A Wife's Indulgence

Chapter 2

by Zoe, a friend of WannabeGinger's life-long partner and Bride

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I confess, writing this years later, that it was all unplanned, how it began, but it seemed so natural for us both — maybe not for everyone — but nothing to be ashamed of, guilty about, or regretful for. I say that, even though there have been big ups and downs since then — maybe some of which I'll write about. I guess, you could say that I had opened Pandora's Box without any knowledge of what was inside.

I couldn't foresee or plan for where "it" would go. "It?" .....His crossdressing. There had been none of that up to this time — the second evening. By then, I knew it would go further…... "It" again… It has a mind of its own perhaps. But I didn't know how far and how fast. Looking back, I think it's gone fast enough and the "Downs" have only come when "it" has gone too fast… or too much of a big step at one time.

Back to the evening concerned……. We were beside eachother in bed, or rather on the bed, with the folds of my blue silk nightgown stroking over his body. I reached for the lipstick at his suggestion — at least I think it was his…. or was it mine? I know that I wanted him to use it…..

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We laid back, both needing a rest. We had kissed and fucked for a long time. I realized that we had my having hairbrush close by. Something reminded me. He had specifically asked to have me play with his hair again. He had enjoyed that a lot, I could tell. He hadn't yet cum, but it didn't seem to bother him. His cock was soft but very well, and invited being licked. I loved the taste of his pre-cum juices.

He loved my hair. Hair was his "thing" — or fetish, you could call it. He confessed later — one time when beautifully coiffed in our favourite salon — that he always looked first at a woman's hair, before any other physical feature. He had by then to come to the stage where he evaluated other women's hair by the answer to the question: "How would I look with hair like that?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Well, what are you waiting for?" He asked. "I want you to make my hair as good as yours."

He reached up and touched the kiss curl that swept down beside my ear and up again, a lightly streaked curl that he had once called my "Fuck Me" curl.

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

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

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

In that moment I decided… Take the chance! He should slip the nightgown and dressing gown on. "Just slip these on, darling. You'll love the feel they give....." I didn't have to make the same suggestion twice. He looked lovely, standing by the wardrobe mirrored door. "They don't do as much for me as they do for you, honey!", he exclaimed.

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

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

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

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

"No, No, Annie, not unless you want to — one day — no, so you can see the care that it takes and the love I shall put into every curl…… as I roll them up, and as I brush them out when you're dry."

Sensual, this was going to be. We hadn't got near fucking again yet, but already I was yearning for another good fuck to follow. He could detect that, I was sure. He was breathing quite shallowly once again. His heart rate was about 150, I'm sure…….

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"More lipstick"…………….. He said!

"For you and for me." I said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Guess if he did?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I can't……."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You meant for that to happen, didn't you?" He said, with a knowing smile.

He later confessed that it was at this time that he began to hope that "things" would go quite a lot further than just a little make-up and "girl-on-girl" flirtation — that he would find himself "given over" to whatever I chose for him. He liked the teasing "game" we had been playing.

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

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

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

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

**********

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

**********

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

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

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

"Of course, it is darling."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But first, the Champagne!

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

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

Did she care?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I've been longing for you to do the hair, just longing to see how you can make it look. Bet it's going to be difficult but whatever, I'm loving the feeling…….." was his answer.

He related his foray alone into the house a few moments ago:

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

His breath was shallow again. "Please do that first Zoe."

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

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

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

Very well, the eyeshadow — and the mascara and the eyeliner — would wait.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still nothing was said.

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

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

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

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

He paused.

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

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

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

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

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

There's more to write.... I'll carry on, thanks to the feedback already received.

Love Zoe