooked it up and filled it as well. Then Erica opened the garage door and hollered, “Lunch,” as I was securing the tarps on my load.

She had made tuna salad sandwiches and some soup. I muttered, “Thanks.”

“The garage looks good,” she replied.

I nodded and kept eating. As I finished, I took my dishes to the sink and headed out the garage door. “I’m going to the dump.”

“I’ll go get the kids,” I heard as I closed the door.

On the way back from the dump, I did an uncharacteristic thing. I stopped for a beer. I wasn’t so much that I wanted a beer, I just didn’t want to go home. When I ordered the second, the bartender wanted some conversation.

“You got your Powerball ticket? There wasn’t a winner on Wednesday and the jackpot’s $279 million.”

I chuckled. I was a bit surprised with what I had been brooding over that I could even smile. “No. What is it? 475 million to one against winning?”

“That’s if you buy a ticket,” he said.

“Huh?”

“Odds of winning are 475 million to one if you buy a ticket. The odds against winning are considerably higher if you don’t,” he smiled.

“Ah, … yeah,” I said acknowledging the obvious.

“You ought to buy a ticket, man. It’s only a buck and what the heck. You might get lucky. A dollar won’t break you and it just might make you.”

“I wouldn’t even know how to do it,” I told him.

“It’s easy. Want me to show you?”

What the hell, it’s only a dollar. “OK, go for it. I can afford a dollar.”

I followed him to the machine and watched. He fed the dollar into the machine and when it lit up, he punched the Powerball button followed by a series of buttons and finally the big “print ticket” button.

“There,” he said. “Now, if that’s the winner, don’t forget me. I should get 10%, don’t you think?” He was smiling.

“OK,” I told him, “and when it loses, I’ll stop by and collect a dime.”

I folded the ticket into my wallet and went back to the bar to drink my beer and the bartender filled my ears with stories of how people had won the lottery playing just the way I had.

I resisted the urge to buy a third beer and stay to get good and drunk. Instead, I went home. God, let the kids be there, I prayed. I just didn’t want to be alone with Erica.

After putting the trailer away, I went into the kitchen and found the coffee on. I slugged down a cup as quickly as I could and poured another. Finally, I heard Karen ragging at her brother. I breathed easier as I went in to settle the dispute. It was nothing really; they didn’t need my intervention. But I was glad to interact with them and glad that I shut off my episode in the bar at two beers.

I looked around for Erica and spotted her out in the backyard tending her garden. God she looked hot. She was wearing shorts and a halter top. I found tears welling up in my eyes as thought about how before her revelation I used to send the kids on an errand and go out back to see if I could seduce her back inside. Alas, that’s not likely to ever happen again, not without being rebuffed. Especially now.

It was late in the afternoon and I knew that Erica would soon be in the kitchen preparing dinner. To spite how she had been feeling for this last year she always was a good mother and homemaker. I couldn’t fault her in that area at all. There had always been a division of labor in our house she took care of the home front and I brought home the bacon. Not that I was adverse to doing any house work, after all, she did have a job. Though she saw to it that her hours were such that she could be home by the time the kids got home from school and she always had dinner on the table when I got in. She never complained about it and I only thought it fair to pitch in when I could anticipate what help she needed. Some of the chores were exclusively mine, like cleaning the ceiling fans and washing windows inside and out. (“I don’t do windows,” she had told me when we got married. So I do them; no complaint.)

God we’ve got to get through this. We’ve got to come to a resolution.

We did our best to keep things on an even keel the rest of the weekend. Both of us smiled a lot and tried our best to be pleasant, but underneath there was that uncomfortable air. Come Monday morning it was things as usual, or as close as could be. All week long we kept up the pretense that all was good. Through the week no mention was made of her letter or what it could mean to our relationship, but I thought of little else. I tried to avoid being alone with her as much as I could. When ever it was unavoidable, it was awkward. Usually, I’d find something to do, in another room if possible. I always let her go to bed first and didn’t go in myself until I was sure that she was likely asleep. But the inevitable happened Saturday afternoon. The kids were both off with friends and Erica came home early from shopping.

I started to go out to the garage, though I didn’t have anything to do out there. But then I decided that it was time to talk about the biggest concern that I had.

“Erica, can we talk about our future and keep it civil?” I asked her.

She looked up at me with what I thought was a tinge of fear in her eyes and nodded. I got a cup of coffee and held a cup up toward her with a questioning look. She shook her head no. I sat at the kitchen table and motioned for her to sit and she did. I mustered up my courage.

“The one thing I’m really worried about in all this is the kids,” I said, avoiding actually say what “this” was. “I’d like to ask a favor of you and in return I’ll make a promise,” I continued, then paused to see if she was following me. I could still see the fear in her eyes, but she gave a slight nod, knowing that I wasn’t through yet. “I know that both Jimmy and Karen are close to you. I had hoped that Jimmy and I would bond a little better, but he’s not exactly the outdoors type and I am, so everything I thought I’d share with him, the fishing, the hunting, just didn’t appeal to him. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a great kid and I love him, we’re just not close like you two are… I’m fine with that and it’s important for the kids to keep that connection.”

I was struggling with what I wanted to say. Thank God Erica just sat and waited for me to spit it out. “Even if the worst should come to pass, I want the kids to maintain that connection to you. I’m asking that since Jimmy has two years ‘til high school graduation and going off to college and Karen will be just a year behind him… please try, just try to hold the family together until then, OK? If things get hinky I’ll go find some bar slut and move in with her and you can blame me and say that I drove you to women. It’ll be the perfect excuse you loved me and trusted me and I betrayed that trust and now you can’t trust men, so you’ve gone over to women. That’ll be a last resort thing. I really want you to hang on until the kids go to college. I’ll do what ever I can to help you hang. Just let me know… what ever… I mean that.”

Erica began to cry. I didn’t know what to do. “Look, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you, but I just needed to ask you to consider the kids. I didn’t mean to be cruel. Please, keep me informed as to how you’re doing. I really want to be there for you. I can’t condone you acting out on this, but, well, if you really are… lesbian, then I guess it’s only a matter of time until you need to fulfill the desires.”

“No, Jim,” Erica said, “I’m not hurt, I’m relieved. I thought you were going to give me an ultimatum, and tell me to either give it up or move out. I never thought you’d be so supportive. I will. I will try to hold off for the kids to get out of the house. God I love you. I just wish there was some way I could go back… some way I could find you sexually attractive in the same way I used to. God help me, I do.” She broke down crying again.

It was an awkward moment, but I did love her. I wasn’t sure of how she’d take it, but I went to her and held her in my arms. To my surprise, she hugged me back and cried on my shoulder. I found myself crying softly as well. After a time she began to calm down. “Just hang in Erica, we’ll work this out somehow,” I told her, hoping against hope it was true, though I couldn’t see how.

“Can we really, Jim? Can we?”

“Yes,” I said trying to sound confident and lying through my teeth. I had to give her hope if she was going to fulfill her promise to hang onto the marriage until the kids went off to school.

Really in my mind, I was sure that after both kids were gone, we’d split up over this. I hugged her tighter and cried, mourning the loss of my marriage. Even now I knew we were married in name only and it would be that way for the sake of the kids for two or maybe three years and then… well then it wouldn’t be… any longer.

We worked at it, we really did. We kept up appearances. She even learned to give me a kiss that looked like she loved me, though I could tell there was no passion in it. But then, there was no passion in my kissing her. I mean, could you kiss a lesbian, even one you loved and had had children with, knowing that if you were to have sex, she’d be wishing it would be another woman and have passion in your kiss? No, it was like kissing your sister. Now I knew just what that phrase meant. I never had a sister, but Erica might just as well have been my sister now.

A couple of months went by and I still had that damn recurring dream. It didn’t wake me up often any more, but a couple of times a week I’d wake up remembering it. On those mornings, I’d have take a little extra time in the shower taking care of my sexual needs. Solo sex sucks… no that’s not right, if sucking was involve, it wouldn’t be solo. Well, you know what I want to say. It relieved the pressure, but it sure would be nice if some else was doing something to make me feel good… something beyond the physical.

I was just getting to where I could manage to be alone with Erica without feeling uncomfortable when on a Friday evening the kids were both out for the night with friends. She found me in the family room relaxing with a Dr. Pepper and the sports page while the TV churned out the usual Friday night drivel.

“Jim, we’ve got to talk.”

My blood ran cold. I was sure I wouldn’t like what she needed to tell me. What is it? Is she going to tell me she can’t stand it anymore and needs to go out and find a woman? Or worse… she’s already found a woman and I need to decide if I’m going to help her keep it quiet or go out and find that bar slut to give her the excuse.

I looked up, setting my Dr. Pepper on the table.

“Jim, I don’t know what you’re doing about it, but I know you haven’t approached me for sex since you read the letter. I also know that frigging myself in the shower just isn’t cutting it.” Here it comes she’s going to tell me she going to find a woman, or maybe she’s going to ask permission. Either way, it’s bad news. She’s likely to suggest an open marriage where we both find our own sexual outlets. No way I’m going for that. “We need to start taking care of each other. That is if you were serious about me hanging in. I just can’t do self-pleasuring anymore. I need a physical touch.”

“So how are we supposed to do that, beings you find me repugnant and can’t stand to look at me while we have sex?” Oh God, that sounded a whole lot more vindictive than I meant it to.

She said, “I had that coming I guess. But you remember I said I still enjoyed giving oral to you? Well, if we just do that, we’ll still be expressing our love and taking care of our sexual needs as well. I’ll even dress sexy for you and take care of you first. You can wait to take care of me until you’ve recovered. It’s still making love, it’s just not traditional sex.”

I sat stunned. I knew that when I did, she’d be pretending that I was a woman eating her. I wanted to say, “Sure, maybe I’ll grow my hair out long and then when you look down, it’ll look like a woman!” … But I didn’t. I kept my piece. She was right, the shower was a lousy lover.

“We can try it,” I allowed.

“Tomorrow morning? I know you often wake up with an erection.”

My dreams betrayed me. That damned recurring dream again. What the hell is with that dream? God help me! I keep being turned on by my wife with another woman! I started to get up to go to the shower, but Erica stirred in her sleep. She didn’t wake up, she only moaned softly. God she looked sexy. I longed to touch her. She wore my favorite nightie. Soft pink, elastic under boobs displaying them to perfection with plenty of cleavage showing and side slits nearly to the hip on each side. It had been a warm night and the sheet was pulled up just over her hip. I remembered her offer, “Tomorrow morning?” What the hell, I thought.

Propping myself up on one elbow, I reached over and gently stroked her cheek. It made my heart ache for old times, for things like they were as little as two years ago. She stirred and opened her eyes. To my surprise, she smiled.

“I hope this means you’re horny,” she said. I just nodded my head.

I was filled with apprehension as she closed in on me. She reached out to touch me and to my surprise, I responded in a typically male way. Soon she was fulfilling her end of the bargain and my physical lust was outweighing my concerns about her sexual preference. Before I knew it I was lost in the animal lust of the act and was pushing on toward completion. To her credit, she made it feel good right up to the end and didn’t pull back or gag.

She even smiled when she was done and asked, “Feel better now?” in a loving voice.

I nodded and reached out for her, but she just took my hand and held it to her cheek. It was obvious she didn’t want to cuddle. Boy did I ever feel better. That was way better than what went on in the shower. My eyes closed and I may have even drifted off to sleep for a few minutes. But Erica was patient. She never moved or said a word until I looked over at her. She had a look of pride on her face as though she was proud of having taken care of her husband.

I put a hand to her cheek and leaned over and kissed her forehead. I didn’t want to turn her off by doing anything traditional in the way a man and a woman might react after such an event. Instead, I just put a hand on her hip and rubbed in a provocative way. As I moved my hand up her side, toward her breast, she closed her eyes. I know she was pretending it was a woman’s hand, but I refused to think about it. I was determined to pleasure my wife in much the same way she had done for me... an act of love. Things moved in a predictable way and soon I was doing for her what she had done for me. I worked hard at it I was determined to give as good as I got. I don’t know if it was the long period of absence or if I really did do better than usual, but she seemed to get off on it a whole lot more then before.

Before she got up, she gave me an affectionate hug and kiss on the cheek. “Thanks, I needed that,” she said. “Mind if I shower first?” she continued as she headed for the bathroom. I didn’t mind. I really needed a short nap anyway.

And so that became our Saturday ritual. There was still the abstinence during the week, but Saturday we “made love” … albeit not in the traditional manner. Over the months that followed, my love for her grew and it was almost as if she’d never written the letter… almost. On the outside, we were the perfect couple. We smiled, we talked, we seldom fought, we did all the things husbands and wives ought to do… on the outside. But on the inside, there was still that letter and if I could have forgotten it, there was that damned recurring dream… that damned blonde who pleasured my wife in my dreams.

But I did love Erica and I came to grips with the fact that though she did love me, she was a lesbian. What’s more, that fact, coupled with the fact that she was trying hard to hold our marriage together and keep up the front of a normal heterosexual couple to spite all odds made me love and appreciate her more than ever. She was setting aside her very real need in favor of the family… for the well being of the kids. I guess it was that that made me want to give her more of what she needed… to help her with her illusion. Almost without thinking, I mentioned to my barber that I’d like to experiment with a longer hairstyle.

“I guess it’s my age. I’m not a kid anymore, but the guys on the job, they’re all sporting long hair,” I told him. “I don’t want it like hippie long or anything, but maybe something out of my youth… like something I could comb back and put a wave in it.”

He gave me a look like I’d just told him that I was going to recommend his services to some little green men I met when their UFO landed in my back yard. He just shrugged and said, “You’re the boss. I don’t know much about long hairstyles, but I can leave it grow a bit and just give you a trim.”

Erica noticed when I came back that my hair wasn’t its usual close cropped style. “Trying a new hair style?” she asked.

I gave her the same line I used on my barber. “Yeah, I’m beginning to feel a little old. All the younger guys at the job all have their hair a little longer. I know it’s silly and I’m just fooling myself, but I think I’ll feel better about myself and fit in just a little better if I let it grow out some.” I don’t know if I was lying to her or myself more.

“Did old Joe (my barber) take the news well? I mean, letting your hair grow could mean that you won’t see him as often.”

“Well, he did look a little perplexed. He said that he didn’t know much about long hairstyles, so he just gave me a trim.”

“If you’re going to grow your hair out a little, you should see someone who has experience with that sort of thing.”

“What’s the big deal? You let it grow out to the length you want and then you go in and have it trimmed up a bit.”

Erica just smiled and shook her head. “And what about in between? How do you keep it looking nice? You know you can’t go to church looking like some street bum. You do serve as an usher sometimes. You’ve got to look good for that.”

“I don’t know. Comb it with some moose or something.”

Again she grinned and shook her head. “Look, take it from someone who’s gone back and forth with hairstyles more then a few times. It’s a lot more complicated then that. If you want it to look decent along the way, it has to be trimmed to accommodate the way it grows naturally. Not all of your hair grows at the same time nor at the same rate. If you’re serious about growing it out, why don’t you let me talk to Joanne when I go in next week? I know that there are some men who use her salon to keep their hair looking good. At the very least, she’ll have some advice I can pass along.”

“Well, I guess it wouldn’t hurt. Maybe she could recommend some hair care product that I could use on a longer style.”

I left it at that and didn’t think about it again, until Erica brought it up. I was out back mowing the lawn when she came back from her hair appointment. When I came in from putting the mower back in the garage, she had iced tea waiting for me. I sat and took a sip.

“Ummm, thanks. That hits the spot.”

“I thought you’d need something. It’s pretty warm out there.”

“You thought good,” I said, taking another drink.

“I talked to Joanne, today.”

“Who?”

“My hairdresser.”

“Oh.” There’s nothing unusual about that. Don’t women usually talk to their hairdressers?

“I told her you were letting your hair grow out and she agreed that you should have it trimmed every two weeks to keep it looking nice.”

“OK, but I don’t see how that will let it grow out. Joe will just keep trimming it at the same length.”

“Well, actually, Joanne suggested that you let her do your hair while it grows out. Oh, by the way there are some things you can use that will help keep you hair looking nice while it grows out. She’ll explain them to you next Saturday when you go in for your appointment.”

“My appointment?”

“Yes, she needs to see your hair to be able to really know what you need.”

“Oh, OK.”

“She has you as her last appointment at 6:00.”

“Ar’right.”

“I’ll remind you.”

“Joanne?” I asked letting myself into the shop. “I’m Jim, Erica’s husband.”

“Oh yes, Jim, come on in. Erica told me all about you. Here, take a seat here and let’s see what we’ve got to work with.”

I sat in her barber chair, or is that beautician’s chair? Anyway, she ran her fingers through my hair. Not in the sexy way women do, but pulling it up and fluffing it, feeling it between her fingers. At last she smoothed it back down and said, “I don’t know who’s been doing your hair, but they haven’t done it any favors. Let’s start with a shampoo.”

She flung a cape around me, just like old Joe did, well the cape wasn’t exactly like old Joe’s. His are all white. This one was kind of a pink… a soft pink. Erica told me later that she’d call the color "tea rose." Whatever. Then she leaned back the chair, like Joe would for shaving, only this one was positioned so that my head went over a special sink that had a dip in it to accommodate my neck.

It was kind of nice. I hadn’t had anyone wash my hair for me since I was eight. I can remember telling my mom I was a “big boy” and didn’t need her to wash my hair anymore, but I could get used to this. She shampooed it twice then put a conditioner in it.

“Conditioner… I’ve never used conditioner. What’s it supposed to do anyway?”

“It adds texture your hair and helps it keep its shine.”

“O… K…”

She pulled up the front in her fingers and shook her head as if to say, “How could anyone do that to someone’s hair.”

“It’s going to be a little shorter than you want it for now, but it’ll grow faster when you start treating it right.”

Sitting me upright again, she started snipping away, an awful lot like Joe would have. I really didn’t see the difference. But when she was done, she combed into a really different style than Joe would have. She really did some strange things, like lifting it up and combing it backward, down toward the scalp. Then she smoothed it all over with really soft strokes, not really moving the hair at all, except right at the surface. To my surprise, she sprayed it all over with hairspray.

The price of the haircut was about three times what old Joe would have charged, but then, I wouldn’t have gotten the shampoo and scalp massage either. Looking in the mirror, I wasn’t sure I liked what she had done, but Erica had coached me give her a tip.

“Thanks,” I said as I gave back ten dollars from the change.

She smiled and said, “I know it doesn’t look like much now, but in a month or two, it’ll come into shape. I’ll need to trim it every two weeks to get it to come out looking like something other than a rag mop.” She turned to her appointment book and wrote something after flipping a few pages. “I think the last appointment of the day is best, don’t you?

“If we’re really going to have any kind of success, you will really need to take better care of your hair then you have in the past. You’ll need to wash and condition your hair every day. Also, once a week, you should use a hot oil treatment to put some body back into it. The shampoo Erica uses will work nicely. Don’t worry about the scent, it fades quickly.”

“OK,” I said. “I suppose that Erica has the hot oil stuff, huh?”

“Actually, I don’t really think she does.” Turning to the counter behind her, she picked up a small bottle and handed it to me. “Use this next Saturday. The directions are on the bottle. I’ll do it again when you come in. A month or so of that should put some shine back in your hair.” The damned stuff cost me as much as the hair cut, with tip. “Oh, and speaking of shine… you might want to consider some supplements as well.”

“Supplements?”

“Yes. Have Erica check the health store for supplements containing soy, hops, flaxseed, alfalfa, and red clover. They will help your hair. Erica also tells my you’re concerned about thinning hair. You might want to see a doctor about getting Propecia. It works pretty good at stopping and even, in some cases, reversing hair loss.”

“Ah, well, I don’t really have a doctor.”

“Well, I could call my sister. She’s a PA, physician’s assistant. She could prescribe it for you.”

“A physician’s assistant? She can write prescriptions? Wouldn’t she need a doctors OK or something?”

“No, not really, she can do most everything a doctor can do. She has a doctor who does oversee her, but he doesn’t have to be consulted for every little detail.”

“How much would it cost me?”

“Oh, not much, just an office call. About thirty dollars, I think, plus the cost of the meds.”

“Well, OK, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to have a talk with her.”

Well, I saw the PA and Erica got the supplements. I began to feel like a junkie, what with all the pills I was popping all the time. Also, at Erica’s and Joanne’s insistence, I started using her shampoo and conditioning my hair everyday. I had been using Ivory hand soap, the same as I showered with. Joanne said that probably had as much to do with my thinning hair as anything else. Erica’s shampoo was Paul Mitchell Tea Tree Shampoo and the conditioner was the matching Tea Tree Special Conditioner. The fragrance was an interesting combination of lavender and peppermint. I’m not sure if the fragrance dissipated or I just got used to it. She also had Paul Mitchell’s Tea Tree Hair and Body Moisturizer. I guess it would also keep her skin soft as well. After a week of using the shampoo and conditioner, I thought, “What the hell, I’m trying to help her by growing my hair out, I guess soft skin would help as well,” and started using the stuff. “I only hope that the rest of the world doesn’t see me as too wussy.”

Every other week, like clockwork, Joanne shampooed and conditioned my hair, trimmed it a bit and after a couple of months, it began to really look different. The guys at work noticed and I took a little ribbing about trying recapture my youth. I let them think that. It was easier then explaining my wife was a lesbian and all that went with my reasoning about growing my hair longer.

At work, I combed it back reminiciant of the fifties duck tail. It began to take too much time in the morning to dry my hair so I started taking my shower in the evening after dinner. I found it helped in making sure that I didn’t smell too femmy at work. After I brushed it out and let I hang loose until bedtime. Erica never said a word about it, but I did catch her looking at me with an odd smile, when she didn’t think I’d notice. Jimmy surprised me by commenting on how “kewl” his dad was getting. Even Karen thought my hair was cool. I heard her tell one of her friends she thought my hair style was as “in” as any of the guys in her school.

Life went on and aside from our Saturday morning oral tryst; everything took on an air of normalcy. We went to church every Sunday, did the school sports/music things for the kids. From the outside, looking in, a casual observer would have thought we were the all American family. Two kids — one each, a mortgage, two cars — one with payments and a happily married mom and dad. But underneath was the fact that Erica wrote that letter and keeping it foremost in my mind was the damned dream. I still woke up aroused a couple or three times a week with that dream on my mind.

Apparently, my idea of giving in a little by changing my hairstyle really meant something to Erica. One Wednesday evening I decided to try using her blow dryer to speed up the drying process. With my hair now over my collar, I really didn’t like sitting around with wet hair while it dried. The style that Joanne had put in it really jumped out. That night when I went to bed, Erica surprised me by cuddling up to me.

“You really smell nice,” she said.

“It’s just the smell of the shampoo and conditioner,” I replied.

“Ummm, I like it. I’ll have to see if I can pickup some cologne in the same scent for you.”

“Great, that’s all I need… some long lasting lavender cologne.”

She nuzzled into my hair then kissed me on the cheek. Her touch fired me up in an instant. It was just too much like days of old. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Then the real surprise came. She reached down and got a hold of me.

“You up for some unscheduled fun?” I tried to think of a good answer. “Don’t bother answering, I can tell that you are.”

With that, she went into our Saturday morning routine. When I got through pleasing her, she pulled me to her and kissed me. Kissed me like old times. It felt good… real good. For the first time in over two years, we fell asleep in each other’s arms.

In the morning, I was of mixed emotions about the previous night. Oh yeah, it was good to feel her love like old times. However, the little scene that played out prior to her getting amorous made it obvious that she was seeing me as feminine. The lavender scent she commented on. “What was it she said? ‘Ummm, I like it. I’ll have to see if I can pickup some cologne in the same scent for you.’ Yeah, lavender. She wants me to smell of lavender. It turns her on.” Talk about rubbing my nose in the fact that she would rather me be a woman. “Give her an inch, she wants a mile.”

I stewed about it all day at work. It’s a wonder I didn’t hurt myself or someone else driving the fork lift or loading the trucks. I really wasn’t there, I was back in our bed, hearing her tell me how much she liked smelling lavender on me. “But oh God, last night was good.” It wasn’t just sexual release; it was feeling of her loving me, wanting me, even if she did pretend I was a woman when I serviced her. “Just what the hell am I supposed to do with that?”

One Friday about a month later, I was at work bending over a skid while I was pulling the packing slip and my hair just fell in my face. There was no way that my duck tail was staying in place. I pushed it back with my hand while I read the packing list. John came over and said, “If your going to wear it that long, you need to pull it back in a ponytail at work, like I do.” He turned his head and pulled his ponytail to the side.

“Ah, I’m not so sure about that.”

“Trust me man, it’s a lot better than having it in your face all day.”

“I guess I could give it a try. I think there’re some rubber bands in the shipping desk.”

“Oh, no man, don’t use a rubber band. It’ll like break the hair off and then you’ll have stray hairs sticking out all over. You need one of these special hair ties. You can get them as most any store that sells hair accessories.”

“Ah, thanks. I’ve got a hair appointment tomorrow. I’ll see what my… ah, barber has to say.”

“Barber? Must be some kind of barber. I’d have bet you were going to a stylist. I mean, your hair looks a lot better than any barber would do it.”

He could see I was struggling.

“Don’t let it bug you man. If the guys who have nice looking long hair are honest, they’ll tell you they go to a salon… I do. Some of the guys with the grunge look, may still use a barber. But no, not you.”

“Well, yeah, when I started to let it grow, my wife insisted that I keep it looking good and said that my barber wouldn’t be able to do that, so I go to her salon.”

It felt good to be able to tell someone that I went to a stylist. It even felt better to know that they went to one as well. It wasn’t long before quitting time and I was off home again. The way things had been going at home, I almost felt that antsy feeling in the pit of my stomach I used to feel again. After all, tomorrow was Saturday, and we’d be making our new style of love again in the morning. OK, if I wanted to dwell on the negative I could get pissed about not having regular sex, but well, hell, at least we could cuddle a bit after. Take your happiness where you can find it.

Saturday morning didn’t disappoint. And yes, we did cuddle after. Erica ran her hand over my chest and it felt different some how. More pleasurable than I remembered it. More than just the touch of a lover… deeper some how… almost sensual, but I put it off to just being in love with the one doing the rubbing. Then she said something that confirmed what I had suspected for a while now.

“I love the way you feel. Have you been doing something for your skin?”

OK, time to ‘fess up. “Ah, yeah, I’ve been using your moisturizer when I shower. I thought as long as I was using your shampoo and conditioner, I might just as well rest of the trio. I hope you don’t mind.”

“I thought it was going faster than it used to. And… no, I don’t mind. It makes you feel and smell really good.”

Yeah, really good, like a woman…. Alright Jimbo let’s not get all self-righteous here, that’s why you used it, remember? You wanted to give a little more to help her hang in for the kids. You wanted to have her think you felt like a woman.

I had to let that whole thought process go, before I got angry or hurt again. We’d gone too far toward making the best of a bad situation to make waves now. OK boy, say something nice.

“I’m glad you like it. I wasn’t sure. I think maybe if you hadn’t noticed, I’d have stopped. Do… do you want me to keep it up?”

“Oh yeah. I love it. I’ll have to start getting the larger bottle, if I’m going to share. My next bottle of shampoo and conditioner was going to be the larger size anyway.”

She nuzzled into my neck and sniffed, then kissed it lightly. “I can still smell the residue, it’s lovely.”

Great, that’s how I want to smell, “lovely.”

“Is it really that noticeable?”

“Not unless you have your nose right up against you skin. You’re not planning on letting anyone else get this close, are you?”

“God I hope not. I’d die if anyone else noticed.”

“Not to worry. What say we get up and see if we can coax the kids out of bed with the smell of breakfast cooking.”

“Say, Joanne, I’m having a little trouble with my hair falling in my face at work. One of the guys suggested that I pull it back in a ponytail at work. He said I shouldn’t use a rubber band, I’d need some kind of special hair tie.”

“What kind of work do you do?”

“I’m a warehouseman. I drive forklifts. You know store things in racks, load and unload trucks. I help out shipping and receiving. That’s where I have trouble. I need to bend over a lot when I breakdown skids and when I wrap skids to ship.”

“Well, your friend was right. A rubber band would undo all the good we’ve accomplished with the shampoo and conditioner over these last several months. You know, you’ve come a long way in the eight months we’ve been at this. Your whole appearance has improved. Your skin is even better looking.

“You’ve come to trust me to do what you need for your hair, haven’t you?”

“Well, yeah, I wasn’t too sure about this long hair thing, but with what you’ve done, I really think I like it. Everyone who comments on it thinks it’s great as well.”

“Well then, I’d like to recommend a perm.”

I was shocked. “A perm? You mean with curls and all that?”

She smiled with bit of mirth. “No, not with curls, unless you want curls. What I was thinking was a body wave. Just to give it some texture when you don’t really do anything with it. It’ll make it easier to style when you’re just trying to be causal. It’ll even make that ponytail you’re talking about look better.”

“Well… no curls?” I asked.

“Here, let me show you.”

She picked up a book of hair styles and thumbed through the pages. “Here,” she said, showing me profile of a woman with hair over her shoulders. It just seemed to flow there was a wave, but no curls.

“Well, yeah, but that’s still pretty femmy, you know.”

“Yes, it’s a feminine style, but I wasn’t suggesting that style for you. I just meant to show you the kind of wave I could put into your hair. What makes the style feminine it’s the cut. You know the bangs,” she said, pointing out the hair over the forehead. “See how they are all poofed up and curl over her forehead? We wouldn’t do that for you, unless… you really want to.”

“Ah, no. I don’t mind softening my look, but I’ll keep on the masculine side if you don’t mind?”

“Well OK,” she teased, “but I think you’d look cute in that kind of do.” She chuckled a bit. “OK, how ‘bout we see if we can put some body in the do, huh?”

“OK, but remember, you’re working on a man.”

“Don’t worry.”

When I got home, Erica was full of compliments.

“Oh wow, look at you. You look great,” she said, giving my hair a gentle squeeze. “You got a perm, didn’t you?”

“Well yeah, you like?”

“Like? I love it. What made you decide to perm your hair?”

“I don’t know. I… well, I’ve come to like it kind of long, but it just looks too plain and Joanne recommended a body wave. You don’t think it’s too curly or anything? I mean I was hoping for something a little less noticeable.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry. A couple of shampoos and it’ll relax.”

“Joanne said I shouldn’t wash it until Tuesday. But I’m concerned about what the guys at work will think.”

“Um, well, if you pull it back into a ponytail, I think it’ll be OK.”

“Talking about ponytails, John a work suggested just that, but he said I shouldn’t use a rubber band and Joanne concurs. John said I’d need some special hair ties but I don’t even know what to look for.”

“They sell them at Safeway. I’ll pick up some when I go grocery shopping tomorrow.”

No one commented on my hair at work, well no one except John. He just said, “See you got the hair ties… cool.” That was it. I was prepared for some more ribbing, but I guess the ponytail was inevitable and they just expected it.

We were getting into the busy season at work and I worked some overtime, getting trucks loaded. The kids took up more and more of Erica’s time. Things seemed so normal, except for the dream. I must have dreamed it at least a couple of times a week. It was really disconcerting. I’m sure I must have dreamed other dreams, but it was the only one I could remember. I think what it was, was, I knew the woman. It was as if I could identify her, I could stop this whole thing. She was the one that Erica would finally do it with. She was her lesbian lover. Am I thinking that if I knew her, I could just keep her away from Erica and stop the inevitable? Yeah sure, just reach out and stop the hands of time.

Actually over the summer, things were great on the home front. We had sex, OK, oral sex two or three times a week. The only thing missing was the good old missionary position. I’d given in and include a once a week doggy style without even asking for my favorite, the missionary. OK, I know, but it was the only vaginal sex I was going to get. Remember, take your happiness where you can get it. And we did snuggle more. Oh, and she did get me some lavender cologne. I always put some on after my shower. I hoped it had faded by the time I went to work. The guys didn’t say anything if they smelled it.

We took vacation in August and I wore my hair down for two weeks. I know I got some looks Erica loved it. We actually held hands, hugged and kissed, just like old times. The kids gave us a hard time for being so mushy. But secretly, I think they loved the fact that we acted like we were in love.

And if it weren’t for the fact that damned dream kept reminding me of Erica’s letter, I’d have believed it was just like old times. Well, that and the fact that oral sex with an occasional doggy style thrown it was what we did for sex. God help me! Just who the hell is that woman and why am I turned on when I dream that dream? And why do I keep dreaming it? I’ve never heard of anyone having the same damned dream over and over for nearly a year. Maybe I need to go see a shrink; this whole thing is driving me crazy.

The Saturday after vacation, when I came in from mowing the lawn Erica was watching the noon news. “Can you believe it? Some local guy is holding a winning lottery ticket from last year and hasn’t claimed his prize,” she told me. “They just did the teaser on it. They said that if he didn’t claim the prize he’d lose seventeen grand.”

Just then the newscaster said, “And now more on that story of missing lottery winner. Staff reporter, Cathy Richards, is on the scene at ‘Robin’s Roost’ to interview the seller of the winning ticket.

“Cathy, what can you tell us?”

“Well, Bob, I’m here outside Robin’s Roost with bartender who would have been on duty when the winning ticket would have been sold. As you may remember, last September Powerball was up to $279 million. Powerball officials confirm that eight winning tickets were sold across the country. That puts each winner’s share worth $17,375,000 before taxes.

“With me here now is Frank Hobson, the weekend bartender here at Robin’s Roost. Frank, what can you tell us about the purchaser of the winning ticket?”

“Well, not much, except he or maybe she wasn’t one of our regulars. They’ve all checked their tickets they’d have claimed it a long time ago. We put up the notice that we’d sold one of the winning tickets last September and they would have claimed back then.”

“Do you know what our winning ticket holder looks like? What kind of car they were driving?

“No, we get a lot of business from folks going to the dump. It was probably one of them.”

“Well, there you have it folks, if you were at the dump last September, and stopped by Robin’s Roost, check and see if you’re holding a winning lottery ticket. You only have two weeks to turn it in.”

She read off the numbers and they went back to the newsroom.

I sat down, taking out my wallet. I was at the dump last September. I started digging through the junk that every man puts in his wallet. ATM receipts, scraps of paper with phone numbers of people you can’t remember, important warranty information on the pocket knife you bought, faded receipts from God knows what or where. Oh my God. There it is.

“Erica, what were those numbers?”

“What numbers?”

“Those Powerball numbers.”

“Why?”

“I was at the dump last September and bought a ticket,” I nearly shouted at her waving the ticket.

“I don’t know. I really didn’t listen to the numbers. I didn’t think I needed to know them. I don’t understand. They said it was tavern that sold the ticket. You never go to tavern? You’re rarely ever any place that serves alcohol unless it’s a restaurant. What were you doing in a tavern?”

“You remember what was going on that weekend?” Thank God the kids aren’t home.

“That was a year ago, I don’t… Oh, wait, was that the Saturday after I…”

“After you told me… after you showed me ‘the letter.’ I was having a hard time dealing. I needed to work off my frustration and anger, so I cleaned the garage and took a load to the dump. Only after, I, ah, … well, I still needed some time to cool off, so I stopped for a beer and that guy, the one they interviewed on the news, he told me that Powerball was like two hundred and sixty million or something like that and convinced me to buy a ticket. It was dumb, but it was only a buck. I don’t even know why I kept it. Odds are 460 million to one that I won’t win… but now maybe I did. How can we find out the numbers?”

“I think that Powerball has a web site.”

I went to the computer and typed “Powerball.com” into the address bar and the site came up. I found a link for Old Numbers and search on the month of September last year. I checked the draw date on my ticket and found the numbers. I read them slowly and then in disbelief I read them again. By now Erica was looking over my shoulder. She was breathing through her mouth. As she came to the same realization I did. I was holding the winning lottery ticket.

“OH MY GOD!” she shouted. “You have the winning ticket. It’s worth 17 million dollars.” She grabbed a chair and sat down. “Oh my God,” she whispered.

How the hell do I cash this thing in? The Powerball site didn’t even give a hint. After several frustrating minutes of searching I Googled my states lottery commission and found out I needed to go to the capitol.

“We have to go to the state capitol to cash in the ticket,” I said out loud.

We talked about what we’d do with the money for the next three hours.

Finally, it was Erica that came to her senses first.

“You know we need to get an investment counselor and get some help to make sure we don’t blow the whole thing and end up with nothing but a pile of junk we’ve bought. I heard somewhere that ninety percent of lottery winners end up broke after five years.”

“Where we gonna find an investment counselor?” I asked her.

“I heard some guy on the radio, named Dave Ramsey. He has a web site and helps people with their money and stuff like that.”

She took over the computer and did a Google search for the guy and clicked on something called “Endorsed Local Provider” and that took us to a screen that listed categories of providers. She clicked on “Investment” and filled in our contact information.

After that, we just looked at each other. I wasn’t too sure about this Dave Ramsey guy, but Erica seemed to think highly of him and I couldn’t think of a better way to find someone. I put the winning ticket in an envelope and taped it to the bottom of a drawer in my dresser. We decided to say nothing to the kids until we actually had money in hand.

We could hardly contain ourselves over the weekend. Monday we both put our jobs on notice that we’d need a day off on short notice to take care of some family business. It was tough to keep from telling them what it was, we just said it was something personal and that we’d have to have the whole day because we’d have to got to the state capitol to straighten everything out. Well, since that was where the State Pen was, it was kind of assumed that some family member was in the pen. We didn’t do anything to dissuade them.

When I got home, Erica was on the phone. She waved me over. Putting her hand over the mouth piece she said, “Pick up the extension in the kitchen.”

I did and when she saw me with the phone in my hand, she said, “Mr. Carson, my husband just picked up the extension. Could you repeat that please?”

“Hi Mr. Wilson, I’m Mike Carson. I’m calling in response to your request at ‘DaveRamsey.Com’ for an investment counselor. Your wife just informed me that you are holding the missing winning lottery ticket. The first thing you need to do is to make your claim. I suggest that you both take a day off work and do that before the end of the week.”

“Yes, we’ve both told them that we’d need a day on short notice to take care of some personal business, but we wanted to touch base with you before we went to claim the prize. You know, just to make sure we didn’t do something stupid,” Erica told him.

“Well yes,” he said, “there are some things you want to consider before choosing just how to take the prize. First you want to take the lump sum pay out. We can do much better by investing the money than you can do by taking the annuity. I’d be willing to meet you at my office before you need to go to work tomorrow. I’ll have a limited power of attorney prepared for you to sign, authorizing me to receive payments and make investments in your name. We can go over just where those investments should go when you come back from the capitol. Oh, I just thought, I believe there is a form you should print out from the web site and have it on hand when you make your claim.”

We quickly made the arrangements for the morning and decided to take Wednesday off to go to the capitol. Once we were off the phone, we ran to each other and fiercely hugged. It was everything we could do to contain ourselves when the kids came in. I didn’t sleep well that night. I was like a kid just before Christmas. But you know, though I didn’t think about it at the time, it was the first night I could be sure that that damned dream didn’t attack me.

The next morning, we each drove to Mike’s office and signed the papers and then went off to inform our employers we’d not be in on Wednesday. I was distracted all day, easily as distracted as I was the day after the letter. And again, not much sleep that night.

Just after the kids headed out for school, we check to see I had the ticket and climbed into Erica’s car and headed out for the capitol. It was about a two and a half hour drive, but I couldn’t keep my foot off the throttle and we made in about two hours. It took some time to find the lottery commission. We had printed out the instructions on their web site, but not knowing the town, we still managed to make a wrong turn.

They were efficient and in about an hour, we were on our way.

When all was said and done, we ended up with $ 7,566,812.50 after taxes. The lump sum was considerably less than the annuity pay out. I hoped that Mike knew what he was doing and we’d make it all back.

The meeting back at his office was pretty intense. Both Erica and I were emotionally beat by the time we left. We learned that it was in our best interest to give some money away to avoid massive taxes. Then basically we funded collage for both kids and set up trust funds for them to receive at age fifty or earlier if they should become totally disabled. We set ourselves up on easy street for immediate retirement, paid off the mortgage and put money in a money market account for new cars.

At home, we decided that two weeks notice was fair for our jobs and we’d give that as soon as the money really became available. There were a lot of things that had to happen before we could really retire. However, we immediately changed our phone numbers, including our cell phones. We talked about moving, but that went on hold because the kids wouldn’t want to leave their friends or schools.

We did get some calls wanting us to buy things. Every time that happened we’d hang up and go change the number the call came in on. By Thanksgiving, we had quit our jobs and tried to adjust to being millionaires. Of course, some new toys turned up in the house, a 52” plasma TV entertainment center and the latest and greatest computers for each family member and some personal things like iPod’s and such. Not to mention of course, new clothes.

I mentioned that we had become convinced that we needed to give away money to avoid massive taxes and the main place we gave was our church. As you could imagine I got a call from Pastor Oxley when a cashiers check for $ 756,681.25 hit the offering plate. I had to ‘fess up to buying a lottery ticket. Instead of the lecture on the evils of gambling I expected he suddenly became my best friend. He invited us to dinner at his house. While we were there, we discovered that the church didn’t pay him a salary and that his wife worked to support them. While he didn’t exactly ask for it, we got the definite impression that he thought we should toss somewhere between thirty and fifty grand directly to him each year. “You can make tax deductible donations to ordained ministers outside the church offering,” was said in jest, but we thought there was something more to it.

I guess three-quarters of a million dollars wasn’t enough to set the church up to where they could afford to pay him. I don’t know. That wasn’t the only time either. Since I had the time, he wanted to go to the movies with me… buddy-buddy like. Interestingly enough, when I was a warehouseman, I hardly got more than a “Good morning. Nice to see you,” from him. Now, he was on the phone every couple of days thinking of things we could do, or worse yet things I could do for the church or him, since I had the time. Finally, the next time we had to change our phone number, I told him that I was only giving it out to one person at a time, because some one was sharing it without our permission and I wanted to find out who. Can you go to hell for lying to a pastor? Anyway, we ended up changing churches because of it. I can’t say as I minded. I didn’t really have any good friends in that church any way. We told the kids that they shouldn’t say anything about the lottery win in the new church. We never told them what we did for a living and donated a modest $ 100 a week.

Christmas was the most elaborate holiday we’d ever seen. One of the things that Erica surprised me with as a pair of silk pajamas. They were really luxurious. I surprised myself by liking them as we went to bed. We all went to Aspen the day after Christmas, even though none of us skied. The kids did learn while we were there, and Erica and I tried it but decided it was something you really needed to pick up while you were young. We had a good time anyway.

The next year went by in a kind of blur. We discovered how it is that people end up broke in a short time after winning the lottery. It seemed that at the end of each month, we were waiting with baited breath for the next payment from our investments so we could go nuts buying things. We finally took stock of how we were living when Christmas came along and couldn’t think of a single gift to give one another; we’d already bought everything we could ever want.

Things kind of settled down in the New Year. And then we became aware that, to spite the fact that money would never be a problem again, we were the same people and had the same problems we’d had before. Most of all, we discovered we needed a reason to get out of bed. I mean the kids still went to school, but Erica and I, well, we just got up and hung out. We had gotten tired of shopping, what else was there to buy? I discovered that there were only so many sports you could watch on the ultimate satellite TV and only so many pay per view movies you could watch before you didn’t care if you ever saw another one.

Erica, ever the sensible one, figured out the solution before I did. She announced one day that she was going to volunteer at The Red Cross blood center. After sitting around the house alone for a week, I began to look into what I could do with my time. I kind of missed my dad, who died two years before Erica’s mother, so I decided I’d do something with old people, so I started delivering meals on wheels and ended up contacting the Metropolitan Family Service agency and going out to do minor repairs, mostly on senior’s homes. I had always been a handyman and now I didn’t need to do it for myself, I did it for old people. Sometimes, I’d just sit and talk after the job was done. It was good to be needed. The best thing was that I didn't have a set timetable to do the jobs and I could work when I wanted to. Taking time off was not a problem. I just didn’t call in to see what the next project was until I was ready.

So, we kind of settled in. We sat a budget and didn’t buy anything a whim. What with our being busy as if we were working, it was much like it was before. Yeah, just like it was before. I now had time to think about the future of our marriage. Things between Erica and I hadn’t changed. Oh we were the best of friends, but aside from the “servicing” of each other’s needs in bed, there was no passion in our lives. But in general, life went on. Just like clockwork, I went to see Joanne one Saturday and Erica went on the other. I suggested we make it the same Saturday, but Erica said she liked it the way it was it was a “girl” thing to do and my coming along would change the atmosphere. Well, after thinking about it, I had to agree. I’d developed a friendly relationship with Joanne that was kind of a private sort of thing. So, we had a mutual friend that we didn’t share.

When a sense of normalcy settled in, we discovered that none of our real problems were solved by money. We were the same people with the same hang ups as before and the same problems to be resolved.

It all came to a head a few months later when Erica saw me shaving and asked, “You know, you’ve always complained about shaving everyday, why don’t you have someone laser it all off and be done with it once and for all?”

“Huh!”

“Why don’t you have laser treatments for your beard, so you don’t have to shave anymore. You’ve always complained about what a chore it is to shave.”

I stood there looking at her, frozen in mid stroke, What the hell is she talking about? OK, sure, it’s a chore, but all men have to shave or grow a beard, I thought.

Then the whole thing hit. It nearly made me angry. After all I’d given her to make the everything easier for her; she wanted more, she wanted a smooth, womanly face. I wanted to lash out and ask, why the hell she couldn’t be satisfied with what I’d given her? I’d grown out my hair, let it be styled into what I was sure a woman’s style, I’d used that lavender smelling cologne she’d bought me, and now she wants me to lose my beard, not just shave it off, but permanently remove it.

I started to say something, then bit my tongue. Things had gone so well the last five or six months, there was no sense making an argument over a suggestion. I turned and looked at myself in the mirror, as if I was considering the idea, while thinking, No way Jose. But I said, “I don’t know. Maybe it would be easier. But it sure would be weird, after all these years to not shave every morning.”

I knew what she meant and why she wanted me to laser my beard off. Somehow, after all those months of near normalcy, for her to suggest that I make my face more smooth, like a woman’s, just hit me wrong. Hell, haven't I given enough? I grew my hair out, I wear that damned lavender cologne… all so she can close her eyes and pretend I’m a woman, I thought again.

“I’m going out for a while. I need to get some exercise,” I told her after breakfast. Exercise, yeah right. I drove my new pick up out of town, ending up on the old scenic highway. As I wheeled it through the curves, I thought, Maybe I should get myself a little sports car. A Miata, or maybe some classic roadster, like an Austin Healey Mark III, something fun to drive through these curves. Concentrating on keeping the truck on the road had the desired effect of taking my mind off what Erica had suggested, but I was soon tired of the effort. Slowing, I turned into one of the many parks with a view of a water fall. I walked to a picnic table and sat down. It was the middle of the week and no one was there. I was completely by myself, left to my own thoughts… or was that Erica’s thoughts?

I thought back to where we had been. Oh God, I’d give back the millions just to have things the way they were, before that damned letter, before she felt the need to lust after women. What the Hell is that? How the hell did that all come about? God, how many times have I asked for a solution to work all this out? Have you answered? Have you even heard? What have I gotten since I prayed that first night? I got that damned dream where I get the distinct privilege of a vision of Erica with her female lover! Some answer that is. So what’s the deal? You trying to say I should just live with it? I don’t think so! I’m going to fight this. I didn’t grow my hair out and start wearing that damned cologne just to give up. All of a sudden, it hit me about the pajamas Erica had given me for Christmas. And the pajamas the ones that I’m sure she thinks that feel all girlie, I’m wearing them and even liking them. No, no, no! Damn it, I’m going to do what ever it takes to keep Erica from acting out on her… her… … what the Hell is it? A fantasy? What? Inclination? Her desires. I’m going to find a way to make her love me the way she used to.

We’re almost there. We cuddle again, she can kiss me with, well not as much passion as I’d like, but with passion. OK, damn it, if she want’s the beard lasered off, what the Hell! I don’t like shaving any way.

Truth is the only reason I shaved at all was because my beard was too light and sparse to look good if I grew it out. As that came to mind, I thought, Ha! Good thing too. If I’d grown a beard, who know how much sooner, she’d have turned gay? She’s never liked hairy men to start with. She always told me how glad she was that I wasn’t hairy. Hmmm, you don’t suppose that it all tied together with liking women? After all, women aren’t hairy are they?

Whatever, I’d made up my mind, only I wouldn’t just go tell Erica, no, I’d surprise her. I got out my new Blackberry phone and accessed the web. Christ, before all this money, I barely ever got on the Internet. Oh sure, I had email and I surfed the NFL sites and other sports related stuff. You know just to keep up with all the scores and things, but use it for something practical? Nah. But here I was… I managed to get to Google, after some real stumbling around and did a search on Laser Hair Removal and the name of my town. Like magic, a couple of dozen showed up on the screen. I scrolled through and discovered that I could easily stop by one on my way home.

A quick phone call and I found that if I could get there in a half an hour, there was a cancellation and the doctor could see me. I got over to the freeway the quickest way I could for the trip back into town. I found myself at a shopping mall that had a lot of offices with it. Just to show you what I know, I thought the doctor would lay me back on some kind of table, pull some kind of machine down out of the ceiling and zap, bye-bye beard. Well, so much for that fantasy. What I got was a half hour consultation and a pamphlet that described the procedure and an appointment for three weeks later. It seems that laser hair removal isn’t a quick process, but one that takes three to five visits about a month apart. So much for a quick surprise.

Well, I still wasn’t going to tell Erica. Since I wasn’t supposed to shave for a couple of days before the procedure, I decided that I’d plan some fishing trips. Erica never really liked to go fishing with me. Too much time just sitting around for her.

I sat in the truck reading the pamphlet and absentmindedly scratched an itch on my chest, right on my nipple. I discovered the damned thing was tender. As I poked around, trying to determine just how tender, I discovered I was getting flabby up top. Damn Jimbo, all this easy life is making you soft. You’re getting flabby. Come to think of it, I had noticed my pants didn’t quite fit right. Maybe I should join a gym. It’s not like I couldn’t afford it or don’t have the time.

Later that night, when I showered I took a good look at my chest. I was indeed getting flabby. I could cup a pretty decent hand full, almost like I had boobs. But what really surprised me was my nipples were really tender and seemed a bit puffy. What worried me though, was that there seemed to be a lump underneath each of them.

The next morning, that damned dream woke me up. You know, I hadn’t remembered dreaming it since this whole lottery thing came up a year ago last August. What? Coming up on two years ago? As I dressed, I looked at my chest again. It worried me, so went looking for the phone number of that PA who prescribed the Propecia. She was the only doctor, or medical professional I’d seen in over five years.

It was a week later that I got in to see her. By then, I’d become obsessed with my chest. I could swear it was growing, so I started taking measurements, and … well nothing, at least nothing I could discover with a tape measure. But the damn things were sensitive.

After prodding and poking and some soft touching, she just nodded and made some notes. The prodding a poking didn’t feel so good, but the soft touching, well… if it had been Erica doing it, I’d have really liked it.

“You’ve been taking the Propecia since the last time I saw you?” she asked.

“Ah, yeah, everyday.”

She made another note. “Did you read the list of possible side effects?”

“Ah, yeah, I skimmed through them, but it said that most men wouldn’t be affected.”

“Did you see the part about ‘breast tenderness and enlargement’?”

“Ah, yeah, I guess. Is that what this is?”

“It appears so. Have you experienced any other side affects? Rash, itching, hives, or swelling of the lips and face?”

“No.”

“How about problems with ejaculation or testicular pain?”

“No.”

“Well of all the possible side effects, this is the least problematic.”

“What can we do about it?”

“The only thing that can be done, is to stop taking the medication.”

“Is that what I should do?"

“Well, that’s up to you? However if you do, you’ll lose all the gains in reversing your hair loss. I’d say that if the extra padding doesn’t bother you, then there’s no need to do anything.”

“How big will they get?”

“Probably not very big. I’d guess not even a real A cup… that is unless the women in your family have overly large breasts say D or better.”

“Well, my mother and aunt both were, ah… well endowed.”

“Well then you could actually reach an A cup. The only practical recourse is to stop taking the meds. The only other option would be to wait until it’s stabilized, after about five years on the medication and perform a mastectomy to remove the remaining tissue. All in all not cost effective and medical insurance isn’t likely to cover the cost.”

“You mean that there’s really no adverse health effect from the enlarged breasts?”

“No, not really, but since you’ve had some side effects, we need to monitor you closely, if you’re going to continue to take it. The other side effects have more long term repercussions. Testicular pain is something that we wouldn’t want to let go unchecked. And, your sex life could be severely affected if you experience any of the others, including loss of libido, difficulty getting erection, etc. In the end, it could be possible for you to end up sterile. Are you thinking of continuing, even with the enlarged breasts?”

“Well, my hair has really responded to the treatment, and… ah, … well… ah…

“Look, I haven’t really talked to anyone about this. I don’t have anyone that I can talk to about it. I… ah…”

A look of realization seemed to cross her face.

“Does the Hippocratic oath cover things we talk about as well as my medical information?”

“If your asking will I keep confidential what you tell me, the answer is yes. I’ve seen many men who have secrets…” she looked at my hair and then my chest, “and I don’t pass on any information that they might consider embarrassing or detrimental even if it isn’t medical.”

I was getting emotional; I had a desire to just talk to someone about Erica. There wasn’t anyone I could even mention it to.

“You want to tell me about your reasons for allowing the breast enlargement to continue?”

“Yes, I’ve just got to talk to someone about it. You see, my wife, after fifteen years of marriage, told me that she’s discovered she was gay. That was nearly three years ago. She says she still loves me, but that women look sexually attractive to her. That’s why I let my hair grow and want it to get thicker, so I’ll look more feminine to her. I’ve even started wearing a lavender scented cologne, so I’ll smell more feminine. She seems to like it, I mean our sex life still isn’t normal, whatever that is, but at least we have one. Since I’ve grown my hair and started wearing the cologne, she responds to me almost like she used to, before she turned gay… so I guess growing breasts may be a benefit, it may even make her like me more. I just want to keep my wife.”

I continued to babble for I don’t know how long. When I finished she waited long enough to be sure I was through before she spoke.

“Well, that wasn’t what I was expecting. I thought you were going to tell me you were a transvestite, or transsexual. But I can see that you have another distinctly different problem. I can’t really advise you as to whether growing breasts would achieve any thing as far as making your wife feel sexually attracted to you or not. That would take a psychiatrist a couple of years of therapy with your wife to determine and then he couldn’t share it with you without your wife’s permission. But I can tell you that if that’s your goal and you want to pursue it, there are better ways. I assume that you want to maintain your libido and male sexual function?”

“Well yeah.”

“Then if you really want to go that route, I’d recommend plastic surgery in the form of breast augmentation. I could give you a referral, if you like.”

“What? Oh no. I wouldn’t do anything to get breasts, but if it happens, it happens. It couldn’t hurt, you know? I mean with Erica going for women, anything that may make me seem more like a woman… well, it couldn’t hurt.”

“OK. Well, I want to get some blood drawn and do a few tests and then I want to see you again in three months. Sooner if you develop any more symptoms, OK?”

“Yeah, sure.”

She had me stand and took some measurements in a couple of places around my chest, then she wrote something on a pad and gave it to me.

“Here’s the address of a lab. Go get your blood drawn. I’ll phone ahead and order some tests. When I get the results, I’ll call you if there’s any cause for concern. No news is good news. I’ll want to see another blood scan when you come back, so I’ll leave a standing order for the tests and you stop by for another blood draw about a week before your appointment. See you in three months.”

I went to see the vampires on the way home and put the whole thing out of my mind. Well, except I thought of what I had said about just wanting to keep my wife. Will growing breasts make a difference? I guess I’ll find out.

More eminent was the laser removal of my beard. Erica had all but asked me to do that. I still didn’t want her to know, so I planned some fishing trips to cover my not shaving for the procedure. By the time for my first appointment came up, I had decided that there was no problem with my blood tests because the PA didn’t call. I found out that it isn’t an entirely painless procedure. As a matter-of-fact it’s a lot like getting sunburn. Not a bad one, but still uncomfortable. I guess the way the thing works it the laser heats the hair and burns the follicle so it doesn’t re-grow. I responded well to the laser and was pretty much hairless on my face when I went back to the PA.

“Your blood work is within tolerance,” she told me. “Let’s see how your chest looks.”

I pulled off my shirt and she did the prodding and poking thing and then measured me like before. “I’d say you were still growing, but not at an alarming rate. Do you still want to keep on with the treatment?” I nodded. “Has your wife noticed the development?”

“Well, now that you mention it, she has taken to cuddling up and resting her head on my chest. Even nuzzling a bit like she was enjoying my flabby chest, but she’s not said anything.”

“Look this isn’t medical or anything, but I talked to my sister, Joanne, the hairdresser. I understand that both you and your wife use her. Anyway… well, you just might want to mention it to your wife. I’d suggest you don’t just blurt out something crass, like, ‘Do you like my boobs.’ But instead, express your concern about your chest and ask if she’s noticed. It could start a conversation that would give you some information about her feelings on the matter.”

“Ah, might be good advise. Maybe I’ll do it.”

“OK, same plan as before. Let me see you in three months and stop by for the blood draw a week before.”

It was nearly time to go see the PA again before I could manage to find a time when it would seem normal to talk to Erica about my chest. Can you say procrastination? It was actually a month after my final laser treatment. Coincidentally, the week after Jimmy headed for MIT. I was a bit nervous. I mean, what would she say? Finally, I was in the bathroom going through the motions of shaving. I still hadn’t told her about my laser treatment. I was just finishing up when she came in. I stopped and looked at myself in the mirror.

Putting a hand to my chest, I asked, “Have you noticed anything different about my chest?”

“Different? Like what?”

I pealed off my T-shirt. “I don’t know. It seems to me like it’s getting flabby and my nipples seem different. What’s really got me concerned, it that I’ve noticed a lump under the nipples.”

She ran her hand over my chest, cupping the flesh. Then she massaged the nipple of one of them with two fingers. She got a funny look on her face.

“There’s something there alright. Are the tender or anything?”

I thought about it and remembered several things that I hadn’t put together. “Well, they’ve been itching off and on for sometime and there are times when the nipples seem to be irritated by my T-shirt.”

“I think it might be due to your hair loss meds. I’ve heard that it could be a side effect of some of them.”

“Ah, yeah…” I wanted to lie to her and act like I didn’t know what was going on, but thought better of it. “Well, I did talk to that Dr. or PA or whatever that prescribed it and that’s what she said. I don’t know what I should do about it. It looks like I’m growing boobs.”

“What can you do about it?”

“Well, she said if I stopped the treatment the swelling would go away… But my hair is responding nicely to the treatment, and that would go away as well.”

She stroked my hair and smiled lovingly. “I really like your hair,” she said.

I knew what she meant. She meant that my hair looked like a girl. That should have made me angry, but that smile… I’d do anything for that smile.

“I guess I shouldn’t stop taking it then, huh?”

“You know,” she said, touching my chest again, “it really isn’t that noticeable. Does it bother you?”

“I don’t know, I’m still trying to wrap my head around it all. I really like that you like my hair. We’ve come a long way since that damned letter what was it, three years ago?”

She looked, I don’t know, sad, remorseful, hurt, whatever. She said, “You know I’m sorry that I’m the way I am. You’ve been wonderful about it all. But I’m afraid that what was in the letter still stands. But with all you’ve done… well, it’s easier to live with, you know? I know that the hair thing was for me, and, well, you wear the cologne that I like, just because I like it. I know that you really would never have chosen it for yourself.” She threw her arms around me and said, “I love you all the more for what you’ve tried to do.” With her head buried on my chest, (I know she was aware of the pseudo breasts there) she said, “I know you don’t want to lose me and I don’t want to lose you. I… I just don’t see how…” her words trailed off like she didn’t want to even think about the eventual end. I could feel moisture on my bare chest, so I could tell she was crying softly. I was desperate to do or say something to lighten her mood.

“You know, when I told the PA that I thought I’d just keep taking the Propecia she jumped to the conclusion that I’d like to grow breasts. She told me that if I really wanted breasts, I should consider implants.”

Erica pulled back and looked at me. “You’d do that for me?”

“Ah, … well, … I didn’t say I would, but well, she did offer to give me a referral… if I wanted to.”

There was a look of hope in her eyes, but it faded as she chewed over what I’d said.

“Well, I couldn’t ask you to do that for me. I mean, well it’s a big deal. Surgery and all and well once it’s done, then you’d have wear a bra and well, everyone would notice that you have a chest. Not many men have a bustline.”

I was quiet for a long while, while she searched my face.

“Erica, can you answer a question honestly?”

“I’ll try.”

“Look, I’ll try not to be… er, I’ll try not to make this sound as if I’m angry or anything, because I’m not, but well… it’s hard to think about.” I looked at her; it was my turn to search her face. She just looked at me, kind of expectantly, like she was waiting for what I might say. “This hairstyling, those silk pajamas and cologne and the shampoo, conditioner, body moisturizer thing was it that… was that supposed to make me seem more feminine… so I’d be more attractive to you?”

She started to say something, stopped, started and stopped again. I pulled her back into a hug. “Look, don’t answer right away. I just need to know… because if it does, well, … well, I want to be more attractive to you. But if, and it’s a big if, if you’re not sure that what ever I might be able to bring myself to do… well, some of it might be pretty drastic and permanent and well… if it’s not going to have the desired effect, then maybe it’s better if I don’t do it at all.”

She took a deep breath as if to speak.

“Not yet,” I told her. “Look, I made myself a vow, I’d do what ever I needed to do to keep you… OK? But I need some kind of assurance that well, there’s some hope that I can keep you. Please think about it and let me know if I have a chance. I’d rather become feminine and have you than be masculine and lose you. Just think about it OK?” I kissed her softly on top of her head. “Look I’ve got to get going… I’ve got to do my meals on wheels thing. Some of those old people get cranky if I don’t show up on time.”

I turned quickly and pulled on my T-shirt, a polo shirt and went out to my truck before she could answer. I didn’t know what kind of can of worms I’d opened and thought that leaving her time to think would be better than staying to hash it out. In reality, I had plenty of time to pick up the meals and none of the old people were the cranky type. I usually sat and talked with some of them for a while if they seemed to want it, so I didn’t really have a schedule.

That evening Erica spent some time looking at me and I could almost hear the gears turning. After the kids went to bed, we watched some television for while. When we finally got to bed, I showered with the lavender body wash, the lavender shampoo and conditioner, and used the lavender cologne. I put on the silk pajamas, thinking just how girlie they were, even though they were masculine cut with the large buttons on the right, just like my dress shirts and they were a royal blue with white piping. You couldn’t get a more masculine color, but just the same, I’m sure that in the dark, the felt like something a woman would wear and Erica liked that. Just before leaving the bath room, I used the blow dryer, giving my hair a poofy feminine look and gave myself an extra dose of the cologne. I stood, for a minute, looking at myself in the full-length mirror on the door. My chest was just full enough to be noticeable under the cling of the silk pajama top.

God, I almost look like a woman.

Erica looked at me and smiled as I came into the bedroom.

Erica cuddled up to me with her head on my shoulder. She lightly rubbed her finger tips over my chest, pausing to circle a nipple, finally letting her hand come to rest on the fullness. She tilted her head, nuzzling my ear. “You smell so good,” she said.

I didn’t respond, but thought about just how feminine I was right then. That’s what she likes, I thought.

It was my turn to think. I know I’ve told myself that I’d do what ever it takes to hang onto Erica, but it’s crunch time. Will I, when push comes to shove? Just then, she kissed me. With real passion. I could feel the love flowing out of her. Then suddenly she stroked my cheek.

“No stubble! What happened to your stubble? You know, I’ve not felt any stubble for weeks, but I just thought it was a really good shave. But tonight that can’t be the case, you shave in the morning. What happened?”

“I, ah… I got the laser treatment you wanted.”

“You did that because I wanted you too? What about what you want?”

“I want to keep you as my wife. I want our marriage to last. I want to grow old with you.”

She stroked my chin. “You do know that laser treatments are permanent don’t you?”

“Yes, from now on, I’ll have a smooth face… just… just like a woman.”

She snuggled up tight and gently rubbed my chest. I heard her sniff just a little. “I love you, you know,” and she just rubbed my chest lightly until she fell asleep.

In the morning, I awoke with that damned dream fresh in my mind. It had been particularly intense. It was as if I was right there in the room watching my wife go at it with another woman. OH NO! Over my dead body. I’ll do what ever it takes to keep that from happening. Still all the same, I was horny… very aroused by the damned dream. I thought about what I’d said to Erica the night before, and then thought, Just how far will I go to keep her?

Then she woke with a smile and began to seduce me. She was very amorous and added something new to our routine. As she snuggled, she unbuttoned my pajama top, just as I had hers in the past and kissed my chest as she slid a hand under the silk. Cupping the swollen area gently, sensuously, lovingly she repeatedly kissed them. When she got to my nipples, she spent some time licking and kissing them, finally sucking gently on them. I was amazed at how much I liked it. When all was said and done, after our romp, I fell back asleep with my pajama top unbuttoned with Erica’s hand cupping the flabby flesh.

That scene was repeated three times the next week. She seduced me… I can’t remember her ever doing that in the fifteen years we’d been married. Oh yeah, there had been times when she’d let me know that she was interested, but I’d always been the aggressor and she the willing victim. Now that she had something akin to breasts to play with, she was the aggressor. To my surprise, I liked it. I liked submitting to her desires. Who’d a thunk it?

It was time for another visit to the PA to monitor my reaction to the meds. On the way to my appointment, I thought about all that had transpired to since I talked to Erica about my breast enlargement. I particularly focused on her aggression in bed. The doggy style had come up about every other time; she liked me to lean really far in, so my chest touched her back and my hair her shoulders. Truth was, I like my chest touching her back because the movement of my chest over her back caused pleasurable sensations that made my climaxes more intense.

During the exam the PA was very thorough with the measurements. “Well, you’re not quite an A cup, but close. It is causing you any trouble?”

“Ah, no, quite the contrary.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, I had the conversation with my wife that you suggested last time. And, well, now that she knows that I realize that they’re there and all… well she plays with them and well, she’s aggressive in bed. So all in all, they’re a positive.”

She smiled, “I’m glad you took my advise. So she likes them? I can’t say that I’m surprised. Joanne, my sister, told me that your wife confided in her, her problem and well, Joanne it family oriented and has been doing everything she can to coax you into becoming what your wife says she wants. She’s convinced that the more feminine you become, the more likely your wife will stay with you. Your wife has told her about how she feels about the little things that she’s been able to coax you into… all positive.”

At first, I was incensed that Erica would say anything to Joanne, but then I thought that women traditionally talk to their hairdressers the way men talk to their bartenders and since I didn’t have a bartender, I’d talked to the PA. Only I had an advantage. Bartenders usually didn’t know the customers wife’s hairdresser and the PA was bound to secrecy by medical ethics. I had an inside track and I made up my mind that I’d use it to my best advantage.

“Well, so Joanne said Erica is happy with my new hairstyle and the other things I’ve done that soften my look?” I couldn’t bring myself to say, “feminize myself.”

“Yeah, ah… but my advise, as a woman, is not to let your wife, Erica, know I told you that. It might not set too well. It’s assumed that what a woman tells her hairdresser is confidential. I’m sure that if I hadn’t asked Joanne direct questions, she’d never have said a thing.”

I nodded and then unbidden out of my mouth came, “Ah, can you still give me that referral to a plastic surgeon?”

She looked at me blankly for a few seconds. “You mean for breast augmentation?”

I nodded again. I wanted to do it, but I didn’t know if, when push came to shove, if I could. “Well, if the little ones have pleased her, then well, I guess I could at least talk about enhancing them some.”

“Let me make a phone call.”

Long story short, she did get through to a surgeon that did do breast augmentation on men just because they wanted it with or without a psychiatric letter. I couldn’t get into see him for another six weeks. Seems he was busy. I had to believe that he did other things beside put boobs on men. He couldn’t be that busy doing that. I mean, how many men could want boobs?

“So, I understand you would like to have breast implants,” the doctor said.

“Ah, yeah, well, at least I want to explore the possibility.”

“I see. Just how large would you like to go?”

“Not too big. Just enough so that when I wear something tight that it will be obvious or maybe so I could show a little cleavage if I were to unbutton my shirt a little.”

“That’s probably possible. Why don’t you take off your shirt and let’s see what we have to work with.”

I stripped to the waist.

“It looks like you have a little gynecomastia already. I assume you want to go larger.”

“Yeah, if you’re going to have boobs, you might as well do it right, huh?” I laughed nervously.

He took some measurements and said, “You’re almost an A cup now. I’d say that we could easily take you up to a C without any undue stretch marks showing.”

“Well, a C would be a bit more than I was thinking of. I think a B would be plenty.”

“You know that most men who opt for this procedure wish they had gone bigger after they get used to their breasts.”

“Well, still, I think that I’d like to stay with a B.”

“What say we compromise. I can use the implants that we use for men who want larger breasts then they have skin to accommodate. The way it works is I implant a receptacle for saline and fill it to, in your case, a B cup size. Later, after the skin has stretched, I then add more saline and enlarge what’s there and repeat the procedure until the desired size is reached. In your case, when you decide that you want more, we just enlarge it.”

“So, if I go for it, what’s the procedure? I mean, how long will I be in the hospital?”

“Oh, it’s an out patient thing. You come in, a couple of hours later, you go home. It’s best if you have someone to drive you home.”

“What if I don’t, could I say, take a cab? When would I be able to drive again?”

“You would be fine, by the next morning. Isn’t there someone who could come with you?”

“No, I don’t have any friends that I’m willing to share this with. That’s why I don’t want to go too big. I want to be able to hide the boobs.”

“OK, well, I could schedule you in say, six weeks.”

Suddenly it was hard to breathe. I felt my heart rate pick up and there was a pounding in my ears.

“I’m still just thinking about it. Can I think about it and call you in a week or two?”

“If you’re still not sure, then you should. I’ll leave your name with my receptionist and when you call in she’ll schedule the next available appointment.”

I thanked the doctor for his time and he simply reminded me that I had paid for the office call already.

It was about this time, that Karen, our over achiever informed us that, because she had been accepted at Stanford she wanted to attend their summer program and get a leg up on her college career. Of course, Erica wasn’t too pleased. Her baby was about to leave the nest. I can’t say that I was too thrilled about it either. This meant that we had three less months to discover our solution to Erica’s… I don’t know… condition? And what it meant to our marriage… perhaps the demise of our marriage. Hell, I was sure that if I didn’t pull a rabbit out of the hat, it would be just that.

Oh God! Please God show me what to do. I’m not ready to be a divorcé. If I can’t be married to Erica, then what use is it to live? She’s my life, my reason for living she has been since I first laid eyes on her all those years ago.

Spring Chinook were running they were in the southern coast streams and moving north, so that was my excuse for a week long fishing trip. I figured I’d need a week to recover and I was right. The doctor did a nice job. I was nervous as hell when I went in, but I was desperate and determined to try anything to keep Erica. In the end, I did leave the option open for larger breasts… if and when.

Well, my fishing vest hid things when I finally made it out to the streams. It had taken three days before I felt well enough to cast a fishing rod. But luck was with me and I came back with enough fish to make everyone believe I’d been at it for a full week… that is if I used the excuse that it took a couple of days to catch up with just where the run was. I missed Karen’s leaving, but well, as noted before, I wasn’t particularly close to the kids and I think that Erica really liked the exclusive mother daughter time as Karen got ready to go.

I brought the fish home and dropped them into the freeze without coming into the house first and washed up in the laundry tubs. Then I stuck my head in the door and told Erica I was heading for my appointment with Joanne.

“Hi,” Joanne greeted me when I walked. She studied me a bit and said, “You look different some how. If didn’t know better, I’d say you put on some weight, but that’s not it. I’ll figure it out. Well what can we do for you today?”

“I think I’m ready to take a big leap today.”

“How so?”

“Well, you remember how you told me that my hair would look good with highlights? Well, I think today’s the day… and, maybe we could try a style with some… you know…” I made some kind of sign that I hoped she interpret as “bangs.” She just looked at me with a puzzled look. “Ah, maybe a more daring hairstyle.”

“A more daring hairstyle,” she said slowly and picked up a book of styles. “Maybe you’d like to show me what you have in mind,” she continued as she handed me the book.

With trembling hands, I thumbed through the book and finally settled on something with some genuine bangs and a kind flip at the bottom. I know I’m not describing it well, I don’t have the words, but well, it was girlie. I knew it; Joanne knew it. She did a good job of not showing it if she was happy about what I wanted, but I suspect she was. It was what she had been pushing me toward all along.

“You, ah, … you really want this hairstyle?”

“Unless you could think of one that would be better suited to my face,” I answered trying to say something… I don’t’ know… feminine I guess. That was going to be my life, if my plan worked I might just as well get used to being and saying things feminine.

“Well, I think I’ve got the idea. Why don’t you leave it to me? I’ll see if I can’t work some magic.”

“OK, I’ll trust you to know what’s needed.”

“Jim! Is that you? Oh my God you look so different. What did Joanne do?”

I stood in the kitchen as Erica looked at me dumbfounded.

“I… well, Erica, I … do you like it?

“Well, it’s a very nice style, but I never thought you go for something like that. What made you do it.”

“I wanted you to like it. You didn’t say if you did.”

“It’s gorgeous Jim. Beautiful, even. Highlights, a gentle wave and a flip, it’s… it’s…”

“Feminine?” I finished for her.

“Ah, well, that’s not the word I was looking for, but yes, it’s feminine. Did you do that for me?”

“Yes. I need you and I hope this lets you know just how much,” I said as I took off my shirt and let her see my breasts and bra though my T-shirt. “The hair kind of goes with the package.”

She stepped forward slowly and tentatively touched me and cupped my breast with one hand. She threw her arms around me in a hug.

“You did that to keep me?”

“Yes,” I mumble.

“The hair and boobs and everything?”

“Well, not everything. According to the people on the Internet, I’m a shemale. I don’t think I could bring myself to alter that part.”

“Oh Jim, I wouldn’t want you to. You know with a little make up, and you’d be my dream lesbian lover.”

“I don’t have any idea how to put on make up.”

“If, well… if you’d like, I could do it for you. You’ve done everything else I could ask for…”

“We could try, if you don’t think I’d look ridiculous.”

“Oh no sweetie, you won’t look ridiculous. I’ll see to that.”

I stood in the bathroom unable to believe just where this all ended up. Erica gave me a diaphanous blue baby-doll pajama that barely covered my butt. My face was made up and with my breasts clearly visible under the thin material, I looked every inch a woman. What’s more, I didn’t understand how, but it turned me on. Maybe it was the anticipation of the sex with my wife, combined with the look of a woman sexily dressed in something clearly intended to arouse. This is the test of fire. If I can go out there and be enough like a woman, maybe, just maybe, I can keep my wife. Oh dear Lord, let this work. God please let this work.

When I entered the bedroom Erica was standing in a see-through robe wearing only garters and stockings underneath. She smiled and crossed the room to me.

“You’re beautiful, just beautiful. Thanks so much for indulging me.” Then with no farther ado, she kissed me. Kissed me with more passion than I could ever remember. The feeling of her body crushing against mine, separated only by to layer of sensuous nylon, was very arousing.

I’m not sure just how it happened, but soon we were on the bed and I was operating on a pure animal level, only remembering that this was all about pleasing Erica, convincing her that we could stay together, and needed too. I don’t know just what had happened to her robe, but it was gone. I was excited beyond measure and I knew if I didn’t take care of her first, I’d be to shot to do her any good later. So I pushed her hand away when she pulled me out of the nylon panties that went with the outfit, and slipped down off the edge of the bed to do her first.

She was easily as hot as I was and responded with wild abandon to my ministrations. I was bent on making it good for her and used every trick to push her buttons. I was rewarded with the wildest climax I’ve ever seen her have. After, I was in need and couldn’t control myself. Operating on pure instinct, I climbed up between her legs and entered her, grinding myself in and to my surprise she wrapped her legs around me and began kissing me as I pounded and ground myself into her. I could feel her ripple with another climax, but it was nothing to the one that ripped through me.

I woke groggy in the morning as the first rays of the sun turned the dawn gray, with the memory of that damned dream fresh in my head, only, as I looked around, I realized I hadn’t dreamed. I had lived it. I had been there being a part of it. I looked over at Erica still clad only in her stockings and garter belt, but with the sheet pulled up to her hips.

I couldn’t help but stroke her cheek lovingly. She opened her eyes and captured my hand in hers. She kissed it and then closed the gap between us and kissed me slowly with the passion of a life long lover who didn’t need to hurry because there was a lifetime ahead.

“Jim,” she said, “last night was beautiful. Can we do that again often?”

“Yes, we can.” Not just yes, but hell yes. You damn betcha we can… and will… often.

Epilog:

Jimmy took it the hardest, but finally accepted that he had what looked like two moms, but Karen just smiled and said, “What ever floats your boat. I just want you two to be happy.” Maybe it’s the difference between an Ivy League school and California school, I don’t know.

So that’s been my life all these years. That first night, I developed a liking for lingerie and within a month, I’d opted to replace all my men’s underwear with nylon panties. I bought them pretty much to match my bras. I’ve given up even trying to pass as a man and my lesbian lover, Erica, couldn’t be happier… and I guess I couldn’t be either. Oh, and before the year was out, I had gone back to the plastic surgeon and went for the C cup. We did move and the new neighbors think we’re retired sisters. We don’t want to upset their thinking, so we let that go.

Jim… Jamie… what’s the difference, “a rose by any other name would smell just the same.” A form, a filing fee and a few minutes before a bored judge and that’s who I became, Jamie Wilson. Blouses fit better than my old shirts, but I’m still working on the skirt and dresses idea, though I’m beginning to warm up to it since Erica got me a waltz length night gown and matching peignoir.

I little more surgery to give me the padding in the hips and butt… maybe soon. Living as a woman is comfortable now.