Authors foreword: This story depicts sexual activity of various sorts among consenting if sometimes also credulous and deceived adults. If you are not a consenting adult don't read it, no matter how credulous or deceived. It's not for you. Not yet.
All comments welcome -- [email protected]
I had to remain invisible to the neighbors. It was still daylight, and I didn't want any of them to notice that my lovely upswept curls had survived last night's Farewell Ball. This morning they'd looked so sweet I didn't have the heart to comb them out, and I knew I'd be meeting no one who knew me, so I'd relented and flown back with them just as they were. Some other passengers on the plane had stared at me puzzled or amused or interested and then turned their attention elsewhere. A middle-aged woman had glowered as if I were somehow a threat to middle-aged women everywhere. But the flight attendant told me she wished her boyfriend had my courage, that before going into public places he always combed out the cute hairdos she sometimes styled for him, that mine looked darling. My heart melted! For the rest of the trip I couldn't smile at her gratefully enough whenever she handed me the airline's little packets of pretzels!
Tricia was nowhere to be seen. A few years ago that would've seemed ominous, my beloved wife not coming forward to greet me when I came home from a long trip like this one. But not now. I preferred now. Now I went to cross dressers' conventions routinely, and that's how I wanted her to regard them. Like ordinary business trips, the kind we each need to take now and then, separations just long enough to renew our appreciation of each other. Long enough for us both to feel grateful that whatever the occasional stresses between us, we do still live together and share our lives. That we're married.
Everything in the kitchen looked the same. The stove and the counters were spotless -- either the cleaning lady had just visited or else Tricia had eaten out a lot, probably near her office, working the late hours she always worked when I wasn't expected home. I didn't doubt that at this moment she was sequestered in our study or maybe even the room beyond the study, thinking through strategies and prepping court cases for the coming week as she did every weekend. I almost shouted out "Honey, I'm home!" to make sure she knew, then caught myself and grinned. How domesticated can you get?
Of course she knew! She'd certainly heard the garage door grind and growl when I came in. That sound reverberated well past our study despite the walls lined with books and filing cabinets and the other bric a brac of our professional lives. Even into the closed room beyond where I dressed and worked and kept my personal stuff and led my fantasy life.
Tricia had stopped calling it "your girly room" and now called it "our" girly room or else just "the reading room." I'd done it in pink and cream chiffon, with delicate hangings and pastel sketches and plump pillows on the overstuffed divan, with a French Provincial bureau to hold my things and a huge mirrored Vanity Table holding my other things. It was where I went to be a woman. She'd resented it as an indulgence at first, but now she liked it - - it had a distinct feminine feel where she could recover herself, she said, when she'd had to be especially brutal on behalf of a client. She no longer minded that I now spent most of my time there, dressed in frilly lingerie and peignoir, or a chic skirt and jacket, or sometimes only an old house dress. That's where I'd work on some commissioned project, or browse some transgender web site, or study my makeup in the mirror. Or fix my hairdo while thinking my way through some client's problems.
Eventually she felt so comfortable in that room that she preferred it to any other in the house. We'd sit there together after dinner and do our different things like girlfriends, not like the snug married couple we were. If anyone looked in, and no one ever would, all they'd see there would be two women comfortable with each other, the tall one prim at her keyboard, more often than not dressed elaborately as if about to go out (though she never did), the short one dressed casually in tight jeans and a T-shirt, sprawled across the floor while scribbling notes in the margins of legal papers. I always looked like the proper lady of the house, and Trish more often than not like my cute younger sister pretending to do her homework.
Of course Tricia did dress appropriately at work or when attending the social gatherings that were part of her work. Then she wore the expensive black dresses or power suits or beaded cocktail gowns she needed to maintain her position in the firm. I envied her that wardrobe, though I owned one or two dresses as elaborate and high-styled, because she could wear hers whenever she chose and I got to wear mine only when I was out-of-town at gender meetings.
But Trish didn't really care about clothes. Immediately on arriving home she'd hop into skimpy shorts or sweat pants, leap onto the treadmill and stairmaster we kept in the room designated eventually for our baby, sweat off her day's furies and frustrations, pop into the shower, and then emerge smelling of soap, glowing, wearing no makeup at all, her soft, ripe curves barely contained by her jeans and T-shirts. Then she'd peer into my feminine "reading room," kiss me, ask how my day had gone, discuss dinner plans, and if she felt a little horny sit in my lap and begin to unbutton my blouse.
Originally we'd both worked in town for the same large law firm, Trish doing litigation and me as an industrial specialist for patent and trademark strategies. Now as a private consultant I did the same thing at home, sending it out by phone, fax, or computer. I was an engineer at heart, not a lawyer, but I retained many of her firm's clients as my own and I found I could pick and choose among others. I was plenty busy. The firm moved heaven and earth to try to keep me, offering me double my salary, a key to the executive washroom, whatever it took. I had the technical skills needed to solve their clients' problems, and the human skills to persuade them to do it my way. Finally my wife told them to give it up, they'd never get me back by offering me money and privilege, she'd try to find some other way some day. Money and privilege didn't matter at all to me. What I wore mattered.
Like many engineers I hated to wear corporate suits and ties, and at home I could dress as I pleased. What pleased me, ironically, was an even more demanding feminine dress code -- heels, skirts, my hair set just elaborately enough to show care, my make-up impeccable, tasteful jewelry, all of it. That's how I did my job, as my own woman in an office of my own devising.
Then when Trish came home, most of the time I didn't feel like changing into pants and scrubbing my face for a trip to some restaurant. So mostly I cooked for the two of us. It was relaxing after a day of solving other people's intricate problems, and I liked doing traditional womanly things anyhow. More often than not, when Trish came down from her shower I'd already changed for the evening into something pretty and romantic for her, and sometimes I'd already set out the first course of an elaborate candlelight dinner for two. With wines for each course. I did love her, and I wanted her to love me as much. All of me.
My devotion apparently had some effect -- she'd been uneasy about my transvestism at first, but as she accepted more of her own femininity she'd begun to accept mine, even to enjoy it. She'd begun to sit at my make-up table, face still fresh-scrubbed and rosy from exercise, and ask my advice about this or that eye liner or lipstick, subjects formerly beneath her notice. She'd never previously used make-up creatively or with flair, only to maintain propriety when dating in College or when attending formal evenings with clients arranged by her firm. Lawyers don't, she'd told me. Her kind didn't, anyhow. She kept what few cosmetics she needed in an upstairs medicine cabinet, and kept a mascara and lipstick in her purse, and that was it. Nothing more. She'd stroke them onto her face after breakfast as an afterthought before heading out the door.
She didn't really need more. Her skin was clear and her eyes were huge and dark. To me she always looked gorgeous. But during the past few years fashion had decreed that more is better, and even styles for women lawyers had changed. Maybe because the country's feminism was maturing, women who'd felt they had to look masculine to assert themselves now felt they had to look feminine to assert themselves. Or, maybe it was that Trish was now a partner in her law firm and thought that as the only woman on the executive board she should look it, go all the way. I'd told her long ago that a confident woman dressed in high style and perfectly made up always had enormous intimidating power over men, an advantage in a litigator. She'd listened attentively and nodded, willing to test the notion. Which she then did, first on me and then on opposing counsel. It always worked. Her poised beauty reduced them to silence, and a flirtatious wiggle of her hips could then discompose them utterly.
Maybe that was why she began to take the same care I did with her daily make-up. One morning after botching the blending of several shades of eye shadow she'd delighted me by asking for help. After that I helped her daily, and eventually I became the one who made up her face each morning, sometimes evenings too when she had late meetings to attend or clients to see. I loved enhancing her appearance as if it were my own. She began to tease me about such effeminate concerns, of course, once she'd gotten over her anxieties about them. In fact it was around then that she began to call me "Mr. Amy" as if I were some swish hairdresser, and she began to tell envious friends about this wonderful personal beautician she'd discovered, no, she'd never reveal who or where it was "she" worked. Soon I became simply "Amy," and she couldn't praise Amy highly enough.
"Amy" was now what she called me casually whenever we were alone with each other, even when there was nothing especially feminine under discussion. I was never "Andy" to her any more. Even when we made love. "Oh, Amy, that was just wonderful!" she'd tell me with her last hug before turning over to go to sleep. She seemed to like my being a sort of girl when we made love. Oral sex was as enjoyable to her as genital sex, and when I became "Amy" to her she pressed my head down gently between her legs more and more often. I loved it all!
In fact in recent months she'd begun in small ways to encourage my being "Amy." It never seemed to affect my performance in bed, her earliest fear when I began to dress up daily like a girl. Rather the reverse. She noticed that when I was dressed I was always gentler and more considerate, that "Amy" was more affectionate than Andy during foreplay and afterplay, more willing to serve as her lesbian lover. When I commented this she was amused, and said only "Oh? Now you're a lesbian too? You mean that cute little thing down there is a dildo? I should poke one into you some time!"
As Amy I didn't feel compelled to penetrate her with my cute little thing, and some days when she was apparently sore down there from her cycle she felt grateful. Sometimes she would enter a trance as I licked her, and would grip my face to her crotch through two or three orgasms, stroking the back of my head and wriggling her tender slit and clit further into my mouth and tongue. "Lick me deeper, Amy!" she'd mutter gutturally in her ecstasy. And I often did, marveling at her pussy flavors as it became more and more wet and aroused, especially when it began to spasm juices into my mouth. When she was finally ready to sleep she'd gratefully kiss the tip of my nose, tasting herself there. "My sweet cumsucking Amy," she'd say. "Tell me how you love eating me." I surely did! Then sometimes I'd suckle her breasts daintily while she drifted, dozed, and made little contented sounds.
I'd have become her hairdresser too if I'd known how. I'd have loved doing some new things with it. It was long and blonde and thick, and each day she'd swirl it high into a French Twist and then leave it that way for everything, business, formal dinners, even for the stairmaster. My hair was dark and straight and not even shoulder length, so there was less I could do with it. I'd play with curlers and a blow dryer now and then, but my need to look male when I went out anywhere precluded a commitment to anything other than a boyish bob with bangs I could brush off my forehead. I'd have loved to get a body perm and proper styling, and have my hair layered into large waves to frame my face. But no. We were in agreement that the real woman among us should look as gorgeous as nature and art allows whenever she leaves the house, and that the other woman should never leave the house at all. Not dressed or done up as a woman!
So during the past half-year or so Trish had came to look increasingly gorgeous, and her morale and mine rose accordingly. As she took greater pride in her appearance she developed an odd respect for my skill at making us both look pretty where originally she'd been indifferent and sometimes scornful. She became less inclined to worry or resent that I doted on all things feminine.
I adored her.
Two or three years ago when I first told her I meant to attend a three-day crossdresser's convention in another State so I could live like a woman full time, Trish had been dismayed, anxious, deeply disturbed. It was as if I were going off with another woman. I suppose in a way I was. I explained to her that I wanted to learn more about my peculiar compulsion to look like a member of her sex, why it felt so satisfying and relentless. To try to understand why her otherwise reasonable Andy felt such joy when he was being Amy. Conference organizers always scheduled doctors and psychologists to discuss the latest theories of gender divergence, to reassure us that there were hundreds of thousands of us created by nature or nurture or both, all self-identified by the same instinctual processes despite all sorts of denials. We listened, now and then adjusting our skirts. There were always cosmetologists there too, to show us how even the craggiest male faces could be softened into illusory prettiness.
After a few such meetings I'd pretty much learned everything these experts had to teach me. But I kept going to them, just to do it! To wake up each morning deciding which accessories went best with whatever I meant to wear to which occasion that day. To look as pretty as I could, all day every day. To smile gently at other women like me and at real women too, and always receive a smile in return. To chat with other women. To shop and stroll the streets of whatever the host city, blending into the female half of the population, where everyone who saw me could think that's what I was and where I belonged. At such times I could even believe it myself, blissfully.
These days she merely nodded when I informed her I was going, then returned to her work. She knew that now and then I had to be seen by others. Most of the year I dressed only for my mirror and my own delight. But now and then I needed to feel ratified in the eyes of others, confirmed in my femininity by their vision of me. I spent as much time as I could in my special feminine room feeling dainty, pretty, and affectionate in ways men never dare. I loved the feel of nylon and silk on my thighs, and I appreciated my own good taste when choosing the textures, colors, designs, and styles of the ensembles I wore. I loved seeing a flash of bright red on my fingertips, and glimpses of myself reflected in the mirror as no way masculine, rather distinctly ladylike, even coquettish, desirable. I felt sweetly serene at such moments. I felt nice. A girl should always feel nice. Being called "Ma'am" by some sales clerk felt very nice indeed!
But that was possible only when I was out of town. At home we both feared discovery. Dressing up had felt terrifyingly dangerous if also delightful ever since my early adolescence. From the moment I came aware that they were different, I'd helplessly envied girls their grace, their delicacy, their charm, their freedom to be gentle yet enthusiastic, their breasts and figures and faces, the displays of decoration they allowed their faces, bodies, and clothes. Their ...femininity. I still remember that day in high school when with my heart pounding and my hands shaking I'd tried on a bra I'd found while sneaking through a girls' locker room. The sensations were so powerful I was overwhelmed, and nearly fainted. I stole the bra and during the next few years I wore it out.
Then when I confessed this to a girlfriend at College she promptly dressed me up completely as a girl for a Halloween Dance. I was terrified but enraptured, beside myself. Unaccountably I felt an incredible joy, as if I had just been liberated. I thought I was so very beautiful! In fact she made me into so convincing a girl that no one believed I was wearing a costume. By the time the evening ended she'd persuaded herself as well, explained to everyone that my secret desire was to become the girl I seemed to be, and had gone off with a basketball player whose manhood was up front and unquestionable.
I never forgot that humiliation, and neither did anyone else. I became a figure of jest. Only after I'd graduated and met Trish did any woman take my manhood seriously. Even I doubted it for a time, because that Halloween night addicted me. I found I adored the feel of lingerie and the taste of lipstick. I acted out my girlhood in secret whenever I could, always fearful and mortified, desperately afraid of discovery, yet at the same time blissful. Yet no matter how often I dressed I was always apprehensive, ashamed of the smirking, of the fingers pointed at any man who could sink so low as to wish to look like a woman. Any unmanned man!
When Trish and I became engaged I confessed my vice to her. She was troubled at first, and demanded to see me dressed. She saw then that I was not grotesque but passable, and that I wasn't camping or mocking womanliness but admiring it. And she saw how important it was to me. "I suppose your dressing like a woman is a form of flattery," she said. She reluctantly allowed that I could indeed cross-dress whenever I wished, since it was so strong a compulsion, but only at home. Never ever outside! She repeated that, her voice tense and deliberate! I saw no problem. Terror kept me closeted.
Which was one reason why my first attendance at a gender convention troubled her. It also troubled me. It was in a faraway city, but even so I was ashamed to expose my guilty secret to others. Even though that was what I was there for, I barely forced myself through my hotel room door the first morning, dressed and made up. I walked timorously down the corridor, acutely aware of my skirt and heels, shoulders very still and clutching my purse, then into an elevator with other hotel guests, and finally into a hospitality room to meet other attendees. I was wearing my favorite denim skirt and a pretty matching embroidered vest that morning, and knew I looked nice and was dressed appropriately. I saw immediately that I made a more persuasive woman than many of the other conferees, and began to feel more comfortable. We all shared the same humiliating urge, but to my delight we all accepted each other as normal! After a few days among others of my kind I returned home more at ease with my desire than I had ever before felt in my whole life. Being transgendered now seemed a gift! I finally accepted myself as normal!
Trish was troubled by my "girly sleepover" as she called it, for additional reasons. She'd been extremely uneasy when I left, and when she met me at the door on my return it was with a distinct hostile edginess. She asked me abruptly whether I felt different.
I understood what she was really asking. She didn't know how far I meant to go. She feared that while I was away I'd be seduced by perverts, or that I'd go gay. She worried that I might not be a mere transvestite but was an out-and-out transsexual in process of self-discovery, that I'd now want to alter my body from my skin on out. That I'd already swallowed handfuls of female hormones, or gotten my skin pumped plump with them. That I'd already set a date for surgeons to turn my penis inside out to line a functioning vagina, and to empty my scrotum for reshaping as vaginal labia. To make me a woman ready to receive men in fact as well as in appearance.
She'd read about these things. She knew that hundreds, thousands of former men became New Women every year. Though she knew that many or most remain heterosexual, or "lesbians," she knew that many change in their desires. That Nature doesn't always get things right, that the medical profession fixes Nature's more obvious blunders sometimes better than they know how, that feminized husbands will sometimes divorce their wives and take husbands of their own. In her fear she'd half reconciled herself to my returning quite queer.
I replied immediately that in most respects I was no different. There had been no changes in my bodily sex, male, nor in my gender identity, somewhat feminine but still at times masculine, nor in my sexual desires, I still found only women attractive, one in particular, her. I was still the same man who'd departed a few days earlier. But I now understood more about how women feel. I was no longer ashamed to want to act or look like a woman. I was a man who felt free to enjoy his femininity
Trish heard me out impassively that first time. Then she'd nodded. "You're still a man you say?" she'd asked. "You call yourself a man? The way you've been dressing up all this time? You could've fooled me!"
Then she'd smiled, and her smile converted that truculent near-insult into a gracious concession, into acceptance of me as a passable girl. It was really a compliment! If I seemed less of a man it was because I seemed more of a woman! I liked that!
I'd smiled back, tearfully grateful for small favors, any at all, and then we kissed as we always did, as man and wife. Later in bed with her I was more passionate than ever. In the morning when I awoke I found her looking down at me seriously and affectionately. Her eyes were tearful. When I asked why she just shook her head and smiled reassuringly. "Some things are different now," she'd said. "Some day I may tell you. As a woman you might understand!"
Thereafter, each time I came back from a gender meeting she'd be much more sprightly and playful. She'd ask, "Well, has my boy friend come home? Or are you only my girl friend this time? Both? Can we gossip together yet about the different guys we're sleeping with?" I loved hearing her put it that way, because it meant she accepted and enjoyed teasing both aspects of me! I couldn't help but embrace and kiss her! It was wonderful! At such moments I felt complete!
So during the half-dozen years we'd been married Trish went from reluctant acceptance to relaxed approval of my transgenderism. Gradually she absorbed the truth that I felt, looked, and acted more at ease in a dress, that I was more fun to be with when I wore panties and a bra. That women's clothes felt somehow right to me. She finally understood that I was much the better person for these occasional excursions elsewhere. I'd come back from the last few, she reluctantly admitted, nicer in every way, more attentive, sweeter, and otherwise unchanged.
Moreover, my out-of-town transvestism in hotels a thousand miles away eased her own fear somewhat that my compulsion might at any moment disgrace me before the neighbors, our friends, her business associates, everyone with whom we maintained our image as a solidly respectable professional couple. This was a serious matter. We lived in a small community with standards enforced by shame and gossip. Deviance of any kind signified an unsound mind, unreliability. An unmowed lawn could injure your credit rating at the bank. Sexual or gender deviance was unthinkable!
And Trish wasn't a fool. She'd noticed that sometimes I felt I had to break out and play the odds against discovery. That after dark sometimes I'd drive out in a dress to mail a letter. That sometimes I'd risk all by carrying a bin of recycleables out to the curb dressed as if I were merely the woman of the house carrying out one more household chore. That once I'd tried to persuade myself I could attend a company function wearing her flowery "Nuit d'Amour" as if it were an after shave. "Any woman would know what scent you're wearing, and some men! The same with that beige lipstick you've got on!" she'd told me firmly.
But she knew that my suppressed self had to assert itself. That I felt pride that I am what I am, and wasn't ashamed of it any more, or anyhow not very ashamed. She knew that the feminine part of me wasn't some unacceptable exhibitionist, drag queen, or net-stocking slut, but a quiet, tasteful, decent woman, in most respects unremarkable. That expressing that woman somehow comforted me. That I was half-persuaded that I was what I claimed to be.
So she accepted that I went to out of town conventions a few times a year "to play with the other girls." She loved me. She didn't begrudge me my departures, and she welcomed my returns. Still, she feared that if I felt less ashamed after each gender meeting, perhaps I'd be all the more shameless after I got back home. There was always a danger in her mind that the woman seen flouncing into the supermarket next week might be recognized suddenly as that consulting engineer who lives on the next block, the one married to the lawyer woman, poor soul to be married to such a sick pervert. She knew and feared that our family respectability hung on a single accidentally unwiped dab of my lipstick, or on too narrowly arching a plucked eyebrow, or on a single noticeable swish of my hips. And if respectability went, her professional reputation and her clients' confidence in her would soon follow.
This time I'd been away a full week, so I had to assume Trish had been worrying about these risks for a full week. My first job was to reassure her. When I opened our study door I saw her computer was on, there was some legal file on the screen, but the room was empty. So I crossed through to the far door and opened that one, delighted to be returning to my very own fragrantly scented, richly feminine inner sanctum. I'd flown home wearing an oversized zip jacket and dungarees, my bra and breast forms and pantyhose no way hinted. But here I could be myself. Off came my jacket. This was my real home!
ii.
As I'd expected, Trish was in a satin slipper chair reading a brief of some sort. Wearing jeans as usual, her legs tucked up tight under her butt in one of her favored Yoga positions. I saw at once she wore no bra at all under her plain white T-shirt, that her nipples were poking out noticeably from the bulging dark circles at the center of her breasts. She unfolded herself and stood up at her first sight of me.
"Honey! Oh, darling! I heard you coming in, and I've been waiting! How is my girl today? Did she enjoy herself? I see you're still wearing that hairdo you'd planned for the Farewell Ball. You must have looked darling last night! You wore it all the way back on the plane too? Oh, sweetheart, that was brave! Each time you come back less and less afraid to be yourself! Of course an upswept hairdo isn't what I'd choose for you, but it's really very pretty!"
For the first time, no welcoming inquiry about her "boyfriend" returning? For a week I'd been among people who were honored to call each other 'girls.' Some were actual girls by birth, and some by playful desire, but some by lifelong confusion and doubt, ordeal and sacrifice, determination, psychiatric concurrence, hormones, legal changes of identity, surgical knives, and slow, painful recovery. So it didn't seem at all odd that Trish didn't mention my male aspect. Not then. It did seem strange that she complimented me for wearing a dramatically feminine hairdo in public all the way home, that she didn't feel threatened by my exposing myself that way, but I chose to ignore that too. It was satisfying enough that she'd been thinking about the sort of hairdo she'd prefer me to wear.
She lifted her face for me to kiss her, as I certainly did, and she sighed most satisfactorily when I ran a fingertip lightly over one of her protruding nipples.
"No bra?" I inquired?
"That's right." And that was all. Her tone told me it wasn't a topic she cared to discuss at the moment. "Honey, sit down. We have to talk. Two things happened this week you should know about."
"Oh?"
"Oh?" She mocked me lightly. "Yes, oh! The first is small but large. It seems someone saw you last week, someone driving by saw a tall woman open the front door and take in the morning newspaper. Hair long, a lot like your husband's, she told me, but better styled, and wearing a housecoat. She finally decided the person was a visiting relative, a sister maybe, since she seemed so much at home. Now, I'm not saying that your secret is in any danger. But you know that sooner or later it's going to become known. This is a fussy and gossipy neighborhood. Sooner or later someone will call on the police to inquire if everything's all right. And if you're home and I'm not, that can have consequences."
Fair warning. Sobering news too. "I know that, Trish. Who was it?"
"I'd rather not say. It would make you too self-conscious. It's someone we both know fairly well. The topic may not come up again. I told this person your sister had stopped by. That answer seemed sufficient. Maybe not next time though. We need to do something about it."
"I guess," I said. I couldn't think what. I couldn't pull every blind and drapery in the house and live in the dark all day! That would seem suspicious in itself. But what else was there to do about it?
"And I've figured out what to do! You'll love it! That's the second thing."
"What's that?"
Trish would sometimes hug me gently like a girlfriend when I was being Amy, even give me an affectionate peck on the cheek to show she was especially pleased with me -- with Amy, really. But only Andy awakened her most ardent, passionate feelings. I was Andy now for the trip home, so despite my hairdo and the bra and pantyhose I had on she replied by opening her arms wide and falling backward onto the soft divan and pulling me down on top of her. Again, a nipple naked under her thin T-shirt material brushed my arm, but this time she moaned aloud.
"Trish honey, you are so hot! What's come over you?"
"Well, Andy, at the moment it's you!" She grinned, and as if my full weight weren't already pressing her whole body into the soft pillows of the divan, she wrapped her arms around my neck and her legs around my waist and squeezed hard. Was her crotch already damp? Wet? Then of all things, while we were wrapped in each other she continued to talk to me, my face not six inches above hers. It must have taken tremendous concentration, the kind she'd bring to addressing a jury.
"Andy, what would you think about Amy getting herself a place of her own to live in?"
"What?"
"Amy. Your girlhood. A place of her own. She spends all day bottled up in here, you know that. She doesn't dare show her pretty face, and it really is pretty, and she spends a lot of effort making sure of it. You have to carry her a thousand miles away by air before you dare let her loose in public. And then only for a few days here or a week there, only a few times each year. Like just now. Isn't that so?"
She knew it was, but waited for me to nod. Then continued, "That's no way for any girl to live. It's ironic, too, because I know that all you want for Amy is the same normal life any woman lives. Yet she doesn't dare. Not for a moment. Not here. Not in this town. And when she's bottled up here, you're bottled up here!"
All true. I nodded again. A knot was beginning to form in my stomach. Fright? Exhilaration? Tricia was up to something! Something beautiful? By itself it was a wonderful idea! To set Amy free somewhere to live her own life out in the open? To live the way she'd lived all this past week, venturing into malls and onto downtown streets and into restaurants, lunching with friends, chatting with strangers, and attracting no attention at all except as one more woman? On her own, all by herself? Could she? Of course! But would she then accept the modest limits we always placed on her? Could either of us restrain a liberated Amy? What would she be like on her own?
Ooohh! I felt like leaping up and flying! What a glorious notion!
"Andy sweetheart, I know you're no longer terrified of exposure, and maybe you're even beyond feeling shame if Amy should ever become known to our friends and associates here. I've worried that soon you'll feel impelled to come out at least to our friends, to be Amy to everyone who already knows Andy. Even though you know it wouldn't be pleasant, in many ways. That it would be an embarrassment we could never live down. Well, maybe you could, but it would effectively end my career here. Not one of my clients would feel he could trust the wife of a drag queen weirdo to close a simple mortgage for him, much less handle his complex business litigation. Or hers. The powerful men and women I deal with maintain tight control over their domestic arrangements, and expect others to do the same."
This was sobering. "Probably true," was all I said. I was dying to kiss the delicate curves of her mouth, but this was not the moment.
"So day after tomorrow Amy and I will go looking for a place for her to live. Andy's not invited. Strictly speaking, I want to take her to look at a condominium apartment the firm has just taken over in Madison in lieu of a debt. If she likes it, she can buy it easily, no problem at all, I've figured out exactly how. Madison's about ninety minutes from here by car, close enough for easy visiting but just far enough away so there's no one there who knows us. In Madison Amy can be herself!"
My scalp was tingling! My eyebrows were raised high in astonishment, I could feel them, and my eyes were wide open in shock! In panic! In wild surmise! In joy! Inside me, Amy was shouting "Oh, yes! Oh, yes!" so loud I could scarcely think!
Tricia saw that I saw all of the possibilities all at once, and added only, "Then Amy can be her own woman. Completely. We'd get her a complete legal identity, driver's license, credit cards, everything a woman needs. She'd own the property in her own name. Everything she keeps here could go there and remain there and remain hers. Her clothes, her jewelry, even a car we'd buy her if we didn't transfer your ownership. She could come and go as she chooses, get a job or take over your consulting and do what you do, open a bank account, entertain her own friends, do whatever she likes. You'd be her guest when you stayed with her, instead of the way things are here, with Amy your prisoner who doesn't dare ever let herself be seen."
I swallowed. My head seemed to be exploding. Tricia had found a gateway to heaven and was persuading me to walk through it!
"She could live a normal life, Andy." Tricia concluded. "As herself. No more compromises."
Then she kissed me on the nose. "You'll need to discuss it with her. But not tonight. I think I want to make love now, but with Andy, not Amy. Tell her tomorrow that the offer's open, and ask her how she feels about it, and we'll see what she thinks. But now I need to know if there's any boy left at all in my girlfriend. I've missed you, lover! Weren't you feeling just a little bit horny for me?"
For the next few hours I proved I felt terribly horny! Powerfully, lyrically, sublimely! Though it was partly as Amy! I felt so suffused with joy, so richly endowed, so tenderly grateful to my darling, my marvelous wife! And I was still wearing my bra, more Amy in my Trish's arms than she seemed to notice. I could feel myself on the edge of a delightful liberation, and my heart wouldn't stop singing! My cock rose up and pulsed with each thought of Trish's proposal, a prospective free-form feminine way of life! It hardened, and even after Trish had softly sucked me and I'd cum in her mouth, then had pushed deep into her silky wet folds and cum again in her pussy, even then it didn't soften!
"I've never seen anything like this thing of yours" Tricia said in awe toward the end of a second hour of rock hard performance. "It just won't wilt! Here, let's try it this way. Exceptional behavior deserves exceptional rewards."
And she turned over onto her stomach, humped her beautiful bottom high into the air, wiped my erect prick in the fluids oozing from her vagina, spread them slick over my whole cock with one hand, then guided me into her anus. For the first time in our married life! My first time ever with anyone! I slipped in effortlessly! Trish felt hot and incredibly snug, and after only a few thrusts and withdrawals I spurted into her guts helplessly yet a third time! Throbbing my heart out into her! I couldn't help it!
"I thought we should both know what it would be like if Amy should ever want to let a man enter her," Trish said, turning to look at me with an impish smile when I'd stopped pulsing and just lay there humped onto her buttocks, spent. "Since that's all she can do with a man right now. That and suck cock. It feels very nice to me, honey. Amy will love it, I bet, if she ever finds anyone as sweet as you to do it with. I wish we'd done this years ago!"
I'd softened a bit after that last wrenching orgasm. But when Trish spoke those words, astonishingly my cock turned solid yet again!
"The idea of a hot cock spurting cum deep into Amy's pussy turns you on, does it, sweetheart? Then I really do wish we'd done this before!"
I ignored her, but for yet another hour, well into nightfall, I rocked back and forth inside my wife's rump, my prick well-lubricated in my own cum, sliding in and out of her rectum while my fingers dandled her dripping clit, her swollen nipples, and occasionally her engorged pussy. We did other things I can't remember. She came and came, orgasmic wave after wave passing through her until finally she shuddered and whispered hoarsely to me, "Enough now, Andy baby. Please! I have work tomorrow! I need to sleep!"
Right there in my perfumed, pastel boudoir, on that overstuffed divan of my dreams, we slept. We both slept. I remained inside her. In the morning when I awoke I found my softened member was still gripped by her sphincter, and as it hardened I pushed and pulled it in and out of her ass yet again. She awoke smiling and snugged her bottom into me yet again. It felt so very, very sweet! Not even fully erect, I came yet again inside her, as she came too in a kind of full bodied, relaxed shudder.
"Amy really is ready and eager to live her own life, isn't she," Trish said, turning her head sideways on the pillow with the smile of a cat who has just eaten a whole cageful of canaries. "I bet even now she isn't letting you alone! Are you going to tell me that's only Andy fucking my rear end? I think we both know how Amy feels now. Tell Amy the world is hers if she wants it, Andy. Ask her if she'd rather hide out here or live like a lady in her own apartment. Seeing whatever kinds of lovers she prefers. I think her answer's obvious."
My cock finally popped out of Trish's rear and lay there, slick and shiny and spent. She smiled and reached for it. "I'll blow this lovely thing of yours sky high if you can make it hard yet again, honey," she said. She squeezed and kneaded and pulled on it repeatedly with her whole hand. I couldn't.
"I have only one question, sweetheart," I said. I couldn't remember undressing Tricia or undoing any of my own clothes, yet the two of us were now lying tangled together utterly naked, legs tossed across each other's legs. My bra -- Amy's bra -- was on the floor still half-inside my half- buttoned shirt. Can I have taken both off together over my head? My hosiery was in ruins. "Just one question. Then you can tell Amy yourself what you're proposing for us. If you're going to drive her to Madison to look at an apartment, you two will need to talk. You've never wanted to talk to her before, you know."
"You're right, Andy," Tricia said soberly. "What's your question?"
"What about me, Trish? I'm here too, you know. While Amy is making a life for herself in Madison, what about us? Do we live separately? Divorce? Is that what you have in mind? Where do I live?"
"Oh, honey!" My Tricia's voice was so instantly concerned! "No, no, no, no! I don't want you to leave me. Not ever! It's just that, well, darling, I know now that I have to share you. I've been sharing you for years without admitting it to myself. Just this past week I've been utterly without you while you were being Amy, isn't that so? And without complaint, because apart from Amy you're an altogether satisfactory husband. Maybe a little bit because of Amy. Maybe a lot! You've suggested that sometimes, haven't you? And last night I know I was sleeping with Amy, partly, wasn't I. She was so excited inside you that she wouldn't let you quit. I had to help her take off her bra so I could suck on her nipples! That made her ecstatic, practically delirious! She made the most marvelous mewing sounds, and she held my mouth to her breasts as if I were a baby! I don't know where you were at all just then, Andy, but Amy was just wonderful!"
"Well, dearest, life is compromise. I'm giving you up to Amy on a kind of trial basis. Amy won't live here any more. You'll stay with her and be her whenever you wish for as long as you wish, if she'll have you. You'll always be welcome here whenever you want to be you. You and Amy will have to work it out between you! Maybe weekdays with Amy and the weekends here? Or vice versa? Or a week each month at one place and then the other? If you should ever decide to become all Amy, she'll be welcome to visit here any time. I'm sure we can be really good friends!"
Then she added, matter of factly, "There are some legal implications to giving Amy the right to be altogether herself, to own her own property and so forth. But they don't include divorce, honey. You'll see. Nothing so radical! It's much simpler!"
I didn't want to ask her, but I had to. "Trish, if you're now reconciled to 'sharing' me as you call it with another woman, namely myself, is it because you feel I should share you too? With someone else?" I swallowed and closed my eyes and plunged ahead. "Is there someone else?" Having said it, I opened my eyes again and tried to read her face.
She looked at me with the strangest expression, seemed about to say something, then stopped herself. "Honey," she said instead. "We're married. Marriage is founded on trust. Do you have to ask that question? You said you had only one question, and I've already answered it I think. And now another one? Such a huge one?"
"No, I don't have to ask it." I noticed that she wasn't answering it, and now I was certain I didn't want her to answer it.
"You might have asked me that years ago when you first took Amy into our lives. But you didn't. Why not?"
It had never occurred to me to ask her such a question, that was why not. "Because as you say, we're married," was what I replied. I was no more sure what that answer meant than when she said it. "We trust each other."
"Yes. When we marry, we have ideas about each other that we make up out of our own needs, hoping they'll be met. We may be deceived. But through love we find ways to satisfy each other's needs anyhow. I'm happy to suggest a way for you to satisfy your need to live as Amy, sweetheart. I'm willing to share you with that other woman you live as. That may answer your question, or it may not."
Then she was silent. I'd decided not to ask her anything more, when suddenly she volunteered more. "You should know this, sweetheart. When you went to that first crossdresser's meeting a few years ago, I felt hurt and angry and a little betrayed. You remember? Well, I was having lunch with Carol one afternoon while you were away, and she sensed that something was wrong. I broke down and told her everything. All about you!" She paused and assessed my reaction. Carol was another partner in her firm, her best friend, recently divorced and frequently out on the town with different men each time, as far as I could tell. I liked her, she was sensible. In turn she's always seemed somehow amused by me, appreciative yet gently teasing. Could this be why?
"You told Carol that I like to dress up as a woman."
"Yes." She was watching my face closely.
"And she said?"
"Carol just commented that a girl's got to do what a girl's got to do, and she told me not to worry about it. 'It can be very nice, sleeping with a girl,' she said. 'Have you done it with Andy when he's a girl?'
"I told her 'No.' I'd always felt uneasy about sex with Amy before then, remember?"
"'Come over tonight, and I'll show you what it's like,' she said. And that night I did, and she did."
I didn't understand, and it showed in my face.
"We slept together," Tricia repeated. "We made love. Me and Carol! Your wife and Carol! It was wonderful! Divine! Hello?"
I came down from my uncomprehending shock and tried to recover. "That one time," I managed to blurt out.
"No, not just that one time," Trish said, her voice taking on a touch of patience and maybe also pity. "Ever since then, not too often, only whenever we were both in the mood." She saw I was still baffled. "A few times each month. Maybe a little more often. You see, Andy, Carol's bi-sexual. I am too, a little, which may be why living in a romantic way with a man named Amy has never really troubled me. And that's why I can share you with another woman now, with Amy. Because you've been sharing me with another woman too, now and then. All right?"
It wasn't but it was. I composed my face to signify consent of sorts.
"There's another reason why this is a good time to liberate Amy, Andy. Apart from issues of respectability, or Amy's ultimate happiness." She took a deep breath and looked at me, weighing her words. "Andy, for the next few months, maybe as long as a year, we won't be spending much time together anyhow. It's work. I've been promoted. I'm about to become incredibly busy. I have some vast new responsibilities."
She went into a declamatory mode, as if she'd already given this speech several times already. Probably she had. "My firm has just landed a very big client. Magnum Enterprises. The Fortune Five Hundred corporation. They have all kinds of legal problems far beyond the routines their legal staff can manage! Most of my partners in various specialties will be hard at work straightening out Magnum's affairs. I've been asked to coordinate all of the processes, to keep everyone in step with policy decisions and at the same time to keep the client happy. I guess you could say that I'm the Magnum account executive. Their new general counsel. I'm in charge."
"We'll be taking on three new Associates to help me, and during the next months, what with getting on top of the job and getting he right legal actions under way, I won't even have time to breathe. I'll be working late, mostly. I won't be home for your delicious dinners, not most evenings, nor on weekends either. Or were they Amy's dinners? I'll be out of town at the Magnum plant or at their corporate headquarters for weeks at a time. So we'd rarely see each other anyhow. We'd have to put our marriage on hold anyhow, even if there were no Amy."
She took a deep breath, then said it, in a grand act of selfless renunciation. "Honey, I'll be neglecting you utterly for months and months! But it will be some consolation for me to know that you're not miserable without me. That you're with Amy, and being Amy, and that Amy is enjoying herself! She always does enjoy herself, doesn't she?"
I suppose so. I was getting so addled by these references to me and Amy as if we were two different people yet the same person that I couldn't think straight. And I was still floating in a glorious euphoria! An opportunity to live as Amy full time, not just in the house, not just for a week, but whenever I wished for as long as I wished! With my wife's blessing! At her urging! To make an alternative life for myself as Amy! Trish couldn't have been more generous! And she knew it!
"I know I'm taking a terrible chance," she said. "I know that you may disappear altogether into Amy. I'm lending you to her, and you may never come back to me. You may become altogether Amy, once she's herself. I've always been afraid of that. Ever since we were first married. Well, I've had to tell myself over and over, if that happens, it happens. If that happens, then we'll see what we'll see."
She took my face between her hands and tilted it up to her face, and seriously kissed me on one eyelid. I closed my eyes, and she kissed my other eyelid. When I opened them again I saw her looking at me so seriously, so sweetly! "If that happens, sweetheart," she said slowly, "you won't be here any more to worry about it. So don't worry about it. Then there'll be just us girls." And she kissed me sweetly, softly, on my lips. And I kissed her back, softly. I felt so lucky to have a marvelous wife like this! And to have Amy too! To be Amy! My eyes teared and my face began to break up with joy!
"I need to get back to work now, honey," she said gently. "Why don't you pack everything of Amy's except what she'll need to wear tomorrow. A high-powered business suit I should think, and heels, and a few pieces of her better jewelry. That Bergdorf tweed ought to do well. Tomorrow Amy enters the real world. She'll need to charm and impress court clerks and bankers so they'll fall all over themselves to accommodate us. Though I'll do the talking, and I have no doubt about the outcome. I'll attend to the paperwork for you, and tomorrow I'll drive you and Amy to Madison to check out this condo apartment. Then if it's all right I'll leave you two there. I hear it's furnished, complete, exactly the way the previous owner left it. If all goes well, I'll fly back here on my own tomorrow night and leave you and Amy the car. And leave you to be Amy as long as you wish."
The thought of our separation for an unknown time suddenly seized her, and she turned and wrapped herself around me. Clutching me tightly, she said, "Oh honey, do come back and visit often. You'll always be welcome. I'll miss you, even though I'll know you're in the best of hands." She grinned maliciously. "Your own!"
Miraculously, my cock began to grow again. Mine, not Amy's, and not the hybrid who had kept us groping each other all last night. I entered Tricia again, this time in her wet velvet pussy, and I pressed my cum and semen splattered belly against hers, and we worked our hips slowly into a rotating liquid rhythm. This time, as we made love we looked steadily into each other's eyes, reading and rereading there each other's love and caring and concern. Not until we both came, not violently this time but as a beautifully completed embrace, did either of us close our eyes. And then we closed them blissfully. We each knew we loved each other, never more completely than just then.
iii.
I must have been more jet lagged than I realized, because I fell asleep again. The telephone woke me.
"Honey? You're finally up? You looked so dear sleeping! I've missed that all week, but I guess I'd better get used to missing it for a while more. I realized after I left that I may not have been clear about how you dress tomorrow. Remember that you'll leave here as Andy, but you'll arrive in Madison as Amy. That's who you are here, and that's who you'll be there, and no one else. So leave out a set of clothes for each of you. I've arranged a stop half-way where you can change over and pretty yourself up. When we get to Madison my plan is, first stop at the County Clerk's office and the Courthouse to register some papers and signatures, I'm setting them up now, and the Motor Vehicle people, I have papers for short cutting any problems there, so Amy can have her own driver's license, then the Bank, and finally the real estate people to show us the condo. They tell me here that there's no question, that the apartment's a steal, that your sister will love it! Did I mention that Amy is your sister? Unmarried, same last name, it saves fuss. It's amusing to think that if Andy ever decides to have sex with her, it would be incest in a way. There's all the more reason for Amy to forget about Andy and just do her own thing. Then, my darling, when the apartment's yours, I'll take myself to the airport and leave you to begin your adventure. This is really so exciting!"
"O yes, we're having some people over tonight to give Andy a kind of going away party. A few friends, neighbors, and associates. So be sure you're Andy at least this one last time. Take down that darling hairdo one more time. All right? I'll tell you why later. I think you'll be pleased. It'll make things a lot easier for both of us afterward."
She was in her efficient lawyer mode, obviously. Making plans, being persuasive and yet matter of fact. I trusted her. I wasn't fully awake. "OK!" I replied.
"Good!" was all she said, and hung up.
All through the rest of the day I packed up Amy's things except her outfit for her official debut in Madison. And a purse to get her through the day. Her essentials were still packed and in the car, a week's worth of selected conference dresses and party gowns. Most of her wardrobe went neatly into cartons I'd saved from our move to this house, and then into the car. As I emptied my boudoir bureau drawers of their lovely little hoards of accumulated panties and teddies and slips and pantyhose and waist cinchers and so on, it was exciting to realize for the first time that these were no longer optional gear. They were my wardrobe. I was cutting off alternatives. Andy's clothes would remain here.
I made a few discoveries. Some of my sexiest lace panties had found their way into Trish's bureau drawers. Probably courtesy of our part-time cleaning help. Some dresses and blouses and skirts were so unforgivably unfashionable I could never wear them again, not in public, so even though they were relatively unworn they went into a box marked for the Salvation Army. I came upon my younger self, or Amy's, in the form of a stretchy black satin micro-mini, one of several dresses I'd bought when I liked imagining myself a slut seduced into unspeakably obscene practices in private dance clubs. I reluctantly added that to the Salvation Army box, then took it back, to remind myself that the onetime aspiring sexy whore of my fantasy life was now actually about to become a respectable woman full time. My eyes brimmed and my heart nearly stopped with joy as I realized that. That Trish was not only allowing me to do this, she'd in fact proposed it! I was humbled and speechless.
As I packed Amy's cosmetics, I wondered what Tricia had been using all week in my absence. Had she finally acquired her own, now that she was lawyering like a lady in full regalia. And if so, as her personal beautician I was curious, what shades had she chosen for herself? So I went to the bathroom off our master bedroom to see what was there. Nothing new in the medicine chest. The bed hadn't been touched last night of course, and it was still rumpled from her previous nights when I hadn't been there to tidy it up. I pulled it together, and found a pair of lace panties wrinkled into the bed sheets. Split crotch panties, really down and deliciously dirty! Were they mine? Had Trish missed me so much during my week away she'd taken to wearing even my most daring undies in my absence. Or had she taken them to bed to remind herself that this too was part of me. Were they more evidence that she now accepted Amy for what she was, and me for what I am, after years of reluctance, then indifference, then mere toleration, and only now loving support?
No, wait! I'd already packed the only pair of split crotch panties I owned, acquired originally to wear with my slut outfit. Were these Carol's? Did Tricia humble herself to lick Carol's lower regions while Carol never even troubled to undress herself? Or were they Tricia's, to provide Carol's tongue access to her own dear little clit?
Or someone else's tongue? I decided not to think about it! It could drive you mad!
I finally found Trish's own make-up neatly arrayed across the entire top of her bureau, tastefully chosen shades of all sorts, pale beiges and roses for daytime and dark mauves and wines for evening, different shades of eye shadow for different tones and colors of outfits. Only this past week she had equipped herself for all sorts of occasions, I thought. No wonder she felt she could manage without her espoused beautician. There was even a little cloth zip case sitting there, a travelling kit of color-coordinated bare essentials, mascara, eye-liner, shadow, lipstick, blush, and foundation. Inside one of the zipper pockets was a handwritten note that read, "Love, Greg."
I knew no Greg. They were this season's colors, browns and umbres, brand new cosmetics, never touched. Some rejected gift one of Trish's women friends had handed down to Trish now that she was using make-up? A gift from a boyfriend some secretary had decided to side-slip as a gift to her boss? Again I decided not to think about it right now.
Finally everything was packed and out of the house and loaded into and onto our car, five bags and a dozen boxes of women's things for Amy, my computer and a box of manuals and disks for my work. Anything overlooked I could get on my next visit.
My next "visit"! An odd word. This was my home, the place I returned to from wherever and called home. But when I next returned it would be as a visitor. As Amy? Obviously, I hadn't packed to be anyone else! But if I live in Madison full time as Amy, how can I ever return here? How can I dare let myself be seen in this neighborhood as Amy, coming and going? Sooner or later someone would wonder and suspect!
I put the question to Tricia the moment she got home.
"Sweetheart, that's why we're having your farewell party tonight. Andy has been called away to consult on the construction of a massive Saudi pipeline and refinery employing thousands of workers from around the world. He'll be gone for many months, and I'm happy for him but also distraught. Fortunately, I'll be almost as busy and exhausted as Andy, organizing my new client's affairs. That much is true. Now and then Andy's sister Amy will look in on me to see if I'm all right. She's a lovely woman, a little younger than Andy and a little priggish, but a dear. Maybe she'll even stay with me for a few days now and then, Andy?"
What a clever woman!
"That's a wonderful cover story, Trish. But won't Andy be visiting you here now and then too?"
"Now and then." She looked at me seriously. "I'd thought he would often, originally, but now I don't think so. Not too often, honey, or things could get awkward. Among other things your cover will begin to collapse. And Amy should have complete freedom for once, unencumbered by Andy. Of course Amy will always be welcome here!"
"She'll want to visit you often, darling!" I told her. Why did I feel this was a kind of farewell? "You're giving up so much so I can indulge myself as Amy! I owe you so much! Tell me anything you want in return and it's yours!" I kissed her and held her close.
She buried her face in my shoulder, then looked up into my face. Some mischievous thought had crossed her mind, obviously, and left its shadow in her expression. But all she said was, "I want you the way I want you, that's what I want, darling. I'm getting that. Right now I want you happy! I'll tell you when I want something else!" We just stood embracing.
And my beautiful wife couldn't have been more affectionate all evening. Trish had indeed arranged for many friends and acquaintances to drop by to wish me God Speed, and I thanked them. Some joked about my future as an enormously wealthy Sheik or a Pasha, and took note that the Koran allowed me three more wives. I told them that when I could I'd invite them over to eat lambs eyeballs and other delicacies, and then asked them earnestly to look after Tricia. They all agreed. A few of Trish's law partners and their wives showed up too, people I didn't know. They assured me I was fortunate in my marriage, and that I shouldn't worry at all about Trish, she was superb at looking after herself and her clients both. The usual. We all felt grateful to my sister, who would look in on Trish now and then and urge her to take care of herself and not work so hard.
She introduced me to a law partner named Georgy, pronounced with a hard "G" in the Russian manner, who immediately instructed me to call him Greg. A large, vigorous looking man with a slight accent and his hair slicked back as if he were an Andorran or Graustarkian Prince. He congratulated me on my beautiful and intelligent wife, and told me how fortunate they all felt to be associated with her. I told him I appreciated that he felt that way, and on the spur of the moment, while handing him his second drink and myself my fourth, I asked him if he was the "Greg" who had given her a make-up kit.
He seemed puzzled. "Even diamonds are an unsuitable gift for a wife like yours," he said with old world courtliness. "But last Christmas I did give the firm's secretaries and all the women Associates make-up kits. And all the men tie tacks. Why do you ask?"
I told him I'd seen one on Trish's bureau with a note from "Greg" and had wondered. He was vastly amused! "It was your wife Trish who suggested that I give those make-up kits to all the secretaries, when I asked her what gifts might be suitable. 'Flatter their femininity,' she told me. So I did. With an affectionate note in each. Some of them thought cosmetics were too personal a gift, and returned the kits. Trish's secretary I remember was unimpressed -- she told me that those weren't her colors. But most of the girls were quite pleased." He winked at me. "And some still are, if you know what I mean." I grinned and winked back at him, two men together with manly understanding of each other. What a sleaze! He clapped me once on the back, and then we turned to talk to other guests.
Carol was there of course, in an orange cocktail dress with a skin-tight bodice and a flounced skirt, an available divorcee surrounded by men who felt flattered whenever she responded flirtatiously in some way to some quip they'd just made. "Andy honey!" she called to me as I passed by. She rotated her hips toward me. "I understand we won't be seeing you for a while! Are you excited? All packed and ready?"
"Yes," I said a little tartly. "I suppose you'll look after Trish while I'm gone?"
"Depend on it, dear!" she replied, her eyes gleaming. "I intend to see to her every need personally, and you know what those are. Lots of us here want to do just that. Isn't that reassuring? It'll be especially nice for Trish!"
I glanced at Tricia, across the room chatting animatedly with two partners who were leaning deferentially over her. I had nothing to say. Carol moved in for the kill.
"I'm especially looking forward to meeting this mystery woman, your sister, whenever she visits. Getting to know her intimately. I saw her once I think, standing in your front door in her house coat, taking in the newspaper. A lovely woman I recall."
"My sister?"
"Yes, your sister Amy! I've heard so much about her!" Carol cocked her head back. "I hear she's pretty, and likes being pretty. And that she's into girls, doesn't even give blow jobs, not yet anyhow. That'll change, of course. All girls do try men, you know, sooner or later. Well, don't worry your pretty little head about her, Andy! Enjoy yourself! I think it's just wonderful that you're doing this! You're a credit to your sex!"
And she laughed at her own joke, and disappeared again into a swirl of men eager to impress her.
When the last of the crowd disappeared my heart swelled in my chest in eager anticipation. Now the adventure really would begin! I hugged Trish and she hugged me back, her face snug on my shoulder. Then we went together to our bedroom. When I'd made the bed earlier I'd left that pair of my panties on her pillow, rinsed out and dried of course, so she'd know I'd seen them and that I appreciated it, that she'd wanted to wear a souvenir of me when I wasn't there. When I saw her staring at them I told her as much. "Will you wear them to bed every night?" I asked her. "It would be nice to imagine that you're doing that."
"If you want me to, yes," she replied. "I'll dress sexy for you all the time you're gone, and I'm glad you want me to. Just imagine me that way, when you're feeling lonely, sweety! It may help you through the first few weeks, before Amy gets to know other people -- she's bound to feel somewhat lonely at first. Did you leave me any other sexy things to wear?"
She began to kiss me more passionately at that point, and conversation ceased. Maybe I was imagining another woman, Carol, in Trish's secret places, or maybe other unimaginable things, but I found I was frenzied. I can't tell you who went down on who more frequently that night, or who orgasmed more often, and I have no idea if Amy was watching me amusedly or jealously, or if it was Amy and not me who licked out Trish through her split crotch at my insistence, till she was screaming so loud and so frequently I was afraid she'd wake the neighbors. I lubricated Trish lavishly with cum front and rear, and then pushed my cock into both places more often, apparently, than I later remembered. She told me all this as she shook me awake to begin the extraordinary day ahead.
As I packed my carry-on bag with a few last-minute odds and ends, Trish handed me her now infamous cosmetic kit. "Here, sweetheart. Add this to your collection. Georgy was handing these around last Christmas, and I ended up with an extra nobody wanted. I can't use these colors, they're for brunettes like you, not blondes. You've taught me well, I must say!"
"Thank you," I replied. "But earth tones go with all hair colors." Then as I opened it as if to see what it was, I realized that I'd blown my cover -- how did I know they were earth tones? She didn't seem to notice.
Greg's note was gone, replaced by one that read "Love to my sweetheart as she begins her great adventure, Trish". She was flattering my femininity! My eyes overwhelmed with tears and I swept her into my arms. "This is the most beautiful gift I've ever received!" I told her.
"They aren't that expensive, honey," she said, struggling against my embrace at first, then yielding. "They're excellent cosmetics, but you know, it's a Christmas promotional item!"
"No, you know what I mean," I said.
"Oh!" she said, realizing what I meant. That I was as delighted as any woman alive to receive a gift telling me that I'm beautiful and meant to make me even more beautiful. "Oh, I'm glad you're pleased. I suppose we should both thank Georgy for it. It was his gift originally. I think he used them to seduce office staff."
"Yes, but the gift itself was your idea. He told me."
"Mmmmmm," she said. "I suppose so. Are you ready to leave now, honey? I'll go get the car."
Trish drove. I turned to look back at the house where we'd been so happy, and I realized that I wasn't sorry to leave it. I could return of course, and I would. As Amy. That house had been Amy's prison, and now I was setting her free. I was setting myself free. Sooner than I'd thought, it seems, and in ways I hadn't anticipated. It was ironic that now Amy was free to come and go as she chose, and it was Andy who would need to sneak in and out or else explain why he wasn't at that moment in Saudi Arabia. Even so, as Andy I never felt closer to Tricia than at that moment.
iv.
Halfway to Madison we skirted the suburb of a fair-sized town, Trish pulled off the Interstate and pulled into a strip mall of small local stores -- shoe repair, liquor, a boutique for Wedding Gowns and another for "ElitePetite" women, that sort of thing. She parked in front of a "CurlyGirly's Salon."
"How cute!" I commented, looking up at the sign, wondering what we were doing here. We usually shared the same attitude toward commercial bad taste pretending to be wit. I assumed that somehow I'd be changing clothes and identities at a gas station.
"Hop out, curlygirly," Trish said. "This is where it happens. Say goodbye to your manhood, honey!"
She smiled reassuringly at me, but her voice sounded firm.
"This is where I lose my balls?" I picked up on her statement playfully. I hoped playfully.
"You bet, honey. You might just as well, for all the good they'll do you from now on. Girls don't need balls. Here's where you change your clothes and your looks and your identity. This time all the way, until the new you clicks into place. Bring Amy's outfit with you. Right here and now your boudoir girlfriend passes through her adolescence and young womanhood and replaces you as a fully grown mature woman. As Amy. Don't be put off by the location of this shop -- it's nationally known for its work performing problem makeovers. The women who work here are very good. They're accustomed to men and women who would rather look like women and men. I made a lot of inquiries last week while you were away, and as you'll find out soon I've done some very fancy legal footwork too preparing this condo idea for you too!"
"All before asking me?" I was feeling a little pushed.
"As my gift to you, sweetheart. My farewell gift, in a way. You've helped me look prettier, more feminine, and I've learned to enjoy it. You've been my only husband, and that makes you very special! I had to return the favor before you disappeared, didn't I? Should I have wondered what you'd say when I asked you if you wanted to give Amy an independent life? When I suggested you try this?"
"No, Trish. I still love the idea. So much I still have butterflies in my tummy."
She opened her arms. "Give us a kiss, lover!" I did. Twice. And hugged her, as much for courage as for consolation. Then we went in together.
There were several women there wearing pale green smocks, and several others being worked on. The customers were elderly women getting their thinning hair curled, as everywhere the bread and butter of the salon trade. A large, friendly woman came forward to us, also wearing pale green and holding out a pink smock for me. "You're Tricia, of course. And you're Amy. A new woman! Wonderful! Well, I want this to be as joyous a coming out as you can have. I'm Janie. We'll be seeing each other weekly from now on for your electrolysis and touch ups and so on. I'm sure we'll get on just marvelously! Have you been to a salon like ours before?"
"Yes," I confessed. "At transgender meetings. To have my hair set, and for temporary nails."
"Well, there's nothing temporary about this morning's work, dear. We start with a permanent. Is this the day you finally become a ravishing blonde?"
It had never occurred to me! A really radical change. Wild! I couldn't think. Trish merely said, "She can't. Her clothes and makeup are all keyed to her hair color as it is. Or close to it."
"Well, another time, if you should ever feel bored with yourself. That's one way a girl can always give herself a lift. Change her hair, change her boyfriend. In your case, change her sex! Take off your clothes over there, honey, and put this on, and we'll get started. Do you have a boyfriend yet?"
I glanced at Trish. She was highly amused.
"Not at the moment, Janie," I said in the slightly melodic, teasing voice I used at gender meetings. "I'm still experimenting with girls."
"Well, you'll get over it I suspect," Janie said. "Most women do. You can do more with boys. Or strictly speaking, you can get them to do more for you." She smiled to herself and pulled her shoulders back, her breasts suddenly jutting way forward. "Yes," she said, reminiscing. "The poor dears."
I had a sudden vision of Janie in black leather, looking down with sympathetic contempt on some naked male slave grovelling at her feet while he licked them. She was that kind of woman. I felt glad then that I was a woman too, not a submissive wimp man. I could at least preserve my dignity
Then to Trish she said, "Wives often want a little girl look for their husbands to help keep them in line. Their husbands of course always want to look like debauched sluts. You say though that Amy is a professional woman? Not a slut or a little girl?"
"Not right now, not yet," Trish replied. "She's not a prude, mind you. She's just been set free from her marriage, and she's not averse to playing the field for the time being. With a certain confidence in her look and her walk. Busy, so let's make her nails permanent and chip-proof. Some indelible tinting in her make-up wouldn't be amiss either. So she can wake up in the morning looking fresh, if there's anyone there to see her." She grinned at a stray thought. "Make her face kiss-proof!"
"No girl's face is kiss-proof," Janie replied, also amused. "If it's the right kind of kiss. Nor pussy-proof either. Now just sit down here Amy honey, and we'll see what we've got. Nice, thick hair -- you're lucky!"
Two hours later I'd become what Trish had ordered up. I had breasts glued to my chest and "pussy panties" reshaping my crotch, holding my balls up between my legs and pulling my prick down toward a little pee hole in a slit on the very bottom. I realized that some hapless swain could cop a feel of my crotch now and find both my slit and a clit -- a little rubber nub -- and never be the wiser if he didn't press further. I was wearing a pretty salmon silk blouse with a huge self bow, my Bergdorf tweed suit with a wickedly short skirt only halfway down my thighs. But sensible two inch heels, and a single long gold chain. My ears were pierced, long a secret desire I'd never dared fulfill, and they were filled with bright gold posts I'd wear until they healed. Then I could wear any ear rings at all! I looked smashing! I loved it!
"So now I'm a divorced professional playing the field?" I asked Tricia as I quickly daubed on my own make-up, Janie watching and for the most part approving. She pointed out that my now-pencil-thin arched eyebrows needed tinting as well as combing, and I had to agree. We agreed to disagree about lip liner -- I thought it unnecessary.
"Yes, honey. I was teasing but I meant it. Amy isn't exactly married." Tricia spoke carefully as we got back into the car. "She may have felt she was, but now she's out in this world as her own person. Otherwise why are we doing this? Forget Andy. I already have."
She seemed uncomfortable when she heard herself say this, and then changed the subject. "I love your hair lightened just that much, Amy. And curved instead of curled. I think that was a good decision. And it's a nice cut. Up, it would grace any office. Down, it's quite romantic. Do you remember how to comb it out either way?"
"Yes," I said. "You insisted that Janie show me." I wasn't quite finished though. We were now back on the interstate and back up to speed. "I'd anticipated a short no-frills hairdo, " I said. "Comb it with your fingers. This cut will take work, pinning it up evenings or rolling and combing it out each morning. Why did you want it left long and romantic? For playing the field?" I asked. Secure in Tricia's love, deep in her loving gift to me of the freedom to be Amy, I thought I was teasing her.
"You're a single woman, Amy. Why not? Just look at you! You're gorgeous! Of course for playing the field!" She glanced at me, then back at the road. The mid-morning traffic had picked up and needed her attention. "Chin a little large, but make-up handles that. I'd kill for those cheekbones. Did you diet all this past week while you were away?"
I couldn't tell if she was teasing me back. "Yes," I said seriously. "I had some form-fitting outfits that were a little snug. By the end of the week they slid over me quite nicely. You're saying you think it's all right for me to flash myself at other women?"
Another quick glance at me. "You'll attract certain kinds of women whether you flash at them or not. No, I meant other men," she said. "I know men aren't your thing right now, but every girl tries them on for size sooner or later, and most women stick with them. Even develop favorites. I did." She flicked her eyes at me yet again.
"You mean me," I said.
"No, honey. Not you. I mean Andy. But Andy's gone. When I register some court orders I'm carrying here there won't ever have been a boy named Andy. Only a girl named Amy. You. Born that way."
"Isn't that a little extreme, Trish? I'm not all Amy you know. There's always some Andy down inside me. I still enjoy being Andy. For some things he's essential."
"Of course you enjoy him. We all enjoy our men. But you're now all Amy, sweetie, and if Andy persists and asserts himself we'll have to deal with him by other means. You need a single legal identity in order to own property, have a bank account, pay your taxes, and so forth. You can't be two people. For your consulting, you can still sign yourself 'doing business as' Andy. Women often take male names for business purposes, for obvious reasons. But you'll really need to tell your clients that your associate Amy is as good or better than you and deserves their business. For everything but your consultations you're Amy. It's official. That's what I was doing yesterday. In and out of court, making it official. I could still do it yesterday with Andy's unlimited power of attorney. Remember? We gave those signing instruments to each other soon after we got married? Well, I've now closed out everything of Andy's and Andy is now null and void! Amy is herself, and there is no Andy. Andy is now legally Amy, who has always been a woman.
I was sober. A thought struck me. "Andy is now legally Amy? A man is now legally a woman? Then are we still married, Trish?"
"Of course we are, sweetheart! In my mind we are! I told you that yesterday! But legally? No. Not any longer. When we changed your birth certificate, our marriage simply ceased to exist. I told you we didn't need a divorce, didn't I?"
That was sobering. "I didn't want that," I said.
"Maybe not. But you've got it." Was that a flash of determination in her sympathetic glance at me? "You're better off for it, honey. You don't want to feel bound. You're too young to be married. You have your whole life as a woman ahead of you! Play the field!"
I was solemn for a moment. Then I had to ask. Again. "So when you tell me to play the field, Trish, you really are telling me to enjoy other women?"
We were now approaching Madison, and the traffic took all of her attention. She slowed, and changed lanes, and watched other cars as we moved onto an off ramp.
"Of course, honey. If women are your thing. And men too, when you're ready!"
I didn't know what to say. This wasn't what I'd anticipated, trying out life as Amy. I'd somehow imagined I suppose that everything to do with Andy would be put on hold until my honeymoon as Amy ended, or until Amy became my main me and Andy an occasional state of mind. If that ever happened. Or something. I wasn't sure what I'd expected. A long real-time gender enactment, then back to who I really was, probably. I was confused, so I wasn't sure I heard what she next said.
"You see, Amy, you already know about living the way women live, arranging your hair and shopping the sales, and so forth. And I assume all last week people treated you like a woman and you behaved like one. So that part's not new. What would be new for you is sex as a woman. Making a man feel solicitous and attentive, eager to please you, and then enjoying it as he pleases you. Frankly, Amy, it would relieve my mind, knowing you're out there with other people enjoying yourself. I am. I do. I have. Why shouldn't you?"
"What," I asked her? "You've what?"
Another quick glance at me, this time sympathetic yet pitying, as we pulled up to the Madison County Building and she pulled into a parking slot, parked, turned off the engine, and set the hand brake.
"Played the field, Amy. Slept with other men. Enjoyed them. Lots of them! This is something I'd never tell Andy, of course, it would crush him, the poor dear. But I feel closer to you, Amy. I think you can understand this, woman to woman."
She took a deep breath, turned to look directly at me, and then began. "Ever since Andy's first gender meeting a few years ago, Amy. You remember? I was so sure he was going there to get his balls cut off and come back to me a mincing Drag Queen? I'd been resenting this Amy person ever since I first heard about her. I resented that Andy devoted so much time to her. I resented that Andy claimed to be her. I wanted a man. So while he was away being Amy I confided in Carol, and she provided me some wonderful consolations. I think you know about them. She made me feel alive again, desirable as a woman! And she suggested that I confirm those feelings by looking for a man. I did, and I found one. It was quite satisfactory! Different. I spent that whole weekend with him. The sex with him was very good, and I've never regretted it!"
She smiled to herself in a self-satisfied way, then continued. "Amy, I've seen him a few times since then, and I can say with perfect assurance that he hasn't in the slightest displaced Andy in my affections. You remember when Andy returned from his meeting feeling less ashamed to be Amy? Less ashamed to be a woman? I loved Andy all the more then, because that made me feel less ashamed to be fucking another man. It was as if Andy had told me it was all right. We both of us were doing what we had to do."
She sighed. "Well, honey, then I found other men. I was never promiscuous, but men are all different. Some are rough and some are gentle, and I got to like both the slamming and the caressing. Some have incredibly huge cocks, you'll be amazed how you feel when some are stuffed into you. Others make marvelous moves when they're in you. But all men have huge egos. I had to dominate them from the start. Even then, I doubt I slept with any one man more than a half-dozen times, because men do get ideas. They begin to claim exclusive privileges, and that's when I need to drop them. I might have dropped even you if you'd known about my little adventures and objected to them, but now we'll never know, will we?"
"No," I said. I didn't know what else to say.
"I always finish each day at the office by fucking my stud-of-the-week, it's so relaxing when you work under pressure. Then come home to you and work out and shower, and then maybe play with you a little too. You could always make me feel loved, and when you were licking out the last of whatever my lovers had left in my pussy, it was as if you were enjoying them with me. I'll miss that. I owe you so much!"
"But oh, Amy, I do love attracting and controlling different men! Tricia the temptress, using dramatic make-up to seduce all kinds of men, to bring them groveling to my feet. Some quite literally! You were so helpful, darling, when I wanted to seduce certain clients. It was your make-up that did it as often as not. Now you can do it for your own benefit!" She looked up at me. "Not that I needed to seduce men. There's no shortage of horny partners in my firm, or of Associates eager to please me, looking for an inside track." She smiled at her little pun.
I was depressed and furious, but tried to remember how Amy would listen to these revelations. Probably her curiosity would be tickled. Amy was an innocent. "Was Greg one of your lovers, honey?," I asked.
"Not a lover, Amy. I used him for quick sex, once. He has a continental touch. You know, hand-kissing, and ass-kissing too if you've wondered about him that way. But he can be such a fool. He told me last night that you found his note in that make-up kit, one of those free things Helena Rubenstein or someone hands out now and then. He gave it to me as a thank you gesture after I tried out his cock and found that it lacked sincerity. He's such a gentleman! I never bothered to open it, so I never saw the note. But after he told that stupid story about secretarial gifts and so on, I had to stick with it. At least it was credible."
Again she sighed. "I was going to tell you these things later today, Amy, part of a pep talk to encourage you to do the same thing. Forget your so- called obligations, live completely as Amy, use this chance to discover and enjoy your most profound emotional depths as a woman. With women and with men both. To think that Greg almost blew it last night! What an asshole! I'm now doubly glad I reamed him with a huge dildo that one time I was with him, when I was annoyed that he didn't seem to know the proper uses of a cock and a pussy! I remember he couldn't walk for a week!"
She smiled, then looked concerned. "Amy, I haven't been fair to you. It was only this past week, while you were away at your meeting and I was in bed with a different man every night, that I realized you should be sharing some of the fun I was having. I talked it over with Carol. She doubted that Andy would be willing to swing with me -- he's such a conventional prig. So she suggested that I set Amy free. And now I have. You're a woman now, Amy. Enjoy other women if you will, but at least one man. Force yourself, if you must! I want you to, so I'll feel a little less guilty about my own escapades. See what happens! Men can be so wonderful! So many different kinds of cocks, and there are so many different ways a girl can enjoy them!"
I'd been so happy earlier! Now the pit of my stomach was churning!
Trish put her purse in her lap, ready to get out of the car. "Time to do our paperwork now, Amy. These need filing. And you'll need a driver's license and a bank account in your own name before we can talk to the real estate agent. Just follow my lead and sign your name when and where I tell you. Remember which name, honey!"
I hesitated a moment longer. Then, as I'd done before leaving anywhere or proceeding anywhere all through the previous week, I took a mirror out of my purse and began to touch up my hairdo and my make-up. My hair *was* a pretty color, no longer dark but a rich brown with golden highlights. I pulled down a ringlet in front of each ear. I'm still young, I was thinking. Attractive. Even pretty.
"Trish," I said.
"Yes, honey," she replied. She was attentive, yet as always in delicate situations, relaxed, matter-of-fact.
"All those evenings when I made you up to look beautiful and presentable before you went out to meet clients? Taught you how to look responsible and yet feminine, even provocative? Remember that stretch of time when you joked about how looking provocative had provoked lots of new business?"
"Yes?" She was waiting for my question.
"You weren't really joking then, were you."
"No, honey. I brought in a lot of new business then. And you helped me. You were essential. I'd been careless with my looks, and I'd let myself seem much too distant. Who but you could have told me that a wide-eyed little girl look brings out a protective instinct in men and turns their brains to mush? And who but you could have shown me how to look like a wide-eyed little girl with only a few dabs of eye shadow?"
"Were all of them clients? The men you went out to meet all those evenings after I made up your face?"
"Most of them. Most of them were also clients. But honey, if you're asking whether you were primping me for the men who were making Andy a cuckold, the answer is yes. Yes, Andy was setting himself up! Over and over! He might just as well have been jerking them off and sucking their cocks to make them nice and hard and horny for me, because when he finished with me and they saw me, that's what they were. It's ironic. Andy was my live-in girlfriend in dresses while I was out fucking anything in pants. Including women. Remember, night before last, when you were still wearing your bra and pantyhose, that didn't stop either of us, did it? You yourself taught me that there are certain advantages to the ways women make love! I'm going to miss mussing your hair with my thighs."
"All those times you called me your sweet cumsucker. It wasn't all your cum, was it?"
She looked at me for a moment, then smiled confidentially, wickedly. "Amy, not all. Not even mostly. Some. But your friend Andy is such a dear! He loved eating my men! That's how I know you'll love the real thing when it's squirting directly into your mouth, your lips wrapped around the source!"
"You brought men home when I happened to be out of town? Some you fucked in our own bedroom, in our bed? You wore those crotchless panties on dates with them?"
"Honey, you never 'happened' to be out of town. You deliberately left town to cavort like a pansy girl with other faggots, or at least that's what I thought at first. Then later I realized that you left town simply to enjoy being what you are, a woman. That was OK too, but by then I'd found other compensating pleasures. Yes. I brought many men home. And a few women. Those lacy underpants with the split crotch you found in our bed and thought at first might be yours? I still don't know whose they were, mine, yours, or some other woman's. Maybe even some male bed partner I'd humiliated into them -- there are way more of your kind of person than you'd think, and as I think you now know, I've gotten pretty good at having my way with them! I've fucked many men in the ass through split crotches."
Now she began to sound quite sincere, woman to woman. "Some real men have taught me the pleasures of a stiff dick sliding in my ass," she said. "And I've wanted to give others the same pleasure. I've even turned a few real men into real sissies, starting out by lending them some of your lingerie, then teaching them how to buy their own, then getting them to spread for me while I fuck them. It's such fun, when I run into them afterward at business meetings and can tell from the way their faces turn red that they're still wearing pretty panties and who knows what else, and know that I know! Be sure to feminize some lover as soon as you can, Amy! Nothing else gives a girl quite the same rush!"
I was silent. If I'd been betrayed, I'd certainly also been self-betrayed. One more question.
"Trish, this whole plan of yours. Suggesting that I live unencumbered as Amy. That I try to enjoy being only Amy for a while. Is this for my sake? Out of love, to encourage me to fulfill myself? Or is it for your sake? A power trip? Or to get me out of the way so you can bed down more men, since I've been such a disappointment to you.
She thought seriously for a moment. "I always have my reasons," she said by way of prologue, still framing her answer.. Then she spoke slowly. "You aren't a disappointment to me, Amy. My pretty Amy! Not at all. Andy was at first. I've come a long way since I first found that I was married to a transgendered man, not to a whole man. But Amy, you're now living as fully as you can according to your desires. I love you especially for that. More than love, I admire you. I hope whatever else happens that we can become the dearest of friends. On the other hand Andy is still a disappointment to me. I'll admit it. Because he spent so much time and energy compromising his desires, trying to keep them hidden. He's a kind of oppressor of women, in a way, did you ever think of it that way? Of you. All the time he was trying to let you out, he was trying to hide you. I've let you out! And frankly, now that you're out do you think for a moment it's likely you'll ever want to go back in?"
"But that doesn't fully answer your question, does it. Maybe your experience as a woman will answer it for you. Live as Amy for a few months, and then we'll talk again. Maybe by then you'll know how women deal with such questions. We women aren't at all like men! And incidentally, Amy, you were never in the way! You always gave me a kiss and a squeeze of the hand and your heartiest best wishes every time I left the house to meet a man I meant to wrap my legs around! I've always meant to thank you for that."
And she moved closer to me and took my face in both her hands. "Thank you, Amy darling," she said. "I hope you'll cherish as many cocks in your pussy as I have in mine. That's my real gift to you. I'm sure you feel that's a little perverse, and I'm sure you feel shy. Maybe even maidenly. That's why I've made arrangements you'll find out about later on. You'll see!" And her soft lips kissed me so with such impassioned force that we both had to fix our smeared lipsticks afterward. She smiled conspiratorially at me, and I smiled back, I wasn't sure why.
v.
An hour later we emerged from the County Court House and the Madison Trust Bank and the Department of Motor Vehicles and I was officially registered as Amy. Andy was formally certified a clerical error ever since birth. I was now a woman with a woman's photo-ID and a checkbook with flowers printed pale on the paper. And a sizable bank account, because Tricia bought out my share of our house so it could be all hers and the condo apartment could be all mine. "Give it up, baby!" she'd said when I balked at selling her my half of the house. "You can't go home again. You can only visit. You were overjoyed when I proposed this scheme two days ago. Your life there is over. Here is where you live. You'll have your own proper place by the end of today."
She then picked up the estate agent, a woman dressed in a pink "Queen Realty" jacket and a short business skirt like mine, but with long, dangling ear rings. Her name was Bess, she explained heartily, Good Queen Bess! She knew I'd just love the apartment. I smiled. Trish introduced me as Amy, her onetime sister-in-law, explaining that our friendship as women had outlasted her marriage. As was indeed the case, I guess. And we proceeded to the apartment.
I was impressed, as the car pulled into an "Owners Only" slot. It was a tall, solid, respectable-looking building in one of the more established neighborhoods, six stories high, with a well-lit lobby and a polite and attentive uniformed doorman, one of four on the staff we were told. The estate agent never stopped talking. "A single woman can feel perfectly secure here, whether in the neighborhood or in the building itself. Most of our tenants are professionals, mostly couples or singles like yourself, and the Owner's association is active and lively. They schedule many kinds of tournaments and activities, no problem meeting others socially. There are two party rooms or hospitality rooms on the bottom floor, and they're often in use. You'll find an Olympic sized swimming pool on the back patio, where the afternoon sun catches the building's brick walls and keeps things warm. And of course there are saunas and showers and hot tubs and exercise rooms nearby."
She gestured in their direction and then led on when she saw we didn't mean to pause to look at them. "As you see, the elevator shafts are in different quadrants of the building, so there are only two condo apartments off each floor and hallway. Your condo is on the top floor, the sixth, which is the brightest, airiest, and most free of traffic noises. I believe your hallway partner is a woman much like yourself, an unmarried professional, a doctor of some sort with one of the local HMOs I'm told. You may find you have much in common."
The condo apartment itself was a spacious gem, serene and tastefully furnished. High ceilings, a turquoise carpet, decor clean and modern, no hint anywhere of that ugly gray and rose someone somewhere had decreed was art deco and inflicted everywhere. Breuer chairs and couches, a fully equipped wet bar, a large master bedroom and a smaller airy second bedroom that would become my study. A real study this time, because here I needed no feminine enclave. Clearly a woman had lived here before -- the wallpaper had small delicate patterns filigreeing it, and the drapes seemed dainty even though massive. It was altogether charming. A delight. Almost immediately it felt perfect!
"Oh, I'm so happy for you, Amy!" Tricia whispered to me, both of us enchanted by the feel of the place. "It's just lovely!"
I had to agree. Queen Bess produced some ownership papers and I signed them after Trish looked them over, then signed a check to secure the purchase agreement. And thus the apartment was mine. We called down to the doorman and arranged for him to empty and park my car -- it was now Amy's car -- and to bring my things up carefully.
The estate lady went to the fridge behind the bar and pulled out a bottle of Champagne and three glasses. "I was sure you'd want it, especially at such a ridiculous asking price," she said cheerfully. "Congratulations! I wish you much happiness here!" We all three sipped the bubbly white wine to honor her wishes.
Then Tricia spoke, holding up her glass, relieved that this matter was now settled. Settled as easily as her marriage to me, I realized. I resented it. Unfairly? She'd shed me without the bother of a divorce simply by getting a judge to redefine my sex to match my supposed gender. After all those multiple infidelities, it turned out we were two women, therefore never married, and therefore she'd never really been unfaithful to me after all. All the time I'd thought we were married and faithful to each other, she'd been a lively single woman living with her girlfriend Amy and dating different men and playing the field, as was her right and due. Spotless. All this achieved in a single deft stroke I'd never seen coming and never felt.
"My darling sister-in-law! My dear friend! Amy sweetheart! We've been so close for so long now, and we've shared so much, that all I can say is, I hope we'll always feel as close to each other as we are now. That we'll always be dear friends. We'll see each other often I'm sure but I need to say this now. Have a wonderful life! Take advantage of everything life offers. You're now free to explore a whole new neighborhood, a whole new city, a whole new world, all kinds of new people. No need ever to feel enclosed or hidden away, not ever. Enjoy your freedom! I love you! You're from a part of my life I don't want ever to forget!"
There were real tears in her eyes as she raised her glass. And in mine, though I knew that the revelations of earlier today were going to twist inside me for weeks until I managed to settle in my own mind how I felt about them. I had no confidence that Trish meant well now or had meant well for some time now. She'd ditched me. Yet everything she'd done for me seemed to be with the most generous of intentions. I tried to say something in response, but my throat choked up, and in the end I had to set my glass down and rush over to her and hug her. Passionately. Sobbing the whole time. For the last time, perhaps, I thought. My wife! My life! My former wife! The woman I'd loved! Goodbye to all these!
She hadn't expected quite this kind ofdisplay, and just held me, rather overwhelmed.
When I recovered myself I just said to Queen Bess, "I'm sorry. I was saying goodbye. I owe all of this to Trish. To Tricia. Please forgive me!"
The Queen Realtor nodded -- I did seem a bit excessive but she'd seen almost everything before.
It was my turn to say something. I picked up my glass again. "To true friends, and to knowing who they are!"
Trish looked at me for a moment, then lifted her glass, smiled, and drank.
"Well! A party? Can I watch?"
A female voice, mellow and bemused, and also sprightly, coming from the open door! I looked up. There leaning against the door post was a woman of about Trish's age. Tall, thin, with a long neck and short black hair swirling over her ears. A delicate face with a small nose, a large mouth, and an air of effortless authority. She wore a bright yellow satin team jacket of some sort, open over a demure white blouse, and a full gray skirt fell from her waist nearly to her ankles. And "sensible" white shoes with chunky heels.
When she saw she had our attention, she came forward, walking directly toward me. I saw her jacket was imprinted "Madison HMO, Field Hockey Champions, 1996."
"I'm Tracy," she said, holding out her hand. "You must be Amy. I'm so pleased to meet you!"
I took her hand and started to shake it as men do, but she meant for me only to hold it. I'm not sure why, but still holding it I placed my other palm against her shoulder and leaned in lightly to touch both her cheeks with mine. As if we were old friends. She seemed to invite it. It was as if we each felt an instant affinity, even intimacy.
"The doorman told me a likely new owner named Amy would be up here. You look likely. That champagne bottle tells me that you're my new neighbor just across the hall. I won't disturb you now. But do look in later when you get a chance, and we'll have a good long talk and get to know each other. Promise?" I promised. She nodded at Trish and grinned at the Queen Realtor and disappeared into her doorway, across the hall just opposite mine, on the other side of the elevator door.
A random thought crossed my mind -- it's so easy to get to meet women if you're a woman. Maybe Trish hadn't been altogether cruel, setting me free to explore my femininity in a new setting with new people.
"Well honey," Tricia said. "I think we've accomplished everything we intended. Do call to let me know how you've settled in. I'll arrange for your mail to be forwarded. I hate to run" -- she glanced at her watch -- "but I don't want to miss the next plane back if I can help it. Things to do and people to see. Don't bother to come down -- the doorman'll get me a taxi." She was already in the hall pressing the elevator call button, and she looked back at me. "I think you'll find that this will work out even better than you've imagined, Amy," she said. "I'm sure of it. Better for both of us!"
The elevator door slid open and Trish stepped in. Her eyes and mind were already preoccupied with something else, I saw, as she waited for the door to close. It closed, swallowing up my wife and my marriage. I stared at it.
"Well, I think I have everything here I need, Amy," the Queen Realtor said. "If you have any questions please be sure to call me. Enjoy your new life. I'm sure you will." She shook my hand and departed after Trish. When the elevator returned for her she too stepped in and was gone.
My new life had begun.
I hung my suit jacket in the hall closet and then thought better of it, kicked off my heels, and walked in my stockings toward my new bedroom, enjoying the squishy feel of the thick turquoise carpet against the soles of my feet. It *was* a cute jacket, pert and short, and it was the first item of my wardrobe I hung up in my huge bedroom closet. My wardrobe. All women's clothes. I was a woman! I pulled open the top drawer in my bureau. Empty. A perfect size for my bras and panties.
Three hours later I'd moved in and set up my computer. The doorman Alex enlisted his night replacement to bring everything up, and I found that if I made tentative noises and seemed momentarily indecisive, then firmly asked them to do something, and remembered to thank them effusively afterward, they were overwhelmed with eagerness to help out. Men are certainly programmed to do women's bidding, I thought to myself. I certainly was.
Tomorrow, I decided, I'd inform my clients by e-mail that I was under new management. Andy would vouch for his forthcoming unavailability overseas and for Amy's qualifications, and then Amy would come online with a free bonus program tailored for each, designed to make their work easier, in earnest of her abilities. I doubted I'd lose any of them. Meanwhile I had no food in the place. I decided to step across the hall and ask Tracy if there was a decent small restaurant in the neighborhood.
No need for a purse. I glanced at my makeup and fixed my hair, though, as women do. As I do from now on, I realized, until I can sort things out. I prepared to smile as I rang the bell. Women smile openly at each other, I thought. They accept each other. When men smile at them women hesitate to smile back.
Tracy was wearing a brightly flowered housecoat zipped up to her neck, and seemed genuinely pleased to see me.
"Amy! Do come in! All moved in already? Nonsense, I asked you to stop by, remember? Let me get you a drink! What would you like? Vodka? Wine? Soda? I have everything! I love your hair, does someone local do it? No, of course not, not yet."
She turned away to her own wet bar in a corner of the living room. Her place looked bright and warm and comfortable. Easy chairs, two couches, Matisse prints of dancing nudes on the walls. I suddenly realized standing there that it had been a long, difficult day, my third in a row, the best and the worst of my life. I'd been swept into a new world made up of bits and pieces of my old world, and my old one with a solid and loving marriage at its center had turned out to be imaginary. I myself was now inside out, with Amy on the surface and Andy somewhere inside. I was momentarily speechless.
Tracy saw at once. "I know what you need, Amy. Hard and quick. Here!" She handed me a short fat glass filled with ice cubes and an amber fluid. I sniffed. Straight Scotch, very old. She then lifted the glass of white wine she'd been sipping, and I wordlessly lifted my glass to her and smiled wanly. We drank. She gestured me into a chair, and I sat.
"You're very good, honey," she said. "You move with a great deal of grace and assurance for a beginner. But if you don't mind my suggesting it, next time you sit down in a short skirt while holding a glass, try to set the glass down first so you can smooth your skirt with both hands. Or else just perch on the edge of the seat on one haunch, and then hold the glass with both hands to display the charm of your manicure. Like this!"
She stood up, and lowered herself gingerly, catty corner to the cushion, then draped her hands elegantly around her wine glass. One finger rubbed the edge meditatively. She raised an eyebrow at me with a slight smile. Then, "Not like this!" She stood up and then flopped backwards four square, sprawled legs apart. Then smiled at me with real warmth. She'd enjoyed her own performance. I realized she wanted to distract me, to amuse me if she could.
I sighed. Was it that obvious? Was I?
"Tell me about it, neighbor. I was about to order in a pizza, lots of pepperoni, is that OK? Good! And let me refill that glass."
She made her phone call, brought me back my glass brimful, seemed to float in a most delicately ladylike manner down into her chair, and then curled up on it. "Now! I had a difficult day too, but in this apartment there are no pumpkins, only coaches," she said. "So tell me."
"Was I that obvious?" I asked her, worried. "This is my life for the foreseeable. I'd thought this morning it would be just now and then, but I guess not. There's no longer anything for me back home."
She was listening carefully but comfortably. "Sounds serious. No, you're not at all obvious," she said. "Any ten year old girl can tell, of course, but they all have radar. They're so intent to study out how it is with all the variants, being female and feminine and all, that they can tell immediately who's off the scale. No, I read you when I saw you saying goodbye to your...was she really your sister-in-law? That was quite emotional for a sister-in-law!"
"That was my wife," I said. "My former wife, as of this morning. She suggested two days ago that I try being a woman for real, not just recreationally. Buy this place and live as my femme self whenever I wanted. It seemed such a marvelous idea! The happiest imaginable! I was ecstatic! I wanted it. I still do. But this morning when she made me a legal woman she nullified our marriage and moved me out of her life. Before I even noticed, we'd divided our property. And now she's gone. I've been finessed by a smart lawyer. Yet I still think she was doing me a favor."
"She may have been," Tracy commented. "I don't see why not."
"She thinks I should take up with men now. To me that sounds a little spiteful."
"Maybe," Tracy said, abstracted. She was thinking about something else. "But you do have to agree, if you're even the least bit Bi, the idea makes sense. Men have their virtues and advantages. Just doing to them what she did to you can give an enormous boost to a girl's ego."
She suddenly seemed to make up her mind about whatever it was. She leaned forward and talked rapidly and with evident sincerity. "No, dear, don't worry. You'll pass. You already have. That Real Estate lady was certainly persuaded. But I'm a gynecologist, I can always tell. Maybe your mind was born to wear panties, as current theories tell us, but your fanny certainly wasn't. I know how a girl's bones grow and how her adipose tissue covers them as she ripens. Yours doesn't quite, not even in your face. Just a touch of rounding and softening is needed here, but a lot more there! I looked at you and what registered right away was 'Oh, my, there's a severe adolescent hormone deficiency.' Then I looked again and saw the most obvious reason why. Wrong hormones."
I sat there looking gratefully at Tracy. She had no problem with me at all. I took a strong pull at my drink and immediately felt warm. Comfy.
Suddenly Tracy stood up. She looked down keenly at me. "All right! Before you say anything more on your own, enough so I'll have to disqualify myself as your physician, let me ask you a series of questions. Maybe I can help you ease into this next stage of your life. You'll answer with one word only. One! Is that clear?"
"Yes."
She grinned. "That wasn't the first question. This is. You're a woman in the eyes of the law now, is that correct?"
"Yes."
"That simplifies lots of things. And you came here intending to live like a woman full time?"
"Yes."
"Are you a woman? In your mind and feelings and sense of self I mean."
"Partly."
"Partly. Is your preferred sense of self feminine?"
"Yes."
"But sometimes you feel like a man?"
"Yes."
"Mmmmm! Let me explain, Amy. If you were a transgendered man in the process of becoming a woman, I'd have to follow an elaborate set of protocols for this RLT of yours, this real life test. But what I see in front of me now is a woman with a severe hormone deficiency. So it's easy. You're a woman legally, subjectively, and by choice, and you appear to be what you say you are. Do you expect any of this to change soon?"
"No." Trish had made any return to my former status difficult, maybe impossible. I added, "No, now that I'm here I want to try this out!"
"Choose only one of those words, Amy. I think the operative word out of that long monologue is 'No!'" She leaned forward. "Since your femininity is inevitable for the present, you mean to relax and enjoy it? Go the distance?"
"Yes." Whatever she meant by that.
"Might you change your mind later?"
I shrugged. Who knew? Tracy's questions were reawakening some deeply rooted feminine desires. They'd been suppressed by the extraordinary betrayals I'd undergone today, my wife's revelations about her lovers and her bloodless excising of me out of her life. But I did notice that I was now exactly where I'd wanted to be, and I was dressed exactly as I wished. I was even talking to my gynecologist! At that I had to smile.
"You find that funny? Let me put it this way. If you woke up one morning to find your balls missing, how would you feel?"
"Shocked!"
"If you woke up one morning to find boobs hanging from your chest, how would you feel?"
I paused. I'd never been much for distortion of my body, or for taking needless medication. But boobs were the epitome of womanhood and could be the fulfillment of my figure! A vagina was more womanly still, I supposed, but vaginas didn't show! Women's fashions didn't feature them. And I couldn't have one short of castration and a penectomy, which I knew I didn't want. On the other hand, to have real breasts to tuck into my bras!
"Intrigued!" I informed her. I meant it, too. The very idea rejuvenated my sense of the privilege of this moment. I was now a woman with my own apartment and my own life to live. Before bowing out, Trish had given me my lifelong dream!
Tracy looked at me very closely again. Really scrutinized me. Then she said, "Amy, my new neighbor, I diagnose that you suffered a severe hormone deficiency when you were an adolescent girl. Probably because your ovaries never developed the way they do in other women. Even without examining you I imagine your uterus is the same way, underdeveloped. I must warn you that you're at risk of osteoporosis and loss or diminished capacity in your secondary sex characteristics. I'll bet you've been too embarrassed to go out in public wearing a bikini. Isn't that so? I thought so. Well, as a woman, I think you'd be much happier with a closer approximation of woman's figure. I mean with hips, tits, and a fat ass, soft curves over your cheekbones, everything. Isn't that so, Amy?"
"Yes. Yes, I think that's so."
"That's redundant, Amy. But I understand!"
She stood up suddenly and disappeared into a back room for a moment. Then she came back into her living room with a syringe in one hand and some pills in the other. She came over and stood directly in front of me, looking down at me. Her crotch was a few inches in front of my face, covered by her housecoat, but suddenly I became aware of it. I looked up at her. I had a feeling I was about to cross some momentous divide. But I didn't care. After this shattering series of days, I had now found someone who understood me. Tracy understood me. I trusted her. I wanted to put myself in her hands.
"Amy honey, this will help. To live like a woman, and feel like one, you'll need to become more like one in body as well as mind! Don't you agree?"
"Yes."
"I'll get the exact medications you need from my office tomorrow, and I'll want to run some tests. But this will get you started. I suspect you'll feel much better about your new life once we get your estrogen and progesterone levels up where they are in a normal woman. This is estinyl estradiol, and I'll inject it three times weekly, then maybe cut back the dosage a little. Then we'll see how things go. You'll supplement the shots with these pills daily, they're to neutralize the testosterone you're still producing. One is to help you feel comfortable about the changes that'll be occurring in your body. Maybe changes in your mind and desires too. All right so far?"
I nodded. My head whirled a little. The whisky? Things were moving faster than I'd ever dreamed.
"There will be changes, all beneficial, but not immediately. I'm giving you a crash course in adolescence, fairly heavy doses, but it will still take time. Months instead of years in your case. You'll experience nausea at first, I'm afraid, morning sickness. The way all women do when adjusting to pregnancy. But then you'll become rosy-cheeked and rosy-nippled, your skin as ripe and smooth and lovely as a young girl's, the way pregnant women do. I think you'll like it. Remember though, that as your breasts grow your clit will shrink. And those things that hang below it. In a matter of months you'll lose your erections, and in a few more months it'll be irreversible. To be intimate with anyone, it'll have to be the way women are intimate. Can you deal with that?"
I thought about the night before last. That grand night of magnificent lovemaking with Tricia. My ramrod cock swollen with the prospect of femininity invading her ass as a special privilege. But how many men had preceded me there? I'd entered her so easily, but was it because I was so stiff or because she was already so stretched out by so many other men? Better men she preferred to me, who'd gotten there first! She'd used me! As a man I was inadequate, but it had amused her to lead me around by my cock. Enough of that!
"Yes, Tracy. Please. I want to develop a proper figure. Now that I'm a woman, I want to be the best woman I can be. And that includes everything. Nearly."
"You mentioned that you have delusions of masculinity. What woman doesn't now and then? We'll deal with them. We'll make your manhood ashamed to show itself! You think you're a man? On your knees in front of me! Bend over, ass held high! Lower your panties and lift your skirt."
I knelt down in front of her. She stripped paper off a gauze pad and wiped part of my butt with it, and then I barely felt the pinprick of her syringe. She took a long time injecting whatever it was, but finally said "There! Now there's no turning back!" and withdrew the needle. When I raised my head again I saw that she was holding out three tablets in the palm of her hand. I licked them into my mouth and she handed me my scotch. I washed them down with a single swallow. I felt so mellow!
On impulse I leaned forward and kissed her mound through her housecoat, and then looked up to see if she was offended. She was smiling down on me, one hand on her hip.
"There's my girl! That's what you are now, you know. Or soon will be. Here you are on your knees eating out of my hand, grateful to me and now committed to become your true gender. That wasn't so difficult, was it? Let's go into my bedroom and get better acquainted. It happens that I enjoy sex with men or women, and right now you're both. Aren't you?
"Yes. So far."
"Then come along, Amy. Let's see what your wife decided she didn't need. The pizza can wait with the doorman. You can have some for dessert later if you find you're still hungry."
vi.
My life as Amy was a delight. I settled into a routine. I went shopping, I met other couples in the building and played cards with them, and practiced light, harmless flirtations with the husbands when they invited it and enjoyed it. I shifted most of Andy's clients to Amy, and they marveled at how much more efficient Amy could be -- "Andy always seemed to be distracted by something," one of them commented. But the central and utterly absorbing figure in my life was Tracy. A week after we met I'd become her adoring swain, or slave, I couldn't tell the difference.
On weekends we were girlfriends, affectionate and easy, enjoying each other as equals. We were wonderfully compatible. We shared a lightly ironic, faintly mistrustful view of the world, and we endlessly amused each other with quips about things other people regarded with reverence, like fidelity in marriage or the solemnity of sex. On weekends we went shopping, dining, chatting, and laughing together, to movies or concerts or the theater. We had similar opinions about lots of things, and similar ways we disagreed with each other. Gradually we developed genuine respect and affection for each other. We were good company. I'd have called it love, but I knew better.
She corrected me nicely when I got too bumptious or bold or let my voice buzz low, and she registered me in the Condo Community Jazzercize classes to help me stay trim, also in ballet classes to learn graceful and gracious movement. "You'll can catch more men with your neck than any woman ever caught by flashing her tits," she informed me. "Watch!"
I watched as she rotated her head demurely down and around and then boldly up at me, her eyes first innocent, then provocative, and finally smoldering. It was irresistible! Then she had me practice that move in a restaurant on men seated nearby. Invariably they flushed, pleased but embarrassed, grateful that I didn't follow through. I seemed to be more woman than they could handle!
When I commented that I had no need for men, she merely said indulgently "Oh, Amy, use your imagination. At the very least girls collect them to keep score! And remember, pre-teen girls also have no use for boys until their hormones flood their blood streams and cloud their judgment. Like yours right now. Then they can't think or talk about anything else! Give it time!"
She taught me how to giggle at little things. At the self-important ways men walked when they knew we were sizing them up, pushing out their chests and pulling in their bellies, boldly or shyly or flirtatiously rehearsing in their heads some kind of excuse to speak to us before giving it up and moving on. At how eager they were to advise me about the small appliances I'd need in my kitchen if I hoped to please my husband, and their even greater eagerness to please me when I told them I had no husband.
"Women marry sweetly solicitous and submissive males to help them rear children," Tracy explained to me once. "So the other kind has almost been bred out of the species. Or should be, but they aren't. Because the other kind are better for fucking, the untamed ones, the kind that seem dangerous when we first meet them and even moreso when we've got our legs wrapped around them. They're for flings. And if a hunk like that gets a girl pregnant, well, she still has a nice compliant husband around to help her with the diapers and the 2:00 am feedings. Your wife has her career and no plans for children. So she really doesn't need a husband who'd rather be her girlfriend. Can you blame her for going elsewhere to get herself fucked senseless?"
I learned to giggle at my own chivalrous instincts, my trying at first to open doors for her instead of standing and waiting for some nearby man to do it for both of us. Or my trying to put her topcoat on her shoulders instead of simply handing it to her. We'd both giggle at the way my balls went jingle jangle when we danced Jazzercize exercises naked together, or I danced alone for her amusement. Or how they slapped against her perineum whenever we fucked in the missionary position. "What good are they, Amy? Really?" she'd ask. "Don't you want to be as trim and smooth down there as I am?" I actually began to think so. They were part of me, but always in the way, a sentimental affectation I might find dispensable when my breasts replaced them in my affections. And as the weeks went by my nipples began to swell and point, and grow sensitive, then actually to bulge as my chest softened and rounded behind them. I couldn't have been happier! I'd finger them by the hour!
During the weekends we slept together, intimate friends. It was a pure lesbian relationship, as I learned to use my mouth and hands and fingers on her with exquisite sensitivity, and to use my "dildo" as she called it to probe and massage inside her instead of merely poke her. "Use it while you've got it," she told me. "Soon enough you'll need to borrow mine."
And she used hers on me, always gently and with infinite care, patience, and consideration, beginning with a small warmed dildo in my rear so I'd get accustomed to feeling penetrated, to containing and enclosing things, to feeling womanly. I loved the feeling, and gradually she built me up to accepting some shocking monsters she plunged into me. I recalled what Trish had said about feeling so stuffed by a rare man's huge cock she couldn't move...at first, and felt the same way, at first. We kissed and nursed and sucked each other, intimate friends who took pleasure in each others' bodies. But we weren't really lovers.
As I met other people, other women in the building or some of the men I'd pass while walking or jogging, or other women and men in stores where I shopped, I'd tell Tracy about them, and we'd marvel appreciatively at the enormous variety life affords us. Tracy wondered why, whenever a man asked me for a date, I'd turn him down. I'd usually say that I'd just gone through a divorce and it was too soon. And she wondered why I gave the same reply when a woman suggested we have dinner together and maybe do something afterward. Tracy urged me to get back into the stream of life. She warned me that she'd arrange dates for me if I wouldn't arrange my own, and they might not be with my kind of women, or -- she always mentioned it with a gleam in her eye -- my kind of men.
Those were our weekends, when I'd enjoy what I'd always wanted, being a normal woman and behaving like one instinctively, without thinking. They were what I had anticipated when I'd leaped to accept Trish's suggestion that Amy live unashamed as herself.
Our weekdays were altogether different. On weekends I was Amy, a woman. On weekdays I was Andy, a man humiliated into femininity. Tracy enjoyed dominating people, and she was delighted to notice that Andy was a natural submissive. She trained me to subservience, instant eagerness to please. Even that first night when we went into her bedroom, she didn't invite me but ordered me to my knees between her knees while she lolled across the bed with her legs dangling. I forgot my twinge of resentment of Trish as for two hours I licked, sucked, lipped, and tongued Tracy's clit and drank juices that flowed from her slit. All the while she behaved as if I weren't even there, orgasming repeatedly as if she were alone and somehow erupting spontaneously. She lay on her back reading ads in Cosmopolitan and Vanity Fair while I plunged my tongue in and out of her, trying to distract her enough to bring her to yet another climax.
Then suddenly she said "All right, love, that'll do, that's very good!" And disengaged her thighs from my head, rose, and phoned downstairs for the pizza held there. When it came she handed me two slices, "your share," and as I considered how to put it between my puffed lips and sore tongue she said gently, "No, Andy. Not yet. First it needs a flavoring only you can splash onto it. Go ahead, do it."
I realized what she meant, but by this time I was ravenous and didn't care. Anyhow, I thought to myself, Trish apparently had been feeding me other men's semen from her pussy for years anyhow and not bothering to tell me. This was more honest. So I masturbated and squirted onto the pizza, then wolfed it down while she smiled approvingly. And that set the pattern for our dining together on weekdays. Any meal I ate in her presence was always flavored by my own cum. Even other times, if she permitted me to cum while I was servicing her, I was expected to lick it up or drink it wherever I found it, to take it back into my body like a good girl, as she said. I soon got accustomed to the taste. I even began to like it.
And that was how it was with almost everything else she asked me to do -- it seemed at first humiliating, but soon became routine, even pleasant. Then she'd raise the stakes.
On weekdays she expected me to greet her lovingly when she came home from work, to wait for her in front of the elevator door naked and on my knees, eyes downcast. She'd glance at me and go on into her apartment as if I weren't there, as if I were something on the hall carpet that hadn't yet been cleaned away. Then if she ordered me to follow her I would. If not I'd go back to my apartment hoping that she'd call me into hers later on. Sometimes she did.
Now and then when the elevator door opened there were two of them, Tracy and one or another woman friend. They'd both ignore me and step past me and go into Tracy's apartment together. Then sometimes I was ordered to follow after, sometimes not. If I followed, I knew I would be spending the evening licking two pussies until one crotch seemed very much like the other, while above me they caressed each others' nipples and kissed each other passionately. I was absolutely forbidden to speak during these sessions, and when I was finally given permission to leave I was forbidden to notice whether her friends stayed on through the night or not. Sometimes they did. I never knew their names.
I once asked Tracy timorously if she sometimes came home with men during the week. She looked at me amused and told me that we both would, sooner or later. From then on whenever the elevator door opened I felt apprehensive.
Once she called me into her apartment I never knew what to expect. She wanted me naked, she explained, so I'd feel helpless and vulnerable, utterly subject to any of her moods, and also incidentally so she could follow my progress as her hormone regimen smoothed my skin and rounded my body. She was amused to detect lumps immediately behind my painfully sensitive nipples when those glands first began to multiply themselves, widening and thrusting out my areola. "Only three weeks in, and you already have the pouty tits of a teeny bopper," she said. "It's a natural talent! Don't worry about the shape of your nipples or their sensitivity, Andy. When your breasts come in those pointy nipples will level into the soft tissue behind them. And their feel when you caress them will drive you wild!" She noticed even before I did that my buttocks were filling in and rounding out, and she took to calling me affectionately "bubble butt."
Our sex on weekdays was a matter of strict subservience. "I like to be in charge, Amy," she explained to me one weekend, when we were speaking together as equals. "I love topping women or men, but especially partial men or women who feel incomplete because they aren't the other. I want to teach the irreducible Andy in you utter submission, subservience and obedience not only to me but to any dominant. To you, Amy, so he'll know for the rest of his life who's in charge, that he's nothing without you, that he must consult and obey and please you in all things. He needs to learn to love obedience to Amy, to crave it, to feel unfulfilled without it. I'd whip him into it, but I'm quite sure he'll never kiss the whip -- he doesn't love pain. Nor even tolerate it. He doesn't even value it enough to offer me his pain as a gift. So it isn't fair to you for me to whip him. But he's easy to train in other ways. And you're both learning how deeply satisfying it can be to please me, aren't you?"
She couldn't humiliate Andy by dressing him as a woman, obviously. So she exhibited him as her submissive sex slave to her women friends. Often she would sit and watch television with her legs apart and her pussy fully exposed, while I knelt before her on my knees with my back to the tube, staring raptly at her slit, studying its every fold and crevice and moist gleam from only a foot away. It was like being in church. One of her friends marveled at my self-restraint. "He wants to dive into you, doesn't he," she'd say. "Your Mr. Tits can barely resist eating Miss Pussy." Tracy told me to meditate on her friend's crotch the same way, and I watched fascinated while she spread her twat wide opened and fingered herself, her juices running onto her fingers. "Don't you wish you had one of these, feebledick?" that one taunted me between gasps. I did begin to wonder what it would be like. When she offered me a finger, I licked the juice off it gratefully.
My reward for such perfect obedience was to be allowed to smooch their slits once, using plenty of tongue. Sometimes I was allowed to dive in and lick them outright. Once I had to watch wistfully while they reclined together on the couch, their video program forgotten, and ate each other out. "Feeling jealous?" Tracy asked me, lifting her face from between the other woman's legs and looking at me with a grin. "If you had one of these you could be here with me!"
Another time a woman wanted to use me as a kind of toilet when she saw how I'd obey anything Tracy ordered. It wasn't easy to obey her at first, and it took several visits before I learned to enjoy it, even to look forward to it. Then she stopped coming altogether. When I asked Tracy why she shrugged. "When I saw your eyes light up the last time you saw her, I knew she had nothing more to teach you. Don't worry. There'll always be other women who'll want to use you that way. No doubt some men too. And when you're Amy, altogether your own woman and accustomed to topping others, and you want to impress your superiority on them utterly, you can order other men to serve you as your toilet. They'll do it. Trust me!"
Often she'd tease and terrify me by talking about sex with men. "You can't commit to a full lesbian relationship with me or anyone else, if you mean to end up lez, until you know what you're missing," she said as she installed a butt plug in my rump and made me promise to wear it all the time, awake or asleep, excepting only when I moved my bowels or opened my anus to her dildo. I wore it thereafter whenever I entered and made love to her, and clamping down on it when I went into an orgasmic spasm made for a whole separate experience, as if I were the one being fucked and my ass was milking a cock. Then she installed wider butt plugs in me, shaped and veined like pricks. Then one glorious evening a fat, long, strap dildo that reached deep into my vitals as she stroked it in and out of me. "Face me, your legs on my shoulders," she'd instructed me. "And look into my face gratefully and lovingly the whole time I'm penetrating you. And whenever I fuck you, I want to see intense gratified desire." I looked tenderly at her, then as sensation began to build I felt deep affection, and she saw that. When she came, I came, and nearly passed out.
I wasn't surprised when a week of so later it one of her friends used that same monster dildo to fuck me doggy style. It felt so wonderful by then that I could only grunt. I was becoming such a fuck slut! I grew so accustomed to "anal orgasms" as Tracy called them that she tried an experiment. While I was humping her she reached around and removed my "little lover" as she called it from my rear end. My face expressed such emptiness and deprivation that she burst out laughing and immediately plunged two fingers into me. I spasmed marvelously on them.
"Oooh, are you ever ready to lose your virginity!" she commented afterward. "I just need to decide who with, and how it can be an especially beautiful moment in your life, one you'll treasure! If you were only Andy I'd send you into the street for a week. But then when you came back you'd think of your mouth and ass as sewer openings, not as a treasured receptacles. I want Amy to remember her first real fuck with affection. I want Amy to know that sex with a man you love can be gloriously romantic, even sublime."
I always cooked dinner for the two of us, five nights each week. Sometimes she ate what I prepared and sometimes she ignored it and I dined alone. "Your pleasure should be in anticipating my pleasure," she explained, "whether or not I accept whatever you're offering me." She was always sternly critical of my slightest lapses. A lumpy Hollandaise aroused fury. Yet once when I spent all day preparing a Roast Duck in Cherries and by chance she allowed me to serve her, her first bite was so satisfying she couldn't repress making ecstatic noises. Then looking directly at me she sat forward on her chair and shifted her weight to spread her legs wide apart. I needed no further instruction. I set down my fork and dove under the table. Then for the rest of the meal while she was mouthing and exclaiming over my sauces, I was licking the sauce on the inside edges of her pussy slit. That was sheer joy.
I realized I was becoming very much the girl Tracy wanted, eager to become even mores.
I went back to CurlyGirly for my weekly appointments, for electrolysis, laser, and wax treatments and touch ups on my makeup and hairdo, and each week came back smoother. One week I decided to take my own look into my own hands and get a tight perm and a no-care curly cap of hair instead of the curved-down-the-neck straight hair Trish had thought best for me. I usually pinned it up, but it was always a bother to remove the pins so they wouldn't scratch Tracy's or her friends' thighs whenever I burrowed between them. Janie wouldn't do it. "Believe me, dear, you need to fuss a little," she said. "It's a bother, looking pretty. But men love long hair. And I know your wife wants you looking romantic, swoony."
"I'm not married any more," I told Janie. "And I don't date men."
"Well, we'll see," Janie said non-commitally. "For a divorced professional woman you're making excellent progress, honey."
One morning a few months later I was feeling sweetly tranquil, sitting with my feet up on the couch in my living room, wearing only panties with a matching bra to support the cute new little tits that were coming along so nicely, wondering when they'd feel less sensitive, working out a flow-chart problem for a chemical plant, when the phone rang. I reached for it and absently said "Hello?" in my breathy flute voice, Amy's.
"Amy? Trish. You remember, Trish, don't you honey? Your ex? It's been a while! You sound so genuine! How *are* you, lover?"
At that moment I wasn't sure. My hand shook a little. "I'm fine Trish. Couldn't be better. Wouldn't know how. How are you?" End the conversation, I told myself. I don't want to share me with her. Not after what she's done.
"Oh, I'm terribly busy, it's worse than I'd anticipated, but it's also so exciting! So many new things to get on top of. This new client's work is more demanding than any of us had expected. Apart from all the involved partners I now have a huge crew working with me full time, and two more Associates signing on soon. They put in seventy to ninety hour weeks, travel often, and complain all the time. But the jobs do get done. The wives with no children got together once to protest to me how they felt deprived of male company, as they put it. So I got together with them one night at a hotel retreat to point our how they could organize sleepovers as if they were still teenagers, and then they wouldn't at all mind their husbands' absences, and wouldn't feel at all deprived. They did just that. I mixed a couple of pros into the social events that weekend, males and females, and they made themselves attractive. Now some of them don't care who they're sleeping with, another wife, their husband, or someone else's. Wives no longer feel deprived -- problem solved. I love it, that I'm so good at what I do!"
"That's nice." There was a pause. I didn't want to be reminded how easily she played tunes on other people. Then I asked her "Do you still use my boudoir as a reading room?" Stupid! Almost like asking her "What are you wearing now?" An invitation to reminisce about intimacies! Practically an invitation to phone sex!
"O yes, honey, whenever I'm home. Always on weekends. I'm in it now! It's so peaceful. So very feminine. It reminds me of your gentleness and daintiness, so many things missing from my life these days. I never take men here. Well, maybe to the living room for a drink and then the bedroom for a quickie, but that's about it. I miss you."
"Tricia, you dumped me!"
"Now that's not fair. I offered you what you wanted and you accepted it! You just hadn't thought it all through! Isn't that so? Just answer me this, are you better off now than you were six months ago? Are you happier?"
I was. I was no longer a divided self, a standard visible male and also a secret shamed crossdresser. I was now a whole person, or rather two new people really, a capable and companionable professional woman on weekends, and an eager submissive slave during the week. I loved being both. They captured for me the pride and submissiveness of my former male self, and yet also the sociability of my femme personality, my desire to please and nurture. I did what I wanted to do out in the open. Men smiled at me often, and women all the time. The world felt like my family. I had Tracy to try to please, and my own delight when I succeeded. It was nothing like before, trying to live like a male, competent and always challenged, and yet trying to be sweet and loving and womanly too.
But I didn't answer her. Why give her the satisfaction?
"Poor baby, you know you are. Look, honey, I have some open time this coming Saturday. Shall we meet at the house, say around three? Just drive on in, I'll be expecting you. If I'm not there when you get there, do you still have a key? Of course you do. Honey, I'm dying to see you. Plan to stay an hour at least, longer if possible. I have something on in the evening, so not much more than that, but it'll be wonderful to see you! Bye."
And that was that! The dial tone. No time to ask her what for!
Tracy wasn't concerned when I told her that one of our usual Saturday afternoons together would have to be postponed. "That's all right, Amy baby. I have someone I need to see, new arrangements to make. But this isn't the weekend yet, and my pussy's feeling lonely. Why don't you make her feel better? First your mouth, and then you can enter her if you can still get it up. This time when you spasm be sure to squeeze your butt plug extra hard. Enjoy feeling your asshole spasm as if it were your penis."
I did. The sweet joy I felt in my rear when I orgasmed was now stronger than anything I ever felt in my cock. I loved clamping down on that firm, smooth, soft, jelly-filled yet stiff butt plug. My lover! I wiggled my tush in anticipation! It always felt as though my ass was fucking my own cock, and that both were scumming at once!
The route from Madison to "CurlyGirly" was thoroughly familiar to me by now, but the next leg to my former home felt strange. I decided from sheer orneriness to dress down, to travel in Trish's favorite unisex costume, jeans and a T-Shirt. And on a wicked impulse, to wear no bra. Then when I checked myself in the mirror as I was pleased to see I didn't look at all unisex -- my breasts were still pointy and were obviously rounding out, and my jeans now felt a little undersized.
On impulse, though it made no sense, I decided I wanted to look really pretty when Trish saw me. So she'd be sorry she'd let me go? To make her jealous? To try to attract her back? I had no idea! I realized with a certain awe that my feelings were shifting -- I wanted to look attractive to my former lover, and attractive no longer meant manly, it meant womanly. The hormones were changing my brain?
So I stopped at Janie's to get my hair done and my make-up and nails redone, and I was very pleased with the result. As I pulled into our driveway -- hers now -- I realized that all any neighbors would see now was a casually dressed well-groomed woman getting out of her car. Anyone who'd attended my going away party would assume I was my sister. That part of Trish's plan had certainly worked. Our respectability was secure.
Trish met me at the door, also wearing jeans, and gave me a quick kiss. Then as she led the way back to my former inner sanctum, she commented, "You know honey, that's the first time in a long time I've seen you relaxed enough about your gender to wear a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. You're getting enough femininity in at your new location? You no longer need to dress to kill all the time? Yet the rest of you looks gorgeous enough!" She smiled at me. "You know, you're turning out to be a rather lovely girl. I'd hoped so."
I realized what she was saying. "You're right. I guess I don't need to go all femmy whenever I can, any more. Because now that's what I am." Then I decided to rub it in, and said, "But I'm always a girl now, hon. These are still women's jeans. See?" I pushed my tush out at her and wiggled it ever so slightly to call attention to the label -- they were Toni Tylers, and it showed the Toni Tyler logo, a cute high-kicking girl burnt into a leather label.
"So they are!" she said, a trace of wonder in her voice. I turned to look at her. She was studying my rump, a little bemused. "But it isn't the label that makes a girl's jeans girls' jeans, honey, it's the cut. Narrow in the waist and big in the butt, with a tight swoop under the half-moons to set off any melons a girl may have managed to grow." She looked up at me. "You fill them out nicely. Those buns are very fetching indeed, lover! What man could resist burying his cock in there! Weren't you a little slimmer down there a few months ago? No, I see that if anything your waist is narrower than it had been."
She grinned suddenly! "You devil!" she said. "You're going all the way, aren't you! You really are! Hips and breasts! Those are real breasts! They jiggle. And did your nipples always poke out that way? You *love* your new life, don't you! You can't get enough of it! You really are changing your body! Well, Amy, that's just wonderful! I've really got to tell you as a kind of big sister, though, that you shouldn't try to wear T-shirts without a bra any more! It's indecent! Oh, I'm so happy this is working out so well!"
She came close to me and almost woman to woman, kissed me on the mouth softly, her full lips pressing on mine. Then rather shockingly she lifted a hand and felt me up! "Yes," she said almost somnolently, "there's no question about these." She pulled away, her face obviously pleased and a little mischievous. "Amy, just between us girls. Have you had your first period yet? Are you a lady yet?"
I was embarrassed and decided I might have gone too far with my dressed down, unisex presentation. Or not far enough. "I've been getting a little rounder lately, yes," I said. "It's nice. More appropriate for the way I live these days."
"I suppose it is, love," she said. "Your face is softer too. It's kind of sweet looking now." She flashed me a delightful smile. Then dismissed the whole topic, frowned, burrowed down into her lawyer personality, and began to deliver what I recognized was a preconsidered speech!
"Honey, I'm delighted that you've adjusted to your new life so quickly. It does look as though I was right, that you've always been more of a transsexual than a transvestite, that you really are a woman in a man's body. And now you're fixing that!"
"No, Tricia," I said. She shouldn't feel too self-congratulatory. "I've always felt that I was a man who enjoyed being a woman, and I'm enjoying it now more than ever. I prefer being a woman. So I'm fixing my body to give the man in me extra satisfaction!"
"The man in you? Aren't you cruel! Andy's still in there somewhere? He must feel so humiliated! So ashamed of his ineffectual manhood! Can he still get it up? But you don't care, do you? Any more than I cared when I sent you on your way a little faster than you'd intended? Because I knew and now we both know that your greatest satisfactions are not in being Andy?"
I couldn't reply. Trish was the lawyer. I'd never yet won an argument with her.
"I'm glad that you're quite presentable. Your consulting going well too? Good! You know I'm sure that my rather abrupt treatment of your feelings a few months ago was for your own good. I had to liberate you from your marriage. And I did, didn't I? You can't possibly be carrying a grudge against me now, can you?"
She was beginning to steer me out of my former playroom, her sitting room, and through the study and down the hall toward the front door. Giving me the executive's bum's rush.
"No Trish. I guess not."
"And you're sorry you resented me all these months?"
I wouldn't grant her that. "I'm sorry you betrayed me all those years," I said. "So my resentment was inevitable. You know that!"
"Yes. But I'm glad we're friends again. Now I have something to ask you. Just this one question and I'll let you go." Her tone turned professional, inquiring. "I haven't told you before, but this manufacturer client of mine Magnum happens to have a major plant in Madison. Maybe you knew? That's where Magnum's R&D is conducted for new product lines. Now, my law firm needs an outside representative there we can call on from time to time, someone with precisely your skills. Able to talk to engineers or financial people and show them easier ways to do things. Someone pleasant to talk to. Persuasive too, if it comes to that."
She paused. I knew that whatever she said next was still part of her pitch. "I can't get over it! You're so much nicer since you stopped being that horse's ass Andy. That coward! He hid out from his clients and did their work by e- mail and FAX so he could do drag all day without being seen. Remember? But there's no need for you to do that, honey. You're entitled. And you can be impressive in person -- I've seen it. You've got every qualification we need, or will have I'm sure by the time we'll want to call on your services. So do you think you'll be willing?"
Suddenly and unexpectedly, as if on impulse, Trish placed each of her hands on each of my bosoms. My pointy tits. And began gently lifting and kneading them. Slowly, so I could feel their weight in her hands. I hadn't realized they'd grown that much. Her thumbs went back and forth over my nipples and my knees grew weak. I'd not noticed they'd gotten so deliciously erogenous -- I'd been thinking of them as sensitive, hurting. But now they were me. I let out a moan.
"Yes," she said reflectively. "Your breasts are coming on so well, Amy. You're just the girl for this job!" She looked up into my eyes and continued to stroke my nipples. "We'll pay you a retainer starting right now, and when you begin we'll provide you an enormous budget for clothes and entertainment, because the consultations will be informal, mostly. Disguised as sociability. You'll smooth things over, straighten things out, unruffle feathers, show people what they should have done in the first place. That's the work! A lovely lady like you who's also a clever engineer is what we need for this, exactly the right person for the job. Just think about it, baby. You don't have to give me an answer now. I'll call you in another month or so. Meanwhile the retainer is yours, whatever you eventually decide. It'll show up in your bank account every week."
I moaned again. She absolutely beamed! "I'll take that as a 'yes'! You're as sweet as ever, Amy. So helpless when the right buttons get pushed. Andy was always a tit person, and he still is even though now he's on the other side of such a lovely pair! I'm so glad that we trust each other again, sweetheart."
She led me out the front door and then stepped back into the house. Then it was as if a switch were being thrown somewhere. "Honey, it's been very nice seeing you. I'm delighted you could visit. Do come again any time. My regards to anyone we both know. We'll stay in touch." And the door closed.
I was standing on the front steps in my jeans and T shirt and gorgeously set hair, my purse somehow under my arm, my breast tips radiating a rich afterglow. I realized that Trish had always intended this to be a business meeting, and I'd signed on to her scheme. Magnum had a plant and did their R&D in Madison? Trish had been coming and going there all this time? She might have looked me up at any time and had deliberately ignored me? Once again I'd been had!
vii.
I told Tracy about all of this the next day, Sunday, while we sat in a little tea shop after seeing a movie together. How I was worried that Trish had enticed me into another trap. She'd used my transvestism to clear her decks of her marriage when she wanted to invest her time and energy and desires elsewhere in other ways. To dump me out of her life and somehow leave me feeling grateful to her. Now she seems ready to use me to unload business problems she can't manage by herself.
Tracy's first reaction was amusement.
"So your Trish is into tits too, huh? Well, the way yours are coming in, when she handed you off to me she missed out on a really beautiful pair I'll bet, big time."
Then she looked thoughtful. "She asked you to consult for her law firm? To me that sounds promising. It would get you out meeting more people in more kinds of circumstances. One of the pleasures of being a woman is that you can be many things to many people in different circumstances. And dress differently for each! There's still too much of the imprisoned Amy in you. She's right that you don't need to be bottled up any more. You can open an office now and be seen by anyone. Why don't you? Who'd imagine that you're not entitled to your panties and dresses? And you know, she's right about wearing a bra. That's already settled. You'll wear one daily now for the rest of your life. Look at you! And more titty is still on the way!"
"She tends to take charge with me," I said. "I'm sure I'd lose a certain amount of independence."
"No, Amy, let's not forget, I'm in charge of you. I'm the one who's making you the way you are. And I'll always allow you as much independence as you wish." She grinned complacently. "You just won't wish for any."
"No," I agreed. "Serving you is the center of my life. You're where my manhood and my womanhood converge, somehow." I don't think I'd ever spoken more sincerely to anyone!
Tracy sensed this and was impressed. "Then let me complete you, sweetheart. For the next week, submit yourself to me altogether. Trust me no matter how difficult. We've been going slow, but I think now we can work together intensively for a breakthrough. Promise me you'll do everything I ask of you this week with the same devotion you've always shown me. No hesitation. Total obedience. No matter how outrageous, or unexpected, or shocking. Promise?"
"I promise, Tracy. I really do."
"Then next week we can change our relationship if you wish. But you won't wish. I've seen it before. I know. By the end of the week you'll be yourself, completed, beyond your wife's ability to change you further."
Hidden away in our little booth, Tracy reached across the table and began to knead and finger my breasts, just as Tricia had done, feeling me up and hefting them. "You know she's right," Tracy said thoughtfully. "They're coming along nicely!"
I melted into a pool of ecstasy. "Oh, Tracy honey!" I moaned. It sounded more like a whine.
The next afternoon I was filing a client's project back to him by e-mail, brilliantly solved if I do say so, and at the same time teasing him for attempting to get me to disclose my phone number or address, when the phone rang.
"Amy, this is Tracy. Tonight be downstairs by the doorman's desk at 5:30 sharp. You will be altogether submissive all evening, but don't let it show at any time in your posture, manner, or voice. Wear that black beaded cocktail dress and be made up for the evening. Hair up, high style. You're having dinner out and then going dancing."
Well, this was a novelty! A companionable evening with Tracy during the week! I was there with a minute to spare and just sitting down carefully -- my dress was figure-hugging, now that I had a figure, and tight -- when Tracy arrived in the lobby dressed as she usually was weekdays, in an ankle- length skirt and her Field Hockey Champions yellow jacket.
"He's in the car outside," she said to me. "Do everything he wants you to do, gladly. When you get back, stop by to tell me how it went." And she was in the elevator and gone!
I went outside, and found a maroon Lincoln parked at the curb with a rather tall, thin, willowy man leaning against it. A touch of gray at his temples, but blonde wavy hair, in many ways still boyish. From the way he moved to open the door and hand me into the passenger seat, in many ways girlish? There was a lingering grace in the way he closed the door and walked around to ease himself into the driver's side, swinging his both legs into the car knees together, as if he were wearing a tight skirt. I waited for him to introduce himself. He glanced at me to be sure I was comfortable, a thin, arched eyebrow raised in inquiry, and then satisfied, drove off toward downtown. A plucked eyebrow? His hands on the steering wheel had manicured fingernails, rounded at the tip and gleaming with a clear gloss nail polish. No pierced ears, but his hair seemed to have been permed and just set, every hair beautifully in place.
Don't speak unless spoken to, I told myself. The submissive's creed. And then when you reply, keep your eyes cast down.
He pulled up in front of a workman's bar down the street from a construction project. A very mean part of town. A drunk wrapped in creased and oily rags lay on the sidewalk against a building, and as I watched he raised himself on an elbow and retched. Three teenagers sauntered past smirking arrogantly -- one, I noticed, held a length of steel pipe he slapped methodically against his palm as if to keep it functioning until it could find a better target. The bar itself seemed to be jammed with going-home customers delaying their trip home. Two men in overalls rolled out together, waved at each other, and weaved away.
"If you don't mind, Amy," he said. No question, there was a lilt to his voice of the kind gay men cultivate, perhaps to identify themselves to each other. "There's a cigarette machine at the far end of the bar in there." He handed me some coins. "Be a dear and go in there and buy me a pack. Any brand."
I got out of the car, feeling fearful. This was no place for a woman like me, dressed the way I was dressed. As soon as I entered all conversation ceased and two dozen rough-hewn men stared at me silently, then resumed more subdued conversations, while a dozen more tough men pondered what to do about my unexpected appearance in their midst, watching me through narrowed eyes. I had been a woman in public long enough now to spot instantly the three young men who were primed to make aggressive passes at anyone in skirts. They were already off the mark and heading for me. I moved quickly, keeping my eyes fixed steadfastly on the cigarette machine, and got there before they got to me. I inserted the coins and a package of Winstons slid into the trough. I picked it up, noticing that my red-jewel-like fingertips were a mockery here, where every man's hands were gnarled and stained, his fingernails bitten, cut, and filthy. I realized suddenly that I was a woman who had only one thing I could give them to save them the trouble of taking it, and that was my sole protection and advantage. They would reach for it. But I knew I was a man under my silky black pantyhose. My male genitals here were my death warrant, if anyone here found out I had them. Blow jobs if I need to, to survive, I thought to myself. I can manage blow jobs, somehow. But whatever else, I told myself, no one comes near my crotch or the hem of my dress. I turned daintily to leave the way I'd come in.
"Hi, can I help you?" One of the young men had arrived and was smiling personably at me, at ease with himself and blocking my way. The other two were still en route, not yet positioned as secondary blockers. I had perhaps two seconds to act, or else I'd be caught up in a scenario that could easily end with my cock-teasing, broken male body draped on a fence down the street at that construction site.
"No thank you, but it's kind of you to ask!" I said. Then feinted to the left, rolled my hips further left, darted sidestepping to the right, and slipped straight ahead. It worked. As when I'd played basketball many years earlier. Not attempting to dribble the Winstons, I trotted on my high heels back out the door, and as it swung shut I heard a roar of male laughter and someone saying "Boy, the Lakers could've used her this past year!"
I got back into the car quickly, hoping that my strangely androgynous date had anticipated the need for a fast getaway. He had. With a faint whisper, the Lincoln shot down the street and around a corner.
I handed him his cigarettes. He glanced at them, then tossed them out the window.
"Amy honey," he said. He sounded apologetic, but he kept taking his eyes off the road to look into mine. He really seemed sincere. A decent man after all? "My wife told me to do that to you first thing, without a word spoken. So you'd know that if you don't do everything I tell you, there is where you'll finish the evening."
I decided to play square with him. "That's a likely rape for a woman and a death sentence for a transvestite." I commented. "I've been told to do everything you want me to do gladly, and I will, because I'll want to do what I've been told. But not under threat. Never under threat. Your wife was not fully informed about me. Did she tell you to do anything else to me tonight?" "She told me everything I'm to do to you tonight. That's the kind of relationship we have."
"I don't understand."
"I obey my wife. I do whatever she wants me to do. Incidentally, you were in no real danger just now. They look like rough trade but they're really decent working class people, law-abiding and self-policing, and tolerant of all sorts of queers and oddities. She made me run the gamut there early in my training, when she was making me into a queer, and I was terrified. I thought I'd be beaten senseless. But all they did was pat my bottom a few times, and tease me about fudge packing, and buy me a few drinks. They were very friendly. You belong to my wife's dear friend Tracy, I know, so I know she wouldn't take any chances with your safety. And she's planned a long evening for us. She and Tracy seem to think we were made for each other."
"How so?"
"You're a man being made over into a woman by another woman, isn't that so? Right now a 'she-male'? Partly a woman?"
"Yes. Partly in my body. Mostly in my mind."
"Well, I'm a heterosexual being made gay by my wife, also not yet a finished product. That is, for months now the only physical affection and the only sex I've had has with other men. I've learned to appreciate my partners, and I did fall in love with one for a short time I think, a sweet man. It broke my heart when it turned out he was only toying with me. But in my mind, mostly I still prefer women."
"Why would your wife do that to you?"
"I had an affair with my secretary. She found out and got really vindictive. At first she said she was going to fix me while I was helpless, asleep, and then divorce me. That wasn't a generalized threat -- she meant to change my sexual habits for good, castrate me and pickle my cock in a jar. Well, she consulted her gynecologist about it -- Tracy, they've become good friends since then -- and Tracy suggested she do something more lingering and drawn out, so she could enjoy it longer. That she turn me gay instead. Allow me only homosexual encounters, in fact require I get off only with men. So I'll get to like it. Well, divorce would ruin me financially -- I've borrowed heavily to get a business launched -- so I've been going along with her. I have no choice." He shook his head, clearing some random memory. "Was your becoming a woman your wife's idea?"
I didn't know how to answer that one. "Yes and no. It was my idea for now and then, but now I live in my wife's reality, and she made my femininity pretty much irreversible. I accept that. I even like it."
"You're good at it. You're very pretty, Amy. I can't help but think that you're a girl when I look at you!"
That was my first compliment ever from a boy! My heart turned over. "Thank you!" was all I said. I know he saw I looked pleased, and I wanted him to know. "Thank you...ahhh...you've forgotten to tell me your name!"
"No, I didn't forget. It's just that I'm embarrassed by it. It's Sally."
"Sally?"
"Yes. My wife's name. She's Sally and I'm hers, so I'm Sally too. Like wearing a house label, in a way. She had my name changed legally. It saves complications. Women don't take me seriously when I tell them, but gay men do."
"Well, thank you, Sally. You're very sweet." I looked at him more closely. He also looked like a decent man, intelligent, capable, and more refined than effete. Though he was struggling to get accustomed to gay mannerisms.
He pulled in at one of the best restaurants in Madison. This arranged date was going very well! As we waited at the bar for our table, I found I was smiling and nodding continuously, and shaking my head flirtatiously, and looking sidelong at him, all in the oddest girlish way. I even hoped my hair was orderly, though I knew it was, and kept patting it with both hands. Which, I notice, thrust my breasts forward as if I was offering them to him. Maybe I was?
"I thought people are born gay or hetero, maybe bi, and that's that! Why does your wife think you'll change?"
"She doesn't. She hopes I won't. Tracy suggested hypnotic tapes to help me admire male bodies more, but my wife likes my doing it out of obedience to her. She likes to think gay sex is repellent to me, but I find it's better than no sex at all."
"Is it?"
Sally looked down and said in a low voice, "I did fall in love that one time, briefly. It felt oddly perverse, but maybe I really do swing both ways. Or maybe I was just hard up. Mostly, I'm sure, I was lonely. But my wife thinks it's all punishment." He took a deep breath. "I've never told any woman any of this, Amy. Not even the fag hags who are the only kinds of women she'll let me see socially these days." He looked up at me. "I can't help thinking that you're a woman. This is the first date with a beautiful woman I've had since I was married."
Why did my heart warm when he said that? I took his hand and squeezed it gently. "Thank you again," I said. "You're very sweet. You'll turn my head with these compliments."
He forced himself to look into my eyes. "I hope so," he said. Then looked away.
When we were seated and had ordered another round, there came an awkward pause. I remembered the advice always given to teenaged girls, "Get him talking about himself." So I said, in as gentle a voice as I could make audible, "Sally honey, what do you do?"
"Management consultant. I help people set up businesses. Or if business is good, I help them enlarge."
He lapsed into silence. Obviously the topic bored him. So I tried another tack. "Tell me about your first gay experience. If it wasn't too awful."
"It wasn't much of anything. My wife sent me to a gay bar and told me not to come home until I'd been laid. I had the sense to pick up a tube of K-Y, and sort of anesthetized my body in my mind, and went. I almost don't remember it. When I got home, she insisted on inspecting, on seeing the cum actually dribble out of my ass. It did, the man had used me several times. And that really turned her on!"
"Oh?"
"Yes, the next night she sent me back for more. To offer to suck off all comers. And swallow their cum. I was lucky it was an off night. Probably not more than two dozen men lined up in front of my mouth. The first few felt and tasted terrible, and made me feel so ... cheap! But by the time I was servicing the last of them that night I was an expert, and rather proud of it. I didn't even have to think about it any more. The third night was for sixty- nining, so I'd get pleasure from getting my own cock sucked by another man. And I did. And the fourth was for me to fuck someone else, but no one volunteered, so I had to pay to get into a guy's ass. A bony ass it was, too, but I did get off, and that felt great!"
"So now I'm educated, a seasoned and experienced gay man, she figured, and she arranged a graduation ceremony for me for the fifth night. A gang bang. A "cum enema" she called it. Well, you probably know that after the first cock has opened up your ass, the rest are easy."
"No, I didn't know that," I said modestly, trying to butter a small piece of bread with fetching delicacy. "Though I know it's true about dildoes. My wife sent me off into femininity by letting me screw her butt as a farewell gift, and Tracy has been training my pussy -- as she calls it -- to enjoy itself, but I've never been with a man."
Sally looked surprised, concerned, and pleased, all at once. Just the reaction I'd hoped to see!
"It's easy," he repeated. "The first time, the man needs to be gentle and understanding, as with any virgin. Then the next time he enters, the asshole is already slick, lubricated with cum, and the muscles are loose. That's when both parties can relax and enjoy it. Some guys' cocks are long enough to press against the prostate from the inside so you can actually get off. Two guys actually did get me off. It felt wonderful. Like a woman coming, Sally my wife told me afterward. All at once, all through your whole body, inside you. That was when I realized I could like getting laid. Taking male lovers. I prefer fucking another man or giving him head, but I can enjoy being someone's punk. Not that I'll let Sally know that, of course."
"I've never given head. I've never done any of these things," I said shyly, and a little timorously. "Not with a real live person. Not with a real man."
"You're a dear!" Sally told me. This time he took both of my hands in his. "I don't care what my wife told me, or what Tracy expects. I won't make you do anything you don't want to do! So you can rest easy on that score."
Then I shocked myself! "No, you don't understand, Sally," I said. "I want to do all of those things. With you. I really do. Now!"
He looked at me with such longing in his eyes. "Really, pretty lady? You're sure? You'd be the first woman I've slept with in ... so long!"
That cinched it. "I'm sure! With you!" I said. I leaned over the table and kissed him on the lips. Gently. They felt warm and soft.
Four minutes later Sally had settled the bill and we were in each others' arms in his car. His big, beautiful Lincoln. He pushed his tongue deep into my mouth, and I tongued and licked it while feeling his arms embrace me. "My place," I said, my arms folded tightly around his neck. I didn't want to let go! "Hurry!"
He looked down on me. "Honey, I can't drive while you're wrapped around me," he said, smiling slightly.
We clinched again as soon as the elevator door closed, and we were both naked before we reached my bed. I was so grateful for my real breasts -- Sally immediately concentrated his attention on them, and I went into ecstasies. I had never before been suckled by anyone, and this darling man's mouth overwhelmed me. I clutched his head to them in bliss. I felt so ashamed of my penis and testicles down there when I should have been able to offer him his choice of holes. I tried to cover them at first, but then realized that he was now accustomed to seeing equipment like mine on his lovers. In fact he told me later that he had never noticed them at all.
On the other hand, he was mesmerized by my estrogen-padded rump. He told me I had the most darling buttocks he had ever seen, not lean like a man's but ripe, rounded as basketballs and smooth as pillows. Then something unexpected occurred. I was standing there naked while he held my buttocks and I held his, feeling his hard cock press against my groin. I decided that this was the cock that would make me a cock sucker. I would drink whatever joy juice I could seduce from him and count myself blessed. Then, while he was still slick and wet from my mouth he would enter me. He would travel the path of that huge dildo Tracy and her friends had pushed into my guts, and he would anoint my insides with his semen. It seemed heavenly!
"I want to suck your cock, darling," I said to him, not as a demeaned man but as a woman rejoicing in her lover. He whispered back, hoarsely, "Yes, but first let me kiss that glorious ass!"
I nodded, and he dropped to his knees and clasped me by the thighs, and buried his face in my melons. I could feel his tongue begin to lick the opening of my crack, and I wanted to feel him deeper down. But as he burrowed his face into my ass a primal impulse took possession of me. I stood casually on one leg, put a hand on my hip, and looked down over his crouched shoulders with hooded eyes. Then in a hoarse voice I commanded "Deeper, honey. Bury your nose in my ass and push your tongue into me!"
What an idea! But he did it! I cocked my hips slightly back to open my bungle to his mouth, and he spread my cheeks wide, and he plunged in! I felt his tongue tickling the outer edges of my pussy as I stood there aloof, dominating. I accepted his worship! Just as Tracy had accepted mine that first night, when she had injected me and started me irreversibly down this lovely path, and I had gratefully kissed her mound in return. What had happened to me? Months of hormones had given me more than breasts and buttocks and smoother skin. It had awarded me a woman's power over men. Some men, anyhow.
When I could feel my entire rear soaked in his saliva, so his cock could slide into me with no friction, I told him. "Now suck my cock."
I knew he would. I wanted to learn from his technique, now that the moment had come for my own mouth to wrap itself around his. He pulled back his head, and I turned my torso indolently, and he plunged his mouth over my dick and began to pull on it with his lips. He was wet and warm and it felt good. Even better than good, it began to feel a certain yearning that intensified -- I could feel my sap rising from the roots. Higher, and I felt a deep pulsing down in my groin, and it too rose in crescendo. Then wave after wave of rapture washed over me, and finally I felt deep satisfaction, even serenity.
Sally swallowed once and removed his mouth. I was as small as ever. "Didn't I get hard?" I asked. "Didn't you taste my cum?"
"No, you didn't get hard, and yes, one drip came out. I've seen it before. Those girl juices they've been giving you have just about dried up your boy juices, honey. You really are becoming a woman! Just look at you!"
"I suppose," I said. I was a little worried. Would I never get an erection again? I looked down and I saw a little tumescence. Like a clit's. But my orgasm had felt marvelous even so! A woman's! It had washed though my whole body. I was a woman.
"Let me suck your cock, lover," I said. "Lie down on the bed." I was unwilling just yet to give up my superior status as a woman by kneeling in front of him. So I lay down next to him, then wrapped my legs around his head. He resumed licking my anus. I took his cock into my mouth, and tongued it, and licked it, and finally drank it in like a straw and sucked on it. When the soft rubbery head bumped the back of my throat I changed my angle slightly and tried to swallow it down. It passed into my throat on the second try. Almost at once it swelled and he came, rich white gouts of semen filling my stomach and, as I pulled back, my mouth. The taste was creamy, salty sweet. A little like Gatorade. No wonder all those hunks like that stuff, I thought as I swallowed it down.
I turned and still licking my lips, smiled at him. He was in a post-orgasmic euphoria, and smiled back. "Was I all right?" I asked in a little girl voice, as if seeking reassurance? I knew I'd been great.
"You were great!" Sally replied. "Just wait a bit and there'll be more!"
I looked at him and there were tears in his eyes. "Why, honey?" I asked him gently, wiping them away gently with my red manicured fingertips.
"Because you remind me what it was once like, making love to a woman. I've missed it! You're so perfect! So smooth and soft! And so caring!"
I got the warmest, most loving feeling imaginable in my belly, spreading out from where I knew his sweet semen was soaking into me where I'd swallowed it down. Without a word I got up and went into the kitchen and opened a chilled bottle of wine and a can of truffled pate, and spread them on crackers and carried them on a plate with two wine glasses back into my bedroom.
"Dinner," I announced. And when he'd sat up and taken his glass in hand I raised mine and said, "To caring for each other!" And we kissed, so sweetly! Then we sipped, never ceasing to stare into each other's eyes. Then when our glasses were empty he set the plate of pate aside and said "C'mere, sweetheart!" I melted into him. He rolled on top of me and gently placed my thighs on his shoulders and poked at my hole. His warm rod slid into me. "Oh!" I squeaked. Because as soon as I felt that long thick mass filling me up, the old, familiar sweet yearning suffused me, and then the building and crashing of waves of feeling came upon me and poured all through me again, and I could feel my ass pulsing on his hard cock, clenching and hugging it repeatedly from all sides at once, my beautifully rounded buttocks writhing into him. I kissed his face passionately. I had come again, and he'd barely begun to fuck me!
Twenty minutes later I came yet again as he spent his cum into my guts. It was the most marvelous lovemaking of my life. I had my legs wrapped around his waist the whole time this time, and wouldn't let him pull out of me. We hugged each other and fell asleep. Then at first light I woke to feel him stroking inside me yet again, and again we made passionate, beautiful love. Finally he whispered "I'll call!" and slipped out of bed, dressed and left. I wanted to tell him "I'll wait for your call," but I still felt too dreamy to move. He was the man I'd been waiting for. And a man! I smiled to feel his cum oozing out of me into the sheets. I squeezed it lovingly with my sphincter, and fell asleep again. Only when I woke at mid-morning to begin my day's work did I realize that I didn't know his last name or his phone number. I wasn't the first girl adrift in a morning-after haze of delight to find myself lacking that crucial information!
That evening when Tracy came home from the clinic I was waiting for her kneeling, nude, as always on weekdays. As she stepped out of the elevator she paused and looked at me. "Amy, throw on a housecoat or something, and come in, and let's talk." Then after a moment she added. "You don't need to greet me that way any more. That's for keeping men in their place. From what Mistress Sally told me her Sally told her, there's no man left in you to put down. You're more and more getting the figure of a woman. And last night, apparently, you became a woman in your own mind. I don't just mean that you got laid! I mean really a woman, with all the power and capacity for affection that word implies. You dominated him, and you felt tenderly helpless with him! You'll still do what I ask the rest of this week, as we've agreed. But now I'll honor you as one of my kind, not one of their kind. Come in and tell me all about it."
And I did. I still felt so wonderful! I spoke of how considerate he'd been, and how heavenly I had felt all day because his cum was still inside me in two different places. I asked Tracy "Will I ever see him again?"
"You're in love, aren't you," she replied.
I didn't answer. I thought so, but if so, that was for Sally to hear first of all.
"I thought so," Tracy replied to my silence. "The answer is, yes, you will see him, probably. I've already spoken to Sally's wife about it. She drives a hard bargain." Tracy smiled. "But no harder a bargain than the other women in your life. And all for your own good, anyhow."
I didn't understand, but since Tracy already knew that, I didn't bother to say so.
"Keep in mind the way you feel now, honey. You'll need to remember it. Because the next few days will be nowhere near as romantic. The next few days will help you discover other aspects of your femininity, and if they aren't there to explore you'll just have to pretend they are. You need hard practical knowledge of male desire and how to satisfy it, and you'll also need to remove any last inhibitions on your own sexual appetites. I mean to try to locate the slut in you and set her free. If there's an Amy who'd just as soon whore as do engineering consulting, that's who I need to find."
"Sally's only known me as a virgin. I've never been with other men. Would he want me after I've been a whore?" I wanted to be obedient, but I was worried.
"He knows that one of his tasks last night was to relieve you of your virginity so you could... extend your experience with others. If you two want to get together again afterward, well, that's between you two. But don't worry. Remember that a confident woman can usually lead a man to a correct view of things. By his prick if no other way."
"All right."
"We'll begin slow, this very evening, and by Friday you'll be up to speed. Amy, I think you'll be thrilled when you see where you end up! Now, what did you prepare for us for this evening's dinner?
viii.
We were sitting over coffee and talking about our sexual fantasies, how both sexes want monogamy for their partners but promiscuity for themselves, so neither is ever satisfied, and how jealousy is one part fear, one part desire, and one part envy, topics like that, girl talk, when Tracy was buzzed from downstairs. "Of course, come right up!" I heard her say from the hall phone.
She came back in. "We're having a very special visitor. You'll do whatever either of us says," then went to the door to wait for him. The elevator door in the hall rolled back and there was a single short twinge of a doorbell. Tracy threw open the door and was immediately swept up in the arms of a large and powerful stranger. They kissed as if plastered together, then separated, and Tracy, still flustered, led him into the room to meet me.
"Amy," she said. "This is Scott. He's my husband."
"Amy," was all he said, advancing to take my hand into his huge paw. He looked to be the size and solidity of a wall! This was astonishing. Tracy had never mentioned a husband. Many lovers maybe, but one in particular? I knew her to be bisexual with a preference for women, one reason she was interested in my conversion. But a man? A man's man, muscular and keen- eyed? I said nothing, but tried to look pleasant. He could crush me if he knew that I'd been intimate with his wife, I was thinking. But all of her friends know about me. Some of it must have gotten back to him. Besides, is it intimacy if her purpose isn't to feel intimate but to project control and humiliation over someone known to be vulnerable? Maybe he should apologize for her, rather than avenge himself on me. Then I remembered that I was a woman. The thought would never occur to him. I was not his rival.
"Please to meet you," I said in reply. I very nearly curtsied.
"Yes, of course," he continued. Then as if making conversation, "Amy, I hear you've been fucking my wife."
Shocked, I tried to follow his lead. "Now and then, Scott," I said breezily. "But she's been fucking me too, so I guess the score's even."
"Not at all," he said, sitting in a comfortable chair opposite me and leaning back. "You owe me!"
The conversation was getting past me. I gaped.
"She's Bi. I knew that when I married her, so I agreed that now and then she could enjoy being with a woman. I'd enjoy being with the same women myself, but since I was married it didn't seem appropriate. I knew that if I ever wanted to fuck a man, she'd be similarly understanding. But I haven't wanted to. Until maybe now, maybe because you don't look like one."
"Now as I see it, you owe me. You're a man who's a woman, becoming a woman who was once a man. If you fucked her when you were being a woman, you owe me the same roll in the hay. If you fucked her as a man, using a man's cock, as I suspect you did, you owe my cock a turn at you. Either way, honey, you're fucked. So which are you?"
"I'm a woman now," I said. "My cock doesn't work any more." I hoped that argument was somehow relevant. I hoped he wouldn't ask for proof.
"Show me." Nothing emphatic in the way he said it, but he meant it.
I pulled up my dress and lowered my pantyhose and showed him. There was my flaccid, pinky-sized cock and marble-sized balls.
"Why don't do you trade those things in for something that works?"
"I don't know," I said. "I'm sorry!"
"Sorry isn't good enough. What do you think I want you to do?"
"Make you happy!" It was an inspired answer. I was scared to death of this man! But it was the right answer. He leaned back in his chair and waited.
Fifteen minutes later I'd been unfaithful to Sally. Scott's fresh cum was mixed with Sally's in my tummy. Desperate and fearful, when I took him into my mouth I did everything I could think of to please him, whatever I'd done lovingly with Sally and lots more. Finally it had brought him off.
"And?" he said when he'd recovered his breath.
I knew what he meant. He was one of those. His prick had leaned over momentarily, but it was now again erect. I decided that we were quits, that from now on he was in Bonusville. I got off my knees and stood up and straightened my skirt. "And?" I asked him, my hips undulating once, looking directly at him. I was determined that he name it, before I did anything else with him.
"Fuck me, honey."
He'd named it. He'd named me.
"Only if you'll fuck me too, lover boy," I replied.
I turned and backed onto his cock and sat down on it, and we fucked. He moved and I moved, and we reciprocated and repeated ourselves, more and more frenzied and then berserk until finally as these days it always did, my sphincter muscles clamped repeatedly onto his silky soft, iron-hard tube, over and over. I felt my rectum fill up with something slick and syrupy, and a trickle or two of clear drip dribbled from the tip of what had been my penis. That was enough to incite him to do it again, to mix even more of himself with Sally inside my rectum, He resumed thrusting and throbbing until I was altogether out of my mind and he was lunging himself high up into me while I flailed at the end of his pole. He felt twice Sally's length, but I doubted I could tell anyone even my name at that moment. With good reason.
"Ahhhhhhhhhhh!" I said. I was exuberant! Glowing! My whole body knotted into rapturous spasms. He lunged into me and held himself rigid. I felt more slick than ever down there. When I lifted off him I had to stuff my panties between my cheeks to keep my skirt from staining.
"That's very nice," he said with a certain awed gratitude. "Tracy's done all right by you! Why don't you get rid of those things hanging down there and get a place put in instead where a man can enter and feel at home?"
"You're a nice man, Scott. Almost the nicest I've ever sucked and fucked."
"Out of how many, Amy?"
"Two. Counting you." I suddenly realized that for whatever reason, obedience to Tracy, respect for Tracy's husband, fear of him, guilt that I'd fucked his wife, I had just betrayed Sally. Two ways. I'd sucked Scott and fucked him, and enjoyed it both times. The first time from obligation, maybe, but the second time obviously for the pleasure of it. I realized that I'd do it again. With that thought I smiled at Scott and reached for his long wet cock, now lying across his thigh. I wanted to do it yet again!
"No, Amy," he said. "Whatever you have going with Tracy, I call the score even now. If you need a recommendation some time I'll write one for you. I envy you, Tracy, in a way."
Tracy? I'd utterly forgotten! Tracy! Where had she been all this time? I looked up and found the answer at once. Sitting in a chair by the fireplace the whole time, watching. She'd seen me work her husband over twice and not uttered a sound either time!
Now she spoke. "It's always a pleasure watching a sissy man get fucked in the ass by a real man. Scott never could keep it in his pants. Ask any of his more recent wives -- I'm one of the early ones. I've got to congratulate you. Tonight you fucked Scott out of obligation and then for fun and yesterday with Sally it was out of genuine affection. That means you can be sweet and sincere but also that you can be a tramp. One day in love with a nice man who cares about you, and the next day fucking a stranger! That's useful to know about yourself. It means you can indulge yourself any time and not give it a second thought."
I was astonished. She'd told me he was her husband, not her ex. She'd tricked me. But I couldn't evade the point. My mouth and my ass were now impure. I'd been untrue to Sally with the first man to come by after him. Deliciously satisfied by that man moreover. This morning I'd been a woman in love. This evening I was a woman who'd gotten laid and loved it!
"It's important to know who you are, honey," Tracy said. "Why you balled Scott isn't significant here. There are always reasons. The fact is, you betrayed those romantic feelings about Sally you were cherishing all day. You fell in love, and then fucked someone else. Well, sometimes women do. A woman can fuck a hundred men all day, and then come home to her husband or boyfriend and lovingly fix him dinner, knowing he'll never know. And the whole time, he knows he'll never know what she's really done all day! That's our mystery and that's the source of our power over men!"
"When you were a married man, were you ever unfaithful to your ex, to Tricia I mean? For any reason?"
"No," I said. "Never!"
"Yet she was routinely unfaithful to you, and you knew nothing about it. See? Well, tomorrow," Tracy said, opening the door to her flat. "Tomorrow come by around eight, and we'll teach you a lot more about being a woman.
She had a point somewhere, but Scott had fucked my brains out and I couldn't think. I went through it feeling beaten. Scott watched me go, amused. I didn't look back. I went straight to bed and cried myself to sleep. Poor Sally! In the morning I felt a little better. I realized I didn't need to tell Sally anything.
The next day Tracy arrived home late. I waited a few minutes and rang her bell. She came to the door flustered, and when I glanced past her shoulder I saw someone was with her.
"Amy! I'm sorry, I had an awful day at the clinic today and I'm exhausted. Then I ran into Sally here and we began talking, and... but you haven't met Sally yet, have you? Only Sally's husband, the other Sally." She stepped to one side and said "Sally, this is Amy. Amy, Sally."
"How are you?" I said in an ingratiating tone, thinking 'this is my arch-rival.' "I've heard so much about you." She was a well-turned-out woman just beginning to lose what had obviously been a hard bodied figure, softening into a middle aged spread. There was nothing soft in her face, however. Gimlet eyes. Even her hair looked enameled.
"I'll bet you've heard about me!" Sally replied. She made no move to reach for my outstretched hand, so I let it fall. "You're Amy, eh? Not bad looking for a girls man. Better than that faggot bastard deserves."
"Never mind that," Tracy replied sharply. "We've settled that. There'll be no reconsiderations!"
"No, we've agreed," Sally replied equably. "But isn't this the night Amy- boy here was supposed to go out and get his ass fucked silly, get gang- shagged by a hockey team or something? So he won't mind what happens to him tomorrow night?" She said this last in a level, deliberate voice, as if Tracy were reneging on something." I looked at them both, not at all sure what was going on.
"Yes," Tracy said. "Damn! Things got so hectic at the clinic today I forgot to call to make the arrangements. Tonight I need at least three guys in his mouth and his ass all night. Five, preferably. Then when he's had enough, he needs to know there's no such thing. By morning I want getting fucked to become a way of life for him. I want him waving his ass at anything with a dick after tonight, never able to forget how good it felt."
"I can take care of that," Sally told Tracy with an amused glance at me. I was still bewildered. "No problem. Shall I?" "Please do," Tracy said. "Be my guest!"
Immediately Sally turned toward me. "Amy," she said, "There's a lovely little gay bar south of main street." She took out a pencil and small pad. "Here's the address. The same place I sent my Sally for his education, I'm sure he told you all about it. Dress yourself as attractive as you can and get your little pussy out there. Don't take your own car, and don't take any money, and don't come back until you've got $500 in your purse, all of it earned with your mouth and your ass. If you're good, you'll have it by morning. If you're very good, that is!" She smiled maliciously.
Then to Tracy, "See? No problem. Tonight, any time anyone asks him to open his mouth or lift his legs, he won't feel offended or conscience-stricken. He'll feel grateful, because he needs the money. He'll even be eager to hustle a little something extra for tips. If the cock sucking and the fucking are also fun for him, that'll be the extra. That's why they say 'once a whore, always a whore.' Once a girl's spent a night turning tricks, all men look like tricks to her forever after. She knows without thinking what they want and how to give it to them, and what it should cost them. Our Amy will come home to us thinking like a whore. That's how we want her to think, isn't it?"
"That'll do the job," Tracy said. "Go ahead, Amy. You're losing time and opportunity even as we speak."
"But without a car or money for a taxi, how do I get there?" I didn't like the sound of any of this.
"On your back, dear," Sally said, interrupting Tracy, whose face showed sympathetic concern while Sally's showed none. "There are men with cars all the way between here and there. And there's a doorman downstairs, isn't there? Give him reason to be kind to you. Do we need to explain everything?"
A minute later I was ransacking my closet. My desire to be a proper, respectable, 'nice' woman had betrayed me, I found. I had no provocative clothes, only a range of decent ones, the most exciting intended for formal wear. Finally I found that black satin micro mini I'd rescued from the Salvation Army box when I was packing to come here how long ago? Months? There it was, a leftover reminder of the days when I was a cross- dresser imagining I was a slut. Now I really was a slut.
I slipped into it. With a wide red belt around my now-quite-narrow waist to emphasize my now-quite-well-rounded hips, and with my hair pinned high up and held by a red ribbon, I looked appropriately available, I thought. Crotchless panties -- I remembered how I found out that mine weren't the only ones in Trish's and my lingerie drawers, nor in our bed. Whatever happened tonight, I wouldn't be any more a whore than she'd been. On the spur of the moment I pulled on thigh-high black boots. You never know, I thought. Then as I left my place I remembered to toss into my purse some Kleenex, Kotex pads, and K-Y jelly. The three K's, I thought to myself, never leave home without them. ' While slathering on heavier-than-usual makeup I decided I would not put the make on any of our doormen -- they'd tell each other, and they'd all expect favors from me forever afterward. Instead, when I got downstairs all I did was smile and ask him to call me a taxi. When it came, I leaned through the door, handed him Sally's slip of paper, and said to the driver, "Honey Bun, a blow job or a fuck up the ass to take me there."
The driver glared back at me. "Sorry, lady. I'm a married man," and he handed me back the paper and sped off before I could shout after him, "So what? So was I, once!" I told the doorman the driver had been rude to me, please call another. The next one was also rude, but this time I didn't mind. I was toughening up, the way a whore should. The third taxi driver looked me over when I put the choice to him, my mouth or my ass, and replied "Both!"
"If you're man enough," I said, and hopped in. He was man enough. A half hour later when we pulled up to the bar my anal pussy was well-lubricated and incredibly stretched. No more need for K-Y jelly for sure, I thought. It hadn't been at all demeaning. The driver had been gentle and as he approached his climaxes he'd been vigorous and impassioned as he thrust into me. Even considerate! I'd caught some of his erotic energy and begun to give as good as I was getting. I even orgasmed onto his cock when he was deep in my ass! As I got out I turned to give him a big kiss. "Thank you, sweetheart," I told him. "You felt good and you tasted good. I could eat you for breakfast!"
He grinned back. "No thanks, honey cheeks, I don't usually have fruits eat me for breakfast! You make a great girl! Good luck in there! Maybe some other time!" And he sped off.
When I stepped inside I saw that the bar was large, with a huge dance floor in back surrounded by tables and a deep thumping sound making conversation difficult. The bartender motioned me over immediately.
"Tonight's pretty busy, love," he said. "Our regulars have more than they can handle, and most of them are leather boys anyhow, not at all pretty like you. So you're welcome to stay. But we insist on a flat rate here, $25 any time your John gets off, and $10 for any time he doesn't. Whatever brings him off, or doesn't. It saves argument and holds down price-gouging. The house gets 10% if it's anyone you approached here. Male or female. With some people like you, you can't tell, and it doesn't much matter."
"That's not much," I said, my heart sinking while I calculated how many times $25 went into $550.
He shrugged and turned to serve a customer.
So I went to work. I hustled. I eyeballed men lined up at the bar to find the most likely, concentrated on only the likely ones, and once I learned how to say things to them with an insinuating smile, more often than not I was off to the parking lot with them. There were subtle signals I learned to pick up from the cruisers, and signals to ignore from the mere voyeurs. I got several customers just by weaving by myself on the dance floor, making the most suggestive moves I could imagine and accomplish with my upper body -- my breasts nicely set off by the stretch satin -- then sinuously writhing my pelvis as if there were a real precious pussy inside, with a prick already in it, always meanwhile waggling my bubble-shaped ass. Everyone gawked, and some came over to chat me up, then feel me up, and so forth. I loved it!
It was odd. I really did love it. It wasn't me serving them, but me dominating them, controlling them. I could bring any man to his knees, figuratively speaking, when I went down on my own knees in front of him. His rate of breathing, whining, desiring, concentration, everything was in a single lick of my tongue or pursing of my mouth. And when we went back to their cars and they were pumping in and out of my slick, soaked, distended, grasping asshole, it was heaven. I wore their penises like silk rosettes, badges of honor.
Only the thickest of cocks made me lose control, forget who was in charge. Those few, once inside me, could turn my entire body into quivering, brainless jelly, pure joy. I'd cover those men's faces with kisses afterward. And with the $25 fuck fee they'd often leave me a $10 tip!
At three in the morning the customers were thinning, and I was still nearly $100 short. A man took me in his arms to dance, and while I was calculating who else I might hit on, my eyes roaming the few remaining occupied booths, he asked me, "Are you still short, Amy, or are you doing this now for the fun of it, on your own time?"
I looked up and sure enough, it was Sally! Looking tenderly down at me. With other men's cum streaming down my leg into my high boots, here was the man of my dreams holding me solicitously in his arms. I wanted to kiss him, but other men's cum still coated my lips -- I hadn't bothered to wipe the last few mouthfuls of sperm because I'd found that a thin film of cum was more soothing than saliva for coating my irritated mouth.
He kissed me. Full on the lips.
I burst into tears, and almost collapsed, almost inconsolable. "Oh, Sally! Oh Sally," I sobbed into his shoulder. "I'm so very ashamed! I wanted to be true to you. But now I'm a whore and a slut!"
"No, Amy, no, don't be! It'll be all right! I know what this is for! It'll be all right!"
"I've been with other men!" I wailed. "Lots!"
"No, you've been learning more about how to please me!"
"But it turns out I love it! Not just with you. With other men! Anyone, nearly! I never thought I'd want sex with a man, but here I am doing it with whoever wants me."
"Even so, I'll always be your first. And I still want you."
"You can taste other men's cum on my lips, I'm sure."
"Amy, that's not new to me, remember. I like the taste of other men's cum. The same way you do!"
'Oh, Sally!" I cried with relief that he still cared for me, and I cried for joy that I was dancing in his arms. I hugged him. We finished our dance.
"How much more money do you need?" he asked.
"$100! And the crowd is thinning out by now!
"I'll pay you for two tricks, Amy. I'd love to. I'm good for two cums."
"I can't take money from you, Sally!" I cried. "I love you!"
It was out! I'd said it! I was appalled! What had I done?
Sally was unperturbed. He replied calmly with miraculous words! "And I love you too, Amy. I realized some time ago that the way my wife has reconditioned me, I can find full happiness only with a girl like you. With a boy-girl. I never dreamed she'd be as lovely as you are!"
"But I'm a whore!"
"So am I. Remember?"
I was delirious with delight. We went back to his car and within 15 minutes I'd earned $50 more from him and a $10 tip.
Then he just held me while I plastered myself against him. Finally he said,"Amy, you've got to get back to work. I'll wait for you here. Here's a hint. The booths still have people in them not yet ready to call it a night, dating couples and young marrieds, straights who come slumming to the gay bars for the novelty of it. Mostly. You're clever. I'll bet you can get $50 out of one of those couples with no trouble, if you put your mind to it.
I did just that. I sat down with the first couple nearest the door and smiled at them. They smiled back uncertainly. They assumed I was a woman, but in this place they couldn't be sure. Nor could they know what I wanted.
I settled their second uncertainty immediately. I spoke to the woman. "I'll lick your cunt for $25. Until you cum. While your friend here watches. He might learn a few things about what girls like. No orgasm, you owe me nothing. "
The man spoke up. "Now see here," he began, trying to work himself up to a righteous indignation. "See here young woman!"
With that I knew I was home free. I continued as if uninterrupted, "Then I'll suck your cock for another $25, Mister, while she watches. She'll learn how to do things she's never dreamed of before. How to use her mouth to turn your brains into Jello, for one thing. You'll both live happier ever after."
"We don't do oral sex," the woman said. "It's disgusting!"
"You won't need to do it," I said. "I'll do it. All you need to do is lie back and relax and watch and enjoy. Then when I've done it you'll know more about it, and can ask each other a few questions about what one is willing to give up for the other to take. I'll leave you two alone now to talk things over."
I got up and went over to the bar, just out of earshot, or nearly, but I could hear then discussing my proposition rather intensely: "Just watch! You don't have to DO anything!" and "No, you wouldn't have to touch me there ever again, not ever!" and finally "We could both learn a thing or two from her." They signalled me over.
Sally's wife had been right. A single evening of hustling and the feel of a dozen cocks in my mouth and another dozen in my asshole had changed me. I wasn't so much numb as habituated, impassive. They sat side by side so they could each look down at me while I worked them over, and I knelt confidently under the table. First I did the woman. She was easier to bring off than Trish or Tracy or any of Tracy's friends had been. God, she must have been terribly hard up! She was panting within a few minutes and shrieking within a few more. Then squirming so wildly I could scarcely tongue fuck her into a finale! Half the people left at the bar heard her scream and turned to watch. As she finished and was trying to catch her breath she gasped "I never! I never!" to herself over and over.
When I turned to unzip her husband I saw why she'd never. He was smaller than even me, even after my months and months of hormones. I took the whole of him into my mouth and began to tongue him. He grew. When he was a full four inches I worked only his outer edges so his wife could see how. I sucked the tip and ran my lips down the shaft a few times, then licked the underside while he moaned. When he finally came, I clamped down tight and swallowed noisily, so she'd know what was happening. But I kept most of his cum in my mouth until I could stand up, lean over, kiss her and push some between her lips. Then while she reeled back shocked, I kissed him the same way.
"There!" I said gently. "That's the real sacrament uniting you. It's tasty. See to it that each of you get lots! Use your imaginations! Enjoy each other, dears."
The man paid me, and included a twenty-five dollar tip. Apparently she'd been the one reluctant to give head, not knowing that deprived her too. She looked at me musing, obviously thinking her own thoughts. "I can't thank you enough," he said. "That may have been her first orgasm since we got married."
"Your cock is good for sucking, but not much more," I told him. "Your mouth is your only real asset. Do her well with your mouth, and do her often. Because now that she knows how it feels, if you don't take care of her she'll find other women ready to sweeten her pussy with kisses, and other men ready to fill it up whether or not your mouth is willing to empty it out again." I turned toward her. "That's what my wife warned me!" I told her. "Think about it!" And with that I left them still staring at me astonished, not knowing how to feel.
Sally and I then drove back to my place. He explained quietly that his presence in the bar wasn't coincidental. His wife had sent him there to watch me, to be sure I was fucking customers for the money I needed and not just raiding an ATM machine.
"Then you're required to come upstairs with me right now," I told him. "To keep your eye on me until I actually deliver the money to your wife and Tracy. Isn't that right?"
"Yes," he said. "Amy honey, did their scheme work? Has tonight's whoring made you feel cheap?"
"Yes," I said soberly. "A little. I like to think I'm more than a hired scum bag, but tonight taught me that whatever else I may be, I'm at least a scum bag. And that feeling liberates me. Because it doesn't matter. I'm free to use my body any way I see fit whatever any notions of chastity or fidelity or propriety may tell me to do or not do."
"You aren't cheap in my eyes, Amy," he replied. "You're very precious!"
My heart swelled up when I heard that. But we were both too worn out down to have sex again just yet. We went to sleep in each others' arms, and then when we woke up the next morning we reached for each other. "Hurry," I said. "I've recovered that horny smutty feeling I had last night! I need a good stiff dick crammed into me right now, I really do!"
Sally grinned, then said, "I know just how you feel. I sometimes wake up feeling the same need to wrap myself around some ramrod cock." He watched my reaction, and then added. "Our women did their work on us very well, didn't they. We may both still be men who prefer sex with women, but we both crave men too. Isn't that true?"
"That's certainly true for me!" I hugged him! "I do crave you! I don't mind that you feel the same way, Sally. If you like, I'll use a dildo on you after you bring me off."
"All right," he said. "But if we see more of each other, don't be surprised if now and then I need to go out cruising for a real, stiff, fat, hot, throbbing cock to stuff my guts with. That's how I am now. You can use one too now and then, can't you? I mean beyond what I've got for you?"
I knew I could. "Yes," I replied. "When we want to feel filled up, honey, we'll go out and find some stud and share him! "
"We were made for each other, Amy, you know? We're what our wives wanted us to be. In my case, Sally wanted to punish me for that affair I had, and wanted me to enjoy only men from now on. And now I've found you. In your case, your wife wanted you to enjoy men so you'd want to become a complete woman. So you could enjoy them even more! You do, now, don't you."
"Yes," I said. "Tracy has seen to that!"
"Because as a complete woman you're a more useful resource."
"For Tracy?" I didn't understand what he'd just said.
"No, not for Tracy. For Trish. For your former wife. For her law firm."
I was baffled. It must have shown in my face.
"Amy, remember Trish? The woman who brought you here and left you here? She's been behind this all along, you know. From the moment she took you to Madison and made you a legal woman, and annulled her marriage to you and then handed you over to Tracy. She's been following your progress closely every day, right through last night. By now she's seen pictures of you sucking every one of those cocks and rolling your ass under every one of those Johns. She needs to know you enjoyed being an out-and- out whore. She has plans."
"Trish?" I was speechless.
"Sally told me. Tracy doesn't really own the condo across the hall. Trish's law office loaned it to her to make training you more convenient. When you were finessed out of your house and your marriage into your new life and your new gender, your former wife hired Tracy to guide you through a transition not only to womanhood but to complete slut. So you'd live like a woman all the time and enjoy it, and never look back, and sleep with all kinds of men all the time, and enjoy that, and never look back!"
"Tracy works for Trish?"
"Yes. Let's get some coffee and I'll explain."
When we were settled in the kitchen, Sally took a deep breath and then started in. "Last year it was I guess. You were away on one of your cross dressing excursions, and your wife mentioned to her friend Carol how badly her firm needed to get you back to help her deal with this new client the firm would be taking on soon, Magnum. You'd quit her law firm because you wanted to dress like a woman all day, not just on nights and weekends and now and then at some gender meeting. Carol told her it was easy. The way to bring you back into the firm, obviously, was to make you a woman full time. Then you'd have other uses too."
"Well, Trish was so delighted with the idea that she ate Carol out nonstop all night, and Carol waddled like a duck for a week I'm told. When the time was ripe Trish proposed it to you, sort of, and you fell for it. Of course you didn't mean to go all the way, but they didn't need a recreational transvestite, they needed you to be a real woman. So they needed a physician to oversee your hormone regimen in confidence, so they brought in Tracy. Tracy was just right -- it turned out that she's also a Dominatrix when she feels like it, an expert at manipulating men so her desires gradually become their desires. She was perfect! You've been well-manipulated ever since, programmed to want to be a woman who enjoys men, and just about ready to consent to a complete sex change. That's what's about to occur. The process is nearly complete."
"The process is 'nearly complete'?" I managed to get out. "Why does Trish want me to go all the way?"
"Understand, Amy, it isn't just that she wants it. She wants you to want it. The beauty of this whole scheme is that nothing is forced on anyone. Everyone wants what they get. Everyone benefits. Everyone's better off."
"Why me? Why should she bother?"
"Her law firm needs a kind of special agent. The Magnum Company has some serious engineering problems that are also legal and personnel problems. The technical people need to be coaxed into cooperation with each other, into supporting the best of several competing ideas. You can recognize which ideas and then make it happen, as an engineer but also as a woman who uses her body to persuade men to do what she says. You could also infiltrate the competition, and see what they're doing. Serve as a kind of company whore as needed and also as a company spy for technical matters, both. Be a kind of industrial Mata Hari."
I was silent, absorbing this. It was diabolical! Because as I thought of it, I realized I just might like doing just that! Steering less-capable engineers straight while luring others into telling me what they're up to and then steering them crooked! And meanwhile getting both of them to satisfy me sexually!
"Now you're no longer self-conscious about sex with strangers. But you need a vagina to use on them along with your ass and your mouth. That's what's scheduled for tonight. You'll see. Tonight you'll lose your balls in an accident, and then there'll be no turning back. They'll ask if they should go on and finish the job, and they're sure you'll say 'Yes!' because even now your balls are useless. Even you tend to think that they're ridiculous. Because even though they're you, they are ridiculous. Because now you're a woman, and women don't have balls."
There was a question I had to ask before we went any further.
"Sally, why are you telling me this? Why don't you just let things happen the way they planned them. You're part of their plan, aren't you? Is your telling me all this right now also part of their plan?"
He was silent. "Amy, what difference does it make? Yes. My wife Sally knows that I'm so utterly honest that I can't plot against anyone or deceive anyone. She knew that when she factored me into this scheme of theirs. But after tonight, when you're a eunuch and they ask if you want to be a woman with a vagina, when they reveal how thoroughly you've been screwed and manipulated for months, you'll never believe me. You'll never trust me. You'd always think I'm part of some further conspiracy."
He hesitated, then went on. "I told them I'd tell you, and they told me to go ahead. They want me to tell you. Deception isn't necessary any more. As they see it, you want what they want anyhow, now."
I believed him. I was convinced that every word Sally was speaking was the truth.
Sally paused, then said, "And now I'm an added incentive for you to go the distance."
I was silent. Then, "You?" I thought a moment. "How are you an added incentive, Sally," I asked.
Sally looked grave, then spoke rapidly, embarrassed, as if the torrent of words would stop if he attended too closely to them. "Amy," he said. "Sally hired me out for just one phase of your conversion, to give you your first girlish crush, so your first fucking and cock sucking would be a deeply romantic experience for you. My wife liked using me that way with a man, and your wife wanted you to have that with me, a beautiful and memorable first fuck. Because she still cares for you. You've been her husband, after all!"
That was news. But it was credible. Trish always felt kindly toward people she meant to use for her own purposes. Her affection for me when I was doing her makeup for her lovers, that was certainly genuine.
"I was supposed to be done with you now. You were supposed to get a "Dear John" from me when I heard you'd had sex with Tracy's former husband, and then when I heard about your exploits as a whore. I was supposed to feel aggrieved. I was supposed to write you 'If you can't remain true to me, if you prefer any common cock to mine, well then...'."
"So?" I sensed something delicious coming. I was eager to hear it, but at the same time I wanted this moment drawn out. Some instinct told me that I would want it to last forever.
"Amy, I couldn't write that note. No one anticipated my falling in love with you. I don't want to deceive you. I love you. I want to marry you!"
"What?!" I replayed that word in my head. That was what Sally had actually said! He wanted to marry me!
"Yes! Marry you! It wouldn't affect your new work for Trish! I know that you'd need to take men to bed now and then to get them in a good mood and talkative about their work, or to reward them for their work, or to help them with their problems at work when like most men they're stuck but won't admit it. That's the work your wife wants you to do. You're uniquely qualified now, aren't you? She must've hinted it to you by now, to prepare you, to line you up for it."
"Yes. When I visited her, she told me there was something coming up. She didn't say what, but she put me on retainer."
"There you are, then, Amy. I like men too, now, so maybe if we were married I could help you with your work sometimes."
I was silent.
Finally I asked "Has your wife agreed to let you marry me?"
"That's what they've been negotiating. As the company's lawyer, your wife wants you to have a vagina and no balls, so there can never be complications if your origins are ever found out. So there'll be nothing for anyone ever to find out. My wife has wanted you to keep your balls, to punish me, so I'd always know that I was sleeping with a man and marrying one too, if it came to that. It remains that you're legally a woman, so we could marry any time, once Sally gives me my freedom."
"Well, Trish and Tracy together managed to persuade my wife that it was more humiliating all around for all of us to see your balls rolling around in a bottle. I'd still be marrying a man, or anyhow a former man, so I'd still be gay, the way my wife wants me. Gay till death doth us part. And you'd be marrying a man, so you'd be a thoroughgoing woman, the kind your wife wants you to be. So what they negotiated was, if I can persuade you to give up your balls, Sally will give me a divorce."
"I told her I wouldn't be part of this deception any more," Sally concluded. "That I'd have to tell you everything. They told me to go ahead. As they see it, that's one sure way to get you to agree to let them operate on you. They told me to tell you everything when they sent me out last night to watch you turning tricks and collecting your money. I almost refused! I don't want to be their tool!"
"But you haven't refused," I said. "Why not?"
"Because I want to marry you, Amy! I don't want any deception ever to come between us."
I managed to recover my wits. I tried to be coy, but I couldn't. My heart was too overflowing with happiness. I did manage to sound grave and chiding. "You haven't asked me properly," I replied.
"Properly?"
"Yes, on your knees in front of me, with both of my hands clasped in yours."
"You darling!" He got on his knees and took my hands in his. He looked so cute!
"Amy, my love, will you marry me?"
"Sally honey," I replied. "Why don't you suck my cock while I think about it."
He did. Experience tells. He was much better at it than I was even at the peak of the previous night's whoring. He brought my little stump of a cock to a tremendous orgasm, and I managed to squirt quite a few drops of clear fluid into his mouth.
Then I did the same thing for him. And finally I told him yes, yes I would marry him, yes. Even if it did cost me my balls. Because he was the one person in the world I really wanted. Now.
ix.
Sally returned to his wife, and I somehow got through the day. Tracy slipped a note under my door telling me to keep the money I'd earned, she believed it was fairly earned, and to dress in garter belt, net stockings, stiletto heels, a lacy bra, and no panties at all for tonight when she got home, then to wear sweats over everything.
"We're going to attend an orgy," she told me as we went down together in the elevator that evening. "Where everyone can do anything to anyone. After last night, the prospect doesn't frighten you, does it?"
"No," I told her. "There's not much I haven't done, and not much that hasn't been done to me."
"That's what I thought. Even so, there are strange people where we're going, and they do things that might freak you out. I don't want to see you upset."
We rode in silence to a large country house. As Tracy rang and we waited to be let in, she suddenly said, "Amy, you'd better take these tranquilizers right now before we go in. They'll make you feel weird, but less weird than you'll feel once we get inside. They'll release you to enjoy yourself, I hope.
I did. And almost immediately felt strange.
My vision wasn't blurred, exactly, but lots of things I saw and felt flowed together. Did I dream some of it? There seemed to be a huge room where men and women were strapped to equipment located here and there, padded saw horses and flying rings and swings, while other men and women whipped them or kissed them or seemed more vigorously occupied -- pumped them -- fucked them? I saw women with cocks in their hands, their own? and huge muscled men with cone-shaped breasts and pussy creases below the mounds of their crotches where there should have been a cock and balls! And Janie fucking a thin young man. Was it Janie? Was she one of the men or the women? Which one?
I saw my fiance Sally strapped into a set of stocks, his feet separated wide apart by a spreader bar on the floor and his hands caught by the wrists through holes in a timber about three feet high, his neck held firm between them, bent over with his ass high in the air behind him. Tricia, it *was* Trish, she was standing behind him, holding him by the hips and plunging her enormous rod into his backside while meanwhile a man he'd been sucking off came all over his face. He looked so happy! Then I was Sally, locked in the stocks and reamed and raped in the mouth both ends at once. When I looked again I saw that the man headfucking me wasn't the same one as before, and the cock in my ass was smaller too. I'd passed out? Then it was huge, filling my guts to bursting. I clenched onto it and held on with my ass muscles to keep it from splitting me wide open, and then came on it convulsively, over and over, my little penis dripping from the tip like a faucet.
Sally's wife was on the other side of the room, her long black hair waving from side to side in slow ecstasy as she swung an enormous lash through the air. It landed where some woman shrieked. Or was it a man she'd just castrated with it? Trish and Carol stood together next to me holding hands and laughing as two huge men came up and told me to suck their cocks. When one pulled out to spray my face with semen I begged Trish to set me free, my voice squeaky high from all the pricks that had been squeezed down my throat.
"Girls suck cock!"she replied. Except that she couldn't have, because her face was buried in Carol's crotch the way mine was in hers.
Tracy gave me an injection -- another? More pain -- was I was being fisted this time? Two strange women squeezing my groin while looking me straight in the eyes. Excruciating, unrelenting pain!!
Tracy came to my rescue.
"Oh dear," she said. "That's done it!"
Then she told me, "But look on the bright side. Now you have to become a real woman, sweetheart. Sign here."
I signed and passed out.
When I came altogether to myself I was on a hospital bed of some kind with my feet up in stirrups, in some kind of clinic. Feeling terribly vulnerable. I recalled feeling something down there, but now I felt nothing. I was feeling easy and mellow, the same as when I had my appendix out and they dripped something into me to reduce the anxiety. Tracy was talking to someone.
"I should have resected them that first night, before we started him on injectable hormones. It would have been traumatic for him, but he'd have gotten over it and accepted the inevitable, maybe that much sooner. Then we could have given him lighter hormone dosages and he'd have mellowed out and gotten ladylike sooner. But he was still playing with his femininity then. Not really being feminine. Well, not any more!"
Then Trish's voice! Was it Trish? "Is that them? Those little blebs? That's what all this fuss has been about? Those things? Men!"
Tracy continued, "I'm sure he won't miss them. See? Just as I said, shriveled grapes. They haven't functioned for quite a while."
Trish's voice again. "It's a shame. We protect the poor darling from physical pain so he'll enjoy his transformation and look back on it with fondness, and those two women mangle his balls before we can ask him to give them up on his own. They see a shemale not theirs and decide to clamp him for their own amusement. Not even ask first if he belongs to anyone."
"I have a confession to make," I heard a third voice reply. Sally's wife's voice. "I told them to do it. I'm sorry, but I wasn't at all happy when Sally told us an 'accident' wouldn't be necessary, that Amy now really wanted a vagina! I felt cheated. I want to know Sally is fucking guys up the ass, like a proper queer, not fucking their vaginas! I wanted this girlfriend of his to have balls too, you remember, but you talked me out of them. So I thought, at least losing his jewels should be memorable for him. So I told those ladies we hired to go ahead and do it as originally planned. And that's what they did."
"That's annoying, Sally, " Trish said sternly. "That wasn't what we agreed finally!"
"No, but let's not fight," Tracy's voice said. "I don't think there's any real harm done. He was pretty much out of it anyway by the time they got to him. I guess we should have remembered that Sally was herself a ball buster when we were all still in college. She likes seeing men look anguished. How many testicles did you ruin our Senior year, Sally?"
"As many as there were guys who fucked me, Trace. That was my price. One fuck, one ball, payable on delivery. It was surprising how many agreed that year, five or six, easy! I don't know what they expected. Probably they didn't believe I'd do it. They didn't expect me to flatten their things with a thumbscrew I suppose. But how else? I hate the sight of blood. Of course they were always too ashamed to tell anyone afterward, even when they had to get medical attention. I'll bet even now some of their wives think that's how some men's balls happen to be, one shaped like an egg and one flattened like a pancake."
"Why didn't you squash one of your husband's balls when you caught him with that secretary, Sally? Why'd you decide instead to turn him queer?"
"Oh, Trish, c'mon! We mature! Our judgment ripens! I squashed guys' balls when I was still in college! I was a kid! Turning your own husband into a faggot to punish him for fucking around is much more elegant! And anyway, look what you're doing to Andy here, a perfectly decent, faithful husband whose only fault is that he happens to like wearing women's clothes. Dumping him all the way into femininity and divorcing him because he might accidentally embarrass you among the neighbors or at work, or so you yourself can fuck around more conveniently! And now luring him into sex change surgery so he can troubleshoot corporate personnel problems with a cunt as well as a brain!"
"It wasn't a divorce. And anyhow, his new pussy is for his new boy friend as far as he's concerned. For your husband. Do you really think your Sally's now faggot enough actually to marry him?"
"O yes!" Tracy's voice now. "He does want to! Because as he sees it, Amy is the best of both worlds for him, the kind of woman he's always desired, and the kind of man his wife has trained him to desire. Hold in mind too that Amy is now even more of a faggot than Sally. Because Amy is a man in love with a man who doesn't even remotely resemble a woman. You'd cry for joy to see how sweetly they fucked and sucked each other on their first date and then again last night, not to mention this morning. They make such a lovely couple!"
"I saw the videotapes," Trish's voice replied. "And I'm so happy for him! I love seeing men suck each other's cocks. They look so sweet, like nursing babies!"
Tracy again. "Anyhow, girls, this discussion is just about moot. Dr. Harper's finished now. Just look."
There was a shuffling to the foot of my bed.
"His vulva looks raw, but it'll heal quickly enough. In years ahead many a man will kiss those lips Dr. Harper has just shaped from his testicular pouch, now that the balls they once contained are in that jar over there. And his penis has been reshaped into a very nice vagina with full feeling -- that pretty clit is the stub end. That's very nice work, doctor."
I heard some woman mumble something. Then Tracy continued, "I'll keep him here bandaged for a week or so, so he can heal and realize gradually that he isn't the man he was and is more of a lady than he'd intended. Is he awake yet?"
"I'm awake," I croaked. "I heard you!" I opened my eyes.
There was Trish smiling down on me. "I know, sweetheart. You were supposed to hear us. That's why Dr. Harper didn't use a general anesthetic. We have no secrets from you now! You're one of us! I just wanted to be sure you knew as we begin our new relationship that the accident to your balls did occur after all. A pity. Whether or not an accident is for you to decide."
She leaned over and gave me a soft, lingering kiss. "My dear girl! "Welcome to your new sex, honey! You now have the cutest vagina! It'll be even more darling than Carol's when it heals, and I love Carol's! Men are going to fall all over themselves to get inside you when they see it!"
She was always urging men on me. At least now I knew why. "Is Sally here?"
"No, he's outside in the waiting room. We didn't want him to know that those women really did crush your balls before we brought you here. It would have distressed him."
"Do you feel all right, honey? All things considered, I mean?" That was Tracy leaning over me now."
"I feel fine!"
"That's the tranquilizers talking. But you will be fine. Better than before. Because you'll be one person now in body and mind, not two."
"I want to talk to Sally. My Sally!"
"Of course, honey!" Trish again. "We'll leave you now. You two have so many plans to make! Wedding plans, I hear! It's so exciting! Maybe you'd like to borrow the gown I wore when I married you? But we can talk about things like that another time!"
They left, and Sally came in and kissed me, and then I felt so much better! He sat by me and we talked, until I got tired and fell asleep.
x.
Three months later I was fully healed, and Sal and I lived together in my condo apartment and regularly made love as man and woman. Tracy's apartment was sold to another couple, the wife a treasure of gourmet recipes, sprightly advice, and delicious gossip about everyone else in the building. We became dear friends.
Gradually Sal acted less and less swish -- it was no longer necessary -- while I learned to act more and more feminine. Our passion sustained itself. Now and then one of us brought home a monster cock attached to a hunk of a man, and then we'd both stuff ourselves with him as if he were a Thanksgiving turkey! Or we were. Our love ripened.
When Sal's divorce became final we married each other in a small ceremony. I did wear Trish's gown after all, because I'd wanted to ever since I first saw her in it, the day we were married. That had been a hopeless fantasy, but now it finally came true. Everyone told me I looked lovely! I was so happy! I knew I should have felt grateful to Trish for all she'd done for me, but we deliberately scheduled the wedding for a time when we knew Trish had to be out of town. She'd done more than enough!
I went back to work for Trish's law firm. Sal negotiated a non-exclusive services contract restricted to Trish's Magnum operation, and I kept my own clients in a new consulting firm Sal and I quietly set up. Trish introduced me to a few other people in the firm as my sister, and no one questioned it, not even those who had known Andy. Georgy put the make on me and had to be scraped off several times before a senior partner warned him about sexual harassment and he gave up. Rumors spread around the company and in my former neighborhood that Andy was dead, killed tragically in an industrial accident in Saudi Arabia. Trish and I both wore black ostentatiously for a few weeks, but our dresses were so fashionable and mine so provocative that no one who didn't know could imagine that we were in mourning.
My new work for Trish was what she called troubleshooting, but it was really fucking and sucking trade secrets out of engineers who worked for the Magnum Company's competition, and sometimes persuading Magnum production engineers to cooperate with other engineers who had better ideas. I offered them certain compensating satisfactions.
Whatever she asked, I did. It gave her special gratification, she once told me, knowing that her former husband was now her personal whore on assignment, ready to sleep with anyone on call from her. It gave her a special feeling of power, she said. She loved it. She'd have made me her personal maid and sex slave and not ended our marriage, she told me one day meditatively, and maybe not even tricked me all the way into femininity, if I'd been a more submissive husband to her, more into bondage, more eager to feel humiliated. She was a control freak, and made no apologies about it, now.
But she'd detected no masochistic or self-abasing tendencies in me, and what shame I felt that I wanted to look feminine evaporated when my first cross dressing convention taught me pride. Now, she said, ordering me onto various men's pricks by whatever orifice they chose was enough to satisfy her. She enjoyed calling me in to brief me for my next assignment, informing me for example whether the man I was expected to seduce -- sometimes the woman -- preferred me regal or slutty, aloof or eager, and telling me what she wanted done with them.
Frankly, I enjoyed the work. I liked manipulating various men to my own purposes. I'd describe what I did with these people to Sal when I got home, so he could enjoy it too. And as we planned, little by little our consulting firm signed up the cleverest and most imaginative of the engineers I slept with, one by one enlarging our client pool and our ability to service it. Unnoticed, we became one of the best-regarded new companies in the industry.
Until one day on a late Friday afternoon Trish called me with an odd assignment. "Amy," she said. "It seems that there's a new firm of consulting engineers in town seriously threatening the Magnum corporation's growth curve. It's headed by a husband and wife team I'm told. See if you can get into the man's pants and get their client list from them. Then we can mount an offensive to recover the clients we've lost and pick up some others. It won't be hard, once they know that their new consulting firm doesn't keep client lists confidential."
"I know something about them," I said. "We need to talk. I can stop by your house tomorrow. Around eleven in the morning? Or will you still be here in Madison?"
I knew that she spent weekends in the house we'd formerly shared. This would be my first visit to my former neighborhood since that Saturday months earlier when Trish had felt up my breasts and first proposed this job to me, and then expedited my journey into full womanhood.
I stopped at CurlyGirly en route to consult with Janie. "I need to be read as a man in a dress," I told her. "I want to blow my cover to anyone. At a glance. Can you help me?"
"These days it isn't easy with you, honey," she replied. "With all those hormones doing their things, you have all the right curves for a woman, and none of the crags. But that tight blouse with big boobs helps. We'll make them even bigger. The satin mini and net stockings are perfect. Put a tear or two into the stockings though. And you'll need stiletto heels, 'fuck me' pumps of the kind no woman wears any more. Dressed like that on an ordinary street, no one will think you're real! Never mind your hairdo -- we'll cover it with a Drag Queen wig bigger than a beach ball. No earrings or eye makeup, but use too much lipstick. That ought to do it. Can you recall how you used to walk? Slouching, lots of shoulder?"
"No," I said. "But I'll fake up something."
It amused Janie to put make-up on me emphasizing a broad face and square jaw. The result was as persuasively masculine as my first face had been feminine after my first CurlyGirly visit. I hugged her in gratitude. "Just lovely!" I said.
"No, not at all lovely," she replied, amused. "Remember to lower your voice."
Arriving in my old neighborhood, I went straight to the local supermarket. "How are you, Mrs. Svenson," I said to the first person I recognized. "You remember me? Andy? Tricia's husband? I went to Saudi Arabia? I'm back now."
She looked at me peculiarly. "You've changed," she said.
"Yes, I'm a girl now. I was away from my wife for so long that I decided one day while masturbating that I should become my wife. So that's what I did! Now I don't miss her any more when I'm away."
"Humph!" she said. "Does your wife know about this? Have you told her? Tricia?"
"Oh, yes! She encourages me! She loved it when I grew these!"
"She does? She did? Humph!" Mrs. Svenson replied, hurrying to get away.
A few more chance meetings in the mall, and a few neighbors where I rang doorbells asking to borrow back tools they'd borrowed from me, and Andy's reputation and Trish's respectability in the neighborhood were permanently ruined. It would get back to Trish's superiors by Monday I was sure, and the Magnum company's board would know almost immediately afterward that their General Counsel plays perverted sex games in public with her husband. As Trish had forecast long before, she would be on another assignment by Tuesday. Something much more modest than overseeing Magnum affairs.
When I arrived at my former home, Trish looked at me closely.
"You look like a man in drag," she said abruptly.
"I still am, in some ways," I replied.
"Well, that's no longer my concern. Just be sure you dress properly on the job, and don't loiter in the neighborhood when you leave here." She then repeated her instructions to me: seduce the husband and get their client list, and she gave me their office address. One of her people had suborned one of our secretaries to get additional information about Sal and me. I made a mental note to fire her.
"I know this company, Trish. In fact I'm already into the husband's pants," I said. "He's very affectionate, but he's very honest with his wife. He keeps nothing secret from her."
Trish looked surprised. "He does? Then he's a fool. Does he tell her about you? What you two do together?"
"He doesn't have to. She already knows about me!"
A slow grin spread across Trish's face. "You minx!" she said. "You're balling both of them together, aren't you?"
"If I fuck him, his wife gets fucked too, Trish. That's the deal. That's how it is!"
"People never cease to amaze me," Trish said. "They swing? Can we blackmail them into giving up their client list?"
"It wouldn't work," I said. "I've thought about it. There's nothing they do they're ashamed of."
"How about sleeping with a transvestite? You could dress carelessly, the way you are now, and spread the word. Take a few pictures for evidence. Threaten to post them on the company bulletin board."
"That might work. I'm trying a threat very much like that on someone else right now. Spreading the word through the neighborhood. We'll see if it destroys any reputations." Then I asked as if it were an afterthought, "Do you expect to be fucked this weekend, Trish?"
"That's none of your business any more, Amy."
"No. But I bet you will be. I'll call you Tuesday."
I drove directly home and changed into a more appropriate dress and made my face decent, then told Sal what I'd been asked to do, and what I'd done.
"You're wicked!" he said. "What if I did that to you! Dressed up in women's clothes and pranced about the neighborhood ruining our reputation as a respectable married couple! Even if only your reputation in this building!"
"What if you did, Sally?" I said in a playful, lilting tone of voice. I felt an unaccustomed thrill stir deep inside me. He had a small, thin face. With the right makeup my Sal would look gorgeous! Would my wedding gown fit him?
"What if you did, honey?" I asked, watching his face closely. "Would you find it exciting?"
Copyright © 1999, 2009 by Vickie Tern. May be archived to free archives only, single-copied for personal use, but not sold.
Vickie [email protected]
He didn't know he was being set up by his wife and another couple to be trapped in skirts.
This story contains explicit descriptions of sexual encounters. If this gives offense, or if you’re below the legal age to read such things, stay implicit, don’t read them.
1.
It’s hard to know when anything really begins, but for me the world turned around when my wife came upstairs looking for her purse during Dan and Bonnie’s Tenth Wedding Anniversary Party, and found me curled face down on a bed piled high with guests’ coats, my ass way up in the air and Dan plunging his prick into it as if there were no tomorrow.
I think I’d drunk too much and passed out on that stack of coats, just get away from the crowd for a minute and close my eyes was what I thought, and then go back downstairs. Then when I came back to the world
I felt very peculiar. There was a strange wiggly feeling in my dick, or was it further back in my loins? A sweet yearning, kind of, like rising toward cumming. Nice. I writhed luxuriously into it, and then came
aware there was something huge slithering in my rear end, like a two-way turd, and something heavy pushing on me rhythmically, someone leaning on my naked butt. My NAKED butt? I looked over my left shoulder, and damned if Dan himself wasn’t leaning over me, hair hanging over his face, a little sweaty, concerned about something. Nice of him.
“Hey Dan,” I said appreciatively. “Anything wrong?”
“No, it’s great!” he said. “You enjoy it too, now that you’re with us again.”
This was puzzling. He pushed against me again, and that huge thing filled me up again, and again I had that satisfying sense of well-being, except for feeling stretched in the rear.
Stretched? He was FUCKING ME?!
“Hey!” I shouted at him as best I could with my head turned and him with half his weight on me, “Hey! Get off me! What the hell are you doing?” I tried to squirm free, but all that did was seat his meat
even more firmly into me on his down stroke. He had me pinned.
“Ahh!” he said. “Again, Alvin. That was just great!”
I tried again. I tried to free my arms too, but they were buried among the coats. “Yesss!” he said, pushing that fat turd in and out of me even faster. “More! Hold on, guy, it’ll be just a
little longer. You’ll feel fabulous! You already feel fabulous!”
“What?!” That nice feeling in my loins was growing, and I didn’t like it at all! “Get off me, Dan!” This time I didn’t sound quite as forceful, even to myself.
“Hi Delia,” he replied brightly. WHAT!?
I turned my head to the right and there was my wife standing in the doorway. Staring stony-faced straight into my eyes and saying nothing.
For how long? Light streamed past her onto my face. Dan never lost a stroke. “You can have him back (hunhh!)in another minute (hunhh!), Delia, just as soon as I can (hunhh) finish off
(hunhh, hunhh, hunhh, hunhh). LIKE RIGHT NOW, I’M CUMMING! HUNHH!, HUNHH!, HUNHH!” And as his cock squeezed and swelled and spurted deep into my guts I stared bleary-eyed at my Delia Yes, there she was, my
Delia! Not moving either. “Delia?” I asked as Dan humped me tentatively once or twice more, then rested his full weight on my back, recovering his breath. “Delia, is that you?”
There was enough light pouring in from the hallway for me to see perfectly clearly that’s who it was. And she could see perfectly clearly that it was me from whom Dan was now pulling out his still-engorged and
dripping cock. Then she said in shocked disbelief, “Alvin?!!”
“Delia, this isn’t Alvin’s fault,” Dan assured her from above and behind me, with remarkable presence of mind for a man still looking around to wipe his prick on something. He settled on someone’s
raincoat. “I found him passed out here with his ass piled high up on this pile of coats, and I just couldn’t resist. Maybe he thought I was you when I pulled down his pants and started to jerk him off to get him ready.”
Delia just glared relentlessly at me. Was she even listening?
“So I oiled up and rammed in before he could figure out what was happening. He felt just terrific! And once I got my prick into his honey pot he’d never be able to get me out again, I knew that.
Not that many ever really want to. I think he tried a few times, especially toward the end, when he was thrashing about some. Or maybe he was just enjoying it by then. Whichever, it sure felt real good!”
I tried to say something, but nothing came out, maybe because I was still a little drunk, but also maybe because there was nothing to say. Then, “Delia!” I tried again. “He pushed himself into
me!” No, that was no help. Better to say nothing. I said nothing.
Delia just stood there, watching Dan finish wiping his cock, then storing and zipping it up. Then she said, biting each word, “Don’t try to make excuses for him, Dan! I saw him squirm his ass at
you! He made his ass too tempting for you to resist, was that it? Disgusting! Look at him lying there with that smirk on his face!”
I wasn’t smirking. I was addled, and beginning to feel desperate.
She to me. “Alvin, don’t you dare come home tonight, not tomorrow either, not ever! Stay with your boyfriend here, your...lover!” She scraped the word “lover!” off the bottom of her throat
and let it rise into a scream as it left her mouth. Then she lifted her purse from the bureau and stamped out of the room.
2.
I spent the rest of the evening just sitting in a chair in that same bedroom with my face buried in my hands. As neighbors and friends came to claim their coats they glanced at me sympathetically, miserable
drunk that I appeared to be, and decided to let me sober up on my own. One offered to drive me home, but our house is only just down the street, so I shook my head. It might as well have been across the continent.
When the last guest left, Bonnie came in to see me. “Feeling a little better?” she asked. “Dan’s already gone to bed, out like a light,” she said. “Sleeping the sleep of the just. He told me what Delia said. You’ll stay here in a spare room tonight of course, and tomorrow we’ll sort all this out.”
She led me to the room, disappeared, and then returned. “Here, Alvin,” she said, handing me a pink tube of ointment. “You’ll find this quite soothing. You must certainly be feeling sore back there. I always am, and I’m used to him. He’s pretty huge, isn’t he?”
I just stood there. I still had nothing to say. She didn’t seem at all bothered by her husband’s ...infidelity? Is that what it was? Maybe it was nothing new to her?
“He can be so impulsive! It’s just that he’s pretty powerfully sexed, and he’s bisexual to boot, so really, nobody’s safe around him. You might want to lock your door tonight.”
She grinned at me to show she was joking. Then she went on, still trying to cheer me up. “Dan really likes you! He wouldn’t have felt attracted to you if he didn’t. Oh, don’t be so
gloomy! I’m sure Delia will feel better about it tomorrow. I’ll send Dan to talk to her first thing in the morning, to explain again that it wasn’t your fault. You’ll feel better about it too. What’s one fuck? It really isn’t that big a deal!”
I realized I was being somewhat boorish. After all, this wasn’t Bonnie’s fault. “Thank you, Bonnie, I appreciate this, I really do,” I said A sense of my full predicament began to well up
inside me.
“Bonnie, I don’t know now....Delia....” I said, “I ....” I sat down
on the bed with a lurch, and started trying not to cry,
Bonnie sat down next to me and took both my hands between both of hers, then placed them firmly in her lap. “That’s all right, Alvin,” she said. “I know. We all feel a little sad when we first
lose our virginity. But we soon learn there are compensations.” She squeezed my hands sympathetically, and pressed them against her crotch. She seemed not to notice. “I’m sure some of it was enjoyable for
you.” Then she let go of me and stood. “There’s a new toothbrush for you on the night stand there. Also, I didn’t know if you’d prefer a nightie or a pair of pajamas, so I left one of each on the bed. I’m sorry
I’ve got nothing of Dan’s for you. He sleeps in the buff, as you’d expect.”
She then handed me a pair of pink panties and a mysterious pink plastic packet, and a cardboard tube, a tampon! “Oh yes, slip these on, and use one of these, or you’ll leak onto the sheets, and stain everything else too. Be careful sitting on the bed now. I’ll come back in a few minutes to pick up your pants and underwear and things and put them in to soak before those stains set.”
I smiled wanly back at her to show I appreciated her effort to cheer me up, and she disappeared down the hall.
But when I looked at the bed, there was a pair of ladies’ pajamas, some kind of draped nylon with floppy legs and arms and teeny pink pearl buttons up the front. Also a large pink cotton nightgown with lace
trim. Was she still joking? No. When I pulled down my pants I found Dan’s sperm had soaked my shorts and leaked onto my slacks–the seat was wet. I realized there was much more still inside me. I would have
to sleep with Dan’s cum deep in my bowels until it was absorbed, or it worked its way out with my stools. That felt peculiar, and I resented it. It was as if I were somehow Dan’s receptacle, his available and used cunt. True enough I suppose. That was an aggravating thought. But I already had enough trouble with Delia without brooding about that kind of thing. Concentrate on damage control. I was beginning to sober up.
I undressed, decided that Bonnie’s nightgown was a little less feminine than her pajamas and so a little more respectable, and slipped it over my head. It was just long enough, to the tops of my thighs.
Then I put on her panties. The pink plastic packet turned out to contain a sanitary napkin with something sticky on one side for sticking it onto panties. So that’s what I did. It felt bulky between my legs, but I figured if millions of women use them, I can too. No way was I going to insert that tampon. I had suffered enough invasion of my asshole this evening.
There came a gentle knock, and Bonnie opened the door and looked at me. “Cute!” she said. “Sleep well, Alvin. Let me take your clothes, and I’ll see what I can do with them. Remember the ointment, or believe me, you’ll regret it in the morning.”
I got under the covers and rubbed the ointment in and around my asshole, and pushed my finger into my anus and worked some more ointment into my bowels. Bonnie was right. It did feel good. Very soothing. I fell asleep still stroking my rim with my finger.
3.
When I woke up the sun was high, and I scurried down to the kitchen still in Bonnie’s nightgown, anxious to get my reconciliation with Delia under way. It was not my fault, after all, I had to repeat to myself. I had no reason to feel ashamed. I shouldn’t need to defend my innocence.
Bonnie was already up, and standing at the counter with her back toward me, pouring coffee for herself and waiting for something to finish heating in the toaster. She was wearing the shortest of shorty
nightgowns, and I think the flimsiest too, because I could see plainly her ass cheeks curve below her hemline, and the dark crack between them rise above it. She was weaving her hips rhythmically, shaking her rear and tapping
her toes to some kind of internal music only she could hear. But she wasn’t dressed. I started to back out.
“Oh, Hi, Alvin!” She turned to welcome me with a cheerful smile, her large dark nipples fully visible through the material as I’d feared. “Feeling better? Oh, don’t worry how we’re
dressed–we’re all informal here. Dan likes easy access to my bottom, that’s why this shorty nightie–but I guess you know something about that yourself now. Sit down, and I’ll pour you some coffee. Want a toasted bagel? I see my cotton nightie fit you fine. When you go up to get dressed you’ll want to douche I think, and then use that tampon if you haven’t. Dan’s partners often do that when he’s used their back door,
so they can feel fresh again. You’ll find everything you need in the linen closet in the upstairs hallway.”
She was rattling on, but it was all beside the point, I thought. “Bonnie,” I said. “Thank you for your hospitality and all, but is Dan up yet? I’m anxious to get home and resume my life and try to
forget that any of this ever happened.”
I’d decided that was the best recourse, to be generous and forgiving as the quickest route to everyone forgetting what had happened and never mentioning it again. It was even more embarrassing seen by the
light of day. And after all today was Sunday. Delia was a Mormon, very strict about family values, and would be going to church services this morning. I hoped the sermon would be about forgiveness. I needed
it, even though I’d done nothing!
But Bonnie’s entire stunning figure was visible to me as she carried over a cup of coffee and set it on the dinette table. She was barefoot, and it was almost as if she were naked! I could see blond hair
curling out from her crotch, just under where her nightie ended. Now I was starting a boner, and I hoped her panties would restrain it. They didn’t. I was glad I was seated!
“Oh, Dan’s been up for hours! He went over to your place early this morning to see Delia. I guess he’s still there–she must really take some convincing! What time do you think it is now?”
I looked at the kitchen clock. Nearly 11:00 a.m.! Being smashed and miserable must have exhausted me that I’d slept this late!
We waited together. I consumed a bagel and a cup of coffee, trying hard not to look at Bonnie’s thinly veiled boobs pushing out from her slim body, her nipples jutting even further. Were they always
hard?
Then Dan came whistling in through the back door and headed straight for the kitchen. “Hi, sleepyhead, awake now I see,” he said, planting himself in a chair. He was wearing a sport shirt that
concealed none of muscular build, and when he lifted his coffee cup he moved like a man who works out regularly.
“My, but you do look cute, Allie, good enough to eat. Interested? No, I suppose not now. Delia’s on her way to Church just about now, I think, so she won’t have a chance to see how delectable you look. You’ll want to know what happened. In a nutshell, she says you deceived her, and she’ll stop by after Church to tell you that herself! You can’t come back, she says, you’re not her husband, and you’re my girly-queen. I thought she might feel that way, and Bonnie and I discussed it this morning before I left. We agree, stay with us longer, until Delia has had a chance to cool down. After all, it was here that all this started. You won’t be any trouble, lover!”
“Dan, you said you’d straighten it all out this morning! Or Bonnie said you would! What happened!”
Dan sighed, and looked at his watch. “I really want to get in my morning jog before lunch. Well, in a nutshell, first of all, she thinks you’re gay, that you married her for a respectable cover, and that you screw her only to keep her from suspecting. She thinks your main mission in life is getting some guy’s cock into you, any guy’s, like mine last night, and that your marriage vows are therefore a fraud.”
I went wild. I stood up and shouted, “What makes her think that!?”
“Easy, guy!” he said. “Well, you, for one thing. She saw you wiggling under my masterly moves, each time on the down stroke when you’d get the most pleasure from it, your timing perfect. She thinks you’ve had lots of experience, that you’ve been getting it on with me for some time, and that your ass is better tuned to my cock than even her pussy is. I told her it’s not really experience, just a matter of instinct in my opinion, and that you’ve got a talent. I could feel your pleasure growing inside you when I had to pull out before I could bring you off! I told her that! She said she could see that much for herself!”
I was still standing, but was being careful not to move toward Dan despite my outrage. He was a big man! “My ass is better tuned to your cock than her pussy!!!?? What are you saying?”
“Well, that’s the second thing. Me. I tried to persuade her she was wrong, that you were just making random moves trying to get me out of you and off you is all. She didn’t believe me, so in the
end I showed her how it works. We went upstairs to your bed and I gave a little demonstration. I have to say, she told me before we began that she was going to enjoy it especially because she was getting even with you.
And also, to her credit, she wanted to try to understand you a little better.”
“I tell you, Alvin, she went wild. There was nothing random about her wriggling! She’s been sliding up and down and around my pole for the better part of two hours now! I suppose she was trying to
get me out of her some of the time, to see if she could, but she never managed it. Then when I got too tired to hump her any more, she got on top and started to hump me, and again she wouldn’t quit! Is she always that loud
with you, Alvin? By her third or fourth orgasm her screaming and shouting were continuous! A really great piece of pussy, your Delia! For future reference, you two are very different when you’re getting laid. No
cute little wriggles and squiggles on the down stroke with her, nor on the up stroke either. Just vigorous fucking!”
I couldn’t say anything! I tried to choke out “You!” as a first word of something, but nothing came out!
“Also, Allie, I may have misled her. When I first started to explain to her about last night, she asked me how often before last night, and if there’ve been others too. I thought she was talking about
me fucking other people, so I told her lots of times, and I had to confess there’ve been lots of others too, though not as many since Bonnie came into the picture. Then I realized she was really asking how often I’d gotten into
your ass before last night, and if I knew about other people who’ve fucked you. A little misunderstanding. But before I could straighten it out she got very excited and started shouting “Even Bonnie too!?” She didn’t believe me when I told her you weren’t man enough to interest Bonnie, though you might be girl enough under the right circumstances. Did you know Bonnie here is bisexual too, Alvin? Anyhow, we got back into this business of wiggling and getting pinned down, and didn’t do too much more talking.”
I was speechless, out of my mind! He goes to my house to reconcile me with my wife, and instead he tells her he’s been fucking me often and lots of other men have been fucking me and Bonnie too, and then he
fucks her for two hours? And I’m in the wrong? I started gasping for breath. I sat down hard, and Bonnie hastened to get me a glass of water.
4.
The door chimes sounded. While Dan went to answer it, Bonnie came around in front of me and leaned over, and clamped my head between her hands, and said, “Alvin, Alvin, calm down, it’ll be all right, it’ll be fine, you’ll see, just don’t have a stroke, take some deep breaths now! Breathe in! Now out! Now again!” She started stroking my head, and she straddled my lap, and said, “Again!”
Which is why I was breathing in and out heavily, and Bonnie’s face was against mine and blocking my vision, when Dan returned with Delia. Bonnie moved, and behind her there was Delia, standing in the
doorway in her Sunday best dress and hat, looking at me calmly this time, as if I was a problem she had solved. I suddenly realized that what she was looking at was her husband in a pink lace-trimmed nightie, with Bonnie in a
short transparent nightie sitting in his lap, her ass and pussy pressed against his cock, apparently holding his head and maybe kissing his face.
Dan looked at me and Bonnie with a slight smile. “Have fun, kids,” he said. “I’m going jogging now.” He nodded to Delia and disappeared.
My God! I thought. She must think we’re fucking at this very minute! That my cock is inside Bonnie! So I cried out, “Delia, this isn’t what you think! I’m wearing panties!”
“Good for you, Alvin,” Delia replied calmly, strangely uninterested. “I’m not at all surprised. Your kind does. But don’t let me interrupt you. I’ll wait.”
She sat down at the dinette table. Bonnie swiveled around on my lap and left an arm draped over my shoulder possessively. “Hi, Delia,” she said with a smile. “We weren’t expecting you until
later. Anything wrong? Can I get you some coffee?”
“No thanks, Bonnie, though I do appreciate the offer. I’ve been doing some thinking since Dan left. I want to be fair.”
Delia smiled a quick smile, then continued. “You see, Allie, I know now why you want to have Dan in your pants so badly, or as I guess I should say from now on”–she looked me up and down–“in your panties. He came over this morning to ask me to forgive you, and at first I was too disgusted and furious. But eventually he succeeded.”
She smiled again, rather sweetly. “So I forgive you, Alvin. I know now why you needed to feel that man in you so bad that last night you risked public exposure, and seduced him during a party when anyone
could have walked in and discovered the two of you. The way I did. I know now the way you do what it’s like to feel all of that power and energy squeezed inside me in that massive cock, to feel my body come alive glowing
with happiness. So despite your betrayals I’ve been thinking about a new arrangement for our marriage. How we can share Dan.”
Then, “Bonnie, when you’re finished with what you’re doing, may I have a word with you?”
“Of course, Delia,” Bonnie said brightly. “We haven’t really started yet.” She got off my lap, and I thought Thank God! Now Delia can see that my prick is still in my panties, and that it isn’t even hard, that I’m faithful to her. Then I wondered if my fidelity mattered at all in this unhappy affair.
Delia wasn’t concerned to see my panties or my prick. She and Bonnie went into the dining room, and I heard murmuring and occasional giggling. Finally, I heard “Sure, Delia, right away,
don’t worry about it, what choice has she got?” And the two of them came back.
Bonnie looked at me appraisingly, and her hips began to sway in rhythm again, her legs dancing to that inner music of hers, just as when I first came down. I realized that dancing in place was her way of
thinking. I just sat there and watched for a moment as she went to the counter and started cleaning away breakfast dishes, her back to us, her ass in motion. Then I looked at Delia. I didn’t understand any of this!
“I’m going now, Alvin,” she said. “I’ll be back soon, less than two hours. After I’ve been to Church. Then we’ll all four go to a family Sunday dinner at Mario’s–they have a wonderful buffet,
and this week it’ll be my treat. From now on we’re a family.”
I still understood nothing!
“You see, I realized after Dan left me this morning, while cum was pouring out of me the way it must still be trickling out of you too, I realized that if Bonnie is so generous hearted lending Dan out, I shouldn’t be any less generous with you, especially if it’s Dan who wants you. In fact when I swap you for Dan, I come out ahead.”
She leaned both hands on the table and stared me straight in the eyes. “But make no mistake, I want nothing to do with any man who’s let other men fuck him. Call it my hang-up, but that’s how it is! You’re a proven drip-assed faggot who cheats and lies and deceives his own wife because he’s too cowardly to come out and say so. You’re not a man, and today one way or another that fact gets to be known to everyone. So if you want to keep some reputation and stay married to me, you’re going to have to dress and behave in a manner that’s more respectable and appropriate!”
“That’s how come I thought of our new family arrangement. From now on there’ll be only one man among us, and no jealousies. He’ll sleep with whoever he wants–in fact it’s obvious that’s what he’ll do anyway. The three of us will make ourselves as attractive as we can for him, and whichever two of us aren’t chosen on any one night, well, we’ll find things to do to console each other I’m sure. If Joseph Smith’s and Brigham Young’s wives could share their husbands and still get on with each other, so can we. Now I’m off to Church to pray for good deliverance into our new family for all of us. Even if it’s old fashioned, it’s a traditional arrangement, and I’m sure it’s still sanctified.”
5.
When she was gone, Bonnie finished clearing away, turned, and began a rhythmic dance toward me. “Alvin honey,” she said. “We haven’t much time, so listen. I know Delia doesn’t understand what really happened last night, and how you really felt about it. And now she’ll never want to understand. She likes this idea she’s come up with too much.”
“And so do I. It keeps Dan closer to home, and it gives me someone to be with when he isn’t with me. Believe me, this is a better outcome than any we could have hoped for you. You get your wife
back, and sometimes me to comfort you at night. And sometimes you get Dan too– that’ll take a little getting used to I don’t doubt, but don’t tell me you felt nothing at all when that monster meat of his was working in and out of
your love-hole. Ah, I see there was something, you can’t say there wasn’t, can you. Don’t feel embarrassed, almost no one can.”
“And in return, all you have to do is join our family, learn how to be one of us girls, and learn how to be please your man. Dan obviously doesn’t care if you’re a man or a woman, but Delia does, and frankly,
I think you’re much cuter dressed like this. It gives me ideas, you know?”
She reached down and pulled my cock and balls through a leg of my panties, and bent down and kissed then. “You have so much to learn, sweetheart!” she said, her voice muffled by my lap. “I’ll bet
you’ve never even given head to a guy. Well, you’ll soon be giving as good as you get. As Delia would say, you’ll soon be doing unto others everything you would have others do unto you.”
Her mouth took me in and I began to swell up in the soft, moist warmth, her lips enclosing my shank. Then when I had hardened, Bonnie suddenly stood up, straddled me facing me, and sat down on my lap
again. This time my cock went deep into her wet, sweet slit, and she leaned both arms on my shoulders, still dancing, her hips still swaying to that same inner music. I began to feel that sweet yearning again, and closed
my eyes.
“That’s it, honey. Go with it. Rise up and empty yourself into me. That’s what you want to do. That’s what you’ve got to do. Into my ass too, if you can go again–I love the feel of
cock in there, the same way you will in time. Then we’ll go upstairs and get you ready, and there won’t be any embarrassing bulges under your skirt while we’re at Mario’s. I’ve got a nice outfit you can wear,
until we can get you more of your own.”
“Bonnie,” I said in a small voice, beginning to push rhythmically back into Bonnie, so we were dancing together in a way.. “What can I do? If I leave, Delia will divorce me and take everything, I
know it, and tell everyone tales about all the men who’ve fucked me, and how dishonest I’ve been. Then no one will have anything to do with me, except maybe other horny men. If I stay, I get to do this with you and Delia
both”–I closed my eyes and pushed hard and deep into Bonnie’s sweet pussy–“and much more. And it feels marvelous! But then I have to live like a woman, and let Dan fuck me.”
“That’s right. It isn’t so bad, being a woman, honey. In fact it’s much nicer than being a man! It has all kinds of advantages men know nothing about. And getting fucked by Dan isn’t so
bad. Not at all. You’ll see.” She closed her eyes and smiled, then picked up the pace, her loins now rolling around on mine. I reached to grasp her writhing rear and pull it toward me. Our breathing picked
up. “The worst of it comes right away, this afternoon at Mario’s. We can get you looking presentable, but you’ll never pass. Not yet. So lots of people will know you’re a man in drag, and some will recognize you,
and you’ll have to explain to them all that you’ve always thought you were a girl, and now you’ve decided to become one and live like one. A lot of them will smirk and make jokes behind your back, but some will admire your
courage. And eventually that’s what you’ll be, a girl, so there’ll be no more gossip. Believe me, Allie, that’s much better than being known for the rest of your life as a closet gay deceiver who lacked guts. OOOhhhhh!
Ahhhhhhhhh!”
She closed her eyes and her body shuddered. Her first orgasm. But she didn’t slow down. “Monday you’ll quit work and we’ll begin your transition: clothes, beauty parlor, charm school,
whatever seems to be needed. Hormones too. They’ll soften and round you out, make you more attractive as a woman. Then later, when your breasts are large and your cock has gone limp for good, we’ll decide as a
family whether to have it turned inside out and made into a vagina, the way they do it nowadays. We’ll all have something to say about that I should think, and the majority will rule. I think you’ll end up quite pretty,
though then there’d be no more of this kind of thing of course.” She gave me a bump, a grind, and a dazzling smile. “Well, there’ll still be you rolling around on Dan’s lap I suppose, and Dan with his choice of holes.” The thought amused her.
Soon she was really rolling and pitching and yawing, out of control, and my cock was somewhere incandescent, a place where bliss pressed in from all sides and yet seemed exquisitely withheld. “Do you have any
choice? There’s nothing to choose! We’ve got to get upstairs and get you started,” Bonnie said between gasps. “So tell me. Are you coming?”
“I’m coming!” I cried out. “I’m coming, Bonnie! I can’t help it, I’m coming!” And that’s what I did.
6.
When I came downstairs with Bonnie nearly two hours later Dan and Delia were sitting in the living room together, chatting like old, intimate friends. They looked up at me. “I did the best I could
with her hair,” Bonnie said apologetically. Delia smiled. “Not bad,” she said. “You’ll do for now. At least you don’t look ridiculous. That’s a pretty lipstick shade, I think it really is you! Later when the beauticians have been at you, and maybe a plastic surgeon or two, and your pills and shots start to work, and you’re better dressed and trained, you’ll be quite nice. You’ll love what we’re going to do with you. You’re ours, now, honey! We won’t touch your asshole, of course. That’s Dan’s. But understand, everything else from now on is ours, not yours. You’ve got only one vote.
Understood?”
I teetered on my four inch stiletto heels and pressed my elbows into my waist, arms upraised, one hand up and one drooping, just as Bonnie had quickly instructed me, and nodded. What else could I do?
Dan looked at me with a slight smile. “You’ll do just fine, Alvin, sorry, I guess you’re Allie now. Of course you didn’t have to do any of this as far as I’m concerned. But last night when you
passed out, the girls insisted that I take a piece of your ass then and there. They had their little scheme all worked out. Bonnie has always wanted someone like you to play with full time, especially when I’m busy with other people. She’s wanted a man who cares about girl things, and a girl who can do things like a man, someone who swings both ways and understands both ways of thinking and feeling. Someone to shop and gossip with, who
can fuck and fix things. And Delia has her own reasons. For a long time now she’s been afraid you’d find out about us, that she’s been riding my cock for...how long has it been now, Delia, nearly two years since I first
dipped into you and you wanted to stay wrapped around me forever? It’s bothered her, how you’d feel when you found out. Self-righteous, sure, but also devastated, and she cares about you.”
Dan stood up and took my hand, always a perfect gentleman! “But that’s all behind us now, Allie. They insisted I take your cherry while you were out cold, and then keep at it until you came to
and knew that’s where I was, so they could then do their things. And now they’ve done them, and now we’re a family. I’m now your husband, so to speak, and they’re my other wives. I kind of like that. But I want you to know up front, I’d have fucked your ass man or woman, and I mean to, often, whichever way they finally swing you. By the way, those aren’t pantyhose you’re wearing now under that skirt, are they?”
I almost wasn’t listening. I shook my head ‘No,’ registering meanwhile that he wanted to mount my ass as soon as we got back from Mario’s. Well, now it was his ass. And he meant well. It
was rather sweet of him in fact. He wanted to finish off for me the new urges he’d felt awakened in me last night.
And, I realized, I’m now free to finish off other urges the girls have awakened. I can get myself involved with other men if I want, and with other women too while my prick holds up against the hormones,
and with still other kinds of women after it capitulates. Not too bad. Fucking and getting fucked require the same moves, after all, blessing equally those who give and those who receive. Now that I’ve been well-fucked, I realized, I should go forth and do likewise.
© 1997 by Vickie Tern. Permission freely granted to archive this story, make it available, and copy it for personal use, but it is not for sale except by me (c’mon, make me an offer).
I finally found my breath. I was furious, beside myself, but this wasn't the best time to show it, so I just shouted out in an injured voice, "Mom! How could you think I'd ever agree to that? No way! Noooo way! I won't do it!"
The two of them glanced at each other. Mom let out a long sigh, then wearily looked down at the kitchen table, studying the sugar bowl. Dad sat silent, glaring unhappily into the middle distance. Neither of them was willing to look me in the eye. My God, I suddenly realized, this was not like the other times. This one was real bad!
A long pause. "Can you think of any alternative, Sam?" my Dad asked me quietly, sadly.
"Yes, the alternative is I just don't do it! I don't care! No way! And that's final!"
Flat and final refusals had sometimes worked in the past. My folks loved me, and they hated to see me unhappy, and I suppose you could say I was pretty spoiled Especially after my older sister Beth went away to college and then got married and moved downstate, and I was the only kid still living at home. All through my teens I'd say 'No!' firmly whenever I felt like it and they'd quit insisting, usually. They'd leave me home Sundays when they wanted to visit Aunt Julia and I wanted to watch football or just hang out. And if I was grounded or I'd earned myself a curfew, but protested vigorously enough, they'd always relent.
Not this time. Dad turned to Mom and said quietly, with deep sadness, as if I weren't even in the room, as if he was trying to write me off, distance himself to save himself anguish, "OK then. He takes the consequences. He doesn't go to college this fall. He goes to jail, and that's the least of it. For five years they told me. We tried. Let him ruin his life and ours. Maybe it's already ruined. Do you want to call and tell her it's no go, or should I?"
"This isn't something for the phone," Mom replied. "I'd better just go next door and talk to her. I'll tell her we're sorry, we tried, but she'll just have to do what she feels she has to do." There were tears in her eyes. She looked around for her purse and prepared to stand up. "Maybe she'll ...."
"No," Dad said. "She won't."
"I guess not," Mom said. "I wouldn't."
Another long pause. Mom stood up and went over to the counter where she'd stowed her purse, and opened it, and took out a tissue to dab her eyes, and took a deep breath.
"Sam!" Dad said suddenly, sternly. He'd seen how Mom was unable to hold back her tears. He turned to face me for one last try. I tried to grin, but his face was granite. Jeez, scary! Maybe this really was serious? I listened. There was an edge of grief in his voice I'd never heard before. "Sam, you still don't understand! You're old enough to be a man but you're still pulling these childish stunts on us. You still think that bullshit of yours applies, hang tough and it'll all go away."
My God, he knows how I always act when he makes demands on me? And yet he gives in?
"Well, this won't go away. If your mother walks out that door the police will be here inside of fifteen minutes, and you'll be taken away in handcuffs, and that will be that. Your life will change from then on. It's a mandatory five year sentence, Sam! Minimum! What was about to be your college years will be instead your years in the State Penitentiary. That's where soft ripe boys like you very quickly find out how Jennifer felt when you forced her to have sex with you. When you and Charlie forced her. It isn't called 'rape' there, it's called 'bitching.' Or more commonly, 'fucking'!"
"Dad," I said, as ingratiatingly as I could, realizing that this was the first time I'd ever heard him use that word, "Calm down! This isn't that big a deal! She was asking for it! She wanted it, same as all the others! All this past year girls have been after me to do it with them so they can tell their friends 'I made it with the Captain of the football team,' or 'I made it with the cutest boy in the class!' I know it! I've heard them talk about me the next day! I can't help it if I'm popular!" I grinned.
For once, my charm failed me. Dad's face turned black! "Sam," he said in the lowest growl I've ever heard from his throat. "You may think this is funny, but it's not funny! It's tragic! It's killing me and your mother both, and it may well kill you literally. I mean, prison is a cruel place. In prison, if you can't play your boyfriends off against each other, they'll kill you to save face so no one else can have you. To save what they call 'cred'. Then you're dead. I don't care what you thought you were doing, or what she thought she was doing, or what you know Jennifer's done in the past. It was rape, clear and unmistakable, and you will be convicted of rape, so cut the crap! That's what it was! You and Charlie raped your own neighbor's daughter! Your own classmate!"
"No way, Dad!" In my class, half the girls had already put out even before they were sixteen, way before they got to the age where their parents couldn't claim it was statutory rape any longer. Fathers now and then tried to bring the charge anyhow, to avenge themselves because their dearest darling daughters had become sexually active. But even their own lawyers laughed in their faces. I mean, I'd heard that Jennifer took on the whole soccer team the year she made cheerleader, when she was only fourteen. That's what they claimed. By now, I figured, what with all those comings and goings in and out of her, and all those since then, her cunt was probably like a downtown parking lot.
That's why this was bullshit! "It's her word against Charlie's and mine," I said firmly, in an 'I rest my case' tone of voice. "Two against one!"
Now Dad got towering mad! I was shocked, I'd never seen him like this! "You asshole! Now you're a lawyer? Well, I'm the lawyer in this family, and I tell you right now that if this goes to court you don't have a chance. You are dead meat! You will go to jail where your ass is Bubba's to use or to swap with some other Bubba! The whole thing's on their home security tape! Voices and all! Her voice saying 'No!' over and over, and she sounds frightened! And her sobbing afterward? Heartbreaking! I've seen that tape! I've heard it! I've spared your mother the sight of it, but no defense lawyer would ever want to allow that tape to be played to a jury. It would put you away for life! But it's admissible, obviously, so no defense lawyer would ever be able to suppress it. Asshole!"
I'd never heard him like this. Jeez, he sounded scared as well as furious. Mom was waiting by the door, a little astonished herself by his vehemence. I just stared.
"She even has your semen sampled and registered and witnessed, you stupid shit! Yours and Charlie's all mixed together! God! My own son, forcing himself on a helpless girl! A neighbor's daughter! And not just any neighbor, a woman doctor neighbor. Not just any doctor, a forensic pathologist who knows all about how to gather the evidence and what to tell the D.A.! A woman who deals with scum like you all the time! Her own daughter! Can you imagine? How did I spawn anyone as stupid as you?"
He was right, I guess. It was beginning to get through to me. I had been a stupid shit. I don't know why I'd insisted on ... doing it with Jennifer. Maybe to prove to my pal Charlie that all the girls really do want me and even though I hadn't even tried this one yet, she was no exception. I'd been batting a thousand all year. Home runs every time! And there was this one was sunbathing in her bikini in her back yard and we saw her and we'd gone over to chat and we'd asked her to show us something she had in her bedroom and .... well, the rest of it just followed. Same as it always did. But now for the first time I began to feel a little scared. All of a sudden my bravado collapsed.
"I thought she wanted to do it," I said weakly.
"No you didn't," was all my Dad said. "You knew she didn't want to do it. She told her mother she was terrified and mortified and felt violated, and her mother's still outraged, simply furious. So you say 'No deal'? All right then. Tonight you sleep in the county jail, and your life takes a very different turn?"
That wasn't acceptable. I knew that now. "If I do what you say, this thing Jennifer's mother says, my life takes a very different turn anyhow," I said morosely.
Mom heard me. She set her purse back down on the counter and just stood there silently.
"Yes, it does," my Dad said. "It will. But it might be quite pleasant, some of it anyhow. It'll be a lot better than jail. And you'll still be able to live here this summer. And go to college in the Fall. We can still be a family." His voice broke as he repeated the word. "A family."
"Please," I heard my Mom whisper under her breath, as if reciting a prayer. "Please, Sam!"
They were right. I'd been a stupid shit and they loved me and I owed them. Above all I owed Jennifer and her family. After what I'd done I suppose I ought to make amends. Give them what they wanted. I suppose I should call myself lucky they were offering me an alternative to jail.
"OK," I said. "What do I have to do exactly? You say you'll help me? How do I do it?"
They both stared at me, unable to believe their ears. And at that moment the phone rang. Dad lifted his eyes to Mom, standing by it, and she answered it. "Yes," I heard her say. "Sam too, just now. Finally." She paused. "Bertha, I'm so relieved! Yes, at least we'll still have them home, and they can still see each other, that's a blessing."
As she hung up she said simply , "Charlie's mother. He agreed right off. He's already ... wherever Dr. Taylor sent him, and his mother says he'll be back home again in only a day or so. Away hardly any time at all! Thank God!" And she sat down and buried her face in her arms and began to cry.
I never felt so terrible in my whole life. For a while we all three just sat there, my Mom's shoulders shaking, an occasional wail stifled by her arms.
"What do you have to do, you ask?" Dad said finally, resuming our conversation. "Well, that's more your mother's department than mine. She'll have to tell you."
We waited some more. Mom gradually got control over herself and sat back, and took a few deep breaths.
"Sam," she said. "Honey, really, it won't be that bad. It can be a lot of fun in fact, if you just look at it the right way."
"What way is that?" I asked. "Look at what?" I was feeling dragooned, and I wasn't happy about it. It wasn't fair, really. Five minutes of my ... imposing myself on Jennifer paid for by giving up a whole summer? Still, as Dad pointed out, giving up a summer's better than giving up five years. Or more. I drew in a deep breath, and in a mild voice I told them that. That what they were proposing now sounded reasonable. I thought they'd be pleased to hear I was reconciled to it.
Mom looked worried. "Maybe you don't understand, Sam," she said. "It isn't just the summer you'll be giving up."
"Let's not worry about that right now," Dad broke in abruptly. "One thing at a time, I think. One day at a time. Shouldn't we be calling Jennifer's mother now and telling her that you're willing to cooperate? That you want to do everything you can to set things right?"
"Sam has to do that," Mom said. "She said that she'll need to hear his voice when he says it. It isn't too late to call now, do you think?"
"No," Dad said. "It's only 7:00 pm. She said any time before 9:00 pm. After that she calls the cops."
"Well, Sam, call her. Talk to her," Mom said. "Just remember, this isn't a punishment. Call it a kind of therapy. For Jennifer. Your job is to restore her self-confidence, her self-respect. Her feeling of control over her own life. You took those things away, and now you need to give them back. Think of it that way."
"By being her friend, doing everything she wants me to do all summer long, satisfying her least little whim?" I asked a little resentfully, trying to wrap my mind around the idea. "By being her servant in effect?"
"By being helpful to her," Mom corrected me. "By being agreeable. Yes, by being her friend." Mom's eyes were looking into mine insistently. I couldn't look away. "Don't avoid the issue. If she wants, by being her personal maid and waiting on her hand and foot, that's true, but I don't think she wants that. She wants you to be her companion. Like a girlfriend. As near as you can get to that. That's the main reason for this. And that's not negotiable."
"Why not negotiable?" I asked. I suppose I still had a shred of hope that maybe I could talk myself out of the most humiliating part of this job. Pretending I'm a girl. All summer!
"I've told you and I've told you, Sam," Mom said wearily. "Right now any male her own age is a threat to her. That's what her mother says. It often happens that way. She needs to feel reassured that boys aren't threatening, that they can even be nice. She knows you're a boy and that you've done more than threaten her, you've forced yourself on her. She needs to know now that you're no more of a threat to her than any girl would be. That you're willing to be a girl. So she and her mother can still live here as neighbors and yet not be constantly reminded or threatened."
"Stupid kid," Dad muttered to himself. "To a neighbor he's known half his life yet!"
Mom paid no attention. "Jennifer also needs to act out her resentments. Seeing you humiliated by being feminized is one way, and the least painful way for you of many available to her, Sam. Keep that in mind. She needs to feel comfortable with you, so all her apprehensions and feelings of helplessness can dissipate. If you can become genuine friends, sharing everything, enjoying each other's company, telling each other your little secrets, being girls together, she'll lose her fear of you. She'll learn to trust you. Girls like to trust each other."
"And frankly," Dad then added, "Dr. Taylor wants to be quite sure that you know how it feels, what it's like to be a girl who's subject to the will of any boy who fancies himself irresistible, just because he's stronger. She's quite firm about that. She means to see to it! I don't know how, because you are a boy after all, and you're relatively strong compared with most girls. Luckily, your adolescence began late, so there aren't many physical differences yet."
"All right," I said, dispirited. "I'll try. Like you say, Charlie'll be going through the same thing, so I won't feel like a complete fool."
"I don't know what Dr. Taylor has in mind for Charlie," Dad said, looking away. "We only talked about you. Something else, I have the impression. You better get on the phone with her now. Be apologetic. Sound genuinely sorry. Be sorry. But don't expect her sympathy, you won't get it."
Dad was right. She listened to me tell her that I agreed to do everything she or Jennifer asked me to do, everything, no matter what, respectfully and without hesitation, the whole summer long. The full three months. She heard me say I was sorry, and that I wanted to do everything I could do to make it up.
"Don't expect a medal," her voice replied coldly. "Just be here at eight tomorrow morning properly dressed for the day. Be sure to call me 'Ma'am' and 'Dr. Taylor" always, and Jenn 'Miss Jennifer' if that's what she wants. Plan to go home after the dinner dishes are cleared unless we have some further use for you. Goodbye!"
The hone went dead. "She wants me properly dressed," I told my mother after hanging it up.
"That's no problem," Mom said. "We still have lots of your sister's clothes, all her high school things and a lot of her later bangles and dresses and things she didn't think were appropriate after she got married and was no longer -- as she'd say -- 'on the prowl.' We have her sportswear and her dating clothes, even some outfits I refused to allow her to wear, you know the kind. She kept everything. They'll fit you, and some of them are really lovely. You might even enjoy wearing them. Though we'd better see that your hairdo is cut and set tonight, so it'll look nice tomorrow. You'll be too busy to fuss with it I suspect."
"If you don't mind," my Dad said. "I don't want to hear any more of this girl talk. I'll leave you two now." He looked at me. "I'm glad you've decided to stay with us, son." He paused. "I guess I should say 'daughter.' Whatever. We both need to get used to a new you. This is your life now."
"For the next three months," I said, trying to sound breezy.
He didn't say anything. Just disappeared into the living room with his newspaper.
Mom just stared at me a little, weighing something. She was now more preoccupied than sorrowful. Suddenly she stirred. "Go to your to your room now and wait for me ... Samantha," she said. "That's got to be your name now, 'Samantha,' so you won't forget for a single moment that's who you are. Sam no longer lives here. And when I say 'your room' I mean your sister Beth's old room. That's where she left all her dolls and dresses and stuffed toys, and they're all yours now. You'd better learn to love them the way she did, because they're now as much a part of your life as they were hers. Your old room is absolutely off limits! You will not enter it again, starting right now! This minute! You hear me?"
"But all my clothes ...." I started to object. Then I stopped in my tracks.
"You're suddenly beginning to catch on, aren't you?" my mother said, a spiteful as well as regretful tone in her voice.
Beth's room was all pink and cream and frilly, mirrors everywhere and Mick Jagger and Leonardo deCaprio posters and so on where there weren't mirrors. A girl's room. Since she'd gone off to college it'd been left pretty much as she abandoned it. Neat. Supernaturally tidy. Unlike my room, with its sports stuff and game controllers and last week's clothes piled on every chair and half the bed and every inch of the floor and all on top of each other. "Why can't you be like your sister?" my mother would cry out exasperated whenever she entered my pad to try to clean anything, or find something. "This place is a pigsty!" It wasn't, though there were half-eaten sandwiches and soiled dishes spilling here and there. Her cry usually meant she'd given up on me. So I never paid it any attention.
Now I'd better. I have to be like my sister, I was thinking. Well, not exactly like her -- I could be my own version. We'll see. I began feeling a little better.
Off limits or not, I decided to stop off in my own room and pick up at least my Wiii to use as minimal survival gear anyhow. I could get through this with a few decent computer games to distract me.
But as usual Mom was ahead of me. "Go directly to Beth's room," she said sternly. "Don't stop in Sam's old room for anything. Not clothes, not his computer games, not even his cell phone. There's nothing there you'll need for the foreseeable future." She paused. "You aren't Sam any more, you're Samantha," she said sternly. Then, "What's your name now?"
"Samantha," I said gently, trying to humor her.
"That's right. Where's Sam?"
"Gone away," I said, hoping that was the right answer.
She may not have heard. She was looking at me critically, speculatively, appraisingly, absorbed, exactly the way she'd look at herself in the mirror just before heading out somewhere fancy with Dad. "I'm going to see if I can get Holly over here tonight yet," she said half to herself. "Maybe she'll be willing to do your hair and maybe help you look a little more appropriate, even though here and not at her salon. She's better at that kind of thing. If we can get you well-squared away with all this right away, then Dr. Taylor will know that you're serious when she sees you tomorrow and maybe she won't feel quite so vindictive. More important, you'll know that this is serious, that this is a real commitment. So you'll feel better about it too when you go next door and begin your new life. If you can start out looking like a real girl, everyone will treat you like one, and it'll be easier to live like one and become one."
As I went upstairs I heard her talking to Holly on the phone. "Everything!" she was saying. "A total wipe-out. He has to begin again, be someone altogether new. She has to, I mean. The less she remembers about what she once was, how she looked, the better!" A long pause. "That's right! No more of that Goth dark hair hanging straight down. Something very different. I was thinking blonde and curly and sort of sprightly. Yes, that would be adorable given the shape of his ... of her face. I do want Samantha looking cute and bright, right from the beginning. Beth was also blonde, so her clothes and make-up will match up with no problem, and we can fill in the more recent styles gradually. And of course tight curls are a lot easier to care for."
Her voice paused. "That's right, 'Samantha.'. Oh, Holly, I don't know what to think, it's too soon. Within a half hour? Wonderful, you're an angel, I'll see to it she's ready."
Was that a sigh or a sob? Mom hung up, and I moved on.
Weird. Passing my old room, I again considered zipping into it and snagging my Wiii despite everything, but then decided against it. Things were difficult enough right now. Certainly for my mother.
I went into Beth's room and sat down on the edge of Beth's bed. And just stared at all the tubes and boxes and pads and pots and bottles, all the stuff still laid out on her "vanity" as she called it -- her creams and ointments for maintaining her body and her face. Though she hadn't lived here for years she'd insisted on leaving it just the way she'd left it, so whenever she came to visit she'd feel right at home.
Mom came in a moment later and went directly to Beth's closet and bureau and began taking things out and looking things over and nodding. "Holly's coming over right away to design your hairdo and show you how to fix your face," she said. "She also suggested a few things. Strip down so we can get you dressed appropriately."
"I'm wearing jeans and a T-shirt," I said. "How's that not appropriate?"
She just looked at me. "Sam ... Samantha, this is hard enough without you making more trouble. It'll help if Holly can imagine she's working on a girl when she does your hair and your face. That way she'll be more likely to come up with something pretty. You're thin and your features are regular and not too large -- I think you'll look quite nice, done right! As adorable as Beth when she was your age. So no more back talk! Strip down and then put these on!"
She handed me some frilly pink panties and a pink frilly bra, and tossed a skirt and blouse down on the bed beside me.
"A bra?" I looked at it and made a face. "I have to wear this? What for?"
Now Mom looked grim. Grim enough to scare me! "I'll give you what for! From now to the end of the summer you will not leave this room without wearing a bra, young man! It isn't decent for any girl your age and you will NOT!" She heard what she'd just called me and it broke her irritation. She actually grinned at herself! "I mean, young lady! This was your choice! You chose it. You're a girl now! A girl is what you are, so you will behave the way all girls behave! Am I understood? Young lady?"
I nodded. There was nothing to say.
"Call me if you need help putting anything on!" She started to leave.
Suddenly she turned back and came toward me and grasped me by the shoulders and looked me earnestly in the eyes. "Sam...Samantha honey, this is not easy for any of us and it's hardest of all for you, I'm sure, but it's done, settled, and it's way better than the alternative, so stop giving us both a hard time. Go with it! Be glad you have the option. You're a girl and that's that! When I got my first bra and when Beth got hers, we were both of us overjoyed! It meant we were becoming women at last! Well, so are you. You're becoming a woman, and this bra is especially pretty, and as you can see it matches your panties and that gives a girl a special feeling of being ... complete. So wear them both proudly! Feel as feminine as they look. I'll see you downstairs in fifteen minutes, girl!" And she turned quickly and left.
Sheesh! I said to myself. 'Girl!' she calls me. But then, what else should she call me? What else had I agreed to become? I was stuck. A girl for the summer. That's what I was.
ii.
So I slipped out of my clothes and into the panties and figured out how to deal with the bra -- clip the band first, then twist it around and slip the straps up onto my shoulders. And tighten them with that slide they put on them. Easy. The cups lay flat, folded across my chest. OK, no matter. It was a denim skirt, pale blue and buttoned in front with brass 'Levi's' buttons, not too girly, except that it was a skirt. But the blouse was bright blue and silky and had a small lacy collar, and lots of space in front for where girls usually bulge. I slipped it on and buttoned its tens of thousands of teeny little buttons and felt silly. Mom had laid out sandals for me, I saw, but no socks.
So I flip-flopped my way downstairs feeling a little foolish, the hem of the skirt brushing unfamiliarly against my calves. Holly had arrived, I saw, this friend of my mother's who ran a beauty salon. She was in the dining room with Mom, laying out on our dining room table all sorts of hair rollers and bottles and girl things from a huge backpack she'd brought with her.
"Ahh, there you are!" said Holly, looking at me, her eyes inexpressive. Then after a moment she added merely, "Sit down here."
I did.
"You'd better understand that I have no sympathy for you, Samantha," she said right off, as she grasped my long black hair and lifted it off the nape of my neck and tugged it here and there, inspecting it speculatively. "Boys who rape girls get no sympathy from me, even if they're the sons of my best friend. Especially if that's who they are, because I know they've been properly raised but even so they've made my best friend miserable."
I looked straight ahead and let her talk -- I figured she had to get it out of her system. She was right, what she said, and I didn't feel good about it.
"And I don't think being a girl is punishment. I think it's a blessing most boys won't ever understand and don't deserve!" She was tucking a towel into my neckline to keep hair and goop off my blouse, I suppose. 'My' neckline I noticed I was calling it. And 'my' blouse. This playing at being a girl was catching! "So, Samantha, I'll just have to think of you as a girl, someone who always was and always will be a girl, and go from there. Does that work for you?"
"Yes, ma'am," I said. What else could I say?
"You should do the same thing. Realize that you're a girl. Have you had your first period yet?" She asked me that weird question as she led me into the kitchen the first of what turned out to be three different times, this first time just to wash my hair and get started.
"No, not yet," I said, going along with the gag.
She seemed shocked. "At your age?" she said. "I'd think it could happen any time now. You're very late, you know. And it would stain that skirt -- that's a very pretty blouse, incidentally, I love the collar. My first period was also delayed, and then it came on very suddenly and in gushes! I was in school at the time, in class, and I had to rush to the little girls' room to clean up and get a pad. It was so embarrassing! Ruined a perfectly beautiful plaid skirt, too. So be prepared! You should be carrying tampons, Samantha. Are you?"
"No," I said, beginning to wonder what she was raving about.
"Has your mother shown you how to use them? Maybe also sanitary napkins for your days of heaviest flow?" she asked. Her voice was kind, but with a strange edge to it.
"No, ma'am," I replied.
Instead of replying to me she turned to my Mom, standing at the other end of the dining room and watching the whole procedure, prepared to snuff out any rebellious gestures on my part before they could bother Holly.
"Claire," she said to my Mom. "What do you say? Shouldn't we show Samantha how we deal with our monthlies? Isn't it time she joined the sisterhood?"
She was by now rinsing my hair off with the sprayer on the kitchen sink, and applying some kind of thick cream to it in small batches, rubbing it in with her fingertips.
"I suppose it is," my Mom replied, a little puzzled but hesitating to ask Holly what she meant.
"Then why don't you bring me one of your tampons," she said. "While Samantha's still standing and bending over the sink and this lotion is doing its work is the ideal moment, I think, for her to learn that we aren't made entirely of sugar and spice. It's way past time she became one of us."
Mom saw what she meant and nodded, though I didn't, and turned to go to her room for one.
I'd seen them, I knew what they were. Beth used to leave boxes of tampons all over the house, I supposed to advertise that she was now all grown up. Mom would bawl her out for it -- it wasn't ladylike. Only when one of her friends told her it wasn't cool was when the boxes finally disappeared. "And some vaginal cream too," Holly shouted after my Mom. "For lubricant! We don't want to hurt her the first time around. It should be pleasant for her. Fulfill her, in a way!" She grinned at me, inviting me share her pleasure in her pun. I didn't.
"Vaginal cream? I have something for yeast infections," my mother called back. "But that won't do. And I have Premarin cream. Do you think ...?"
"Premarin's perfect!" Holly replied. "It's poetic justice, in a way. He lubricated Jennifer with the testosterone in his sperm, so we'll lubricate him with the estrogen in his vaginal cream. When the tampon's in place it'll absorb fairly quickly, maybe begin doing wonders for her complexion! Be sure Dr. Taylor knows when she begins her own hormone treatment. We won't want to overdose the poor girl right off."
I didn't like the sound of any of this. But Mom didn't seem worried, and I knew she meant me no harm, so I just waited, bent over the sink with my eyes shut while Holly did stuff to my hair.
"You're wearing very pretty panties, Samantha," Holly's voice declared just over my shoulder, as I felt her pulling them down. I guess the skirt was so short anyone could get their hands up there. But what was she up to now? "Now just stick your tush way out for me." I did. "Relax!" I didn't know what she meant.
But suddenly I felt pressure on my anus. Then something slippery sliding into it. "Oh!" I said in a high pitched voice. Was she was goosing me? Then something sliding out. And something like a turd still in there.
"There! Now you're a woman, Samantha," Holly said. "Wasn't that easy?" She sounded faintly triumphant. "I suggest you change these a few times a day for the next few days, and use this tube of cream to ease the way each time. By the time your period ends you'll be used to it and well on your way, whatever Dr. Taylor is planning for you! Your mother will show you how. All girls have this problem. Solving it becomes second nature. Now sit back in that chair in the dining room, and we'll get started."
I walked ... no, waddled back. It felt like a waddle, but it must have been a twisting sway of some kind, because behind me, Holly whistled and called out to me in an imitation man's voice, "Hey, shake it any more and it'll unscrew itself and fall off, lady! Or maybe it's already been screwed so often it can't possibly fall off?"
"Holly!" my Mom called out in mock disapproval. Meaning real disapproval but she didn't want to seem critical. I understood what she was saying well enough, and I looked back over my shoulder and exaggerated my wriggle.
It was funny though. With that thing in there -- a cotton tube I suppose -- it didn't feel exaggerated. Walking with my ass crammed and rotating just seemed ... the way to walk. Maybe that was the idea? "Samantha, stop that!" my Mom then called to me. "I won't have you undulating your hips like a tramp!"
"No, Mommy," I replied with a grin. To show her I was being a good sport.
But she didn't realize I was joking, calling her 'Mommy' and all, being a good sport. "I mean it!" she said, glaring. "If you must wave your ass at the boys, not in this house!" She was really into this, my being a girl! All her reflexes as Beth's mother were triggered by the sight of me in Beth's clothes! I was her daughter all right!
"I won't," I said soberly, and she looked mollified. Even managed a wan smile. I tried to hold my hips still as I moved to the chair and sat down, but that damn thing in my ass felt strange, and I didn't quite succeed. She really thought I wanted to attract boys? Jeeze!
"Let her, Claire," Holly said mildly. "She needs to practice waving her ass somewhere, or she won't be popular. We both did it. She has a whole new world ahead of her to cope with."
I didn't know if she was serious or kidding, and I certainly didn't want to know.
Two hours later Holly was packing all of her stuff back into her bag, and I was still occupying a dining room chair. I'd had my "comb out" and I was waiting for my nails to dry.
"Those stains on her lips and eyelids will last a good long while," Holly was saying with great satisfaction to my Mom. "It's a new process. Maybe even longer than the year they guarantee."
"A year!" I shouted it out, horrified. "But this ...."
"Samantha!" Mom called out.
I shut up.
"You're a girl, have you forgotten?" Holly said. "Girls are girls, period! You agreed that's what you are, so that's what you are! Don't fret. Permanent tinting on your lips and eyes doesn't prevent you from matching different lipcolors and eyeshadows to your different outfits. Your usual make-up will cover it every time. But it's distinctive enough so any time at all, day or night, waking up or going to sleep, you'll look ... well, the way a girl should look. The way you look right now. Pretty!"
She smiled reassuringly at me. While she'd been working on me for the past few hours, I realized, I'd altered in her mind's eye. I was no longer the delinquent son of her friend but a girl who was sitting there listening to her impatiently, as girls my age do when their elders lecture them. Just as my mother'd hoped when she'd put me into this denim skirt. For the last hour or so Holly really had been beautifying her friend's daughter 'Samantha.'
"Thank you," I said. Several times during the evening my mother had insisted that when complimented, I should reply politely. And Holly had complimented me several times.
"You said a year, Holly?" I added in a small voice. This whole punishment was supposed to last only through the summer. As I understood it. A few months. "How about when I want to look like a boy again?"
"Girls sometimes love to try out a boy look," Holly said. "I understand. No problem. You'd look just darling done up like a boy. Just cover the stains with 'natural' shades of ordinary make-up. Of course even the natural shades have their own matte or gloss finishes, and both of those are so associated with girl looks that they can only approximate the way boys look. They'll work for you, though with the shape of your face and the hairdo I've given you, you'll never fool anyone that you're a boy. You're simply too cute! I envy you, Samantha!"
"You do look very nice, dear," my Mom said. "I suggest you worry about the future another time. You have a lot to cope with right now. I'm pleased for you. What Holly did for you will make your transition a lot easier. You need to thank her."
"Yes, thank you Holly," I said. I stood up and curtsied. They'd taught me that while chatting with each other about likely ways I'll need to know to behave tomorrow, at least in the beginning, to make a good impression. If anyone tried to challenge me, or mock me, my usual aggressive response wouldn't do at all, they'd decided. But exaggerated politeness including curtsying just might. That move -- that sort of bob my body down and up while standing with my back straight, one foot in back of the other -- made the tampon in my butt feel a little peculiar. Not unpleasant, just peculiar. I'd practiced it a few times and decided that even though it was something only girls did, mostly servant girls in movies but sometimes ordinary girls trying to be especially polite, it was ... sort of nice.
But Mom knew that polite or not, by now I felt stressed. She spoke gently. "When Holly leaves us, honey, change your tampon and then go straight to bed. You have a big day tomorrow. I'll show you how, there's nothing to it. Have you seen yourself yet?"
I hadn't. Holly and my Mom exchanged swift glances, as if privy to a secret I wasn't, and Mom then saw her to the front door. I heard her car start. Mom returned.
"To your room, young lady," she said. This time with no harshness, more as a suggestion that should be complied with. "You remember how Beth loved mirrors? How she covered her walls with them? I think you'll appreciate them too now that you'll see something worth seeing in them."
I wasn't worth seeing when I was a boy? Annoyed, I followed her. She passed on into Beth's room, mine now, and flipped on the wall switch, and stood aside and waited for me to enter. I did.
And was astonished. There on the opposite wall, facing the door I was passing through and passing through that very same door, was a rather pretty girl! Her face was small and pert and her hair was a halo of pale blonde curls, almost platinum blonde but with golden highlights. She breathed delicacy, sweetness, daintiness. And she was looking at me amazed, as astonished to see me as I was to see her, yet approving everything she saw. I looked back at her equally astonished.
She suddenly smiled a crooked, radiant, come hither smile at me, and I melted! She wanted me, and I wanted her! Only then did I come to my senses -- I recognized it. That was my standard smile, the reflexive way I informed pretty girls that the captain of their football team likes the way they look and wants to show his appreciation more ... intimately. It was me, that girl! Smiling back at me with a promise of ... oh, all sorts of earthly delights when we found time to... get a little closer!
Holly wasn't exaggerating! Even I'd want to date me! I was a dish! A doll with a sly, knowing look on her face. A teen age temptress! I fell in love with me at first sight!
Mom saw the whole thing happen, each attitude flash across my face. "See, it isn't so bad, being a girl, now is it?" she said.
I couldn't reply. I was speechless.
"Here's what girls wear when they go to bed." She held out a delicate garment of some kind. "Doesn't this babydoll make you feel all scrumptious, just looking at it? A dainty, filmy top that just barely reaches your you-know-what, and a large, comfy pair of matching lacy panties to cover your bottom and keep you decent? It's a set. Here, put it on. Careful of your hairdo when you pull off your blouse, honey. If it tangles it'll be easy to comb out -- Holly made your do wonderfully convenient that way, same as with that permanent make-up you made such a fuss over. But the less trouble we need to take with our daily routines the better."
If I'd seen that babydoll set on the girl in the mirror I'd have gotten hard for her immediately. But I wanted to preserve some semblance of me as I knew myself to be at least from the skin on in. "Mom," I said, trying not to sound querulous. "That ... nightgown is awfully effeminate. I mean, even Beth used to wear pjs to bed, not ... stuff like that."
"These were hers," Mom said insistently, in a tone of voice suggesting that no more objections would be tolerated.. "She's worn them. And there're other things just like it in her drawers and closet. All sorts of undies, nighties, lingerie -- she had her frilly side. She just never thought it proper to show it to her brother, that's all. She wore things like this when she wanted to feel really feminine, sexy. Which you will want to feel too from now on. Feminine anyhow, so no one doubts it, least of all you. So from now on you'll wear all of her frivolous things. Don't worry, they'll feel marvelous and look marvelous on you, and you'll feel just lovely. You'll enjoy them. So no more complaining!"
"Yes'm," I said. I didn't want to give her any reason to overdo this feminizing thing.
"But first, to the bathroom. Each week from now on you'll depillate, you're lucky you don't have much body hair to begin with, but from now on you'll have none. And every night you'll cream your complexion. All over. That's how we keep ourselves clear and smooth and soft. And kissable."
With that last she looked straight at me, and I resolved, no more objecting to anything. Do everything she says or hints. "Yes'm," I replied. "Clear and smooth and soft and kissable."
An hour later I was wearing the babydolls and tucked into Beth's bed, which was now my bed. I was also hairless, except for my head and around my cock. Not that I'd ever grown much hair. Mom had shown me some elaborate night-time cleansing rituals. And also how to change my tampon. There was a little string hanging out of my rear end -- Mom insisted on calling it my 'pussy,' though I never knew she knew such words. Tug on it to pull out the old cotton tampon, take a soft plastic tube out of the box, lubricate it with the tube of 'Premarin' and snake it into your ass, get used to the weird feeling, push in the smaller tube behind it all the way, and that pushes a new cotton tampon way deep into you. Pull out the whole assembly, feel for the new tampon's string to make sure you can get the thing out again. Voila!
"Thatta girl!" she told me when I'd done it successfully and looked up at her with an embarrassed grin.. "Your responsibility now! At least a few times every day, for at least a few days every month. Let's say five days, shall we? Nothing to it! Now let me tuck you in."
She hadn't tucked either Beth or me in for years, so I figured she had something else on her mind. Sure enough. I got into bed and she adjusted a blanket, then leaned over me. "Now, Samantha, here's a real secret you should know. Girls sometimes get to sleep by ... relaxing themselves. Moving their hands over their clits, diddling it and imagining what it would be like if it was a boy's hand. It makes them feel so deliciously girly! You'll want to try it and see for yourself. Every night. I think pretty soon you'll soon love it!"
As she left my room and was closing the door behind her, she repeated her suggestion. "It'll be a girl's hand doing it, yours, but try to imagine it's a boy's hand anyhow. That's one of the
pleasures you can enjoy now that you're a girl. You do look very attractive, very feminine, sweetheart. So feel it, don't deny yourself."
And there I was in the dark. My 'clit,' huh? I slipped my hand into the full, silky panties of my babydolls and began to rub on my 'clit.' Yes! A boy's hand! You bet! Mine!
But then I began to think about the way my fingers, the very fingers clutching my cock at that moment, were red-tipped. It was a girl's hand that was caressing that sensitive, erogenously high-powered part of my body. The way some of the girls in my class did when I dated them and they didn't want to put out for me but did agree to jack me off. It was a girl's hand even though it was attached to the rest of me. I considered how feminine I looked now. And felt the seductive babydoll sliding and drifting over my skin. My lotioned body. My girl's body. A girl's hand? On my 'clit'? Boy or girl, that became a kind of kaleidoscope. Now I was a boy, so it was a boy's hand like mine was when I made moves on all those girls' cunts, getting them excited by stroking those soft wet places and slipping my fingers into their slits, and rubbing their clits, like mine. Like I was rubbing my own clit now. Did it feel as good to those other girls as this does to me? Maybe!
Years ago, Charlie's hand and my hand had jerked each other's cocks off experimentally, when we were kids first checking out the sensations, finding out what it was like. We'd greased our palms and pulled on each other and he'd diddled my clit faster and faster and I'd tried to imagine he was a girl but he'd remained Charlie, and then suddenly he'd squirted on my shoes, and I'd reached for the kleenex just in time to catch my own cum as it spurted out of my own clit. I mean cock!
I'd just cum! I lay there, pleased, my drippy girl parts still contained by my babydoll panties. My pretty babydoll panties....
iii.
I heard knocking and opened my eyes. Daylight. "Time, honey!" my mother said. "Your first full day as a girl! Remember to change your tampon when you take your shower, and check for any last hairs where they don't belong." She looked at me. She saw me glance down. "Yes," she repeated. "There too next time, girly, I think bare is nicer for a pussy. More attractive." She briefly looked flustered, as if she hadn't meant to say that. Then "Always glance under your arms to check for fuzz, and use a shower cap to protect your hairdo. And use lotion all over yourself afterward always -- you'll want to feel soft and smell nice. Then come for breakfast."
This time slipping that plastic sleeve into my ... pussy and pushing in the cotton wad piston wasn't a problem at all. In, push, pull out. Done. Set! "Hey, I can do this!" I was thinking. Mom left out a big bottle of body lotion alongside the sink, so I used it to finish up. Better not try to use make-up yet -- a glance at my face showed me that the dark pink stain Holly'd put on my lips and the gray stain on my eyelids served well enough. Very girlish. When I took off my shower cap, I saw that my curly blonde hair was already presentable. Just a little fluffing with my fingertips in the mirror and .... my God that was an incredibly girlish gesture! My instinct was to feel ashamed, make myself feel more manly, even ape-like, but I realized immediately that I'd better suppress that reflex. That I better practice more girly stuff if this is supposed to come off right. So I lifted my elbows a little bit higher and fluffed my hair again, this time shrugging my shoulders with each hand motion. And did that ever look cutesy-pie? I smiled slyly at my all-girl mirror image. I'd just made a conquest of my first male!
That thought then made me uneasy, so I pushed it out of mind.
I found when I got back to Beth's -- I mean, my -- room that while I was showering Mom had laid out on the bed a chemise and a simple red cotton dress, a kind with a few ruffles gathered together up the front to hide the buttons, and also hide the absence of boobs. Clever! Also a belt -- I recalled that last night Mom and Holly had decided that with my narrow hips I should wear belts for the time being, to pull in my waistline and create the illusion that I had curves. Why'd they say 'for the time being'? I wondered. She'd also laid out a bra and a fresh pair of panties.
OK, no sweat, this is my life, I said to myself. So I clipped on the bra same as before, and pulled on the panties, and took the chemise and then the dress and raised them over my head and let them fall onto me one after the other, then belted the dress. On the floor were "flats" I remembered they were called, as against "heels." Shoes that looked a little like slippers, so I slipped my feet into them. And checked myself in the mirrors, and gave a little twirl.
Very nice!! This wasn't too bad! If I was a girl, I'd go for me, I decided. Hey, I'd better be one, I then realized! No 'ifs'! I better seem to be one for real or I'm in big trouble.
Anyhow, I sure looked real! I tried to mince my way downstairs and ended up skipping down. That new full feeling in my rear end was now kind of ... reassuring. Comforting. I liked it!
When I got downstairs there was Dad just leaving the house for work. He looked me over gravely and said nothing. Then finally, "Well, anyhow, Samantha, you won't disgrace us. You look very nice, dear. Enjoy your day."
"Thank you, daddy," I said. He looked surprised, then smiled at me pleasantly and left. Only afterward, staring at the closed door behind him, did I realize what I had called him. Well, if he didn't mind ....
Mom had laid out a full breakfast for me. Juice and cereal and bacon and eggs and toast and everything. Trying to cheer me up, I supposed. Or to reward me for going along with this ... silliness, was how I still viewed it, though oddly, some of it was interesting, even exciting. Considering that the alternative was hard time in jail, this wasn't so bad.
"Will Charlie be doing stuff at Dr. Taylor's and Jennifer's place today too?" I asked her with my mouth full. "Same as me?"
Mom looked embarrassed. "No. Charlie's ... doing his ... new things in another place Dr. Taylor knows about. You'll see him later she tells me, don't worry about it. Take smaller bites! Try to be dainty, honey!"
Changing the subject? Big mystery? "OK," I said cheerily.
As I left the house to walk the short distance to their door, she handed me a purse. "No girl ever goes out without one," she cautioned me. "You never know. Your tampons and your house keys are in there in case you come home late, and there's make-up in there too. Don't try to use it yet without someone helping you, but get used to always having some with you. A girl needs to feel confident about her appearance."
"Yes ma'am," I replied. What else was there to say?
"Make us proud, Samantha!" And she hugged me harder than I could remember. "Remember to tell Dr. Taylor about the Premarin you're using on your tampons -- it's a prescription drug so it may matter. And be the best girl you can be! You do look very nice."
I was moved. She didn't seem to want to leave me -- it was as if she were saying goodbye to me for a long time, maybe even for good. There were tears in her eyes. "Thank you. I will, Mommy," I said. It somehow seemed fitting to say that. "Don't you worry even a teensy bit!"
Good God! 'Mommy'! 'Teensy'! Still, she seemed consoled by those words. I stepped outside. No one visible anywhere, not up or down the street either, praises be. I walked down the sidewalk, feeling my tampon press gently inside my anus and the hem of my dress swish against my legs. I decided to help them by swishing my hips, and that felt even nicer. The sun was shining. I arrived at Jennifer's door much too soon, and rang the bell.
Jennifer answered and stared expressionlessly at me. She didn't recognize me! I smiled, it was a triumph of sorts, I guess! Then suddenly, "Oh yes, you're ... the new girl come to help out. I'll call my mother." She turned and shouted out, "Mom! He's here!" And disappeared,
"She's here, dear!" Dr. Taylor's voice answered from somewhere inside. As if chiding her. "Every day from now on she's a 'she'! And there's no need to announce her. Samantha? I'm in the dining room!"
I took this as an invitation and went in. She was sitting at her dining room table, an empty coffee cup alongside, making notes on a narrow pad. She glanced at me. "The prodigal returns," she said in a neutral voice. "My daughter's rapist." Then she looked me over carefully, top to bottom.
There was no warmth at all in her eyes. I said nothing.
Finally she set down her pen. "I see your mother's trying to spare you humiliation. I'm sorry to say she's succeeded -- you're quite passable, Samantha. A pity, I was hoping you'd look ludicrous, a sissified disgrace to the neighborhood, so I could parade you up and down the street inviting put downs and humiliation." She paused. She seemed to be expecting some kind of response from me.
"Yes'm," I said finally. "I'm sorry, ma'am." I wasn't, of course. This was a triumph of sorts. The more I looked and acted like a normal girl, the more I'd disappoint her. I'd better remember that, I told myself, and decided then and there that I'd go as far as I could, I'd in no way resemble a boy for the next few months. So I let one of my wrists droop, the way the girls in school always did with theirs. And I tightened my throat toward a voice with higher pitches. "I promised my mother I'd try!" I added.
The effort backfired -- she approved. "That's good. I'm glad you're trying. It's a good start, anyway. Now understand this, Samantha. You'll do everything I ask you to do, and whatever Jennifer asks you to do, and whatever it is you'll do it immediately. No delay, no questions. Understood?"
"Yes'm," I said again. And this time I curtsied.
Her eyes narrowed -- was I being insolent? But her expression didn't change. "Go begin clearing up in the kitchen. I'll join you shortly." She returned to her pad and pen.
It was a kitchen pretty much like ours. I loaded their breakfast dishes into the dishwasher -- it was just Jennifer and Dr. Taylor, there was no Mister Dr. Taylor -- and I wiped the counters. Then I hand-scrubbed a pot and a frying pan. This was maid's work, as I'd expected, that was why Mom had laid out this washable dress I was wearing. But it suddenly occurred to me that I could use an apron. I looked around and found one hanging on a hook in the pantry, a little frilly, with bright flowers embroidered on it even though it was meant for serious work, not just for show. So I put it on and considered mopping the floor -- it looked pretty grungy. So I did begin mopping it. A sponge mop on a stick didn't accomplish anything, so I got down on my hands and knees with a stiff-bristled scrub brush. That worked. I could actually make out a pattern in the floor tiles.
"All right, Samantha, let's get you started." Dr. Taylor's voice behind me as I was working away on a hardened spill near the fridge. "Stay just where you are and don't turn around, but hold still for a moment. Now, first I need to record your voice. Do you freely consent to this course of treatment?"
"Yes'm," I said, not daring to move. 'Course of treatment'? What did she mean? But I wasn't supposed to ask. Being treated like a maid, I supposed she meant.
"Good. Now pull your panties down," she ordered. "Please."
So I did. My bare bottom stared at her. For sure she was staring at it.
Suddenly a slender hand reached between my legs and clutched my balls, closed gently on them. I was startled and gave a little jerk, and felt the sharp tips of long fingernails scrape the top of my scrotum. So I held very still. "Maybe I should just take these now," Dr. Taylor mused behind me. "You won't really need them from now on."
I held myself rigid, petrified with fright!
Then, a reprieve! "No, why bother? They'll be shrinking to pebbles anyhow over the next few months. You can decide for yourself what to do with whatever's left."
Her hand let go of my scrotum. I began to breathe again.
"Now, your shots. Understand, you'll probably feel a little nauseous in the morning when you first wake up, maybe for as long as a week. That's natural and normal. But it gets less so, and then not at all as the other changes begin to be noticeable. The whole process will take up most of the summer. When it's completed I'll consider that you've paid your debt and I'll release you from your obligations to me and my daughter, and what you do for the rest of your life will be of no further concern to either of us. Is that understood? Is that acceptable?"
Not exactly, but I wasn't going to say so. "Yes, ma'am."
"So then. You'll feel two different pricks. Don't be surprised by them."
Pricks?! Two different guys are going to rape my ass while I'm bent over? Alarmed, I managed to turn my head slightly. She was leaning down just behind me. On a table next to her was a tray with two different syringes on a towel. Hypodermic needles! What!!?
"Dr. Taylor, what are those...?"
"Hush!"
I felt a sharp stab in my rump. Then almost immediately, another one. The second one took a while. "Hold still," she cautioned me at one point. Then I felt her withdraw the needle.
"There, that's all, it's done!" she said. She sounded grim. "Determined and done!" she sort of repeated, this time sounding almost gleeful. I turned my head all the way around to look at her. Sure enough, she looked triumphant. Deeply satisfied in some strange way.
"May I stand now, ma'am?" I asked, annoyed, also wondering what it was that was done. Puzzled.
"If you wish, Samantha!"
As I stood up I asked her in as polite a voice as I could, considering what had just happened, "What's 'done,' Ma'am? If I may ask?"
"You may ask. What's done is that this summer you'll become a woman. You've consented to it, and your parents have signed the forms, and your own recorded voice has provided all the informed consent anyone might need. It was that or jail, you'll recall, and that's what you chose. What's done is, I've just injected you with enough female hormones to do the whole job, both the kick-start and the time-delay kinds. The process will be accelerated, so whether you go to college next Fall or just go to work, there'll be no question about you by then. By the end of summer you'll go on sustaining doses of estrogen and progestin taken orally, to maintain your complexion and keep your figure ... plumped out. The pills of any standard birth control regimen will serve, I'll write you scrip for them myself if your Mom hasn't introduced you to your family gynecologist by then."
"Gynecologist? A doctor for women?" I knew that much.
"I'm sure your mother uses one, and your sister Beth must have had one. Now you too. To return to your question, that's what's done.
This didn't sound right. "Hormones? What ... ahhh, what kind?"
But she was too pleased with herself to hear me and answer. Still too strangely exulting. "Yes. Sam was a disgrace to his sex! But by the end of the summer Samantha will be a credit to hers! You already are, in some ways. You look quite convincing, dear. Quite authentic!"
I was suddenly reminded of what my mother had told me to tell her. "Dr. Taylor, I'm having my period, my mother says, and she told me to tell you I'm using Premarin to grease my tampons."
She raised her eyebrows. "Premarin? Are you sure? Not KY or the like?"
She sounded more than casually interested. "Yes, ma'am," I replied to all three questions.
"Well!" she said. Then paused. "And how often do you change your tampons, if I may ask?"
"She says I should change a few times a day. Three times so far."
"Already three doses of Premarin administered anally! That yields near-total absorption into the blood stream, you know. My, my! Well, dear, with that and what's in you now you have certainly been kick-started all the way across the room! You'll certainly be feeling nauseous during the next few days, Samantha! And chances are you'll be growing some promising little bumps under your nipples almost immediately. You may end up quite the lady!"
This did not sound good. She paused and seemed to be struggling within herself. "Well, why not?" she said to herself. Then to me, "Samantha, are you listening? From now on use the Premarin cream only once a day -- we don't want to overdo anything. Jennifer will lend you one of the other lubricants she uses in her own vagina and her ... other places she want to insert things now and then. So they'll slip in easily."
She paused, then sat down on a kitchen chair and settled herself to deliver a speech. I stood before her and listened. "Samantha, you're now committed to becoming a girl. During the summer you'll help take care of my house -- though there's very little to do that way. Mainly you'll be ... a kind of companion for Jennifer. Help her get past the trauma you forced on her, you and that rude friend of yours, Charlie. In return, Jennifer will teach you the many things you'll need to know about being a girl, and like it or not I expect you'll find her quite helpful. In the end I'm sure you'll appreciate this summer as a something special in your life, and in future years you may well look back on it and thank us."
"You mean, I'll appreciate learning how girls feel about things, and all?"
"Oh, not just that. I mean you're going to have to learn how to be a girl at first hand. How to deal with all the kinds of problems girls face, how to develop the right attitudes, how to enjoy your new life. So there'll be no regrets."
What she was saying made sense, from her point of view. But there was something out of plumb in the way she was saying it. In those references to my 'new life.' "You mean, so I won't mind being a girl for the summer," I said, looking for clarification.
"So you won't mind being a girl, period," Dr. Taylor replied. "Those shots work fairly quickly. By the end of the summer they'll have done all they need to do."
"Then by the end of the summer I'll get my life back?" I asked. What was she saying?
She was looking at me, a little puzzled. "That's another kind of choice, Samantha! This one's been made for you by Sam. Be a girl or serve out a five year jail term! And you'd have served it all, young ... man, if that's who I'm addressing! All five years! No parole. Trust me, I know!"
I saw determination in her eyes. Her lips tightened. "Samantha," she said more quietly. "Sit down. Let's be perfectly clear!"
I sat opposite her at the breakfast table. My bottom reminded me of the shots she'd just injected there.
"What you did -- what Sam did -- was unthinkable, horrible, a girl's worst nightmare, and not to be tolerated! I see many such instances in the course of my work. All sorts of girls have had their lives ruined by such flagrant exhibitions of male macho backed by sheer muscular force. It was quite impossible for Sam to continue to live in this neighborhood thinking that my daughter Jennifer was just one more of his conquests. That would have been much too humiliating for her and for me too! Sam had to be taught a lesson, the kind that lasts a lifetime, and his friend Charlie too. My daughter had to be protected, and even apart from issues of retribution the world had to be protected from him. Sam had to be altogether reformed."
Now her face had grown quite hard.
"Jails are where we send people to protect ourselves from them and maybe reform them. But I'm not a cruel person, Samantha. I know what jails are like for ripe boys who've had a decent upbringing and can't even begin to cope with really street-tough criminals. Boys like you. What you did to my daughter would have been done to you daily if you'd chosen jail. You'd have become a prize bitch, a whore rented out by whatever pimp happened to be running your cell block. In the end, giving and getting sex in and out of every one of your body openings would have been the way you'd spend your days. As natural to you as breathing. You'd have emerged from jail a very different person. Sickened by every STDs known to us, your manhood gone and long forgotten, and your anus so well fitted for fucking you'd have forgotten its original purpose."
She paused to make sure I was listening. I was, appalled, almost unbelieving. But I believed. I'd heard it was like that. My folks had spoken about jail being like that.
"I've known your mother for years, and that's why I offered you a better choice. A nicer, gentler way to ... compromise your manhood and learn to respect womanhood. Your parents discussed the options with you, and you made your choice. Any return to your previous irresponsible manhood-as-usual was never a tolerable option. It certainly isn't now."
She leaned toward me, intent that I should miss nothing. "Starting now, you're Samantha. By the end of the summer you'll be so thoroughly ... Samantha that I can't imagine you'll want to be anyone else, though that'll be entirely up to you. Look at you! Less than one day and you're already a pleasantly attractive girl! Imagine how you'll look when you've developed your breasts and a girl's shapeliness, when your face is softer and your expression more yielding, when all of the usual female secondary sex characteristics are present and accounted for. By the end of the summer your penis and testicles may well feel irrelevant. They may well be irrelevant. That's when you'll think about going the rest of the way, making a space between your legs similar to the one you ... failed to respect between Jennifer's. But that'll be entirely as you see fit, and what you've found fits."
She smiled as if that last statement was a joke. She wanted this one summer's punishment to last forever? No way! "When this summer ends, my pretending I'm a girl also ends?" I asked, so I'd be quite clear about it. Just to be sure, given how she was talking.
"I'd say so. Physically, yes, except for that one last adjustment." She looked around, picked up her purse from a cubby where she'd left it, and turned toward the door. "Your psychological adjustment may not be complete by the end of the summer -- being a girl may still feel like pretending to you. So I'd suggest that starting now you think of yourself as a girl for life. It'll make the pretending easier. You'll need to know all the attitudes appropriate to being a girl full time and forever, if you're to habituate yourself this summer. Jennifer's agreed to help you. You'll find that women's ways aren't inferior to men's, but many of them are different and require different management. I'm sure you'll be grateful to Jennifer for whatever she chooses to teach you. Especially considering the way you've treated her."
She paused. She's arranged for me to live as a girl all summer, and actually thinks I'll keep going as a girl afterward on my own? Incredible! "You really expect me to remain a girl for life?" I asked her.
"What you do after the summer is no concern of mine," Dr. Taylor said. "I'll have done my part, and Jennifer hers. Some things we can undo, others we can't. We all make our own beds, and you'll make your own decisions."
That was supposed to be reassuring?
"Meanwhile, I expect to see you here when I return this evening -- instructions for cooking dinner are posted on the fridge. Your mother has told me that she's willing to help, so call her if there's anything you don't understand."
I decided I'd better return to being dutiful. "Yes'm," I replied. And gave a quick bob that pretended to be a curtsy.
She didn't trouble to notice. "Good luck, Samantha. You have a lot to absorb and think through. Take it as you will, but call yourself lucky. You've gotten off very lightly. As a woman, I'd say you've come out way ahead! Go see if Jennifer can offer any help."
She turned and left. I stood there staring at the space where she'd been. Empty space. My future for the next three months. Three months spent pretending to be a girl?
Hey, I could get through it!
I understood now why my mother had been playing with me like some kind of doll she'd been given unexpectedly, a kind of second Beth. She'd been trying to ease me into an altogether different life, kind of like Beth's sister. Well, I can go with that, I was thinking. It's only three months.
'Three months? We'll see about that!' a rebellious, sullen voice suddenly said in my head. The same boy's voice I'd heard when my mother first told me what Dr. Taylor had proposed. But a higher-pitched voice in my head answered abruptly, 'You'll see nothing! Live with it!' I hadn't heard much from that second voice, not yet, though it was clearly the more sensible of the two.
I glanced around the kitchen. Neat enough. The floor was certainly clean! I looked at the menu on the fridge. A roast and baked potatoes, no problem, I'd done both things with my Mom until a few years back when I'd decided cooking was girls' work. Just push garlic cloves into the meat, oil everything, put everything into the oven, 350 degrees. Cut up a salad. Easy. But not till this afternoon. Time now to see how Jennifer was taking this ... my change in my status. To get it over with and see where we stood.
Feeling resentful, but also wary, I took off my apron and hung it up and went upstairs and walked down the hall toward Jennifer's room. The same room I'd been in with Charlie, just last week, when I'd decided that Jennifer was too snotty and needed taking down, so as soon as she started teasing us we'd both screwed her. On her own bed. That'd taught her a lesson!
I'd thought. Until yesterday. Now we were learning our lessons.
iv.
I knocked, expecting to hear furious shouting, maybe hysterical screaming when I identified myself as "Samantha." And when she opened the door and saw me I expected at least to be pounded by her fists.
Instead, when the door flew open, there stood a Jennifer who was delighted to see me! Arms open and welcoming, a huge smile lighting up her face. I was taken aback.
"Samantha!" she said enthusiastically. "I love your hair! And what a wonderful dress, so simple yet so elegant with those gathered ruffles. Wherever did you find it?"
"In my sister Beth's closet," I said. I didn't know what else to say.
"She gave you all of her younger-girl things? You must be thrilled! I've always wished I had a sister! And now I've got one!"
I stayed silent. What game was she playing?
"We're friends now, aren't we, Samantha? Sort of like sisters?"
So that was the deal. Well, whatever she said, I'd agree. "Yes, of course," I said "Friends. Sisters." I got one message loud and clear, anyhow. No matter how friendly we got, forget about sex. Sisters don't fuck each other.
"Well, you must be thrilled to inherit such a wonderful wardrobe! I know, all this must be a little overwhelming for you. But don't worry, I'll help you find your own style with each of your different outfits so you'll blend in and yet stand out in your own way, the way all girls want to do. Anyhow, you look very nice. Very pretty.
"Thank you," I said. For once I didn't curtsy.
She was looking directly into my face now. Her own was fully made up for the day. Eyeliner, mascara, shadow, lipstick, blush, the lot. A bit over the top? No, I had to admit it, that was how she looked all the time. In school, and even mores when she dressed for a date, I'd seen that too. Like all girls our age, she celebrated her girlhood by taking full advantage of it, going to whatever outer limit her mother allowed.
She saw I was studying her and immediately knew why. "I'll help you with your make-up too," she said. "I see you've got permanent shadow and lip color. That's minimal, quite enough for normal circumstances, I suppose. But a teenage girl has to wear a lot more goop than that." She smiled a secret smile. "Because we're young and it's all new and marvelous and we want boys to think we're all beautiful and available. They'll think it anyhow, because that's what guys like to think about us anyhow. So at all times we need to look mysterious and desirable and ... well, you know, hot! Because you never do know who's noticing, what hot guy is coming toward you and is already just around the corner! So with his first sight of you, you hit him hard! Make him feel privileges, if you should happen to smile at him." She looked at me as if I too shared her dream of attracting a handsome, brawny man and getting him to .... Jesus, to what? Suddenly she shifted gears. "You must be especially pleased by your new hair color, Samantha. And those darling curls."
Enough. I spoke abruptly. "Jennifer, why'd you do this to me?"
She understood immediately, and looked mischievous. "Because I knew I could." And smiled at me as if expecting me to share her in her triumph. A real girlfriend would, I suppose.
I just stared. I hadn't expected that answer.
Delighted with herself, she continued. "Samantha, we're girlfriends now so I'll speak frankly. No secrets. When you were Sam you were always on such a high horse! All sorts of girls throwing themselves at you and you bothered with me only in between all the others, and only because I was handy. I was that girl down the street, so I filled in only when you were bored. Then when you condescended to make your moves on me, I didn't put out the way you expected. I wasn't so grateful for your attention that all you had to do was look at me and I'd lay myself down and spread my legs. Well, I've always thought you could be a real friend, that you had real possibilities if only you were less full of yourself. So when we were each of us in our back yards catching some rays, I invited you up here to do some of the kinds of things friends do, you and your buddy Charlie. And that gave me an idea. And ... well, that idea just grew until there it all was, fully developed, and it was so easy to make it work! I mean, I fed you the cues and you two cooperated as if we'd rehearsed the whole scene for weeks!"
I just stared at her some more.
"You'd better come in and sit down, girlfriend," she said quietly. I did, flopping onto a small chair alongside her make-up table. "It doesn't matter now, get in the habit. Smooth your skirt under your bottom whenever you sit, honey. We all do it without thinking. Like this!" She demonstrated. I rose and did it, then sat down again. I was getting impatient.
"You see, we've got these security cameras all over the house, my Mom and me, you know, we're two helpless women living here all alone in this big bad world and all. They're on mostly, but they're always off when we really want them off. When they'd be violating our privacy, and we do respect each other's privacy. I mean Mom has her life here sometimes with ... guys she works with, doctors and lawyers and so on, very nice, very considerate men, though sometimes also the odd roughneck for when she wants to feel taken like an animal, really reamed out and left screaming, that's how she once explained it to me, anyhow, during one of our mother-daughter talks about sex. And there are kinds of boys I invite up here too, different kinds. A few times we've found we've each asked our guys up here at the same time. Well, when the cameras are off we know to stay out of each other's way till maybe breakfast the next morning. That's when her guys and mine sometimes meet each other for the first time, and that can be such fun! Then too, some of hers are married, and their wives think they're out of town and don't know they're spending the night here, so we both have to be ... discreet. My boyfriends too. Some of them have steady girlfriends, but think I'm more exciting."
I interrupted. "You have guys up here? And they spend the night with you? And your mother knows all about it?" I was astonished. This is the girl I thought didn't put out?
Jennifer looked me over with mock pity. "Oh, Samantha, you're such an innocent! I went on the pill years ago! And no, she doesn't know all about everything! Not all! We're private about lots of things! I just told you, that's why we turn off the cameras!"
She wasn't the shy girl I'd always assumed? The girl I always saw off in the corner of the lunch room with only a few friends?
"You never dated anyone at our high school," I said. "I'd know!"
"I know you'd know. You knew who all the fast girls were, and dated all of them, and a lot of the others too. But a girl has to protect her reputation. So I went through the best of the available boys at the other two high schools in town, and college boys during vacation times, and sometimes older men too. But I always avoided the boys in our own school in order to hold down talk about me."
"I know guys at those other schools. They'd have told me if they'd fucked you!"
She smiled contentedly. "I know. Guys talk a lot more than girls do. The more girls they claim to fuck, the more of a man they seem, while with girls, the more boys, the more sluttish they seem. So with guys, yata yata yata. But not with the videos I've got of them doing ... some of the things I make all of my boys do before I'll let them fuck me. They don't want those kinds of things known, what a boy'll do for a girl when he's really hard up! You can get a guy to do anything, believe me! Suck cock if there's one around, or a dildo if there isn't. Eat shit fresh out of your ass. Wear a bra and take hormones -- but you already know all about that! Samantha honey, have you forgotten? We were just this minute talking about the security cameras my mother has installed in every room of this house. That's how come I have that video of you cruelly raping me against my will and then while I'm sobbing away, Charlie taking sloppy seconds."
Jesus! I was way out of my league with this girl! "I guess." I realized I'd better act more humble. This chick was dangerous!
"I asked you up here to look at something, remember? My biology notes was it? And I left the camera on. And you arrived with Charlie and then all it took was a little acting. I mean all I had to do was lay back and look at you with bedroom eyes, and when you saw me quivering with this really amazing need for you to fuck me, you took advantage of it. I bet you didn't hear how I was crying out 'No! No!' over and over!' Or if you did you probably thought I was only expressing disbelief at how great your cock felt. Isn't that so?"
That idea had crossed my mind while I was fucking her, but I wasn't about to admit it!
"I mean, no guy ever knows what 'No' really means. Lots of girls say 'No,' with a kind of moan and catch in their throat so their guy knows it's a surrender despite their desire to remain virtuous, they're simply overwhelmed by him, he's so great. Get him thinking so, and he'll try harder to make you feel good, most girls know that trick. Or, we say 'No,' meaning 'Yes,' to let him know we aren't really sluts, even if we are. That gives the guy the extra pleasure of thinking it's a conquest brought on by their irresistible virile masculinity, not because the girl wants to get laid by whatever the nearest cock. We all get lots of practice that way. I bet you never even noticed how when I orgasmed my moaning sounded terrified. And as for my screams when you were building me toward a second orgasm -- well, a scream's a scream isn't it!"
I sat silent. This Jennifer was something else. How did I ever think she was an innocent? I decided to play the part I'd promised to play. I'd be her dutiful, helpful girlfriend, and she'd teach me how to be good at it.
"The girls you've fucked have always thought it was worth while, allowing you that little extra privilege. We talk among ourselves too, you know. 'He'd got a decent enough cock,' they'd say. 'Long enough, and it won't stretch you so wide that your regular boyfriend notices.' But your main attraction is what you'll do afterward, you're so pleased to have gotten your rocks off. Even stick your tongue up a girl's ass! That's what I'd heard about you. I wanted to see if it was true."
I remembered what had happened after I'd fucked her and then Charlie'd fucked her, and then Charlie'd gone on to his job at Burger King while I stayed behind to make sure she was all right about everything, she wasn't going to make our little interlude into something it wasn't. She'd gotten a little commanding, even imperious. So I'd tried to please her and kiss her ass the way she'd insisted and .... Well, I guess it was true.
"Samantha, when you were Sam I didn't want you going around telling everyone you'd laid me, and Charlie had stuck his thing into me too -- his is way bigger than yours, incidentally -- did you know that? That I was only one more notch carved into your dicks. I've got a boyfriend right now and I didn't want him feeling jealous. So while you were still fucking me and I was crying out my terrified 'No!' noises, the whole time I was thinking about my real boyfriend and wondering if I had to deal with Charlie too before I got you to stick your tongue up my ass. That was when it occurred to me that the best way to quiet you down and cover the whole thing up was to call this a rape and then make you my girlfriend. Great! That idea seemed so perfect! If you didn't go for it, you'd be a convicted criminal and out of the way and who'd believe you? I'd be your terrified victim and a heroine, sort of. If you bought it, we'd be two girls together, that's all, nothing for anyone else to talk about, nothing for a boyfriend to get jealous about. Your tongue up my ass the whole time, so to speak. And you live practically next door, so what could be more convenient? So I showed my Mom the security tape from your visit here with me, you and Charlie. And here you are, girlfriend! And here you'll be!"
She was right. I thought I'd fucked her, but she'd sure as hell fucked me! "Till the end of the summer," I reminded her. "Then I'm a boy again."
"Oh? I don't think so, sweetie," she said. She'd been sitting on her bed. Now she stretched herself out on it and lay back on her pillow and preened herself, her whole body, her eyes closed. I felt a stirring in my pants. My panties I suppose they were.
"That's what your Mom said," I unformed her, now a little less sure of it. "End of summer I decide for myself if I stay a girl or not. I already know not."
"Oh, Samantha, you still don't know, do you? Haven't accepted it yet, have you?"
I just stared at her. Then, "Know what? What can she do, hypnotize me to stay a girl forever?" Jennifer was only being contrary.
"Well, yes, she could, but no, she won't. Because she did that with my Dad and then regretted it even though as it turned out she did him a favor."
I kept staring at her, uncomprehending. These people were so far ahead of me they were out of sight.
"When I was still a baby they separated, and he began demanding custody of me. She thought the courts might go with him, because she'd ... well, she'd been seeing a lot of other men all though their marriage and he had plenty of evidence that she was an unfit mother and all that, you know, the usual stuff they claim against women who happen to like more sex than their partners can provide. Well, she'd once hypnotized him to help him stop smoking, with a post-hypnotic cue to reinforce it, so she put him back into the same state of mind. Then she hypnotized him a few more times. Persuaded him he was really a girl, and gave him shots to change his body to a girl's, and that was the proof. Same shots as yours. Then when the shots had done their work she persuaded him that his cock and balls were no use to anyone but that guys would fall all over him if he had a pussy. And she persuaded him to want guys to fall all over him."
"She could do that?" I was appalled! What had I gotten myself into here?
"She could. She did. He got himself a vagina and you'd never guess it, Mom certainly didn't expect anything like it, but... well, he's never been happier! She must have uncorked some secret desire of his. You really want to hear the rest of it?"
I had to. This was already way out of my league. But how far? I nodded.
"Well, he got his SRS, then cosmetic surgery, then did a stint as a call girl. He said he wanted to give his new pussy a really severe workout under all sorts of conditions, get used to using it the way he'd loved using my Mom's when he was a man. He also found he loved having all those other men come after him instead of the other way around. Then when he got himself a great body to go with his cunt he thought it was a waste not to show it. So now he does pole dancing and lap dancing and bartending at a bar he owns with his partner, who happens to be a guy my Mom used to screw who now screws him. His partner has no idea who he once was, of course. He takes on other guys too now and then -- no reason a guy shouldn't use his cunt to spread pleasure around, once he's got the real thing. Or his ass if he hasn't. Either way my Dad's doing just fine."
'My God!' That was all I could think. Though Jennifer didn't seem the least troubled.
"But Mom wasn't happy. She realized that what she'd done had violated her oath as a doctor. It wasn't ethical. So she decided that if she ever feminizes anyone else it has to be with that person's full consent. She didn't think you'd be a problem when she first heard what you and Charlie had done to me. Or what it sounded like you were doing. And you haven't been."
This didn't sound good. "What do you mean?"
"You gave your consent. It's recorded on our security tapes. And didn't you hear what she said after she gave you those shots in your behind? The same girl-making super-cocktail she gave Dad. The difference is, when she gave Dad his girl juice he was hypnotized to crave it, so she made him beg. Then to prove he was sincere and worthy of his girlhood she made him do some of the unmentionable things with strange men he got to like doing only a year or so later. Then she gave him his shots. You're really lucky, Samantha, you got the full treatment with no hassle at all! In a week you'll start filling in that bra you're wearing, and in a month you'll be desperate for boys to come heft and stroke and suck on your brand new breasts! You'll love having them same as we do!"
I thought I saw a flaw in her prediction. "Why boys? Why not girls?"
"Sammy, think! Who's more likely to want to do those things, feel pleased to do them, honored to be allowed to do them, boys or girls? Boys of course! And there are lots of boys in the world! So by the end of the summer you won't want to go back. Not even if you could. No way!"
This sounded bad. Ominous. Maybe she's wrong, I was thinking. So I asked her, "How do you know what kinds of shots your Mom gave me? I only remember her saying this was for the summer, that I have to pretend to be a girl for the summer but then I'll be free to be a boy again if I want."
"Our security cameras, silly! I was watching you two in the kitchen. You weren't really listening to her I guess. And you certainly aren't thinking about those shots she put into your pretty behind. Those hormones are all through your body by now, triggering all the right receptors and blockers and so on so from now on you'll produce a lot of your own girl hormones, at least until your menopause in thirty or forty years. She told you what they'd do. She said that during the summer you'll grow a girl's body except for a pussy, and that then you may well decide to get one because by the end of the summer you'll be a girl in all respects except that, and having a pussy does have advantages."
She stretched herself out on her bed luxuriously, her shaded eyelids shut. Not even bothering to watch me. "Ask me about it. I know!"
She had to be wrong! There had to be a mistake somewhere! I told her that!
She only replied, "Samantha, get used to it! You aren't a pretend girl until the summer ends. You're an apprentice girl learning how to be a real one for life! No one can undo those hormone injections. Your tits are growing and your balls are shrinking even as we speak. Here, let me play you the whole tape!"
She pushed some buttons on her remote. It was like Tivo! There I was, scrubbing the kitchen floor, as seen from a corner of the room. And there was Dr. Taylor entering the kitchen with her tray of carefully prepared syringes. And there she was telling me how my balls would soon shrink to insignificance, explaining how I should get used to being a girl for life, how jail was way worse. How Jennifer would make it all easier for me, not to worry.
I was near despair when the replay ended.
Jennifer saw. I was looking in every direction desperately, finding no help. "Time for me to kiss my new girlfriend and make her feel all better," she said. "Come here, baby!"
She opened her arms wide and I instinctively moved into them, lay alongside her on the bed. And she hugged me. We hugged. She lay back and pulled me onto her and we hugged some more. And kissed. And next thing I knew I was inside her and we were fucking and humping, on and on, ferociously, over and over, like goats! Then both of us were cumming like mad all over each other! Well, she was all over me and I was deep inside her. My God! As I pumped sperm into her pussy my asshole clamped down repeatedly on my tampon, as if I were also cumming the way she was, on a cock stuck deep into my pulsating vagina! That tampon added further joy -- was that what a dick in my ass would feel like when I came? Would I want a dick in there from now on, whenever I came? It might be ... grand!
I tried to thrust that ugly thought away!
"See? It isn't so bad being my friend, is it?" Jennifer now crooned in my ear as we both recovered our breathing. Her hand was now on one of my nipples. "Every day these will get bigger and bigger and feel better and better," she said. She stroked it and my little breast tip grew hard under her fingertip. It did feel good. "And my pussy's yours now whenever you want it. As long as your erections last. Which in all honesty won't be that long -- I suggest we do this as often as possible while we still can. Why don't you suck me clean while we wait for you to get it up again?"
I don't know what came over me, but I still felt an erotic glow, so I went down on her and did just that. And I've got to say, we tasted delicious! "I knew just you'd love it," she crooned as my face pushed deep into her crotch and she wriggled so my tongue could reach its furthest crevices. "Boy cum tastes so nice. I sometimes think I'm doing guys a favor when I insist they clean me out afterward."
And that was how the rest of the morning and much of the afternoon went by. I decided I would deal with this predicament one day at a time, as my mother had advised, and that today wasn't too bad. Making out that I was a girl did have advantages -- I was getting more pussy in one afternoon than in any one week of my whole life. Or any one month, if we added in the cunt-licking!
By mid-afternoon all Jennifer had to do was plant her bottom on the edge of the bed after I'd cum in her yet again, and I'd fall to my knees between her knees and press my face into her crotch, and sip and suck and lick. Or else I'd lie on her bed and she'd mount my groin, or my chest, and slide forward. By late afternoon her slit was as familiar to me as my own face. My own new face I have to say -- in between bouts of fucking and licking, Jennifer would wipe it clean of her pussy juice and then teach me yet another trick with make-up. First with her own make-up, then with the make-up my Mom had put into my purse. Only when I'd done it swiftly and perfectly, whatever it was she'd wanted me to learn, did she lie back and invite me to sink myself into her yet again.
"Women put on make-up almost without thinking," she said. "In order to look sexually desirable. I want you to make yourself look this gorgeous mindlessly." Toward the end I hardly thought about it at all as I rose from between her thighs, wiped my genitals or my face, and paused to refresh my look.
By mid-afternoon I felt proud of my new skill. Blending eyeshadow was more fun than repairing a bike, by far, I was thinking, and that's all I'd be doing if I weren't here. Jennifer made me do my eyes over and over until finally she was satisfied. Liner, mascara, three different shades of shadow, accents, there was no end to it. "Your eyes are the windows to your soul," she'd commented, amused to see how deft I was getting. "That's why you need to trick them out to give everyone the impression you have a beautiful soul. Then you can peek at everyone else's souls but no one can look in and see who you really are."
Finally my prick just dangled there between my legs, exhausted. "Time to shower, then maybe you should start the roast for dinner," Jennifer whispered eventually as she came down from yet one more climax. "Set three places for dinner, and then I'll show you how to make yourself look super pretty for when my Mom comes home. She'll be so pleased with your progress! You're practically a member of our family now."
I almost forgot, as I was slipping back into my panties and making a note to bring a spare pair over tomorrow, I almost forgot that it was time to change my tampon. I got out my purse and tugged out the old and whisked in the new one almost without thinking. As her mother had suggested, I asked Jennifer for a lubricant other than Premarin. She loaned me some of the KY she usually used, she said, when a boy wanted her ass right off, even before he'd wet his dick in her pussy or her mouth.
This was the girl I'd "raped"? I suspected she was doing this with her mother's help mainly because her mother had done something similar with her father and it looked like fun. Maybe making a woman out of a man was what all the women in her family did, as a kind of rite of passage? I didn't want to know. I put my make-up on extra-heavy for the evening, for Dr. Taylor's return.
Dr. Taylor was altogether satisfied when she saw me. She practically beamed as she came through the door. She then went immediately into her study, but when we called her to the table she appeared right away, smiling at both of us. I brought in the food, and both women congratulated me on my roast -- I explained that the garlic in slits all over it was something my Mom did. Dr. Taylor -- she still expected me to address her as "ma'am" -- asked how our day had gone, and we both looked down for a moment, then told her some of it. I think she could tell the rest -- our cheeks were still flushed. You can always tell when a girl's fucked out. We certainly were.
I reviewed yet again why it was she wasn't in the slightest offended. Why it was I was sitting here being a girl, if fucking her daughter was a crime that required jail or a penitential change of gender? The answers now seemed obvious. Because this was what her daughter wanted. Because a compliant girlfriend who lives next door was better than an wise-assed, arrogant boy. Because making a girl out of a boy is fun, though maybe a little less exciting than making a lap dancer out of a husband. Because she had those security tapes of me 'raping' Jennifer, so she had me by the balls while I still had balls, so why not?
Any which way I was screwed.
Dessert was just sliced fruit -- I told them that in the future I'd think about baking something with my Mom and bringing it over. But while we were nibbling away, Dr. Taylor said casually to Jennifer, "I heard from Terry just before I left the office. Charlie's coming along fine, faster even than Samantha. He's doing everything they ask him to do, and enjoying it as far as they can tell. They think maybe he was born that way but never figured it out because he's not too bright."
"Wonderful!" Jennifer replied. "So he won't be forcing himself on women again either?"
"Not on women, not ever again," Dr. Taylor replied. "They intend to release him tomorrow. Maybe you should call your friend Leslie and arrange some kind of fun outing for the four of you?"
I was sorry to overhear that exchange. Charlie'd been a loyal buddy, even if he wasn't the brightest star in the sky. I felt partly responsible. It was my sloppy seconds that had gotten him into this mess. Now this 'Terry' and some anonymous 'they' had made him even more of a girl than I was? More effeminate, more feminine? Charlie? Charlie was a big guy. Beefy even. He'd never manage to look like a real girl! He didn't have the body or the talent! Nothing like mine!
I immediately squashed the twinge of pride that thought gave me.
"Sure, Mom," Jennifer said. "I think Samantha'd love to get out of the house tomorrow for a while, maybe party a little. Wouldn't you, honey?"
I nodded. How could I say 'No'? I owed Charlie something, I guess. They'd get us together tomorrow, and we'd see each other? Two former buddies now both in dresses and lipstick? It'd be humiliating for both of us. Shameful. I supposed that was what they wanted.
But maybe not too shameful. It was odd. Much of the afternoon Jenn had been urging me to feel proud of the way I look, my new skill with make-up, and so on. And I did, a little. Holly had already plucked my eyebrows, for example, but that afternoon on impulse I'd reduced them to a fine, penciled line that gave my face a much more delicate appearance. I looked forward to my Mom seeing me tonight now that I understood how to make up my face properly -- I knew she'd approve. Really, why should I feel ashamed? No one who didn't know me would ever guess what I had been. How far from manhood I'd fallen. But look how far into girlhood I'd risen! With Jennifer and her friend Leslie and a feminized Charlie alongside we'd look like four teenage girls out on the town, one of them a fat girl and the others sort of cute. No worse. No big deal.
Or maybe four teenage girls on the prowl? I'd better get it established right off that I don't do guys, I decided. Not even if they send me to jail? That stopped me. If I went to jail I'd certainly do guys, my folks and Dr. Taylor had made that crystal clear. So I undecided again. Maybe I'd have to do something with a guy. But as little as possible! I felt helpless.
"Dinner at TGIF and then a movie?" Jennifer was asking herself aloud. "Maybe dancing afterward? I don't know if Les'll want to dance with Samantha's kind of girl -- well, maybe I just won't explain anything!" She grinned to herself, and without my further assent it was done.
"Samantha," she turned and said to me. "I'll come over tomorrow morning and we'll look through your clothes and see what you need. Your Mom probably hasn't a clue what girls our age are wearing these days. And your sister Beth wasn't much of a flirt, so she may not have left you any really provocative clothes, and you'll need some. Though come to think of it, you don't have a really provocative body yet, so we may be getting a little ahead of ourselves. Anyhow, we'll try a little shopping therapy to put us in the right mood for afterward."
Her mother agreed. I had no choice but to nod also, and look agreeable.
v.
When I got home, Mom and Dad were both waiting up.
"Samantha!" Mom cried out. "You're gorgeous!" She was genuinely surprised. And impressed! That gratified me more than anything else. I'd worked hard to create that response in her.
Dad just set down his paper and stared at me without expression.
"Thank you, Mommy," I said without self-consciousness. "I did learn a lot today." I recalled how I'd learned some of it. Lying on my back for example, with Jennifer mounted on me and holding up a mirror so I could put my lipstick on yet again, then squirming on my dick when I finally got it right, then wiping the lipstick off with her cunt so we could do it again. "It was a lot of fun!" I added. It had been.
"I'm glad for you that you're enjoying this," my Dad said. "Just keep doing what you're told, and we'll hope it's all for the best."
"Yes, sir," I replied. He seemed to need reassurance. "I'm sure it is, Daddy."
He did smile weakly at that, and then returned to his paper. This was something best left to us girls. Mom motioned me into the kitchen and then asked me quietly if I'd changed my tampon. I assured her I had, and told her Dr. Taylor had advised only one application of Premarin a day so I wouldn't overdose.
"Oh? She put you on pills too?" Mom asked.
"No, she injected me," I said.
Mom understood immediately. "Long term?" she asked.
I nodded. That was what I understood.
She suddenly reached out and hugged me. "Then I have the second daughter I've prayed for," she said. "Sam was such a trial! You're ... you're so much nicer!" She sounded tearful.
"I'm so glad for you, Mommy," I responded, hugging her as tightly, feeling good that I'd made her happier somehow, though a little sorry for Sam. For a few minutes more the two of us clung together. Then we went upstairs, and I told her how the day had gone, some of it anyhow, and what was planned for tomorrow. She helped me lay out clothes she thought suitable for shopping and for a night out with 'the girls.' "You'll enjoy lots of those, looking the way you do," she reassured me. "We're always looking for occasions to dress up. Men just don't understand."
The next day went as Jennifer had planned it. In the morning she came over and we went through Beth's closet so she could estimate what I lacked. "Low rider pants, I'd say," she declared. "Your hips and navel and belly aren't much to look at yet, but they'll be assets by the end of the summer. A few tight skirts and tight satin blouses, for you-know-what." I tried not to guess for what, and failed. "And sexy lingerie -- how can you feel sexy if you don't dress sexy?"
"It was easy enough yesterday," I commented.
She just looked at me and said nothing. I realized slowly that it was easy because even though I'd been doing girly things with Jennifer, I'd been feeling sexy and fucking her like a man. I wondered aloud if there was any other way to fuck her. Again she just looked at me, but this time with a knowing smile. I apparently had things to learn about how women fuck each other, and she meant to teach me.
Then we shopped at our city's two big department stores, and a few of the mall stores between them. I got my ears pierced and immediately started wearing large danglers, very light weight so as not to stretch my lobes but unmistakable in their message -- that I was a confident, forthright girl, proud of my femininity, almost brassy. So I tried to be. I soon got accustomed to feeling those earrings bounce against my neck whenever I shook my head. Almost immediately, boys who were passing us in the mall also got the message. They kept trying to catch and hold our eyes, and when I unthinkingly allowed one to do so he stopped us and started to chat us up. Jennifer had to be a little rude to get rid of him. I listened closely -- some day I might also need to brush someone off. Then laughed at myself. Some day? Might? That day was today!
The food court was crowded. We sat at a small table to nibble on our snack lunch -- we were both of us watching our weight -- and two other girls our age asked to join us. So we said "Sure!" -- me much more hesitantly than Jennifer, because I didn't want anyone looking at me close up. The talk was about boys, and what you have to do to get them excited, and then to keep them interested without putting out too much.
God, those two girls sounded like professional whores! Did all girls know so much? I thought I'd been around!
Jennifer contributed her share, but I had little to say about sucking cock or damping down a dick if it was too close to climaxing, or always leaving a guy wanting more. Jennifer explained that I'd just been a kind of equal opportunity girl friend and had just broken up with a really big guy, a black guy who was gentle enough but had stretched me so big I was practically ruined for almost any other man, for the time being, anyhow. They looked at me with mixed envy and pity, and when they left, each kissed me softly on the cheek, assuring me that there were lots of good lays left in the world, not to despair, and meanwhile just make extra-special use of my back door. I wondered if I'd just had a glimpse into the secret lives of all girls. I didn't know whether to hope so or hope not.
We were back at Jennifer's house by 3:00 pm, and by 5:00 pm we'd readied ourselves for the evening. I was turning this way and that in the mirror, checking out my short black skirt and red satin blouse and red high-heeled shoes, trying to get used to my look, and I was wondering if I'd overdone my make-up -- Jennifer'd told me to 'lard it on'-- when the doorbell chimed.
"Would you get it, Samantha," Jennifer shouted to me. "I've got one last curler to cope with! You're so lucky your hair curls naturally!"
It once didn't, but it certainly does now, and it's certainly flattering, I was thinking as I opened the door. I expected to see either a fake or a real girl, either Charlie or Jennifer's friend Leslie. But there was neither -- it was a guy. Not an ordinary guy but a hefty looking one wearing a muscle shirt and tight leather pants and leaning slightly forward. He had a small anchor tattooed on one swelled biceps. His head was shaved, so I didn't recognize him at first.
Then I did recognize him. He resembled Charlie. My old buddy Charlie! Now no way a girl, more like a longshoreman! But wearing a pale lipstick! More like ... yes! There was this GLBT club at school where all the fairies hung out with all the dykes, and ... my God! some of them looked like what Charlie looked like now! Neither a fairy nor a dyke but an effeminate motorcycle jock!
My mind lurched, then understood. While I was being turned into a girl, Charlie was being turned queer.
Maybe that wasn't too difficult in Charlie's case. He was impressionable and not too bright -- that's how come he always hung with me and did what I did. Like 'rape' Jennifer because he'd seen me do it.
Was he bisexual? He'd once told me he envied a girl who was dating one of the guys on the wrestling team, and when I told him he meant he envied the guy, he hadn't replied. What was it Dr. Taylor had said someone said, that he might have been born gay but just not figured it out?
I suddenly saw the plot plain enough, what Dr. Taylor had hatched. Jennifer would soon be safe from both of us rapists. I'd be impotent and Charlie uninterested. This was all her doing. Not that Jennifer wasn't implicated!
All this left me speechless, and meanwhile this buff guy in leather grinned a personable, crooked grin at me. A real guy-to-guy come-on. And thrust his pelvis suggestively forward, just slightly. "Hi, Sam!" he said. "You look good enough to eat! They told me you'd gone girlie -- good for you! Better and better!" He grabbed his crotch, then grinned at me again!
What in hell did he think he was doing? "Come on in, Charlie," I said a little primly. He did. Standing there precariously in my high heels, I couldn't back away as quickly as I wanted, only one step back. Too late, he was on me. Seized me around the waist. "God!" he whispered to me. "Sam, if I didn't know you were a guy I'd swear you were a girl! I can't wait!"
He was coming on to me like a summer storm!
"Well, you'd better wait!" I told him, twisting my hips to free them from his hands. "Behave!"
I tried to sound severe, to deliver an earnest warning to stay away -- he might be queer, but I wasn't! But it only came out cute -- my distaste expressed itself as a grimace he took to be a smile, I realized, and my wriggling hips likely gave him the impression that I was as eager as he was. For what? I didn't want to think about it!
Finally I managed to get a few paces away from him. This would-be stud with the wrong ideas was old dumb Charlie, my good buddy! Whatever they'd done to him, I'd have to undo it. "C'mon in, Charlie. You want something to drink?"
"Whatever ya got," he said. I almost expected him to belch and scratch his ass.
Dr. Taylor had laid out her rules for us underage teenagers. Soft drinks. I kept to them the way I kept to most rules. "Wine or beer?" I asked him.
"Whatever, doll!" he said. And he pulled out a hip flask. "Doesn't matter. Any which way, I'll spike it."
Great. So tonight I'll be coping with a drunken lecher. And after going to all this trouble to make myself pretty, so I'd be appreciated and be treated properly by the other girls. Accepted as one of them. I almost pouted my disappointment.
I brought him a glass of white wine. He quaffed off a few sips and refilled the glass from his flask, then settled back. What could I say? I sat primly opposite him. "Tell me about it, Charlie," I said quietly. "What did they do to you?"
To my surprise he answered freely and frankly, without resentment or shame. "Mainly it was this guy Terry and some of his friends. Then a lot of his friends. He told my folks that I'd committed rape and I deserved to go to jail and get cornholed until my asshole grows callouses. But the girl's mother thought that'd be too cruel, that instead she'd fix me so I'd never want to rape a girl ever again. I could choose which one I wanted."
"They gave me a choice too," I said. "That's why I'm dressed like this."
Charlie didn't register. "You always wanted to be a girl? I wish you'd told me! Well, anyhow my Mom got frantic -- she thought she meant she'd cut off my dingus and I'd bleed to death. It's pretty big, my prick. You remember, Sam? You needed both hands to hold it that time we jerked each other off. I loved the way it kept slipping out of your grip when you were trying to squeeze and pull on it at the same time. It was more like you were patting it than pulling on it. Remember?"
I did. I didn't reply, though.
"My Mom says it ought to be declared a national treasure. When I was a baby she'd diddle it and tell everyone how proud she was of it. She told everyone that if it had been modeled after my Dad's there'd be next to nothing there, so probably it was modeled after one of those horny garage mechanics she used to go to, to get herself filled up and have them check her oil."
"I remember your cock," I replied with faint distaste, as any proper girl should, more than ready to drop the topic. "Did they fix it? Cut it off or something?"
"Better! They fixed the rest of me so I'd make better use of it! They explained to me how girls don't know how to appreciate a prick that size. That it takes another guy, because guys know what it's all about. And you know, it's true! They proved it. There were those two huge guys with huge pricks -- they told me get accustomed to them, handle them, feel them with my mouth, see how they feel inside my rear, you know? It took a while, but in the end boy, did they felt great! And they did the same with mine -- those guys had really slick mouths, and the silkiest rear ends you ever felt, once you fit yourself into them! All day yesterday, I swear, Sam, I spent the whole day sucking and fucking those guys and then other guys too, and they spent their whole day sucking and fucking me, and it was ... well, it was just terrific! All of us being real men really into each other, y'know? Y'Know?"
He nudged me. "I get it, I get it, Charlie," I said a little impatiently.
"I like guys now way better than girls!" he said reflectively.
"I guess you do," I said
Charlie didn't hear me. "You know, I can understand now why girls want us guys!" he continued. "A cock in your mouth or up your ass feels ... well, when it moves in and out and it reaches deep, it's ... it's really spectacular! Like nothing else in the world! Same as your own in someone else's!"
"So you like it all, fucking and getting fucked, and sucking and getting sucked?"
"Is there a difference? Oh, yeah. You've been fucked by now too, haven't you, Sam? I mean, you look spectacular, you're a real dish! Isn't that why you're a girl now? So straight guys who don't know any better will be attracted, so you can get at them and gobble their cocks and they won't even know you're really a guy? So for sex you won't need to depend on guys like me?"
This new convert to Queerism was enthusiastic enough. "I guess," I replied, trying to end the conversation. "I wonder what's keeping Jennifer."
But Charlie wasn't done. "You know what, Sam? I've sucked maybe twenty cocks by now, and every guy's cum tastes different! Have you found that out too?"
I lost patience. "Look, Charlie, Jennifer told me this was going to be an all girls' night!"
"Did she? Dr. Taylor told me I'm your date for the night, same as this guy Leslie is Jennifer's. She told me to sure to show you a real good time now that I'm real good at it."
"You mean, you expect to suck my cock?"
He looked grieved, injured. "Oh, no, not right away, Sam, no! Ladies first is what they told me."
At this point the door chimed again. Jennifer was near it -- had she been listening in? -- so she answered it. And was immediately seized by a large guy standing in the doorway. Tall, easy-moving, wearing a turtleneck and gray flannels. With a crisp, handsome face -- I got a glimpse of it before he began to kiss Jennifer's really thoroughly! "I'm glad to see you too, Les," I heard her tell him breathlessly between fierce smooches.
They came in and she introduced him to both of us. Yeah, he was an athlete all right. I recognized him, Leslie Feuer, captain of Rockland High's basketball team two years ago, gone to State U since then, where he was a starter. Two years ago we'd played them and they'd plastered us. Would he recognize me? His eyes drifted over my body and took due note of my flat chest. "Happy to know you, Samantha," he said insincerely, then turned back to Jennifer and his eyes seemed to celebrate her figure. What he meant was, plainly, he wasn't interested, I lack what it takes. Well, good! I smiled politely as he and Charlie nodded at each other, as guys will.
So this was the arrangement. Not four girls on the town, but two girls with two guys. I mean one girl with three ... one of the three also a ... I no longer know what I mean.
I offered to get Les a beer. He accepted and I motioned Jennifer to come out to the kitchen with me.
"What's this about?" I asked her. "I thought we were just out for a good time tonight!"
"We are," Jennifer said.
"These aren't girls! These are guys! Charlie expects to fuck me or something, and I know Les wants you!"
"Well, duh," Jennifer replied. "Do I need to draw you pictures?"
I felt trapped, even though by my own misunderstanding. No way four girls, not ever. This was a double date, and it was going to end with some serious ... sex. "I'm not into guys," I stated categorically. "Especially not Charlie."
"You're a girl, and girls are into guys, and Charlie's especially into you because he thinks you're still a guy, and he's going to end up inside you, Samantha. The end of his pole will, anyhow. Way up inside you." She smiled at her own joke.
"You think?"
She leaned back, arms behind her braced against the kitchen counter, her breasts jutting out at me. "Should I tell my Mom to tell one of her friends in the D.A.'s office to tell the Warden there're soft buns out here waiting to be put to use keeping the prisoners satisfied?"
I remained silent.
"Look here, girlfriend. This is a double date, and Les has a car. When we double date in a car, and we'll do a lot of that this summer I hope, you'll sit in the back seat and do whatever you see me do in the front seat. That way no one's unhappy."
"What do you mean?"
"You'll see soon enough. It won't necessarily cost you your virginity this time. I mean, girls who respect themselves don't throw their asses at the first guy who goes out with them, not the first time they go out, not usually. We decide to make out only with special boys, and only if the time feels special, and only if we're pretty sure that they'll fuck us into jelly and we'll scream until we're unconscious. That may not happen this time. It didn't happen to me until only a few years ago, but when it did happen it was so ... oh, I can't begin to tell you! But I want you to have the same kind of experience, Samantha! So years from now you'll know what great loving can be like, especially if you should end up married to a boring husband. So you'll know there's better available and you'll have some idea where to look for it. Tonight, all you have to do is make sure Charlie feels good about you. Cherished. Appreciated. You know what girls are good for. What you don't know is that what we love being good for, and what we love being bad for, are the same thing if they're what we want to do. And you will want to. Trust me on that!"
I had no reply. They'd given this some thought, Jennifer and her mother. I did not appreciate it. "Why'd you pair me with Charlie?"
"Because he'll go for you and there'll be no surprises for him. Also because you need someone you know to dress for, so you can think about what kind of party dress he'll think is especially pretty, and so on. So you'll feel pretty. Maybe even fall in love and get married. Feel that this guy is the one man in the world who's made for you. You and Charlie used to hang out together, so I'm sure you won't mind going to movies, dances, you know, whatever. Being with each other a lot. And as a matter of fact, Charlie was made for you. A rush job all day yesterday and today, but he now he's sort of a finished product ready for testing."
I had nothing to say to that.
"So bring Les his beer and we'll talk a few more minutes and then go."
As we went back in Jennifer suddenly paused, took me by the arm, and turned me to face her directly. And looked me square in the face. "Here's some important advice, Samantha, girl to girl. It's a man's world, pretty much. Guys learn to be aggressive and forthright and dynamic and hard hitting and all that, that's how they make their way in the world. We could do that too, and lots of women do, and for lots of women it works out OK and for lots it doesn't. But even those women learn the necessary surface attributes -- to be soft and cuddly and beautiful, to keep our hair streaming and gleaming and perfumed and our faces ... perfect. And our minds just a little bit challenging but no more than that. OK so far?"
I nodded.
"Those're our assets. Then a man's eager to give us anything he's got in exchange for a kiss or a hug or a tumble in the sheets, because of what we've got. So in the end we get it all. That's how it is, Samantha. And that's how it's going to be. Remember that!"
Whether that's how it is or not, that was how it was going to be, I could see that clearly enough. So I told her I'd remember.
vi.
The date wasn't too bad. We went to an Italian restaurant and the Maitre d held our chairs for us, mine and Jennifer's, and the waiter got our orders and served us first. Les was surprised that I knew all the league ball scores, and after a warning glance from Jennifer I was careful not to contradict him when he got a few wrong. Then when we were together in the ladies' Jennifer congratulated me for my instinctive understanding of 'the fragile male ego.' "Go easy on them," she advised me. "They need to think they're impressing us, not the other way around."
I nodded, noticing that Jennifer was calling the boys 'them' and us girls 'us.' My appearance was deceiving even her?
Charlie had almost no conversation, but once we were in the movies, in the dark, he took my hand and held it reassuringly during the scary parts. Sweet of him, so I didn't mind when he placed it on the bulge in his pants during the sexy parts. Then when we went dancing, I liked the way he checked out my swivelling hips during the fast numbers, so in return I clung to him during the slow numbers and let him feel my whole body through my thin skirt and blouse. Dear old dumb Charlie. It was nice, deeply reassuring to be in his arms. When we left the club and headed into the parking lot, I actually felt like giving him a kiss!
This pretending to be a girl was getting to me! Jennifer had told me how girls get boys to do what they want and instinctively I was following her advice. It did have advantages. Even so, it felt ... queer.
Les drove to a secluded place overlooking the city below, and as we looked down at the glimmering lights we did kiss. Briefly. Charlie and me. He might be stupid but he was affectionate and well-meaning, and I did appreciate that. I saw Jennifer's head disappear, presumably into Les's lap, and I remembered her warning that I better do whatever she does. So as I continued kissing Charlie I unzipped his pants and reached in.
Sure enough, there was that schlong of his trapped in his shorts -- I had to unwrap it from yards of cloth before it sprang free. Then when it was fully liberated and free standing I glanced down.
O Jesus! It was huge all right. A foot tall? Not a pubic hair to be seen anywhere, bald as a baby's! But nowhere near the size of a baby's. As I'd known all along I suppose, it was way bigger even than mine!
I looked up at Charlie. He was leaning over me, ready to re-engage my mouth with his. "Where's the hair down there?" I whispered, very low.
He seemed a little ashamed. "I shaved it off. This place Dr. Taylor sent me the last two days, they don't like hair on your prick. Not on your balls either. They say it gets in people's teeth, and when you do people in the ass it's messy to clean sometimes."
"Teeth?" I was bewildered, and looked down at his bald eggs and then at his ivory tower. It had grown even bigger.
Charlie just replied impatiently, "I'll tell you more later. You better start doing whatever your girlfriend is doing or you could get into big trouble. I'm supposed to tell her mother if you've been a good girl or not."
I looked again toward the other two. Jennifer's head had emerged above the back of the seat, and her mouth was now plastered to Les's. Then to my horror I saw her disengage, glance back at me, wink, lick her lips, and with a smile of anticipation -- anticipation! -- bend down and disappear behind the front seat again. Les suddenly threw his head straight back and whispered aloud to the windshield, "Oh, God, oh yes, Jenn, oh, that's good! Yes! Oh, yes!"
Then his head began lolling backward, nodding oddly, periodically pressing against the headrest, as if he was rhythmically raising and lowering his crotch. There was no doubt that's what he was doing. And no doubt what she was doing. "Uhhh," he said with each movement backward. "Uhhh, uhhh, uhhh!"
"She's blowing him!" I said. "That's what she's doing!" Amazing! I'd never seen it happen from so close. Except to me.
"That's the name of the game," Charlie said. "Yes. That's what girls do, Sammie. Gay guys too." And as he settled his butt a little further forward in the seat to give me easier access and make himself more comfortable, he added smugly, "It feels real good. You're the girl here, so give me a kiss and then go down on me and see for yourself!"
"But I'm really a guy, Charlie! You know that!"
He grabbed my shoulders and bent over and gave me a slobbering kiss full onto my open, lipsticked mouth, then pushed in his tongue, pulled it back, and grinned. "I sure do know you're a guy! They told me never to forget it, not now, not ever, just enjoy it. But I shouldn't ever say so because you need to think you're a girl and that's how come I find you attractive, because you're a girl. So take my cock in your mouth and make me feel good, babe, OK? Do it!"
I turned my head toward the front of the car. Somewhere down on Les's lap, her head rising and falling, Jennifer had no doubt heard this exchange and was maybe even now grinning, maybe even as Les's cock was sliding between her lips. There was no doubt what she expected to hear next. The slurpy sounds of Samantha's lips sucking on Sam's old buddy Charlie's cock.
"I'm not a pansy," I said. The idea was abhorrent to me. "I'm not gay."
"No, but I am," Charlie said enthusiastically. "I am now. I mean, they showed me how good it was." Then coaxing gently and stroking my hair while almost unnoticeably pressing my head down toward his lap, "C'mon, Samantha, suck my cock!" he said. "You know what to do with a guy's cock! You're a big girl!"
And I realized suddenly that no, I don't know what to do. But that I'd better do it anyhow. Fake it, like everything else I'd been doing.
I bent over and caught a faint smell of sweat. Maybe urine too? And then took Charlie's cock in my fist. It was so fat my fingers went only half way round. I looked at it. The head was sticking straight up, high in the air, staring at me with its one eye.
"Ahhh!" Charlie said. He'd felt my first squeeze. I gave it another tentative squeeze. "Ohhhh!" he added. Then to encourage me, he whispered," "Go down on me, Samantha! Sam! Do it! Lick me all around and then suck me in and jack me off! That's what girls do!"
What else could I say? He was right! I bent down and licked that huge pink head, way bigger than the one on mine. 'We should all do best whatever we can do best,' a grade school teacher had once drilled into me. What Charlie did best was grow his cock to this enormous size. What I better do best now is kiss it, appreciate Charlie's accomplishment. My gorge rose, but I tried to pay it no attention. I concentrated on the sensations. To my hand that whole pole felt like spongy satin. Not so bad. It was the idea more than the reality that bothered me. Anyhow, I had to do it, Jennifer had made that plain. Maybe I could. Just do it, try to get through the evening without Dr. Taylor giving up on me and sending me off to Bubba and friends to get fucked.
So I licked the tip. Faintly salty. Whatever that drop of fluid there, it melted on the tip of my tongue. Thank God, not at all slimy. I lowered my lips and managed to enclose most of the head of Charlie's cock into my mouth, trying to protect it from my teeth. There was no room for more. The soft bulb pushed against the back of my throat. Then I realized that somehow my lips had gotten past the ridge on the head and had advanced a little down onto the shank and were pulsing on the shank. I bobbed my head and rubbed my lips up and down, not much, maybe only an inch or so, that was as much of him as I could fit into my mouth. Then I started to jerk him off with the hand I still had wrapped around the rest of it. Get it over with.
"Oh, yes!" Charlie declared to the roof of the car, his head thrown way back.
"Oh, yes indeed!" Jennifer's voice declared behind me. "Just beautiful! You two lovers look so very sweet together! Just darling."
I looked up sideways at her, the end of Charlie's cock twisting into my cheek. She was taking a break from cocksucking Les, resting her head on the back of the front seat and smiling at me. Triumphantly! "So very dear! I wish I had a picture. But I don't really need one, I'll remember this moment always. You're have the makings of such a wonderful cocksucker, Samantha! I always knew it, and I must certainly spread the word, it'll do wonders for your reputation! What say we bring off our guys so spectacularly that they'll spread the word too, tell everyone how good we are at it, how happy we can make a man feel? Then the two of us will spend the whole summer beating guys off with clubs!"
Her head disappeared again. "Be real loud, Samantha honey," I heard her voice say. "And I'll do the same. Les and Charlie, you too, so we can all of us share everyone's pleasure. Maybe Samantha and I can bring you two guys off at the same time? That'd be fun! If you two guys cum in perfect synch, that'd be something to tell our grandchildren!"
Was there mockery in her voice, in her words? I couldn't tell, so I tried to ignore what she was saying and just keep sucking on Charlie's cock. In and out, in and out, and pump, pump with my fist. I wished it were my own cock, but that was neither here nor there. I heard Jennifer start to moan, and figured Les must have a finger or two up her twat, so I put Charlie's hand on my pecker and he started to rub it, and that felt good. I started to moan too. The car became a steamy chamber of groans and cries. I kept at it, sliding my lips up and down Charlie's shank, sucking on that bulbous head in order to keep my lips clamped tight around it. Tonguing the upper part of it all the while jerking off the lower part as fast as I could, at least as fast as I could without pulling it off his groin altogether. Charlie began to groan with the rest of us.
Then he said, "Oh God!" and I thought, 'I'm blowing it!' I guess I was, because Charlie's hips were now striving desperately to thrust that meat of his all the way down my throat and meanwhile I hadn't heard anything from up front to signal that Les had arrived at his own peak. Was Jennifer holding out on me? No. But there was urgency in her voice when she suddenly said, hastily, her words muffled, "Remember, we swallow!" and Les's voice began a crescendo of "Ahhhh! Ahhhhh! Ahhhhh!" So I sucked as hard as I could and squeezed Charlie up and down with my hand as fast as I could and he made a rattling sound in his throat, and his cock swelled up in my throat -- that's where it actually ended up, that fat head jammed part way down my throat -- and started gushing! Gushing! My God, hot cum, spurt after spurt! A lot of it straight down into my belly but when I pulled my head back the rest of it filled my mouth. Talk about salty and slick too! And ... but ... not too bad! Not unpleasant! I swirled the thick juice across my tongue. Melted Jello? Hot Gatorade? A little of each? Neither?
Cum, that's what it was! Charlie was right, it did taste different, at least different from the way my own cum tasted when I'd sucked it out of Jennifer's snatch. This was cum fresh from the fountain. My very first!
What in hell was I thinking! My FIRST? There would be others?
Yes, I guess there will be, I was thinking. As Jennifer's closest girlfriend and her household helper and all, she'd see to it. She'll be sure to bring me along on other dates, always with a date of my own, one or another guy who'll expect a blow job at least, maybe if push comes to shove a fuck. Different guys until I begin to long for just one, to go steady, to have a real relationship. Maybe with someone like Charlie. Comfortable, familiar, manageable Charlie. Charlie, who'll always do whatever I want, most always.
That wouldn't be too bad. I felt a surge of affection for him and my head came up and my arms wrapped around his neck and I kissed him passionately, my lips and still mouth coated with his sperm, smearing it all over his face. He didn't mind, he kissed me back. I suddenly realized that was exactly what Jennifer wanted. And Dr. Taylor. Even Charlie. That's what we were being redesigned for. A relationship! The two of us!
But hey, why not? I was a girl. Feeling no resentment -- in fact feeling a certain eager curiosity -- I turned to Charlie. "Next thing, do we fuck, sweetie?" I asked as if I'd known but for the moment had forgotten the agreed scenario."
He was still breathing hard from his ejaculation. "I do. You get fucked. And this time you get to cum, and enjoy it, and want more. That's what they told me," he said in between gasps. "'A hard fuck up your old buddy's ass,' that's what they told me to give you. They said Jennifer's mother specifically asked if it was on the menu and then ordered it. But not till we get back to the house. And not unless we both really want to do it. And we can find us a bed or a couch. Guys don't fuck too easy in cars, it's better to spread out. Terry showed me that last night, when he fucked me first on a car and then on a couch, and then I tried the same thing with another guy. No comparison. So that's how we'll finish every date. That's the idea for now, anyhow."
He seemed content with the idea. He'll bugger me often and in comfort. Even though I'm now supposed to be a girl.
Come to think of it, he doesn't see me as a girl. He'd had no problem when I sucked him off. To him I'm a boy who only looks like a girl. And he prefers that because he's gay now. He's changed. That's his punishment for supposedly raping Jennifer. We were both heterosexual when Dr. Taylor lowered the boom on us. But now? He'd accepted my cocksucking with a certain ...satisfaction. No problem, one guy blowing another guy, that's how he likes it. And his genitals were shaved. Why? To make things more pleasant for others, for me, also for himself when he fucks assholes and wipes off afterward. They mean for Charlie to stay gay permanently.
"Charlie, how many guys have sucked you off? Or have you sucked off? Or have been in your ass? Or vice versa?" It wouldn't do to talk around the point. Charlie had no subtlety.
"Christ, Sam! I mean Samantha. Altogether? Counting you? I don't even know any more! I mean, you're still a guy, though they tell me that's not for much longer. They tell me you're going to be a girl, and when that happens we can get married and live happily ever after. When you're legally a girl. That's what they told me at this place they took me. I told them I couldn't do that, marry you, because no matter what the law says you've always been my buddy, you'll always be a guy to me, so I could never do sex to you, because I'm not queer. I'm not a homo. That's what I told them. They told me not to worry, they'd fix it. So they fixed it, and now I am queer."
That much I could tell. "How many, Charlie? Not counting me, because when I'm a girl I won't count."
"All added up, Sam? I mean, Samantha? Lemme see. There was this Gay Men's Club first off -- all the guys lined up to suck me off while I was strapped in and helpless. I had nothing for them after a few, so most of them just held my cock in their mouths for a while and licked it like a noodle. It felt good. And the whole time other guys were lined up for me to suck them off, all the same time, even though they didn't always cum because my hands were tied so I couldn't help them out except with my mouth. I dunno, I lost count. Maybe a dozen guys each way. More? I didn't cum more than three times myself. But they didn't mind, they blew me anyhow."
"How about fucking in the ass?"
"Me? Not much. A few times. I got fucked a few times, I mean. Each night. And I did other guys a few times. That's not something you're supposed to ask me, you know that Samantha? It's kind of private. Not until we've fucked each other, and then only when you can't fuck me any more. Not until you beg me to fuck you and entice me and all because you can't hold back, you've gotta have it the way girls do when they get hot and can't quit. They told me to get used to sex with lots of guys, so I could encourage my former buddy to have sex with me and be happy with me and also with lots of other guys too. You'll have sex with other guys too, they said, but mainly me."
"They brought out your latent homosexuality so you wouldn't mind having sex with me?"
"Whatever. I guess so. But they didn't need to bother, Samantha, because I always liked you special. I never knew why, I guess I was always a little bit homo. And anyhow they're turning you into a real dish, I've gotta say that! A doll! Samantha honey, sex with you isn't anything like sex with the other guys I've done. Most of those guys are bony and hairy, and some of them, well, they coulda used a shower or a bath. Talk about smells? But Samantha, you're ... really nice. You smell like perfume. I really like you!"
My heart warmed to his simple honesty. In this nest of deceit that much had to be cherished. 'I like you too, Charlie," I said simply.
And then I have no idea why, I kissed him again. Twice. Out of an affection that overflowed my heart. The big loon! And Charlie kissed me back. What was this?
Jennifer's voice broke in, and now she really sounded impressed, trying for sarcasm but failing. "Well, now that really is dear! Les, we'd better drive these lovebirds back home before they consummate right here and splatter your car." She'd been watching us again I supposed, and listening. So for spite I really leaned into Charlie's face with my eyes tight shut, and pushed my tongue way deep into Charlie's mouth. And he began sucking on it! Then he started kissing my face! Ruining my make-up, and I didn't mind at all! In the corner of my eye I saw Jennifer shaking her head and then turning to look forward as the car started up..
Then as soon as we got back to her house, Charlie and me, still plastered against each other, we went into her living room and fucked. Fucked! Right off, no dildo preliminaries. I almost forgot to pull out my tampon, but I did remember, and I ran into the kitchen and ransacked the cupboard to find something, anything, and grabbed a bottle of olive oil, great, and rushed back with it. And oiled up that white tower of Charlie's and kneeled on the couch and leaned over the back of the couch and Charlie pushed himself into me with that big fat tube of his and I wriggled and ... and it was the strangest feeling! At first I felt helpless, impaled like a bug! I didn't dare move, except in one direction or the other. Up or down was in and out. And he started sliding his thing in and out and then, oh, then I didn't at all mind being impaled, I didn't mind being a girl and getting fucked by a master cock! Not then, not ever again I was thinking! Not while there are cocks like Charlie's in the world, I was thinking, not while there are guys who desire me and feel like that inside me! Guys who feel as if they were made for me. And can make me feel so ... great! So ... oh, God!, this feels so good, and there's this wonderful sensation in my belly rising and rising and ...!
We came at the same moment, him into me, me all over Dr. Taylor's couch cushions. Somehow I didn't mind. I didn't even mind that after Charlie ejaculated he slumped down heavily onto my back and just lay there, crushing me until he could recover his breath. When finally he climbed off me I just smiled and lay alongside, embracing him. The big stoop!
We were still like that, me in a kind of pleased daze, when Leslie came down from Jennifer's room and asked Charlie if he wanted a lift and if so he should get ready to leave. Then the two of them left. I turned over the couch cushion so the dry side showed, slipped a new tampon into me to keep Charlie's cum from running down my leg, and went up to see how Jennifer was doing.
She was lying on her back on her unmade bed, legs all apart, all relaxed, half-melted into her mattress.
"Is it always like this?" I asked her.
She turned her head and saw at a glance how I felt, and replied languidly, "Girlfriend, with the right guy, yes. Always." And sighed. Then said, "Samantha, would you mind terribly, I have this wet, sloppy feeling down here between my legs. Would it be too much to ask ...?"
"To bring you a washcloth to wipe it away?" I finished the sentence for her teasingly.
She glanced at me again and said, "Ahhh, not exactly, I ...."
"No, I don't mind at all," I broke in again. "I'm a girl now, I think, so I love how a guy's cum feels and tastes when I suck it up, and I guess I'm still partly a boy too, because I love sucking on girls' cunts."
"Then you're my kind of girl too," she said, deeply satisfied, and raised her knees. "How do you think girls make love with each other?"
Jennifer was bisexual? Why not? She was everything else it seems! So I dived in. Leslie's cum drooling out of her snatch tasted great too, different from mine and also different from Charlie's I was pleased to notice, a little anyhow. Jennifer moaned and then screamed to a climax twice while I was sucking and lapping and tonguing her cunt back to pristine cleanliness, and that was satisfying.
"I guess I'm bisexual too," I told her. "I loved that."
"You can suck my cunt any time, Samantha. And call me 'Jenny' now please. You belong to my inner circle."
That was puzzling. "What do you mean?"
"A bunch of us girls like to get together now and then and ... well, you know, please each other. Lick our pussies, hold vagina monologues with them. We know each other by special names no one else is allowed to use, not even our parents. Clarie and Trace and Pegs for example. You can be an honorary member now, and when you get your own pussy you can be a full member. If any of the other girls hear you call me 'Jenny' they'll know you're one of us and available, and if they like the idea they'll introduce themselves to you and you can suck on their pussies too if you're available that night or the next morning, clean them out after they're finished with their dates. In fact it's an obligation. Same as them sucking on your pussy after your dates, when you get one of your own."
"So sometimes I'll get to taste other guys without even meeting them?"
"Sometimes. When your boobs come in and the guys quit wondering what kind of a girl are you, you'll be able to meet them in the flesh too. So to speak. It depends."
That sounded like not too bad a deal. I wondered momentarily whether Jennifer would be willing to perform the same service for me. Here it was, Charlie was gone but his cum was still inside me, soaking into my tampon -- how much was there? How much of his juice had that rod of his pumped into me anyhow? A lot.
"Jenny...," I started to say.
"No," she replied. "I won't. You'll just have to use a fresh tampon, Sammie, and then later on douche. Like any other girl."
Of course. I now saw the wisdom in my mother's advice never to leave home without tampons in your purse, because you never know.
"I don't do assholes," she continued. "Ask Beatie if the occasion arises. She won't mind, not if you do her asshole first."
Welcome to the club. I was now an official groupie cumsucker.
vii.
When I got home that night everyone was asleep. The next morning I came down in only my nightie and Mom saw my earrings right off but she only asked me how the day had gone. I perked up and we went up together and I showed her the other clothes I'd bought with Jennifer and she told me that Jennifer had excellent taste. I assured her that no, the clothes we'd bought together were what I wanted to wear, they were my choices, my taste. That I was developing a feel for what kind of girl I was, and what kinds of clothes were really me. She bemusedly said nothing, but I think she was impressed. Later she asked me what I'd fixed for supper, and I told her I hadn't, that instead Jennifer and I had double-dated and we'd had dinner out. That she was with some college guy named Les and I went with Charlie.
"You and Charlie! You must have made a good looking couple!"
"We did." Then it occurred to me. "Mom, you knew he wasn't being turned into a girl like me? That they had something else in mind for him?"
"Dr. Taylor told me what their plans were. Charlie's mother thought it was just as well -- she sort of liked the idea. Because Sam was having a bad influence on Charlie and getting him into all kinds of trouble, this rape charge in particular. But if Samantha's a girl she can't help but have a good influence on him, she thought. And they're already friends, so maybe she can learn to care about him and the friendship will become something deeper. Did the two of you have a good time?"
"I loved it!" came out of my mouth before I could repress the words. Mom's eyebrows rose, so I decided to cover my bases and close off the conversation. "Jennifer's forgiven both of us. We'll pal around some this summer, Charlie and me and Jenny and whoever she's seeing. She wants me to meet other guys too."
"I see," said Mom.
I didn't know what she saw, so I mentioned that I wanted to fix different desserts for the Taylor household and didn't know how. That changed the subject. We called and determined that Jennifer had things to do and her mother didn't expect me until the late afternoon, wouldn't even be home until after I'd gone back home myself. So we spent most of the day making cookies and pies, mixing and rolling out dough and preparing different fruit fillings. And that was as unexpectedly nice as my previous night out with Charlie, because while we did our different things in the kitchen, Mom chatted away with me like she used to do with Beth. About how when she was a girl she'd learned to cook from an aunt, about what kinds of guys she'd liked before she met Dad, even about how she felt about Dad during their first date -- he seemed somewhat stuck-up, so she'd decided she'd needle him a little, agree with him about nothing, but he caught on and began to agree with her about everything, and she caught on to that too, and then they really began to appreciate each other.
We made that kind of easy girl talk and it was wonderful! When it was time for me to go over to Jennifer's place, we were good friends. She commented on how easily, how deftly I put on my make-up before leaving the house, and I showed her one or two of the tricks with mascara Jenny had taught me. Then before I picked up the pie I planned to serve at the Taylor's that evening, I spontaneously hugged her. I felt so good about everything!
And one reason was, I didn't have to worry about all the things Sam usually had on his mind. All his worries. His status with his buddies, and maintaining his competitive edge, and how to get into the next girl's pants, and figuring out what to say if some dirty trick he'd played was traced back to him. None of those things mattered now. Just whether or not to warm the pie before I served it, that was what mattered. Cleaning Dr. Taylor's house was easy, no one used it much, and the listed dinner was hamburgers on the grill, no problem. And oven-warmed pie. I went home early and lay down on Beth's bed to rest, and fell asleep. And slept like a baby.
The next morning was not so good. Nausea gripped me, and I rushed to the toilet. I resolved to go to bed with an empty stomach for the next week or so, until my body could get used to these new hormones. Then I realized that I'd be seeing Charlie again that evening, and that he'd be expecting me to make him feel good the way girls do, and ... Jenny had mentioned some other guys she knew, and ... well, I'd do what I had to do but I'd try to go to sleep on an almost empty stomach.
And then I smiled. Because the prospect was actually pleasing. It gave me a good feeling to know there'd be cum in my tummy most nights. I liked being good at whatever I did. That's just me.
I also noticed that there were two hard lumps behind my nipples that pushed them out a little, and I was surprised to notice that I felt no annoyance at all with them. Instead I felt pleased -- I was becoming a woman! I hurried over to my friend Jenny to tell her -- this time dessert would be fresh-baked cookies, so I took some fresh-wrapped, pre-prepared cookie dough with me. She was almost as excited by the prospect as I was when I showed her.
"That's how I started my adolescence, Samantha," she told me. "That's how we all begin. They'll hurt a little sometimes, maybe itch a little, but from now on your bras won't just be costume accessories worn to excite guys, they'll be essential underwear for holding yourself firm. So you don't bobble every time you move. Hold still and pay attention now, and you'll see for yourself what makes it all worth while."
She reached toward me and touched the very tips of those extended nipples. Very lightly. I almost fainted with pleasure. A high pitched squeal escaped me.
"Yes," she said. "Boys will be so pleased to hear you making noises like that! It makes them feel like real men to please a girl that way. Mine felt that way from the beginning too. But be careful who you let caress your boobs from now on, because once they begin you won't be able to stop them from doing anything at all to you. You won't want to stop them."
I smiled slyly. "That'll be good," I replied. "I already don't mind, if that's what it'll feel like!" We looked at each other, girl to girl. And then for no reason at all Jennifer and I smiled, then squealed, and hugged, and even jumped up and down. I was ecstatic, because I knew that the way my nipples already felt, I wouldn't ever want to stop anyone! Being a girl was so ... amazing!
A week later my morning sickness became less predictable, and two weeks later it subsided altogether. My boobs grew fast -- soon they were almost B-cups. It was finally summer, and warm weather, so I took to wearing slightly undersized T-shirts with a bit of lycra in the weave to show them off. And sure enough, wherever I went boys' eyes went to my chest. More girl power! It made me almost heady.
Finally Mom took me aside and lectured me about 'asking for it,' the difference between the hard-sell and more subtly suggestive forms of displaying sexual merchandise. About my responsibilities as a 'nice girl' -- and she wanted no other kind for a daughter. So I toned down and bought a few larger -- though appropriately shaped -- blouses to wear as well, and almost for spite one more tight elasticized T-shirt, though with a broad, busy, colorful pattern to distract the eye from my two outcroppings, so they'd be the second and not the first things anyone noticed about me.
Even so, I made sure that whatever else, before he fucked my ass Charlie had to service my boobs nightly with his mouth and fingertips. And after a few weeks I took Jennifer's advice and dated a few other boys, friends of hers or of her friends, and I awarded them that privilege too. I'd fondle their cocks, maybe mouth them, and long before they were ready to cum they were ready to do all kinds of things for me in return. Then I got to know Jenn's 'inner circle,' the girls she was really intimate with, and sure enough, no problem, they included me in their intimacies. One or another of them would lick my clit while I licked theirs and sucked out their pussies, each time wondering what I'd find in them, or who's it was. I never in my life had so many orgasms! Being a girl was way better than being a boy, even a sports hero the girls pined after.
I felt embarrassed at first, my clit was so much bigger than theirs, but Jenn assured me that was no problem, just wait. Sure enough, as the summer went on it got more respectably smaller, also softer, more like theirs, finally too soft to push into anything. Charlie let me take one last farewell fuck in his ass while I could still tuck it into his rump like a limp balloon, but after that it was all one way -- he fucked and I was fucked for good. And my balls shrank too, just as Dr. Taylor'd predicted. But that wasn't all bad. In a department store once, I tried on the tightest-crotch stretch jeans they had, and found I could actually crease my almost-empty scrotum into a camel-toe! A real-looking slit for all to see! Oooh was I proud! I strolled our local mall all afternoon, weaving my rear and waving my pseudo pussy at everyone! And the next day bought my first bikinis ever!
I have to tell you this! Early in August I actually dated a real movie star! It was exciting, the very idea of it! A guy who was actually in a movie once, in a scene with Leonardo de Caprio if you can believe it, even though he was just standing there looking out the window, and he didn't speak any lines. I wanted to wear my citrus blouse for him, the one with a sort of plunging neckline now that I had boobs to hint at, but I had no skirt to match. So I called Jennifer and asked her right off, "Jenny, can I borrow your lime green skirt, the flary one?"
"Why sure, Samantha." She hesitated a moment. I hoped she'd ask why and she did! "But what's the occasion?" Her voice was eager.
Mine was even more eager. "I'll be going out with Rick Fraser when he comes to town tomorrow."
"Samantha, no!"
"Yes!" I said. And sat silent, enjoying the moment enormously.
She made me promise to tell her all about it the next day, and then she offered to lend me her rhinestone earrings too -- "they'd be perfect with that outfit." When I clicked off from her I felt practically smug.
Even more smug a few days later when I could actually truthfully tell her that Rick Fraser's cock was "Nothing, really." She was disbelieving at first, but there was no denying it. "I took the whole thing in my mouth to suck it, to get it hard, to make it long enough at least for me to hold in my fist. And what did I find? It was already hard! It was already as big as it gets! All I could do with it was take it between my thumb and forefinger and jiggle it until he came! Can you imagine?"
She could, and she commiserated with me, and we ended up giggling together about the other small boys she knew and I was encountering now and then. It was a wonderful moment.
Jennifer and I became dear friends, but as the summer wore on Dr. Taylor grew less and less enthusiastic about what she'd done to me. It seems that my willing acceptance of all things feminine, my obvious delight in my new role in life, deprived her of the satisfaction of seeing my self-esteem sink along with my manhood. It defeated altogether her original intent, to punish and humiliate me by emasculating me. She'd succeeded so well at emasculating me that she'd failed altogether. The more I immersed myself in this wonderful girl culture she had forced me to enter the more delightful I found it, not least because every new delight was a triumph over her original intentions. Dr. Taylor had meant to mess up my life by forcing me to become a pseudo-girl. I messed up her plan by becoming a real one, and much too quickly for her to savor her victory. Even as a boy I'd always been adaptable, quick to take advantage of whatever chance or circumstance or the opposing team could throw at me. Who knew I could adapt so quickly to this challenge?
My greatest satisfaction came toward the end of the summer, when I was preparing to start College, my time of servitude to the Taylor household nearing an end. I overheard Jennifer criticizing her mother, saying "Mom, you're always mean to Samantha! The more she does what you want, the more unhappy you seem to be! Why is that?"
Her mother replied, "I thought I was punishing him for forcing himself on you. Instead, by making him into a girl I find I've rewarded him! That was not what I intended!"
"That's so sad," Jennifer told her. "If it's any consolation, he didn't exactly force himself. I set him up because I wanted to take him down a peg or two too. I thought he needed it. But it turns out she appreciates it, everything we've done for her! No loss to me, he never could have been a boyfriend to me anyhow, he was never man enough for that. I knew that even when I was seducing him into raping me -- his cock was only the warmup act for Charlie's. But she's been a wonderful girlfriend. I can't thank you enough for giving him to me as a girlfriend!"
"You set him up? Seduced him into raping you? He didn't force himself on you?"
"Mom, did Dad ever force you to sleep with all those other men? C'mon! When were either of us ever forced to fuck?"
Dr. Taylor was silent for a moment. "Well, he's happy, apparently, but now I'm not. I'm annoyed at you, young lady, though I have to admit you haven't done anything I wouldn't do. In fact, you haven't done anything I haven't done, and not only with your father. I've seen how you fix Sam up with boys these days, and with some of your girlfriends too, so I suppose you've been trying to make amends. But how can I make this up to him?"
"Easy, Mom. When the time comes, say when Samantha graduates from college, buy her the best vagina money can buy. As a graduation present. I bet by then it'll also be a wedding present. I'm sure she'll marry her best boyfriend Charlie eventually. I grant you that Charlie doesn't have the smarts to appreciate a class A pussy. But lots of other boys do, and lots of other boys will, and me too whenever the two of us get together with the other girls of my inner circle. So cheer up. Sam's punishment did Samantha a favor, and she's happy with it. Same as Dad is with his!"
Her mother made noises signifying assent, but after that, nothing I could hear.
The rest of the summer was the happiest time of my life. Mom and I became the closest of friends -- she told me all sorts of things only girls know, about being a girl and about dealing with boys, both. Daddy finally accepted me completely. For my birthday in August he bought me the most beautiful pearl necklace with matching pearl drop earrings, just perfect to go with my favorite little black dress, the fitted silk. He was embarrassed but pleased, I know it, when I couldn't stop kissing him out of sheer gratitude.
And meanwhile I had dates with lots of guys, way more than I'd ever had with girls. And lots of sex! There are no problems ever with guys saying 'No!' when you make your moves, telling you 'Never on a first date,' or fobbing you off with a quick kiss, the way girls do. Guys are always ready to rumble. I'd blow some and assfuck with some, explaining shamefaced that I was having my time of month. And every twenty-eight days I really did have my time of month, in a way. I liked it, changing tampons even when there didn't happen to be cum in my bum for a tampon to blot up! It did help me feel more feminine. More like the other girls I got to know.
And of course there was always Charlie. He didn't know enough to be jealous. He'd show up for dates with me in his muscle regalia, but when I insisted he wear a proper suit and tie, he did. I realized I could still control him, that though I was the girl I was always in charge. Life with him might not be so bad after all, I decided. He remained my best buddy and my dearest friend, a lot of what I never had found in any girl all wrapped up in a boy. After that first date Jennifer'd arranged for us, when he took my cherry at both ends, I got to feeling really fond of him.
With good reason. He's sort of handsome, manly in the way he moves, the way he holds his head when he's listening to me, the way he smiles to himself sometimes when he thinks he's alone. Moreover, he thinks I'm a fox, and he loves the way I look when we're out together. He's proud that I'm the girl clinging to his arm, where everyone can see. But above all, he's dynamite in bed -- he does everything I like, eagerly, and he lets me do anything with him. Anywhere. We've made out in a women's bathroom at Burger King, where he slammed me against a wall until a guy in the men's room next door shouted that we should get a room, and we shouted back that's what we'd just done! In an elevator too, I remember we stepped in, and we just looked at each other, and the mood was right, so I hit the stop button and ... well, we might still be sucking each other off if the building's custodian hadn't over-ridden the stop switch. Charlie's always as happy as I am even when we're only just sitting and talking. He's attentive, appreciative, interested in everything I like, and always eager to hear more even when he can't understand any of it. He's too dumb to disagree with anything, even my desire to date other guys too. I think he's perfect for me. Very marriageable. I'm sure that with Charlie I'll always be able to live happily ever after.
So now I'm looking forward to four years of making out with college boys like Les, and maybe college girls like Jennifer, and then coming home and getting a cunt installed at Dr. Taylor's expense so I can marry Charlie legally. Charlie's already working in his father's trucking business, learning the routes. So there'll always be times when he isn't home, sometimes for days or weeks at a time. So even after we're married I'll always have time to look around and play around, to check out some guys and return others well-used.
My sister Beth thinks even then I'll be too young to get married. But Mom and Dad like the idea wholeheartedly -- they both think it'll settle me down and make me responsible and start me living my own life. I think so too. I mean, it's now as obvious to Charlie as it is to me that we were made for each other.
Copyright(c) 2009 by Vickie Tern
Vickie [email protected]
Wife needs cheating husband out of the way so she can have her own affair. She gets the local girls to make him a member of the bigirls club.
Copyright 1996,1998,2000 by Vickie Tern
This story is intended only for readers who are lawfully
certified mature, sophisticated, cosmopolitan, and literate. All others fuck off.
BiGirls
by Vickie Tern
i.
I sell insurance, industrial, liability, all kinds. I know.
But it’s a living, if you work at it, and it’s a product people need, so they
buy it. If they luck out and it turns out they didn’t need it they feel cheated.
So they figure I’m a sleaze. My wife Jane decorates interiors, stores, homes,
anything. She has good taste, so everyone loves what she does, and they love
Jane too. She gets and gives customer satisfaction without effort, or so it
seems. I know better, and sometimes I help her figure out how to finesse her
problems. Still, nobody knows what she saw in me when she married me. Someone
to come home to, at best. Insurance. Even now, not too many people can guess what
she sees in me.
All day long and lots of nights we’re in and out of different
homes and offices, seeing people and drawing up plans for them. We work
irregular schedules, but we like it that way. We’ve been married a half-dozen
years or so, time enough to get to know each other and get used to each other.
We’re ...well... comfortable. No surprises. No upsets. The usual pattern–house
in the suburbs, no kids yet, Golf and Tennis Club membership, hang out with
other people like us, clients, potential clients, a few friends.
To tell the truth, I’ve played around a little. Without
Jane knowing.
Not deliberately. I’d flirt, and sometimes it would get out
of hand. Charm and flattery is useful in my business, especially when you’re dealing
with a woman. You have to listen to what the prospect says she wants, be
attentive and sympathetic. You’re always selling yourself, you know? With
women sometimes send them little gifts and take them to dinner. Chat them up,
you know? Then when they sign on the dotted line, it turns out they expected
more than a counter signature where the dotted line ends.
But it’s hard to keep things quiet in a small community like
ours, where everyone knows everyone. So I’d never go out looking. Jane might
have noticed. I’d bed down mostly out of town women mostly for one nighters, women
who could appreciate someone companionable and not too bad in bed, but with no
strings. There are lots of motels on the edge of town, and no one was ever the
wiser.
So I never expected we’d end up together like this, Jane and
me, in this whole new kind of marriage. It was all happening under my nose the
whole time, but who knew?
It started out innocent enough. One morning Jane said to
me, “Craig, drop these plans off at Alice’s for me, would you? She’ll be home around
one. I’ve got an appointment then. We’ve got to get this project under way
today, tell her. Gotta go! See you! Kiss!”
And she was gone before I could ask why she didn’t just drop
them off herself, Alice lives only a block or so away. Sometimes she doesn’t think.
Well, I spent the morning making calls and catching up on my
paperwork, then on my way to the office I stopped off at Alice’s. The drapes
were drawn, and I would have thought she and Roy were away for a few days, except
there were cars in the driveway, and in front too. So I rang the bell, and who
answered almost right away but Alice?
But Alice dressed like I’ve never seen her. In a kind of
draped gauzy nightgown with her tits hanging half out, her nipples visible
through the fabric. There was a dark shadow where her bush should be, and probably
was. But I couldn’t take my eyes off those nipples!
“Oh, hi, Craig!” she said. She just stood there in the
doorway. Anyone on the street could have seen her, if there’d been anyone,
though there never is. “You here to see Roy? He’s always at the office this
time of day. You know that.”
“Not exactly, Alice,” I said a little awkwardly. Trouble, I’m
thinking. Big trouble. Don’t do it. But would just a little messing around
with Roy’s wife get me into trouble with Jane? That depends. “Jane asked me to
bring you these,” I told her, and I handed her the package Jane gave me. “She
says get your project going today. Whatever that means.” Then I just stood
there. Finally I looked up at her face. She ‘d been watching me eyeball her
boobs the whole time, and seemed amused. “I better be going,” I finally said.
In reply she swung the door wide open. “Today?” she asked
me in a loud voice. I nodded yes. “She say anything else?” I nodded no. One
tit had come completely free, and it was just hanging out there in the open!
A woman’s voice way back in Alice’s living room called out, “Anyone
we know, Alice? Let’s see her!” Someone entered the far end of Alice’s hallway
from the living room, then stopped stark still, and said, “Well!” Another
woman, completely naked! Wearing nothing, not even the next-to-nothing Alice
was wearing! She was thin, with hip-bones poking like harps on each side of
her flat belly, with ribs clearly visible under huge globes of breasts. I
mean, huge! My god, on such a thin girl, why didn’t she fall over? She shook
a heavy head of black hair back behind her shoulders, and I could see she was
staring at me calmly, not surprised to see me at all, just standing there. Her
mound fully exposed too, curly dark hair in a dark V.
I suddenly realized I knew her. Tim Peterson’s wife, he’s
an accountant, she’s the doctor in that new medical arts building. I’d seen
her a lot at the Club, and I’d been meaning to stop by to see if all her
insurance needs have been met. What was her name?
“I’d better be going,” I said again. “You ladies don’t seem
to have had time to get dressed yet this morning.”
“This afternoon,” said Alice. “You haven’t had lunch yet?
Why don’t you come in, now, Craig, and let’s see what we can fix up on short
notice.”
She stepped to one side, and now the doorway and hallway led
straight back to the thin Peterson woman with the big hair and tits, still standing
and looking at me from the far end. I was still checking out those enormous
boobs when she turned her head and looked back into the living room as if there
were more people in there. Also naked?
“Can you close the door, Alice?” came another woman’s voice.
That one was familiar! Our across-the-street neighbor, “Dottie”
Jane calls her, “the Widder” I call her, her husband having died a few years ago.
She’s some dish! Luscious mouth, huge eyes, curves everywhere, a knockout
dresser. Guys in and out of her house all the time, and now and then someone’s
car spends the night in her driveway. Jane once caught me staring out the
window at her house, and said “Off limits!” in a tone of voice that stopped me
so cold I couldn’t even begin to pretend I didn’t know what she was talking
about.
The Widder’s voice again. “Alice! It’s getting chilly in
here, and we’re all wearing nearly nothing! Come in or go away, whoever you
are.”
“You’d better come in,” Alice said, this time more
commanding than inviting. I stepped inside.
Alice shut the door behind me and gestured me toward her
living room, just past the nude doctor, who’d shifted her weight to one leg and
cocked her hip, and folded her arms under those enormous tits so they bulged up
over her forearms, and was still looking at me steadily. Now even her nipples
were staring at me. I walked toward her trying hard not to look, and when we
were about to bump I turned to walk into Alice’s living room. Then I paused
again!
The place looked like a harem! Everywhere were women’s legs
and arms and bodies! A few women were sprawled on the two couches wearing some
kind of diaphanous something, those wrappers that cover nothing. Another was
doing stretching exercises along the wall, naked, little tits and a thin bush,
but thighs that looked like they could crush a horse. Another was standing
with her back to me, studying some statue on the fireplace mantle, bare except
for thin, high-cut lace panties not quite covering the cheeks of her ass, two
small, pert watermelons perched above her legs. As I looked she glanced at me
over her shoulder, then turned away again. At the end of the room I saw two women
entangled on the floor, one of them moaning aloud. They were having sex of
some sort with each other, and they were not concerned at all to know who had
just walked in. Not anything else either.
“Ladies,” I tried to say politely, though my throat only let
out a yelp at first. “I see I’ve interrupted something. I’d better go.”
“No,” Alice said. “Why don’t you come in and sit over
there, and make yourself comfortable while we decide what to do about you.”
“I’d rather not!” I said, and a little pleading crept into
my voice. Or maybe it was genuine reluctance. “Jane...uh...Jane... wouldn’t
like my being here like this.”
“Craig, sit down!”
“Alice, I don’t think I should, exactly,” I replied. But I
was already walking toward the overstuffed chair in the center of the room, and
I turned and sat down. Now I could see there were maybe nine women in the room
all told, counting the lady doctor in the hallway, and Alice was the most
overdressed of them. A few were utterly nude. A few wore negligees or
wraparounds. One was wearing only a flimsy bra, which left her bush looking
all the more exposed. I didn’t know where to put my eyes, so I tried to look
at Alice. Both of her tits were now hanging free.
“Don’t worry about Jane. We’re all Jane’s friends, and we’re
certainly not going to upset her. No, you’re the problem. You know how it is.
Little boys who see things like to tell other people, and need to be told what
will happen to them if they tell. We certainly don’t want you gossiping all
over town about us.”
Well, I had already decided two things about what I had
stumbled into.
One was that it was what it looked like, some kind of ladies’
sex club. There was still a chance it was one of those lingerie parties women have,
where some saleswoman shows them some naughty things to turn on their husbands,
and they giggle a lot and buy a few. I figured I’d say that’s what I think it
is, at least until I got out of there. But this had a different smell about
it. The women weren’t giggly, they were serious, as if they’d been eager to
get on to something, and I’d interrupted them.
The other thing I decided was that these women looked
distantly familiar. I bet they all belong to our Golf Club. It’s a small
town. I wouldn’t have any real problem finding out who they were. No problem calling
on them, one at a time, to ask them to help me sell their husbands life
insurance, or other kinds of insurance, I was sure. Or I could sell them
insurance. Given what this looked to be, this could be a really good thing, I
decided, if I played it right.
“I won’t tell anyone anything, Alice,” I assured her.
“No, you certainly won’t,” Alice said. “But first off, we’re
going to need some insurance.”
“Exactly!” I said. “I couldn’t have said that better
myself.” She was going to buy my silence without my even asking! But I hadn’t
heard her quite right.
She continued as if she hadn’t heard me at all, “Meg, what
do you think?”
“I’ve already thought it,” a woman on the couch replied.
This was another one with really great tits! She was the one with the
brassiere and the bare beaver, the most delicate lace thing you can imagine. It
barely covered the aureoles surrounding the big nipples on her huge, pendulous
breasts. Maybe it pulled her up a little in front, just a little. “We’re
lucky I came here straight from a shoot. This’ll do fine.”
She held up what I recognized was a state-of-the-art,
high-gadget camera of some kind. That’s who she was, Margaret whatsername, “Portraits
by Meg,” the fashion photographer who did a lot of dress catalogs and advertising
around town. I’d met her at a party, and thought she was a Dyke who probably
played around with her models. Good looking enough. Were these her models?
Now what kind of insurance would she need?
Malpractice? First of all, for her equipment.
“Meg is it?” I began. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you
about a policy....” .
“No, we’ll arrange our own insurance, Craig,” Alice said. “Thank
you.
Are you comfy in that chair, now? Good. Dottie?”
“Gotcha, Alice. Love to.”
Before I knew what was happening, the Widder was kneeling in
front of me, and had unzipped my pants and taken out my cock, and was holding
it in her hand. “No problem,” she said, looking it over. “Not too big at all.”
It was still limp, but I could feel the first stirrings of an erection as she
palmed it gently and then ran her red-manicured fingertips over it. “Not at
all!”
Suddenly she bent down and put it all in her mouth, and
there it was, warm and wet, imprisoned, and I could feel her tongue move. I
didn’t dare move. Then even before it got past its first stirrings and began to
harden up, Meg started to leap and crouch around us like a ballet dancer, her
camera tight against her face, taking shot after shot of the two of us. Me
supposedly getting a blow job. Me actually getting a blow job. I was now as
big and hard as I get, and Dottie was licking up and down the vein on the
underneath part of my cock, then pursing her mouth over my cock head, then
running her lips down me. “Mmmmmmm,” she said as if to encourage me.
Meg talked the whole time. “Higher, Dottie...that’s it...beautiful...just
gorgeous...face away from the camera please...you, Craig is it, can’t you look
a little more pleased, there’s this beautiful woman blowing your horn for
you...that’s it...lift your face higher...not you Dottie...and smile...that’s
OK, that expression will do it just fine.” . I wanted to say, “I’d better go”
yet again, for show, but I couldn’t. I wanted to come. I’ll leave when she’s
done, I thought. And later I’ll get some pictures myself of these broads dressed
up in nothing playing footsie with each other, and it’ll be a standoff.
Meanwhile there was this gorgeous feeling growing in my
cock, and
growing bigger, and Dottie wasn’t slowing down at all. Her
head rose and fell, and she seemed to be trying to suck me inside out.
Then Meg leaned way over me and I saw that those massive
mammaries had come out of their cage and were flopping around. “Open wide,”
she ordered, and I don’t know why, I just did. She stuffed a huge tit into my
mouth and with one hand holding the camera extended an arm’s length away she
clicked off four or five more shots. My eyes bulged, but reflexively I began
to tongue those big nipples, they were the size of the thimbles on my wife’s
sewing table. As she pulled away Meg got a shot of my tongue curling toward
one of them. Meanwhile down below, Dottie kept up the pace, and that ripening
sensation outgrew the base of my cock and moved out over my loins. I began to
clench my ass.
When Meg took her tit back out of my mouth, I groaned “Don’t!”
and I realized I meant it both ways. I tried for a moment to bring my erection
down by sheer force of will. I tried to remember if the Mets had ever fielded
a triple play, or what was on an actuarial table I’d been looking over only
that morning. But all I saw was Dottie’s red lips gliding up and down my
saliva-slicked bone, and my breathing got shorter and shorter. Then I lunged
my hips into Dottie’s mouth a few times and started to come.
The first spurts she swallowed, then the next few she took
on her face, smiling as if delighted, then the rest she gathered into the palm
of her hand. When I was done, she held her hand to my mouth as if she were feeding
me a handful of honey. And I lapped it up! My own cum, out of the palm of her
hand! Salty sweet, was it?
“Got it all?” she asked. I realized she was talking to Meg.
All the while I was rising and spurting, Meg had been clicking away, chatting
us up, building up my climax as if it were her own. “Oh, yes, yes, give it to
her, give me more, more, that ecstatic look again, again please, yes, more,
yes, that drop of cum on your lips glistening now, beautiful, open wider
please, yes, now lick it!” When I’d blown everything I had in me and come down
to earth, Dottie tucked me back into my pants. She patted my crotch as if it
were a pet dog, stood up, and walked away. Meg waved her camera in the air and
said “Yes, yes. Wonderful, Dottie. Got it all.”
I realized I was in serious trouble now. But I thought I
could still handle it. They were only women. “You can’t do this!” I shouted.
“It’s blackmail! It’s against the law! You’ll be arrested!” Threats like
that seemed called for. In fact I couldn’t wait to get out of there and tell
some of my buddies about what had just happened, maybe get one to shoot photos
just like these through an uncovered window, or at least to take a registry of
all these women coming and going. Even one of the blow job photos, if I could
get hold of one, would mean that the Widder Dottie was going to spend a lot of
time on her knees in front of me, trying to save her reputation from ruin!
“No,” Alice said. “It’s blackmail only if, say, we were to
threaten to show these pictures to Jane as evidence that you’ve been getting it
on with Dottie for months now, and that we took them because you’ve been extorting
favors from her to gratify your perverse tastes, in exchange for your silence
about who visits her when. In further evidence there’s that life insurance
policy you sold her last month, threatening to ruin her reputation if she didn’t
buy it.”
“She asked me to ....” I practically shouted.
“Of course she did. She wanted a life insurance policy.
Still, how does it look, with these pictures and that story? But all we want
is for you not to tell anyone anything about what you’ve seen here today. Then
there’s no problem, and no blackmail. Is there?”
I glared up silently. I could still figure something, I
felt pretty sure. Not sure what.
“These pictures of you forcing Dottie to her knees are our
insurance. Moreover, if you try to tarnish the reputations of any one of us
here, if you threaten to tell our husbands about us, we’ll just deny everything
you say, and support each other’s stories. We’ll see to it that no one we know
has anything further to do with you. Or with your insurance company. Who
would believe you, against all of us? Spreading a fantastic cock and bull
story, that you saw us all here naked. You’d be laughed out of business. So
these pictures aren’t blackmail. They’re insurance against your getting
foolish and trying to blackmail us.
“I better go,” I said, one last time.
“In a moment,” Alice said. “Now, Craig, one more thing you
need to know. This group meets bi-weekly, every Tuesday and Thursday
afternoon. Our husbands and the neighbors think we play bridge or something, I’m
sure. We call ourselves the BiGirls. We are all of us bisexual, and we are
delighted to have found each other. As you’ve seen, we enjoy giving pleasure
to each other as well as to our husbands or boyfriends, and we take pleasure
from each other the same way, and we see no harm in it. But our husbands might
not understand. So we don’t want you snooping around here Tuesday and Thursday
afternoons to take pictures of us to use to blackmail us into not blackmailing
you, so you can blackmail us into selling insurance to our husbands. I know
you, you’re as transparent as glass. From now on, when we’re meeting, we’ll
want to know exactly where you are. And that’ll be right here. Safely with
us. Craig, save all your Tuesdays and Thursdays for us from now on. You aren’t
bi, that I know of, but now you’re one of us anyhow. An honorary BiGirl. I’m
sure we’ll enjoy each other. Welcome to the Club! Now you can go.”
As I left Alice’s living room, the couple on the floor at
the far end of the room were still getting it on–I don’t know if they ever even
knew I was there. One had this enormous cock strapped to her!
Alice added as she let me out, “Oh, yes, Craig. You’ll need
to fit in, of course. For next Tuesday’s meeting be sure to shave off all your
body hair. Then use a depillatory. Everything below your eyebrows. We want
you as smooth and ladylike as we are. A little patch of pubic hair will be all
right. It might even look cute.”
“Why so sad? You’re invited to have sex with nine good
looking women twice each week! It isn’t as if you’ve been absolutely faithful
to Jane these past years–we know better, and of course so do you. We’ll help you
with Jane, don’t worry, about where you’re spending your afternoons, or later
on why you can’t get it up with her, when you’re fucked out. So what is there
to feel sad about?”
That night Jane asked me if I’d brought Alice the plans and
delivered the message. I said yes, and didn’t say anything more, and she didn’t
ask anything more.
ii.
I guess Alice had a point. I couldn’t crow to my buddies
yet, and for the moment I wasn’t going to pick up any new accounts from the
husbands, but this was a pretty good deal. Nine women available for fucking in
exchange for not talking now about how they ...uh... otherwise do each other?
What’s to choose? The story would be all the riper when I finally got around
to entertaining my friends with it. I thought about getting some kid to prowl
around with a camera looking for places to peer through the drapes. Get some
insurance for myself. But no. Not yet. First see how this goes. Monday
night after Jane zonked out I took a shower with a razor and a can of shaving
cream, then some Nair, and when I came back to bed I was smooth as a baby’s
ass. In the morning when I woke up, Jane was snuggled up against me, which
doesn’t much happen these days. But she never noticed how I was hairless. Tuesday
promptly at one in the afternoon I was back at Alice’s front door, ready to
boogie.
“Craig! How nice! Right on time! We’ve been talking about
you. Go right on upstairs and change, and we’ll be waiting for you in the
living room. You’ll find your things in the first room on the right, top of the
stairs.”
Alice was wearing that same wrapper that covered her tits
without hiding them. I’d spent some time over the weekend with a Victoria’s
Secret catalogue learning the names for these things. I figured I was going to
be seeing a lot of them, and women always appreciate a compliment on what they’re
wearing. I’d also looked up “naked” in a book of quotations, figuring a little
poetry does no harm, but there was nothing there I could use. Anyhow, I tried
to pay my dues to Alice, so I said “That’s a lovely peignoir you’re wearing.
Chiffon, isn’t it?”
Alice replied, “First room on the right. See you in a few
minutes.”
Well, I checked out the first room on the right, and I got
undressed as far as my underwear. But all there was on the bed was a big
brassiere and someone’s panty girdle. I looked in the closet. Nothing, this
was a guest room. So I picked up the women’s underwear and came back downstairs
wearing my own.
There was Alice in the hallway. She seemed to be heading
into the kitchen, but I was sure she was waiting for me. “You’re not changed,”
she said. “Something wrong?”
“Alice,” I told her, “All I found on the bed were these
things. Nothing for me.”
“Those are for you,” said Alice, looking closely at me, as
if I were a little cracked.
“These are women’s things,” I said.
“This is a women’s Club,” Alice said, still staring directly
at me. “You’re a member, put them on. I see you’ve gotten rid of all that hair.
That’s nice. You’ve probably noticed we have body hair only on our pussies. I
suppose you left some on yours.”
“Yes,” I said, leaving aside for the moment that I don’t
have a pussy.
“But Alice, I don’t wear these things.”
“While you’re here, you do! The women who belong to this
Club dress appropriately. Like women. If your body looked more feminine you
could wear nothing. But at the moment it doesn’t, does it?” She smiled.
“Oh, yes. Come down here with a bare bottom each time, and
then you can put on the girdle. Beryl’s a doctor, so your genitals won’t shock
her, and she’ll have something for you to help you fit in better with us. Beryl?”
Out from the kitchen came the Peterson woman, Beryl, still
naked as she was born. Close up, I could see that her breasts were firm and
solidly planted as well as huge. They really thrust way out, and didn’t hardly
hang down at all! Like road repair pylons with nipples at the tips! She was
carrying some kind of hypodermic needle.
“Don’t worry,” she said, waving it a bit. “Just something
to qualify you to dawdle among us,” she said. “Pull down those panties of yours
and bend over. You like women’s boobs? You don’t seem able to look at anything
else.”
“They’re great!” I said sincerely. I pulled down my shorts
as directed.
She jabbed me, I think. I could hardly feel anything.
“That’s good,” she said. “You can stand up now. Because
starting now you’ll have handfuls. Oh yes, hold out your arm.”
In a couple of swipes she filled a small glass tube with my
blood.
“What’s that for?” I asked. I remembered her name, and
tried to be respectful. So I added, “What’s that for, Beryl?”
“Just to be sure you’re healthy, and that you stay that way.
We care about our members, and we swap a lot of our juices around.”
Well, that seemed fair enough. So I turned back to Alice. “Why
do I have to wear these things?” I asked. “Why can’t I just go naked now.”
“Two fair questions,” Alice replied. “You have to hide your
thingies in that panty girdle for now, because out of sight is out of mind.
Also, no one else here has balls, so yours don’t fit in. Also, the girdle is insurance
you won’t try to use what’s inside in the heat of some moment or other. Women
in this Club do only what women do. As for the brassiere, you’re only an
honorary woman, and we’ll all need to be reminded you’re that much, anyhow,
until you look and behave more authentic. Try to move less abruptly,
incidentally, more gracefully. For a few sessions at least, we’ve agreed you
should think of yourself always as a dainty little girl. Feel the way a little
girl feels, it’ll help. Then gradually you can grow up. The brassiere is for
you to get used to wearing what women wear, while you’re growing up. And
finally, since you ask, it’s insurance against your getting someone to sneak around
taking pictures of us, which would necessarily include pictures of you wearing
a brassiere. A little embarrassing to explain to your friends. We’ll take a
few pictures ourselves of you all dolled up, of course, but then we know that
no one will ever see them as long as you behave yourself. Any other questions?”
I shook my head, stymied.
“Then change and go on into the living room.”
I did. Alice showed me how to hook the brassiere in front
of me and then turn it around. “You’re flat now. If you had to catch up your breasts
in the cups you wouldn’t be able to do it that way,” she said. “You’d prefer
to bend over forward and hook it in back. But for now this will do.”
“Alice,” I said. “I don’t have breasts.”
“You’ll feel as if you do, dear, in time. Just wait. Even
today you’ll see how important they are when women make love to women.”
Feeling as harnessed as a race horse, I went into the living
room. I must say, the women all welcomed me. They hugged me, and asked my
name, and I told them “Craig.”
I guess it was Meg who said, “Still? How original!”
And I’m sure it was Dottie who asked, “Why not a femme name?”
And I replied, “Craig is now my femme name,” because I
couldn’t think of anything else to say. I didn’t know I was supposed to have a
femme name. But they took that to mean something extraordinary, and crowded even
closer and smiled their congratulations.
“Now more than ever, I suppose,” said a tall blonde who
introduced herself as ‘Eden.’ Did they think I now thought I was a woman?
Were they teasing me?
Then a short blonde with a real blonde pussy, practically
bleach blonde, took my hand and led me over to one of the couches. “Never mind
them,” she said. “Mind me!” She slouched down on the couch with her legs over
the edge, and said, “Bring me off, Craig.”
I didn’t know what she meant at first. I bent over to try
to kiss her on the mouth. She turned her head away. “That’s for when you feel
genuinely affectionate, “ she said. “But you don’t feel that way about me,
yet. You will. We will be the most loving of girlfriends before too long, I
can tell. Then kissing will be fine. Maybe we should begin now with some
touchie-feelie. Would you like to feel my breasts? “
I reached for them with both hands, and she caught me by
each wrist before I could get to them. “Just like a man,” she said. “Try now
to be a girl. Think like a girl. Feel like one. Feminine, delicate, pretty,
and then reach with just your fingertips to touch my nipple tips. A little
girl who hopes some day to have a pair of breasts of her very own, just like
them. Just lightly caress them, and desire them. Gently. Ah, that’s it.
Much more like it. Ohh! That’s my girl!”
I found it was easy to imagine myself some sweet young
thing, stroking her gently, lovingly, lightly lifting each boob before going on
to caress more of their smooth, mellow curves, feeling increasing awe and admiration
as I fondled each one. I scarcely heard her murmuring. “Yes,” she was
saying. “’TLC.’ Tender, loving care when you touch me.
Also ‘Tongue licking and caressing’ when we’re into heavier
things.
Would you like to use your tongue?”
Sounded good. I lightly licked each nipple, just once. She
moaned. So I rolled my tongue on her nipples again, and she clutched my head,
so I filled my mouth with her and sucked and stroked and probed. Her body began
to writhe, and suddenly she lifted her head and looked at me almost
ferociously. “Now! Down on me!” she said, and I felt her spreading her legs
wide.
I fell to my knees and went down on her. With her legs
lolling over the edge of the couch and spread wide apart, I could see her labia
peering out from her bush. I held her knees with my hands and tucked my head into
her crotch, face first into her slit as fast as I could. Then I looked at her
and said, “TLC?”
She looked down and said, “If you can say it, you’re not
doing it.”
I started running my tongue up and down on those engorged
lower lips. They were dry at first, but soon grew slick, at first from my
saliva and then from her own juices. She began to taste sweet and creamy, with
a hint of sea food. A delicious woman taste. Soon my lips found her clit,
enlarged into a teeny hard knob, and I started nibbling on it. She let out a
kind of soft sigh and sank deep into the couch cushions. I could feel her
whole pelvis relax as I went in at her a little more determinedly, and then she
began to thrust rhythmically at me, then to rock her whole pelvis up to meet my
mouth. Long strokes with my tongue, beginning way back by her asshole and
finishing by her piss hole, stroke after stroke, my tongue as stiff as possible
while passing by the deep part, where my prick would be if it weren’t snugged
into my girdle. I felt like some cocker spaniel lapping at its mistress, but
so dainty. A little girl cocker spaniel, I guess. It felt good.
Faster and tighter, with the same long stroke, back to
front, and I could feel her thigh muscles begin to tighten. Soon she was like
a stretched rubber band. She croaked out, “caress ... breasts,” so I reached
up around her thighs toward her breasts. Like a sweet young thing, I imagined
myself. Fingertips only, so very delicately. Her slit was leaking juice now,
as I slurped. An odd idea occurred to me, what if her pussy juice was loaded
with hormones, and if I could suck enough of it I’d become a girl myself,
complete with a pussy of my own? Ridiculous, I thought, half the men in the
country would be women by now if so. But it was as if I were under orders, and
I kept slurping. My neck stretched out as I began each sleek stroke, and I
ended each with a little girlish wiggle, thrusting my tongue deep into her. “Oh!”
she said each time, so I kept it up.
She unbent her legs, and then lifted them high up from the
hips, stretching her toes straight to the ceiling. Now I could lean deep down into
her slit, really get my nose in it. Also, I could now easily reach her nipples
from between her legs, so I stroked them. She moaned louder. Her pussy now
fully exposed, I nuzzled even my chin into it. She moaned again, and then
again. She started calling out “More, Craig, oh, yes, more, you precious
little thing!” and her pussy cream turned stronger, more richly flavored as I
licked it up.
A few more long licks finished her off. “Ohhh, doggie,
Ohhh, doggie, Ohhh, doggie!” she kept saying as if in a daydream, pushing her
whole wide cunt into my face and then clamping my head between her outstretched
thighs as she pulsed and pressed and pitched. I couldn’t breath at all, but I
kept probing and lapping as deep as I could. Then she eased off. “Well!” she
said. I waited until she could find her voice again.
“That was just fine, Craig honey,” she said, sounding
throaty. “That’s how girls do it. You’ll make a marvelous lesbian, if you ever
want to take it cuntlapping as a career. Femme hands and a butch tongue, what
a wonderful combination. Oh, darling! Come up here and let me kiss you.”
So I did, and she kissed me sweetly, gratefully, full on the
mouth, not noticing that my face was soaked. “See, now I feel like it,” she
said. She held me around the neck, looking into my eyes with mild affection.
Hers were deep blue, nearly round, rimmed with black lashes, and I saw she was
wearing blue eye shadow. She saw I was admiring her face, and she kissed me
again. “Do you and Jane do this often?”
I’ve learned that when women ask me about my wife, they are
usually telling me it’s time to back off. I delayed a moment.
“You mean, kiss? Oh, sure!” I said.
But her arms remained around my neck, her eyes looking
straight into mine, mild but unwavering. “No, I don’t mean kiss.”
I thought I should be honest. In no time they were all
going to know everything about my sexual practices anyhow. So I told her, “Not
for some time. Not for a few years. At first, yes, our mouths were everywhere
on each other. But a few years ago, I guess Jane just decided she didn’t much
like it. She’ll use her mouth on me now and then, when she doesn’t want me
between her legs for some reason. No problem there. But whenever I try
returning the favor she’ll stop me. Once she said, “It wouldn’t be right,” and
another time, “You’d notice.”
And she wouldn’t explain what she meant. So I quit trying.”
My blonde kept her arms circled on my neck and kept looking
at me, her expression unchanged. She meant for me to go on. Say what? “Now sometimes
when she comes home she’s real eager to make love,” I said. “When I reach down
to put me into her, I can feel that she’s gotten wet even before we’ve begun.
Slick, as if I’d already come in her. So she doesn’t need me down there for
lubrication before we fuck. Sometimes I want to lick up those juices I can
tell are oozing out of her, but she won’t let me, so I just slide right in and
we fuck. There are times she’s so slippery I can barely feel her. But I cum,
and then she mops up the excess with a kleenex. Then we go to sleep. I miss
it. I like the taste of a woman.”
“That’s interesting,” my blonde said, musing. “A few years
now, you’ve been pining away for the taste of us. So we’re doing you a favor.
Well, never mind. Here you’ll find all the pussy you could ever wish for, and
all of it to your taste. I know, I’ve tasted all of it myself. My name’s
Lisa, by the way. I’m married, so you don’t get to fuck me without a dildo. I’m
faithful to my husband. But anything a woman can do to me, you can do.
Cuddle, and kiss. And caress. And cuntsuck. Oh, yes! Drink all of my juice
your heart might ever desire! I hope for a lot more of what you just did, a
lot more. Later on, when you get used to thinking of your penis as a clit and
you won’t need your girdle, I’ll do the same for you.”
A strong voice sounded behind us. “Lisa? Are you finished
with him now?
Don’t use him up. Come over here, Craig, dear, would you?.”
I looked around, and saw Beryl lying back at her ease on the
soft couch opposite us, her firm breasts for the moment aimed straight upward.
I got to my feet, and she sat up just a little, patting the cushions where her
head had just been. I sat down there, and she lowered her head back down into
my lap. Then she asked me, “Craig, have you ever sucked a girl’s breasts while
she sucks yours?”
“No,” I replied.
“Then lets. Let me unhook your bra for you.”
When I leaned over toward her mammaries, she lifted them
slightly toward me, and the nipples on those conical projections entered my
mouth. Her mouth completely surrounded one of my nipples. We were in a
perfect position to suckle each other, in a kind of head and torso 69. I started
to diddle her nipple with my tongue, and heard Beryl’s voice, “Gentle, Craig,
always gentle. Like a little girl nursing on her mommy.”
I did, and it felt wonderful. Her mouth overwhelmed one of
my nipples, then the other, and her breasts began to feel like mine as she
wrapped her tongue on my little nipples and I licked hers, and we tongued each other
as if we were each other’s doll babies. I couldn’t tell our sensations apart.
We pursed our lips on each other’s nipple tips, and wrapped our arms around
each other, and clung together more and more tightly, and kissed each other’s
aureoles, and nibbled each other. But always delicately. I began to get the
strangest squirming sensation in my crotch as her tongue moved on me. I
wriggled and squeezed my legs together, and wondered if I might accidentally
cum without even touching myself. That would be embarrassing.
Beryl seemed to know how I felt. “That’s it, Craig,” she
said. “Never mind your usual male responses. They’ll change. For now just be
a sexy little girl. Dainty and neat, so very ladylike. You’ll find more feeling
builds up between us when we suck on each other like little princesses, layer
of feeling on delicious layer of feeling. The feelings will grow stronger
too. More urgent. You’re going to enjoy them. You’ll be glad to have them.
Now imagine that they’re already like mine.
That was easy, with her lips on my breasts and a rich
yearning sensation filling me, and her breasts filling my mouth. I squeezed my
legs together hard, then again, and that delicious tension built higher and higher,
then suddenly released in a flood. Then I felt a lovely afterglow. “Wow!” I
said in a higher-pitched voice than I’d meant.
Again, Beryl seemed to know how I felt. “Well, well,” she
said. “Lookie what you just managed to do. You’re going to like being a part of
our little group, no question.”
The upshot of that first day was, I had intimacies with four
women, Two asked me to lick their cunts to orgasm, so I did, and Beryl had me
do the same with her fantastic breasts. One asked me to hold her by her love
handle, by which she meant with my thumb in her cunt and my forefinger in her
ass, my palm pressed against her crotch, as she tensed and eased her pussy
against my palm until she’d brought herself off. “That’s all I want today,”
she said, disengaging herself after ten minutes. “Thank you, honey. You’re a
doll.”
Each encounter taught me more about women’s urges and needs,
the different ways I could be gentle, generous, and nurturing of their accumulating
desires until finally their aroused feelings overwhelmed them. Whenever I
tried to take charge, each would stroke my hair, and remind me to try to remain
a little girl as long as possible. “You’ll be a big girl soon enough,” they’d
say.
It was fun. I began to wonder how long it would be before
they’d declare me a lady, fit to fuck them with my built-in dildo and to lie in
their crotches like one adult woman with another. Meanwhile, I enjoyed being a
good little girl.
The last lady I slathered into orgasm with my tongue seemed
so grateful that afterward she plastered her mouth to mine, and sucked my
tongue into her mouth, and clamped my head tight with her arms, and then wouldn’t
let go. Since my mouth was attached to hers, there was nothing else to do, so
I started to lick the insides of her lips, and then to flick my tongue on hers
as if we were duelling with swords. It became quite enjoyable. Still, she
held me. So I began to run my hands up and down along her sides, over that
delicious deep curve where a woman’s waist swings out to curve down again as
her hips. or slopes upward until a caressing hand is filled with a breast. It
was fascinating, her waistline. She paused to make a suggestion, “Think of me
as slippery, wet clay, and slide your hands all over me.” When I did just that
it must have made a difference in the way my hands moved, and she must have felt
it, because she moaned out loud, and my hands then slipped further down on
her. Finally, while one hand was stroking her body, the other had three
fingers deeply buried in her snatch, diddling her to yet another orgasm.
When she finally released my neck and mouth she sighed.
Then she gave me a perfunctory little kiss on the tip of my nose, as if that
sucking French kiss of hers was something else again altogether. “Your hands are
almost as erotic as Meg’s,” she said. “Ask Meg to show you more things to do
with them, before we wear out your tongue altogether. If she’d stroke you, you’d
learn a few things. In return, you can certainly teach her some tricks about
how a mouth fits into a girl’s private parts. Any time you want to live down
there between my legs, Craig, do feel free to be my guest.”
By four o’clock, the ladies of the BiGirl Club were
uncoupling from each other and beginning to drift back upstairs to dress, to
become proper housewives and ordinary clubwomen again. I watched the tall
blonde, Eden, leaning over an upstairs banister for a last word with someone else
down below, her beautifully shaped breasts falling free and her gown flowing
back like a bridal train, and I realized that she was lovely, that I was
admiring her appearance instead of lusting after her. When Lisa appeared
briefly in the front hall in a smart purple knit suit and high-heeled black
pumps, a matching purse slung crisply under her arm, I told her she looked
smashing, without even thinking, and she grinned at me in thanks. “If you’d
like a suit like this one, I can tell you where I got it,” she said. I grinned
back.
All the girls smiled as they passed me going out the door,
and I smiled back at them. I could sense that I had passed through some kind
of initiation ritual, and was now a welcome addition to their number. We were
feeling real affection for each other. I especially loved Beryl for the
exquisite pleasure she’d brought me just by nursing on me, and letting me suck
on her.
But no one had reached into my girdle to give me even the
most perfunctory hand job, and no one had rubbed my crotch. As a result, by four
o’clock I had the worst case of blue balls I have ever had in my entire life.
I couldn’t walk, and I could barely straighten up. Somehow I got dressed again
in the jogging suit I had worn walking from my house to Alice’s. I crouched as
the last women said goodbye to Alice, and I waited to talk to her. “Ta ta,
girls,” they waved at the two of us. “See you Thursday!”
“See?” Alice said. “That’s nice. They’re beginning to think
of you as one of the girls. You are too, I can tell. I was watching you with Lisa,
and then later when Beth had you imprisoned in that clutch kiss of hers. You
use your mouth and your face wonderfully well. That’s where we always want to
feel strength pushing into our crotches. But I’m sure they told you, always
gentle.”
“They all told me to try to feel like a little girl, “ I
said.
“Yes, that’s what we all agreed. But here’s a hint. Always
think of your fingertips as feathers when you stroke with them. Like this.”
Alice fluttered her fingers ever so lightly across my
imprisoned, engorged penis, rubbing the silken girdle fabric so delicately that
an electric charge leaped from her hand directly through my prick to the base
of my spine.
“Oh, God!” I groaned without thinking.
Alice smiled. “I know. I could see by the way you’re
walking. But that girdle doesn’t come off until we’re all sure you’ll control
what’s inside it. In this Club it’s a clit, not a prick, and it’s not to be used
for penetration. If the dear little thing is in trouble, take it home and see
if Jane wants to use it. Later on you’ll be no good to her at all after our
Tuesday and Thursday sessions–we’ll be trying to drain you. Maybe you won’t
function some other nights either as time goes by. But before you go home you’d
better wash all that pussy juice off your face, or Jane’ll wonder what you’ve
been up to. Or whose you’ve been down to.”
Then Alice said, “Oh, yes, Craig. You’ve probably noticed
that we all wear our own intimate underthings here, our own negligees and day
wear. Today’s was loaned to you. Now go buy some of your own. And begin to wear
our kinds of undies all the time, so they feel natural to you, here or away.
Especially bras and panties and girdles. Morning to bedtime. Give Dottie a
call, if you need someone to shop with you and advise you -- she’s offered to
help.”
“Which reminds me. Another thing. From now on you will
want to feel more like one of the girls at all times. To preserve that little
girl feeling until you’ve grown up, and then to feel all grown up. You know. When
you next come up that walk I want to see you looking dainty. Don’t lope. Hold
your head up, and keep your shoulders back as if you had heavy breasts to
support, and keep your thighs tight together as if there were nothing hanging
there to separate them, so your hips swing slightly, and take smart short
steps. And keep your hands above your waistline at all times, and elbows close
to your body. That way there’ll be less shoulder in your movements, and more
wrist. You’ll feel more feminine. You’ll enjoy our little group that much
more. And we’ll enjoy you. Bye now.”
And she gave me a little tweak on my nipple, under my
sweatshirt. I felt it all the way back to the house.
Well, I was so horny that night that when Jane got home I
couldn’t wait to get her into bed. “What’s gotten into you?” she asked when I
started to scurry her under the sheets, smiling steadily. “Not that I mind! Oh,
my, you feel so smooth! Its nice. But what have you been doing?”
I told her I had joined a physical development Club, and had
been advised to shave off all my body hair so it wouldn’t irritate. As body builders
do. All true enough. She just ran her hands over and over me. My cock felt
like a tiger charging at its prey.
We fucked three times, twice that night, and then again the
next morning. Jane was a little slippery before I began, as usual, but by the
time I was finished with her she was soaked, along with the bed sheets, oozing
more cum than I’d ever before managed to spurt into her. Again, I could hardly
feel her, and just slipped in and out until I came. Then came again. I don’t
know if she felt me, either, because she didn’t respond to my pushing into her
by pushing back. But she hugged me close, and she said she loved having such a
sweet, smooth, loving husband. I snuggled into her feeling pleased, very much
like a little girl who has satisfied her mommy.
iii.
I woke up the next morning in a really good mood. All that
pussy, and more to come, and yet I’d been as faithful to my wife as any of the other
BiGirls were to their husbands. And I felt... nice. Jane stirred beside me
and then with her eyes still shut ran her hand caressing down my now-hairless
chest to my prick, which immediately engorged. She smiled, her eyes still
shut.
“How do you want it this morning, sweetie?” she asked.
“Any way you want it,” I said.
“Switch?”
“Sure.” We sometimes played role-switching games, me
underneath being passive and Jane on top pounding on me. She’d suggested it a
few years ago, and I liked it.
“Then spread your legs and lift your knees, girl, and I’ll
climb on top of you and fuck your brains out.”
That kind of talk was new, but it was suitable. And that’s
what she did. She climbed between my legs, said “Wider, babe,” then lifted herself
up to drop down onto my pole so it extended all the way into her its full six
inches. Then looking down on my face, her tits hanging down to brush against
my chest and my mouth, leaning on her elbows, she began to pump. It was odd,
feeling so completely helpless, with her weight on top of me and her arms imprisoning
either side of my body. Steadily, then faster as her own orgasm approached,
then like some machine-driven piston as my own groin began to clutch and tense
up, then explode. Afterward, neither of us could breath at first. Then as I softened
and began to slip out, she said, “You like getting fucked by a guy whose tits
dangle in your face. I could tell. I’ll bet it’s interesting. Well, I have a
busy schedule today. I’ll catch breakfast at the office. Be home around six–we’ll
go out to eat, OK?”
And she hopped off me and headed for the bathroom to take a
shower. Then when I’d just showered and was toweling off, she stuck her head
in and without warning took hold of my cock yet again. It remained flaccid,
spent by our lovemaking, probably hours from recovery for re-use. “Just
checking,” she said. “I’m off now. That was fun, playing the man. You should
play the girl more often.” So, for fun I sprinkled a little of her cologne
onto my hand and rubbed it on my chest, then went in to dress smelling
flowery. But she was gone.
I called Dottie and she invited me across the street to get
measured for my undies. I wasn’t sure I should, but she pointed out patiently
that I should know what my sizes are going in, in which case my bras and girdles
and panties might fit, but maybe not, or else I could try them on there, in
which case they’d certainly fit and I’d have the advantage of the saleslady’s
advice, and also the advice of any other woman who happened to be there. That
persuaded me. She took me into her bedroom, amused by my nervous glances out
the window at our own house, picked up a tape measure, and told me to strip.
Again I balked, and again she had to explain the obvious–underwear is not worn
over outerwear. I stripped naked. She checked my chest below my nipples and
above them and across them, and my waist, and hips, and what she called my
rise, and so forth, and wrote them down carefully, then told me I could dress.
But just like Jane she suddenly took hold of my cock, held it, and smiled at me
while squeezing it slightly. Nothing, no change. She said, “Well, you two had
a busy time last night, evidently. And smell that Cologne, too. Jane really
is putting her brand on you I guess. That’s fine. It’s a pity though that I
don’t get to suck you off again now, as my reward for qualifying you today to
join the Club.”
“Dottie,” I replied, trying to sound chivalrous, but also as
if I was kidding, “I’ll gladly give you a rain check on that.” I was wondering
if I’d be back in action by tomorrow and could drop by Dottie’s for a private
blow job. No, there was another Club meeting tomorrow. Then I might need Jane
again. But it would be nice to start up something with Dottie. Convenient.
“I’m sure you’re kidding,” Dottie said. “I was. BiGirls
only do with each other what girls can do with each other. We have husbands
and boy friends for the other things. No blow jobs. But if you’d gotten hard just
now, I’d have had to ask you to jerk yourself off. A woman’s lingerie
department is no place for a man whose prick is trying to prove it’s a member
in good standing.”
We bought a few brassieres in A and B cups (“We can wait and
‘C’ if we need to” she said), and a few frothy panties, and two firm
controlling panty girdles, and a cheap breast form (when I asked why not a good
one, she quipped again “Maybe you’ll prefer the home-grown variety!”). Then back
to the house to check their fit. They felt fine. I dressed for the rest of
the day in an A cup bra with no breast form, and a pair of panties, both rose
colored. Both felt satiny smooth, I remarked.
“Get used to it,” Dottie said. “That’s how your skin will
feel before long, too, if Beryl’s juice does its thing. Oh yes, Alice told me
one of the girls was offended when you went around bare-breasted bra-less after
your session with Beryl yesterday. Remember to replace it. You’re naked and
indecent without a bra until you have breasts, from now on. Also, as extra
insurance that you won’t look like a man during the club meetings and
accidentally horrify a member, Alice thought you should begin wearing a little
make-up. Just in case. Just a little. Eye-liner, mascara, and lipstick is
enough for now. Maybe some eye shadow, so you can be a woman of mystery. Here’s
some of each to keep in your purse. Oh yes, you’ll carry this purse when you’re
walking to meetings at Alice’s house. Out in the open–don’t be ashamed to be seen
carrying a purse. And walk the way Alice told you women tend to walk. Get
used to it. The make-up and the purse are gifts from me, to make up for my
trapping your cock in my mouth the other day while Meg took pictures. Buy more
make-up without me, at any drug store anywhere, when these are used up. And of
course, you’ll want to watch for lingerie sales at the stores on your own, to
fill in on the little nothings you’ll be needing from now on.”
Dottie saw me to the door, and as I stepped out she checked
the street. Then she stretched up, put her arms around me, and kissed me full
on the mouth, just once. Then she turned casual again. “See you tomorrow, honey,”
she said.
“I’m glad you checked that no one saw us, Dottie,” I
commented, a little edgy. Jane often came and went during the day, or some
neighbor might report to Jane that I’d strayed off limits.
“Well, I was actually checking that the kid I hired to snap
photos of us was ready for that big moment. See him, over there by that tree?
He ought to have taken some pictures through my bedroom window, too, from a branch
of that same tree. I hope so. More insurance against blackmail, love. Like
your underwear worn at all times now, and your makeup worn at least during our
club meetings. In case you ever really do hire someone to snoop on us. You’re
devious, Craig, but so are we, and don’t try to match your deviousness against
women who are protecting their reputations. Not yet. Wait till we’ve leveled
the playing field for you a little more.”
I was glad to get away from Dottie and her cryptic cracks.
That evening when Jane got home from I was still in my bra and panties, and had
no chance to change. So I was still wearing them when we went out to eat. Even
though I was also wearing a shirt, tie, and jacket, the bra I could feel
underneath gave me a feeling that I was gussied up, dressed special. I kind of
liked it. My badge of membership.
I had two scares. One was before we went out, when she told
me we needed to put on our make-up before we left the house, and I got all flustered
about what she could mean. She said, “Why, by ‘we’ I meant me, the way I
always do. Oh, poor baby, did we think that by ‘we’ I meant you in this case?
Give us a kiss!” I muttered something, and she said, “No, dear, you’re not
pretty enough for make-up. Not yet, anyhow. Are you?” I let it go. Then
when we got back home I stripped off my jacket, and she put both her hands on
my shoulders to emphasize a point, and I thought she could feel my bra straps
through my shirt. She didn’t let on if so, but when I winced and pulled back
she told me I was behaving positively girlish.
I soon was. If such a thing is imaginable, attending Club
meetings became the central event of my days. I would never miss a meeting,
and I looked forward to them. Beryl would shoot my butt when I arrived, with
whatever it was I needed to qualify for the Club, and I never asked what it
was. Antibiotics, I supposed. Then we’d divide into pairs of women and
pleasure each other, and then swap partners. Sometimes threesomes. Always,
they urged me to think and feel feminine. We’d talk makeup, and they’d help me
figure my best shades and how to apply them, and clothes. When they told me
about a closet sale at Victoria’s Secret I ran out and I’m afraid bought more
things than I needed, and sexier too. Once I accidentally left some frilly
black lace panties on my bureau, and came in to see Jane holding them up and
looking them over. Thank goodness, after a glance at me she just shrugged and
put them in her own drawer, as if they were a pair she’d forgotten she had.
By the third month my skin had grown as smooth as my
panties, and I remembered Dottie’s cryptic remark about that happening. I
wondered if it was from all the cunt juice I was drinking, or from keeping
myself hairless, but it seemed a small enough price to pay. Jane liked it, and
never questioned it. Nor did she seem to notice when the girls tweezed and
trimmed my eyebrows–she commented only that I looked especially well-groomed
these days, and that looking suave was probably good for business.
Another month or two later, one night in bed Jane commented,
“You’re plumping out here and there, honey, especially in the chest, but I don’t
really see any muscle development. What did you say you were doing at this
activities club you’ve joined?” I said some vague things about special
aerobics, and she let it pass. But it was true. I was now wearing my “B” cup
bras, and there was no room in them for the breast forms. I thrust out, and
didn’t dare appear in public without a jacket any more. A few times, when Jane
and I were out to dinner, or at the club, and we ran into another BiGirl, she’d
stare at my chest and grin at me, and I’d smile wanly back. Again, I assumed
it was from all the intimate fluids I was happily lapping up each week, but I
wasn’t going to give up being an honorary BiGirl just because my anatomy was accommodating
to my diet. Oddly enough, without my even hinting blackmail or bribery,
husbands began to call me in to review their insurance coverage, and then to
write some very large policies.
Trying to act like a woman at all times got easier. I had grown
up from little girl feelings, through big girl’s, and I was now being advised
to feel and behave always like a grown up young lady. In fact from the way I
moved, and got into cars, and so on, I realized that I might look like a faggot
to anyone who didn’t know I wasn’t. It didn’t matter to me at all, no more
than the inconvenience of having breasts, but I tried to remember not to mince
around too much.
A Club rule was that a BiGirl who was unoccupied could never
refuse another member’s request, and I soon took to looking over my ladies of the
afternoon like a Pasha, deciding what I wanted to do with each. Anything at
all, as long as it was something a woman could do with another. A lot of what
was wanted was simple cuddling, gentle consolation when a girl felt blue and
just wanted to feel held and loved. I was sometimes one of the women who liked
to slow dance together in a room just off the living room, swaying in each
other’s arms to dreamy music, and gazing into each other’s eyes, until their romantic
yearnings overwhelmed them and they sank to the floor, their mouths and hands
caressing each other passionately, inseparable. Some just wanted to swap
intimate gossip about husbands or boyfriends, to complain or boast, and their
confidences could get pretty embarrassing. Some wanted a lot more. I found
that as my breasts came in, more and more girls began to request my services.
It seems that some had originally resented my advantage, that I had their
breasts to play with but they didn’t have mine, but now they could make up for
lost time. Beryl told me some of my sisters had asked if my breasts could be
grown even larger, and she asked if I’d agree to some supplementary shots to help.
I saw nothing wrong with being the most popular girl on the block, and said
so. So I took on even more of a feminine figure. My waist narrowed, my hips
widened, and my face softened. Jane began to call me soignee as well as suave,
whatever that meant, and we played switch more often than not, on those rare
occasions when we found ourselves both in bed and in the mood.
It turned out that not even fucking was denied me. In an
odd way, I got to hump the girls after all, and a few sometimes wanted my prick
as well as my tongue. Sort of. It was the tall blonde, Eden, who worked out how.
And that was odd in itself, because Eden was the group’s only true Lesbian, who
never asked me to pleasure her because, obviously, she still regarded me as a
man. She was married, so technically she qualified as bi-sexual, but she was
the one who most frequently used strap-on dildos on the other women. The other
women used dildos now and then, but obviously most of them preferred being
girls during their sexual play, and would rather have it done to them than do
it. When I suggested I also use dildos on my fellow clubwomen, Alice said that
sentiment was against it so far, because it might cause me to revert to masculinity,
and as far as they could see I had now become a perfectly lovely young lady, a
joy to take to bed.
Still, once I had noticeable breasts they let me forget
about my bra and girdle during club meetings, though of course they wanted me
to dress more and more like a respectable woman at other times, walking to and from
Alice’s house with my hair fluffed up just enough to be passable, or driving to
town on errands. During our meetings I started to wear maybe only panties or a
pretty lace Teddy, or sometimes nothing at all. Lisa was eager to lick my clit
while I licked hers, and did it as she had promised me she would that first
day. My sex with her remained as delightful as ever. I had long, strong,
orgasms that felt more like clenching than spurting, more like a lady’s than a
man’s, and very little fluid ever emerged. About that time, I noticed that my
erections were becoming fewer and softer. At BiGirl meetings all danger of inadvertent
penetration had ended.
I don’t think Jane noticed–she was terrifically busy with
lots of commissions pouring in on her just about then, and when I managed to
get into her now and then she felt me no more than usual, no more than I felt
her. Nor did she notice my breasts either, it seemed. As often as not we saw
each other in passing, coming and going, and gave each other shrugs and rueful
smiles, and then moved on about our business.
Then one Tuesday Alice took me aside. “I don’t know how you’ll
take this, Craig,” she said. “But Eden has requested that you bottom for her today.”
“What does that mean?” I asked. I was fixing my mascara in
the front hall mirror, and retouching my lipstick before going into the living room,
not listening closely.
“Just that,” Alice said. “She wants to fuck your ass. She
says if you’ll let her, as any true girl should, then you can fuck her cunt after
today, if you’d want to.”
The idea shocked me. I turned away from the mirror, and
looked closely at Alice. “What do you think, Alice?” I asked.
“I think it means you’ve come a long way, Craig. In Eden’s
mind you’ve crossed the line. Eden has put that monster dildo into all of us
at one time or another, and plunged away at us. It’s her thing. None of us mind,
and some of us love it. Getting fucked would be for you another step toward
admission to the Club as a full member.”
“But you’re women. You have vaginas. I have only my
asshole.”
“You’re naive, Craig. First of all, Eden puts that thing
where ever she wants, even into her husband she tells me, to forestall his
putting his thing into her. Secondly, there are some women here who prefer
anal sex to vaginal, because they think their husbands should have exclusive
use of their pussies. You wouldn’t be unique. In fact, Eden has quite a technique
for breaking in a new girl’s rear. Very understanding. I loved it the first
time she tried it with me, though I myself still prefer her shoving that
monster up my cunt–Roy is a dear hubby, but he can’t begin to match it with his
dingus. But third and most important, I don’t need to tell you, you owe your
sisters whatever pleasure they think they can derive from you, any kind that a
woman can provide another woman. This is well into that category.”
My heart began to beat faster, as I saw I would have to
consent. “Yes,” I said. “Of course I’ll do it. Tell Eden.”
“Tell her yourself when you go into the living room. She’s
waiting for
your answer there. And Craig,”
I paused,
“This is a privilege. Think of it that way. None of us
ever dreamed you’d come so far so fast. But here you are.”
“Yes,” I said.
I never felt so small and helpless as when I went into the
living room to begin the afternoon, not as a Pasha but as the lowest of harem
girls, a virgin about to be deflowered. I saw Eden standing in front of the long
couch by the far wall, her usual reaming place for her women of the afternoon.
I saw that she was prepared to give me the full treatment. Black leather
high-heeled thigh boots. A black bustier that pushed her tits far up in front
of her, and black gloves that extended past her elbow, leaving her fingers
exposed. Poking up in front of her crotch like a tower was that dildo I had
glimpsed now and then on its way in or out of some girl’s pussy, It was two
inches in diameter, but it looked thin, because it was over ten inches long.
She was staring at me with her legs apart, her hands on her hips, her eyes
heavily blackened with mascara, and her mouth blood red. Altogether, she was
dominant, domineering, and commanding, and that pole was a staff of high authority.
My heart began to pound, and for the first time since I had joined the Club I
felt frightened.
I went over to her and instinct took over. I immediately
sank to my knees and lowered my eyes, head bowed submissively, waiting.
“Good!” she said. “Now just stay there!”
Five minutes went by. Ten. A half hour. I could sense she
was still there and hadn’t moved. I didn’t dare look up.
“You call yourself ‘Craig’,” she said suddenly. “You took ‘Craig’
as your femme name. Do you have a man’s name now? Is ‘Craig’ also your masculine
name?”
I realized that this was a trick question, and I had better
answer it correctly. I also realized for the first time that the correct
answer was also truthful. “’Craig’ is my femme name, Ma’am,” I said. Where did
I get the feeling I should call her that? “It was once my masculine name. But
that Craig is no longer masculine. I pretend he is, the way he once pretended
I was feminine.”
Eden considered this. “The same way you pretend that you
are not the one when you prefer to be the other. Well, for me you will need a
real femme name. I don’t fuck with half-men.”
“Eve,” I said.
“What?”
“Eve. Eve was made out of a man, in the garden of Eden.”
“Very good, Eve. A little flowery, but apt enough I
suppose. Now we’ll discover how submissive you can be. I will want you to fuck
yourself. To take your own cherry. You can look up at me now.”
I saw that Eden had sat herself down on the couch, her long
dong sticking up out of her crotch at an angle.
“Suck my cock until it is dripping with your mouth’s juices.
Then mount it, facing me or facing away makes no difference to me. Kneel straddling
my legs, and then lower yourself onto it. Then, Eve, we’ll see if the girl
made out of a man is still man enough, and girl enough, to take the full length
and then go for a wild ride!”
She spread her legs, and I crept forward between them, and
took her cock in my two hands. Most of it was still exposed. I bent over and
took its head in my mouth. It stretched my jaw as I opened wide to slide my lips
on it, just a few inches up and down. I did my best to salivate. and the soft
rubber cock head began to glisten.
“Practice making love to this cock, Eve. This cock is your
passageway to full membership in this club. Kiss it. Drool on it. Desire it
even more than you desire to suck pussy.”
An odd request, but I did desire it. I thought I tasted
cum, the same flavor as when, many months ago, Dottie fed me my own while Meg
took pictures. My mouth grew more ardent as I slipped around it, kissing it and
rubbing my tongue all over it. I wanted to take it into me, to fulfill me! So
when I covered it thoroughly with my mouth’s juices I climbed onto the couch,
straddled Eden’s lap facing her, closed my eyes, and lowered myself onto it
until the soft cock-head touched my asshole.
“The moment of truth, Eve. The easiest way is, a few inches
for it to get inside you, and then when you can, take in all the rest all at
once. Or you can wiggle down it like some jazz baby or teenybopper out for the
night in some disco.”
I lowered myself slowly. It pressed against my sphincter
and hurt, and I thought to myself, this will never go in, and I will never be a
woman. Then all of a sudden it slipped through, and the head lodged just inside.
I felt split and just held myself there, for a moment unable to move. Then I
found I could clench my buttocks slightly. Then tighten my thigh muscles on
it. Then slide up and down it, just a fraction of an inch at first, but then
more. When I went down onto it another three or four inches I felt a stab of
pain at first, but at the same time a joyous pressure, I lifted up and the pain
eased, and I lowered again into pure joy this time. In another minute I was
rolling and rocking and bouncing on that staff like some lunatic, feeling a
familiar squirming pressure develop in my groin, intensify, become
excruciatingly beautiful, then surrender itself into a mellow golden haze. It
all seemed over so soon! I fell on Eden’s neck and sobbed like a girl. That’s
what I felt myself to be. She held me and comforted me.
“Yes, Eve. I could tell. It was beautiful for you. You
will love being a woman. A bisexual transgendered woman.” She patted my shoulder,
and tilted my head back, and kissed me on the lips. “Love men the way I love
women,” she said.
A voice behind me, Beryl’s, said, “Well, if you two girls
don’t mind, Craig, or Eve if you prefer, will you lift yourself off that thing
so I can see whether or not it’s done any damage?”
I hugged Eden’s neck and lifted my rear up. As it cleared
the dildo there was a distinct “plop!” sound, and my ass felt both sore and
empty. “It’s fine,” Beryl’s voice came after a moment. “But Eden, next time use
a proper lubricant until you can get enough cum into her to do the job no
matter what. We all love Craig, and don’t want to lose her to some
technicality in your deflowering rites. Well, now that she’s willingly fucked
herself and seems happy about it, you can do it properly to her.”
And that’s what happened. It seems Lisa was waiting behind
me for me to finish myself off, and then for Beryl’s seal of approval. Without
a word she sat down on the couch and spread her legs wide, a twinkle in her eye
and her twat open to the whole room. “Here’s dinner, now, Craig. Never mind
her!.”
“Go ahead, Eve,” Eden said.
I did what I was told, and was on my hands and knees between
Lisa’s knees lapping her up like a doggie when I felt that same now-familiar pressure
of the soft cock knob on my sore asshole again. Then a lunge, and the whole
dildo slithered in, lubricated with some thin slippery substance. Then out,
and then in. Each thrust against my bottom pushed my face further into Lisa’s
pussy, and she grunted, then thrust back, until finally the three of us were
locked in a glorious pushing and pulling and thrusting and licking rhythm that
ended in an even more glorious orgasm for me than the first time. A few more
slurps and Lisa was over the hill also.
When Eden pulled out, a warm liquid began to ooze down my
leg. I reached down and wiped some onto my finger, then sniffed it. Cum?
“That’s right, pet,” Eden said. This dildo can squirt like
the real thing you used to carry between your legs. I thought for your first real
ass reaming you should finish with the real thing squirted into you and then
left to dribble out. Your next cock sucking will also get you the same reward
for meritorious service. Never mind whose. I have my sources. And now that
we know you are not a man, and there’s no doubt that enough of you is a woman,
you can do me now.”
Well, Eden unstrapped the dildo and lay down on an arm of
the couch, and I struggled into the harness. Then when it was firm on my
crotch, she unsnapped her bustier underneath and reached to massage her pussy
until it became wet. It already was. So I pushed it into her, and with longer,
slower, more lingering strokes than my own short cock had ever allowed me, I
brought her up and over, then up and even higher to another peak, and then
began again until she cried out in a weak voice. “Enough, Eve. You can go all
day with it, I know, but I can’t. Thank you, dear!”
As we dressed and prepared to go home, me by now wearing a
ladies’ jogging suit better fitted to my wider butt and protruding chest, Eden showed
me how the dildo was constructed. “You can see it’s hollow, with a tube
leading through to the piss hole just like the real thing. That’s where I can
put a condom load of cum for re-squirting, if I wish. Or you can put in your
soft prick and bind it here, so you can feel some of the pussy pressures on
this better, bigger prick wrapped around it. Think of a dildo like this as a
huge, thick rubber, strap-on condom. All of the Club’s dildos have this
feature. I have a feeling you’re going to be in big demand here, fucking and
getting fucked, now that your ass and your prick have both been broken in.”
iv.
A few weeks later the BiGirls celebrated the sixth month of
my honorary membership by taking me to dinner and a show. “Buy yourself the sluttiest
outfit you’re willing to wear,” Alice said, “And we’ll all go have a fun
evening. Just us girls. I’ll get you a wig–dark black, straight hair, I
should think, in a cute bob with long bangs. It’ll be your full first night
out in public as a girl, won’t it? No fear, we’ll surround you. Go get your
nails done at least–I’m sure Jane won’t mind that much, anyhow. All part of
her new, sleek, suave, husband.”
So I went in to our local beauty salon and got my nails
done, pale pink instead of the clear coats the attendant wanted to give me as a
man. I felt like flashing them at everyone, they looked so nice when done. Then
to a mod clothes store, where I found a micro-mini skirt made out of a strip of
red leather, and to balance it off a black angora sweater, soft and fuzzy but
tight enough to show my boobs clearly. Tons of junk jewelry, gold bangles on
both wrists, multiple chain necklaces, and some big hoop earrings–really
brassy. High black fish net pantyhose–I wanted thigh highs, but the saleslady
insisted I was too tall for them, the tops would show below the little red
mini. I thought that would be wickedly slutty, but she told me coldly I’d be
raped or arrested for prostitution before I’d gone a hundred yards. And then
five inch heels on black strappy shoes. The lady sitting next to me where I
was being fitted for the heels kept asking if I was an actor or a performer, or
if I needed them for a costume party. So in the end I told her my girlfriends
wanted to give me a night out to thank me for giving them so much sexual
pleasure, and I needed sexy shoes to pick up guys for them and spread the
wealth. Then she stopped asking.
Everyone gathered round when I came downstairs at Alice’s
place fully dressed in my black Angora and red mini and gold bangles and
dangles, heavily made up especially around the eyes. Alice produced the wig,
and it was just darling, cute as could be. I loved it, it was really “me”. We
left Alice’s house giggling and gossiping and teasing each other, and kept it
up through dinner at a local Chinese restaurant, getting especially hysterical
when I tried to use the Men’s room and some horrified young woman blocked my
way because her date was in there, and she thought I wanted to turn a trick
with him.
My sister BiGirls started talking about whether I was more
female than male these days, or whether I was neither or both. Meg raised a
toast “To Craig’s cock and balls, his lost causes,” and I blushed. Dottie asked
if they were lost or just mislaid, and everyone groaned. Lisa commented that I
was so much nicer now that I had breasts, something for them to kiss while I
was kissing theirs. She said she could hardly wait for me to get my danglers
turned into a vagina. “Craig would be so much more cute with pussy lips for us
to kiss,” she said. “Isn’t it time?” Eden couldn’t see how a cunt would add
much. “She’s got such a sweet tush right now, and it wriggles so prettily when
I’ve pushed something way up into it.” Alice said that surgery for me was “not
in the arrangement,” whatever she meant by that, but between me and Jane, “because
Jane has a half-interest in Craig.” When dinner ended they were still teasing
me about whether Jane had ever been more than half-interested in me, or whether
her half included one complete testicle or half of each, or included the first
three inches of my cock or the last three, with anything left over declared no
man’s land.
We moved on to the next event, front row seats at a beefcake
strip show, the “Percherons.” These were five heavily muscled male dancers
who shook and stripped and jiggled and stripped some more, until finally what
was left to imagination was covered by only a teeny triangle of satin on a
G-string. This pouch was quickly knocked askew by women thrusting five dollar
bills into the G-string, and then there was their equipment on full display!
One by one the men came to bump and grind in front of me as the guest of honor
of our group, and I must say, they were hung! Two of them rotated their cocks
not a foot from my face, heavy balls slapping against their thighs, the longest
pricks I had ever seen. They seemed to hang half-way to their knees, as thick
as fire hoses. For the first time in my life I felt my own genitals to be altogether
inadequate, negligible, and I tried instead to feel pleased that the BiGirls
loved me for my tongue and my dedication, not for what was between my legs. I
wondered how Jane really felt about me.
“How’d you like to get that thing erect in your mouth and
down your throat?” Meg asked everyone?
“It’d never fit any throat I’ve ever seen,” Beryl said with
some wonderment, even awe.
“You know anywhere it would fit?” Alice asked. “It might be
worth a try!”
We went to a night club afterward, and sat around several
tables, while the girls resumed talk of surgery to bring me the rest of the
way.
“If Craig did go the distance,” Lisa argued, “Then she’d be
eligible for full membership in the club, not just an honorary membership. She’d
be a girl who likes girls.”
“Only if she were married to a man,” said someone else.
“There’s another way,” said Doreen. Doreen was a
dark-haired beauty with magic hands who had joined the club after me, but had
quickly become everyone’s favorite. “There’s another way for Craig to keep his
balls but still be bisexual, and in that way earn a full membership..”
Everyone thought for a moment what that way might be. “Oooh!
Do you think he would?” Dottie asked? She was quick! “Say, with somebody real
special, like one of those Percherons? Would you, Craig?”
“We’re a girl’s club,” I replied, trying to avoid an answer.
“Sex with men doesn’t qualify.” One of those Percheron fire hoses was in my imagination’s
eye at that moment, and I couldn’t decide how I felt about it. To really
belong, would I make love to it? Would it be any different really from wetting
down Eden’s dildo, or fucking it?
They called on Alice for a parliamentary judgment. “Craig
is a special case,” she said, speaking slowly and thinking her way through it.
“But I think that if she did what women do with men, then with the fact that she
already does with us what women do with women, she’d be eligible for full
membership as a BiGirl. She’d be doing everything we do. Why not?”
“Then let’s get her a man!” said Meg.
At that point the party got a little hazy. All of the girls
had been drinking, and as some of them started approaching single men on my behalf,
they were misunderstood and swept up onto the dance floor themselves. Then
married or not, some started disappearing into the parking lot with their
partners, returning disheveled.
A tall young man leaned over me and asked me to dance. I
looked up frightened. This wasn’t in the cards. I glanced at Dottie, who was still
at my table, and she signalled that one dance was unavoidable, but then we’d
go. So with my heart beating I let him lead me to the dance floor.
It wasn’t easy. This guy was putting the make on me from
the moment I put my arms on his shoulders–he had picked a slow dance. I had a twisted
feeling in my stomach–there was something perverse about it. A man was not a
dildo strapped to a girl. I was not gay. He pulled me against him and began
to twist his body against my breasts, and to my horror I felt my nipples harden
in response–if he touched one of them, would I melt, the way I did when one of
the girls fondled me? He did touch one, ever so lightly, and his hand
lingered. Then at the same time he pulled my groin into his, and even through
our clothing he began to rotate his meat into me. I could feel it, and my knees
were getting weak. I was in a man’s arms, and in very little more time I knew
he would be in my mouth or my ass if I didn’t do something. But what? He touched
my other nipple, and I grew weaker. This was not what I had bargained for!
“Craig, we’ve got to go!” There was Lisa. She had seen the
look in my eye, broken away from her man, and come to rescue me.
“Craig?” said the man. “That’s a funny name for a girl.”
“He’s not a girl,” Lisa said. “He’s a guy in drag. And he’s
my very special boy friend. So I’d appreciate your backing off.”
“A guy in drag? I don’t believe it! I don’t go for guys!
Just look at her.”
“Should we show you his balls?” Dottie had joined us and was
tugging on my arm while I stood there dazed by what I had just felt. The man
was really attractive! But before he could respond she and Lisa had me spirited
away, planted me in Dottie’s car, and headed us home.
“Will Jane make a problem, you coming home looking like a
foxy lady?” Dottie asked me. “You can change at my house. Of course coming
home in a skirt is probably better than coming home in any of the flimsy things
I’d lend you.”
“No, Jane’s out of town on business,” I said. “Thanks
Dottie. Thanks Lisa. I need to think about all this.”
“You do that,” Lisa said. “And you might ask Jane about it
too, before you do anything more than think about it, especially just to get
even. Otherwise it’s cheating. You remember that I don’t believe married people
should cheat.”
I remembered she’d said that, but maybe because it was late,
I couldn’t make sense of anything else she’d just said. So I just said good
night.
After that outing, all of the girls thought it was important
for me to think of Craig as a girl, not a boy. It was the only way I could eventually
become a full BiGirl like the rest of them. A few of them scheduled little
dinners or trips to the movies now and then, with me wearing a dress, well-made
up, wearing my wig, to build my confidence in my femininity. It did. They’d
take me shopping, and my taste in clothing improved, and I began to build up a
darling wardrobe. I’d wear it even when the Club wasn’t meeting, skirts and
blouses during the day and cocktail dresses late afternoons or evenings if Jane
was due to be out of town. And they allowed me to wear all kinds of sexy
underwear during our Tuesday and Thursday afternoon meetings, as long as it
didn’t get in the way.
So it happened that one afternoon a month or so later, I was
in a threesome with Lisa, who was sucking on my clit as if through a straw, and
with Meg, who was squatting on my face while I licked her pink pussy lips and
was getting ready to French kiss her deep slot. I was wearing a bra, and tap
pants, and as it happens heels and stockings and a garter belt as well, because
I’d just come directly from a marvelous dress sale at Talbot’s, and wanted to
show some of the other girls my prize purchases. Lisa was so horny she’d
barely given me time to get my dress off before she leaped me. I heard the
front door open, and women’s voices gush greetings, then heard them come down
the hallway.
Near the opening to the living room I heard Alice’s voice
say “Jane, it’s been quite a while! Are you finally finished balling Desmond?
Have you come to take Craig back? Will you be staying this afternoon?”
I heard Jane’s voice. “No, I can’t stay but a moment,
Desmond’s waiting for me in the car. But yes, it’s over. I promised him this
whole weekend together, just the two of us, and then that’s it. Our business together
is done. We’ve now redesigned every last motel in town. Every last place
ordinary people can go to fuck except us, because the managers all know us and
all have big mouths. Desmond’s just been transferred to the West Coast with a
big promotion. So that’s that. No more need for us to use our house any more,
so there’s really no more need for you to keep Craig out of our way. I just
stopped by to tell you. Thanks for all your help, really.”
“Is that you under there, Craig? Hi, Meg, no, don’t bother
to get up! Craig, you look so cute dressed like that, no wonder the girls
adore you! I’ll be back Sunday night. I’ve left your dinners in the freezer, all
labelled, no problem, but maybe someone here will want to feed you. It sure
looks like it at the moment.”
“You’ve done a marvelous job on him, girls. I owe you all!
Next week when I’m back, when I’m meeting with everyone regularly again, I’ll
be sure to give each one of you special reason to know how grateful I feel. Alice,
it’s time Craig knew a few things, don’t you think? Would you explain them to
him? It might help. Gotta run! Kiss, kiss! Bye now!”
Meg sat down even more firmly on my face, by which she let
me know what my responsibilities were however I may have felt at that moment.
I writhed furiously into her pussy, and it must have felt incredible for her,
because a few minutes later her whole body seemed to go into spasm, and she
rolled off me without a word, and just lay there trying to recover her breath.
My darling Lisa just looked up and said, “We’ll finish this
another time, dearest,” and waited while I finished off Meg. Then she kissed me,
and I kissed her back while tears were starting out of my eyes. “See, didn’t I
tell you how we’d be kissing when we really meant it?” she asked. I nodded,
and kissed her again, and she kissed me again. I noticed the other girls were
heading upstairs to change. Our meeting was just about adjourned.
I went upstairs and stripped naked. I couldn’t bear to wear
any of my sexy underwear, or the beautiful green sequinned dress I’d come in,
but all there was in the closet was my women’s jogging suit, so I put it on, and
a pair of flats someone had left that fit, and I went downstairs to wait for
Alice to bid everyone goodbye until next week. The last to leave was Beryl,
who looked at me a little worried. I looked back at her to assure her I’d be
all right, and she looked at me more closely. Then, barely satisfied, she left.
I settled with Alice in the living room, now only an
ordinary living room, not in one of the soft chairs or couches but at a table
way to one side, where we could both lean our elbows and pound our fists if it
came to that.
Alice began.
“Isn’t Jane a dear? We all miss her. But I guess a little
under a year ago, maybe less, she fell for this guy Desmond, who has renovation
contracts for most of the motels in this part of the State, practically, and
she wanted to spend her afternoons with him instead of us. Which is fine.
Most of us are satisfied with our husbands, but sometimes it’s fun to flirt
with other men a little. Lead them on, you know where. And then there’s no
harm if you’re careful, and if your husband never catches on. Jane used to say
you never seemed to notice anything as long as dinner was on the table promptly
at 6:30.”
I just sat there, in my jogging suit, breasts protruding a
little, aware that my cock was curled between my legs and hadn’t been hard in
months. I realized I hadn’t bothered yet to wipe off my eye makeup. I hoped
it wasn’t smudged.
“Well, Craig, maybe you didn’t know it, but Jane became a
BiGirl a few years ago, soon after one of your lady friends phoned her asking
if you’d ever found one of her earrings. At first she just went wild. When
she found out how you’d been making your crotch available to every saleswoman
or female client who came through town, she started making hers available to
any contractor who’d give her a decent discount, or any wallpaper designer who
wasn’t an outright flaming faggot, or any client with a restaurant, or any
trucker with a bulge in his balls she saw knew how to unload a crate of dishes
gently.”
“Well, she found out fairly quickly that your cock wasn’t
that much, and that even guys not much bigger than you were a lot more exciting
because, well, they were excited by her. She cruised the singles bars, and
after a while she found four or five guys way better endowed than you who were
available whenever you were selling insurance somewhere, or maybe balling some
insurance company lady somewhere. And she joined our little group. She wanted
to try women too, she said. Women are more concerned, and understanding, and
caring, she said. And that’s certainly true.”
“It was about then she decided not to begin her rare fucking
sessions with you by letting you taste her pussy, the way you do with all of
us, Craig dear. We love you for it, because your tongue is magic. You are one
of the world’s great tonguefuckers, though you didn’t know it then, and she
doesn’t know it yet. She’d come home loaded with the jism of whoever she’d
been with that afternoon, and sometimes she’d never even bother to shower when
she got home reeking of him. She didn’t want to share any of it with you. I
thought she was being a little selfish, but she said it was her cum, from her
efforts and her pleasure, and held snug in her pussy. Not for you. ‘Let him
get his own,’ she’d say.”
“You’d never notice anyhow. Lots of times, she said, you’d
put your thing right in there when she was way stretched out by some hulk and still
pouring out his jism, and you never seemed to care. You must have thought you’d
gotten her exceptionally excited, she guessed.”
“Then when she’d say that, she’d laugh. ‘Craig? Excite me?’
she’d say, and then she’d laugh again. She’d never let you lick her for
another reason too, of course. Because then even you might guess someone else had
got his spunk in there ahead of yours. Until after you’d come inside her.
Then maybe she’d let you. But by then you’d usually lost the urge to have any
kind of sex at all with her. ‘Old one-shot,’ she’d call you.”
“When she joined us she’d settled down to fucking just a few
of her studs, though she’d cruise the night clubs some times, and take guys to her
car when she was in the mood. But then came this wonderful opportunity to
re-design practically every motel in this part of the State, lobbies,
restaurants, meeting rooms, bedrooms, everything. Who could refuse? Along
with this opportunity came this guy Desmond, apparently unmarried, apparently
half his body weight in his cock and half of the rest in his balls. Who could
refuse him?”
“So your wife has been fucking Desmond for a long time now,
full time since construction started more than six months ago. Whenever they could.
Once the projects were actually under way they realized they had no discreet
places convenient for an afternoon quickie. Desmond is too well known in the
trade, and Jane got to be too well known. So she asked us to keep you away
from your place two afternoons each week, at least. We thought, sure, why
not. You could take her place meanwhile, until she decides to come back to us.”
“Maybe you don’t know you’ve already tasted Desmond’s jism?
That’s what Eden loaded her cock with that afternoon when she fucked you with
her ten inch dildo. Remember the way the tip tasted? Remember the juice oozing
out of you after she’d fucked your ass while she was cramming you into Lisa’s
cunt? That was Desmond. The same juice that’s been creaming your wife’s cunt
for a long time now, that your prick’s been sliding around in. Eden thought it
might be nice for you two to share the taste, that it might bring you closer
together, somehow. Jane didn’t want you to have the pleasure at first, but
when Eden pointed it would be like you sucking your own wife’s lover’s cock and
not even knowing, she thought it would serve you right.”
“Craig, I know this is a hard time for you. But understand.
We all love you. Whatever happens with Jane, we want you to know you’ll always
be one of us, in our hearts and memories. An honorary BiGirl. And whatever
happens with Jane, we hope some day we can welcome you all the way as one of
us, without any reservations.”
v.
Well, Jane came back from her long weekend with Desmond, and
remained distant for a few days, thoughtful and a little wistful. Was she thinking
about the lost love of her life? Her lost Desmond? She’d look at me when she
thought I wasn’t looking at her, deeply sad about something, then look away
again. I registered nothing at all.
The third night it emerged, why she was so sad. She tried a
few times to speak, then managed it.
“I went to a BiGirls meeting. The girls tell me you have a
great tongue. Masterful, that its a rare gift. That you’re a genius with it, and
that I’ve missed out.”
I didn’t say anything.
“And that no man has ever been as considerate as you. As
kind, or as generous, when making love. That you really aren’t a man in their
eyes at all any more.”
I remained silent. I couldn’t tell where this was going.
“Did the girls tell you about me?”
“Alice did.”
“Everything?”
“I think so.”
“Everything starting a few years ago?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“And?”
And I went back to my insurance contracts, whatever I was
working on just then. That night, she tried to cuddle. She stroked my bare, smooth
chest, and both of my breasts, and snuggled in, but then she may have had a
sense of the enormity she’d committed, that her husband now had breasts,
because she pulled back. For a few more days she could stew in her juice, I
figured. She’d had me stewing for a few years not even knowing, and then she’d
set me up swallowing and shooting up the girl juice that would change me for
life, not even knowing that, just so she could get royally laid over and over
by some big prick of a client, and get his business, which she deserved anyhow.
Not that I minded the change in me. I loved it, now. But
wives aren’t supposed to use their husbands like this. If they have a problem,
they are supposed to try to talk it out. Sure, she married an insurance-mongering
asshole, a gladhander, a sexist schmuck. Maybe no one could talk to me about
anything, then. But she was a grown-up. No matter how much of an asshole I
was, she married that asshole with her eyes wide open. She looked at me and
she told hundreds of people and a man of God, “I do.” She didn’t know what I
was underneath, of course. Underneath I was....
I realized that what I was underneath was what I am now.
That she had brought it out, not meaning to, but that’s what had happened.
That I liked what I had become, and I’d always had contempt for the person I’d been,
same as everyone else, even the buddies I’d wanted to buy, way back, with a
story about how one afternoon I’d suckered a blow job out of a den of lesbian
pervert wives, then sold them all insurance to keep my mouth shut about them.
I’d been a real shit. I started to look sorrowfully at Jane, and sometimes our
unhappy glances would meet half-way. The next night, while she was sleeping, I
reached to cradle her breast gently, and I snugged in against her. But she
didn’t wake up. And in the morning when I woke we were on opposite sides of
the bed, facing away. I don’t think she knew I’d forgiven her, and I still
hoped she’d forgiven me.
That Friday I decided how to deal with it. I showed up for
dinner in my red leather mini and black net stockings, and the black fuzzy
sweater I wore for my big night out on the town, when I almost got laid and officially
certified a BiGirl in fact. And my straight black wig, and all the cheap
jewelry. The same outfit I’d worn to the Percherons, and then to that Night
club where half the BiGirls had disappeared with men who were not their
husbands, and I had barely escaped with my virtue.
“Let’s go out!” I said. “Meet some people. I want to
party!”
She looked at me peculiarly for a long while, and seemed to
make up her mind about something. Then she sat down in a soft chair, solidly,
and put her feet on a hassock. “Why go out?” she asked. “We can party right
here.”
And we did. She leaned back and spread her legs wide open
to me, and said, “Now give me a real, wet, sloppy kiss, girlfriend!” So I
did. I licked her the way a little girl would lick the cunt of an older girl, or
her dearest friend’s pussy, and I tongued her the way a proper young lady would
tongue the most respected of high society cunts, and then the way a starved
whore would do it. I sank my face into her as if I wanted it to disappear and
never re-emerge, and as her loins relaxed and her thighs spread wide, I sucked
and licked and lapped and loved her pussy as if it were the center of my
existence, as indeed it was. Tears started down her face as she felt down
below, with no doubt about it, how her husband loved and desired her, and how
her husband wanted her to come back to him, and again, later, to come yet
again, and then again.
Later that night we were snug in bed together, me in my
babydolls and Jane still naked, and we were still kissing each others’ faces
over and over, still, but getting sleepy finally.
“Craig,” she said. “When you said you wanted to go out and
party. Did you really mean it? I mean, the two of us go to a bar, dance, pick
up guys and everything? Down and dirty? Trips to the parking lot with them?
Maybe bring one or two back here? The whole works? Like I did a few years
back, when you were out of town or working late? Like I’d done lots of nights
when you wanted to go down on me, but I wouldn’t let you, because I was still
filled with some other guy’s cum? Like I’ve been doing even recently, nights
when I wasn’t already being stuffed full of Desmond?”
“Why not?” I asked her. “You never know.” I figured we
could both find out if I really meant it. Then if things worked out, maybe I
would be eligible for full membership in the Club without it costing me my
cock.
I told her that, and she was ecstatic. She threw her arms
around me and wouldn’t let go. “Oh, darling, that would be so wonderful!” she
said. “That’s been my fondest dream. Ever since we were married, I’ve wanted to
share everything with you. Other women, other men, everything. That’s being
truly married, isn’t it? Sharing everything? But I didn’t dare suggest other
lovers to you. Not to you! You were always so proper! And then you started
diddling other women with no thought of me. So I took on other men, and never
shared even a single drop of their cum with you. It was spiteful of me, I
know, but I felt hurt. And then I realized you’d feel hurt too, if you knew
how often I went out to sample other kinds of cocks, and the other men attached
to them. So I couldn’t very well tell you, could I.”
Well, the very next night we went out together, and sure
enough, we picked up two guys and brought them back to the house, giggling
together like schoolgirls the whole time. They must have been baffled by our silliness,
but not later on, when we reached for them and it became plain that we meant
business.
At daybreak, both men left and I came back into our own
bedroom. Jane just looked at me. She didn’t ask anything, but when I gave her
a sly smile she beamed like summer sunshine and held out both her arms. I lay down
gently next to her–my rear end was still a little sore, but so was hers I
supposed, sometimes. She kissed my nipples and sucked on them–and she could
tell immediately that they were a little sensitive too, my guy had really
worked them over. Then for the first time in years, she pushed my head down,
past her breasts–I just managed to kiss their tips as I went by, down past her
navel, down to her sweet, soft pussy. I buried my face in its creamy, silky,
wet darkness. As so often in the last few years, it was soaked. But now I
could smell and taste why, all the jism her man of earlier tonight had left
there, a taste not unlike the sperm I’d been licking and swallowing for hours from
my own partner. I found that I liked the taste of a man the same way I liked
the taste of a woman.
As she clasped my head to her crotch and began to buck her
hips into my face she said, “It was so hard keeping up my affair with Desmond, sometimes.
All he had going, really, was that huge cock and a lot of staying power. He
was a glorious fuck–your little cock was nothing in comparison. In fact
usually when you’d enter me after I’d spent an afternoon with him, I couldn’t
feel you at all. I don’t know how you felt anything. But after a while when I
was fully stretched out by him, he got to feel like any other cock. Good, but
nothing special. What was special about him was all those decorating
contracts.”
“Otherwise, Craig, he was such a bore! No soul, no
sensitivity, no feelings to share with me. I missed you! I missed my
girlfriends. But I had to stay away from the BiGirl Club. I wanted my new
adorable husband to find out everything he could about how girls enjoy themselves,
so at least he’d know how I felt, and maybe begin to feel that way himself, a
little, sometimes. At least to know for example how titties feel when
someone.... Ooooohhhhh! Oh, that’s nice!”
She paused after that small orgasm, and then began building
toward a larger. “They were so right, Craig, when they told me your tongue should
be declared a national monument! What’re you doing now? Mmmmmnnnnn? Have you
any idea what that ...ohhhh... feels like?”
“The other girls just thought I was being a softy
sentimentalist when I asked them to take you on. They said the risks from
exposing the Club’s existence to any man’s dirty mind were too great, and that
you’d never qualify as bisexual anyhow. Meg spoke for the membership, ‘We are
not an educational organization for inadequate husbands. We are here for each
other.’ So I reversed the argument. I told Alice I needed you out of the way
twice each week so I could pump Desmond dry in this very bed, which is what I’ve
been doing. So Alice got everyone to be there for me. ‘You have your affair,
and don’t worry, we’ll keep him busy,’ she told me. ‘Just let us know what sex
you want him to be when we return him to you.’
Well, she never thought you were much of a man. So she wasn’t
too surprised when I told her, ‘Fix his prick so he can’t use it to cheat on me
ever again. But mainly, teach him how women feel about things, so he’ll be
more considerate of my feelings in the future, especially when I bring men home–I
don’t like all this sneaking around. The rest is up to you, I don’t care.’”
“And that’s what they did. And look at you! How can any
woman resist you now? Or any man? And who’d ever have dreamed that you have
this incredible talent with your tongue? You are absolutely the most OOOOOOOAARRGHHHH!
OHHHH! UNHHH! UNHHH! UNHHH! Ohhh! Oh, Craig!”
Jane stopped to catch her breath, and then when she could
she resumed, as I did down in her crotch. “I bet you’re glad now that we did
this to you. I bet next week we’ll all be discussing whose husband to do next,
and you’ll have a full vote! I bet you’ll love helping us turn Roy or Tim both
ways, so they can join the Club too, and then keep you company when you’re
tired of doing girl things with girls, and want to do them with boys, or do boy
things with boys. I’ll bet....”
But now Jane was reaching a really towering climax, and as
she started heaving her whole body at me and screaming her head off at the
ceiling, all bets were off.
© 1996 by Vickie Tern Vickie [email protected]
Author's Note: Inspired by the painting "La Charmeuse" (1868) by Charles Gleyre, as it inspired Mat Twassel to ask people to write about it. The painting may be seen at http://www2.iinet.com/art/19th/english/misc/gleyre1.jpg (Note: The link given is gone. This link currently works: http://www.kunstkopie.de/a/gleyre-marc-charles-gabri/la-char... )
The story will be more meaningful if you first look at the painting. It's a full-figure nude woman seen from the rear. If that gives offense, or anything else in this story gives offense, your remedy is obvious. Stop reading, and gradually, over the years, try to forget.
In those days paintings were often stillpoints in time, illustrated moments implying whole narratives, tableaus suggesting how things got that way and what might happen next. Mostly they portrayed the sad or sentimental evidence of lost possibilities, characters forever caught in an unalterable predicament for the viewer to contemplate. In those days paintings required viewers with imaginative sympathy. Even faith, because such paintings present the evidence of things not seen.
For instance, Arthur Hughes's "The Long Engagement" merely pictures a man and a woman in the woods, an impoverished, threadbare Curate and a modestly but but respectably dressed member of his parish. They are holding hands tightly while they both together stare yearning at initials inside a pierced heart once carved into the bark of a young tree, but now seen on a trunk now almost overgrown with ivy and moss. That's all we see. But as we read the narrative implied by the painting's title we notice things. Small lines in their faces declare that the hopefulness and bloom of their first love are gone, to be replaced only by unrelieved yearning.. The picture portrays for the viewer an intensely dramatic moment, the pitiable waste of erotic desire frustrated by respectability.
I myself think Hughes went over the top with it. It's a hoot. I've never let respectability interfere with my own pleasures. But then, I'm no penniless Curate. I'm rich, and I go wherever desire takes me.
Even so, I can feel what that painting wants me to feel. The characters in those narrative paintings are always recognizable, drawn from our own world. We surmise their predicaments and we feel for them and with them. We become them in fact, in an act of empathic identification no paintings these days require. In those days that's what paintings were for, whether of Rossetti's entrapping tangles of women's hair or Holman Hunt's sun-struck but still- garlanded sacrificial "Scapegoat." Such paintings bind a spectator into the events implied as the people portrayed, and as themselves observant, feeling what they feel. They can become whole worlds possessed by the viewer, possessing the viewer.
At first, when what looked like an Irish colleen answered Gleyre's advertisement for a model, I thought he'd reject her out of hand. She was short -- he wanted someone tall and willowy. She was red-headed -- he wanted black hair, to imply passionate intensity, or silvery blonde, to imply virginal innocence. His commission was from some new-rich manufacturing magnate, to create a "Nymph Seduced by Satyrs" to hang in a dining room of his mansion, to embarrass his too-proper wife and to inflame the appetites of lustful friends. Gleyre explained this to me as we went through a bottle of his best sherry while awaiting her arrival at his studio. Then another. She was late.
"I want to do an Odalisque this time," he said. "A woman with impossibly long legs and thin curved hips, and tits that offer themselves to your mouth eagerly uplifted, like wine glasses filled to the brim with drugged wine you can't resist." He glanced at our second empty wine bottle, then at me. "You know many such women I suppose."
I pride myself I've known a few, among the thousands of women I've seduced. My fortune was inherited, and ample, and that is what I chose to do with it, Bring women to bed for my own gratification. I nodded.
"Wouldn't that be a little racy for middle class tastes, a seductive nude in a dining room?" I asked him? "This Iron and Steel Baron wants to part with all that money in order to look at dirty pictures while he chokes on his roast beef?"
"No, nouveau riche industrialists will accept scenes even of the most vile brothel activities, as long as we painters can present them as classical mythology or allegories. That's what Titian and Giorgione and Botticelli taught us when they painted all those nudes to hang in the chambers of all those horny Italian bankers. Call a picture of a raw fucking 'Truth Seduced by Error' and it's no longer salacious, it's educational and uplifting. If you know what I mean."
I did. I'd stopped by his studio for only a moment, on my way to an assignation in the park, my third that morning. But Gleyre had urged me to stay at least long enough to help him interview this new model he was expecting. "I know nothing about models," I'd told him. But he explained that the only questions asked would be by our eyes, and the only answers provided would be by the woman's naked body. "I'll want to see how you respond to her nudity," he said. "If that's not too great a sacrifice to make for a friend." So I stayed.
The young woman arrived apologizing about horse carriages running late even while unpinning her hat and setting it on a divan on the corner of the studio. "Or will you want me to lie down on that thing? It's a little ratty. Are you sure there are no fleas in it? I bathed before coming, you know! At least this place is warm!" Her apologies sounded defiant, as if she were merely filling the air with words while there was something more substantial on her mind.
"Yes, I'm sure," Gleyre said. He glanced at the note in his hand, "Ahhh, yes, Miss Circe. I'm pleased that your flesh tones will be unsullied, flesh colored, so please don't feel the bath was wasted. For this I'll want you unclothed and standing up. You'll represent a nymph attracting satyrs out of the woods, ready to be ravished."
"I don't do being ravished," she said. She stared steadily at her potential employer, but then her eyes flicked onto me. It was electrifying, that glance from those eyes! It seemed so casual, yet so powerful! "Not even by satyrs, though there's something to be said for them!" she added, this time directly to me. Then she added, "You're M. Teste, aren't you?"
Did I know her? She may have heard something of my reputation. At the last Social Cotillion the women's gossip had voted me 'Most likely to Succeed" in my seductions of other women -- understandibly, since I'd already seduced most of them, and they'd not one of them found reason to complain until afterward. Except to me about their husbands.
"Guilty," I replied gallantly.
"So I've heard," she replied. She was as strangely cool as she was intense. "Shall we begin?"
"This is only an interview, Miss Circe," Gleyre said. "To see if you're suitable for the painting I have in mind."
"Oh, I'm suitable for what I have in mind," she said somewhat enigmatically. "Look!"
We couldn't either of us not look. She unbuttoned her blouse, then pulled it off with her chemise, then stood confronting us with a slight smile.
Her breasts were disappointing. Small. Chaste. Pink- tipped Obviously she wouldn't do. I waited for Gleyre to tell her to clothe herself again and move on elsewhere somewhere.
He didn't. He merely waited while she unbuttoned her skirt and let it collapse like a waterfall at her feet, then her overskirt, then her hoop, then her pantaloons, and finally she stepped out of her slippers.
Now the effect was quite different. She stood stark naked before us, feet apart, elbows upraised, her breasts spread up and wide apart as she reached behind her head to undo her hair. It tumbled freely down her back. She grasped that honey-red mane and twisted it into a single knot. I realized that not once had she stopped looking at me.
"You're a dancer, aren't you?" Gleyre said into the silence. "I see you stand comfortably in first position. A little less extreme please."
She responded by going splay-footed. She stood like a kitchen maid. Yet the effect was unspeakably fetching. I glanced at Gleyre, and caught him studying not the model but my reaction to her!
My eyes began to swallow this woman. I was impressed. She was no Odalisque. Her legs were relatively short and her hips large and elongated to a high, narrow waist. The effect was of massive weight belied by the smallness of her breasts and her face. Above the waist she was a delicate creature, a young girl. Below she was a mature woman. She looked mature enough, fit enough to take on and screw a battalion of Guards, in fact, even to bear all of their children simultaneously. Her long, powerful haunches framed a honey-red triangular patch of hair at her crotch. I found I couldn't look away from it.
"Look up, please." I became aware that she'd said it to me. "Look at my eyes." I did.
I heard Gleyre's voice. "A real woman, Teste, wouldn't you say so?"
My mouth, I realized, was dry. I tried to say "Undeniably!" but nothing came out. Because her eyes now seemed to be swallowing me. I was getting lost in them.
"I think we're ready," Gleyre said to her. "Why don't you stand over by that theatrical flat, in the sun from that skylight. By the painted tree trunk. Drape your blouse on your left shoulder, to emphasize that you aren't merely nude, a classical figure of a woman, you're undressed, naked, a real woman. I don't want the spectator of this painting ever to forget that. Then turn and face into the painted woods on that flat."
For an out-of-work model she was arrogant! "First," she said, "give me something to do besides look at this blurred and blotted painting you seem to think represents woods."
She had me transfixed. And she knew it. She no longer looked at me, but now through me, as if I were a table or chair sharing the room with her, furniture of no interest. Gleyre handed her some pan pipes of sorts. "Here, pretend to play these. Pretend to entice some satyrs from that background painting."
"I've got the satyr I want," she said. "You do your part. Never mind about me."
She turned, and the sunlight gleamed off her shoulders, then onto her back. As her rear came into full sunlight, I suddenly felt clubbed! Blinded! Unawares, I fell to my knees! "Oh, God!" I cried out. "Heavenly God!"
There in the sun's divine radiance shone those perfect globes, her buttocks, plump, gorgeous, tender, ravishing, glowing with a brilliant inner lumininescence! I felt an overwhelming urge to abase myself before them, worship them, shower them with kisses!
"God!" I cried out again. I was amazed now to find I was indeed on my knees. But I couldn't stand up again!
She looked over her shoulder at me. "You'd love to kiss my ass right now, wouldn't you?" she said.
Incredible! She knew?
"Yes!" I cried out. Tears sprang out of my eyes and diffused the effulgent reflected light pouring from her naked derriere. Rich tones of color I wanted to eat! I tried hobbling forward on my knees.
"Stay where you are!" she said commandingly. "Gleyre, do what you said you'd do!"
Now I couldn't see at all clearly. The light glowing from the globes of her buttocks glistened through my tears, from God's sun to her divinely curved ass into the center of my brain. But I did as she asked me. Inexpressible ecstasy overwhelmed me! Behind me, Gleyre began sketching and painting furiously. I sensed dimly that he was completing from life a painting he'd earlier begun from memory, in a way. But he was now in his own inspired frenzy!
Ms. Circe held up the pan pipes, if that's what they were, and pretended to play. "You must be wondering what's happening now, M. Teste, and I'm inclined now to tell you. Whatever I say, you'll adore it, won't you. It will make you the happiest man on earth, won't it?"
"Oh, yes! Yes, yes!"
"Do you still feel an irresistible urge, my dear?"
"Yes, please!"
"You may tell me about it."
"Please! Let me worship your precious rear! Those ripe melons! I want to make love to them. To bury my face in them and never rise up from my knees ever again! Please!"
"I know, honey! That's what I want you to want. That's why you want it."
I've often felt a desire to make love to women, to plunge into their various openings and bring them shrieking to a state of rapturous devotion to me, and then when they want more, to require that they perform some humiliating act in token of my superiority over them. Many women have swallowed their pride and kissed my ass, or worse, in order to enjoy my embraces one more time. Then they resent what they've had to do, but by then I couldn't care less. I move on to others.
Now I was myself enslaved by desire! I was the one now being humiliated! Worse, I knew that I'd want to perform any act this woman requested! It would bring me transcendant joy! I was eager to kiss her ass! There was no knowing what more I'd be willing to do if she'd let me!
This was not normal for me.
She looked back over her shoulder at me, now amused. "I can see by the bewilderment on your face that you've suddenly come aware that you don't usually want to kiss every woman's ass, nor any at all, but that you would die to kiss mine if I asked you to. Shall I?"
"Please! I beg you!"
"No, sweetheart. I have something better for you to do. To live to kiss my ass! You're wondering how I do this? You haven't noticed? Gleyre, explain me to my new slave."
Gleyre's brush was working feverishly. Like all academy artists, he was well trained to paint the human figure in the manner of many of his predecessors, all the way back to the Greeks. Like many of them he preferred the classical hip shot position, all body weight thrusting up from one leg while the other leg curves down in submission, the human figure seen to be dynamic yet yielding. His own small originality was in his defects, an uncertain palate and too little technique to attempt chiarescuro. But such is fashion that some lamentable younger painters thought his smeared colors brilliantly original, even inspirational. There was no accounting for the overpraise young men like Monet and Degas had lavished on him.
He was doing his usual mediocre daubing here. But so concentratedly he seemed half mad!
"Teste," he said. "I deceived you. You know I paint classical subjects, allegories, myths, and so on, in modern dress, using models because I'm not very good at imagining them. But you should know. In this case I am painting Circe herself, the mythical Enchantress Ulysses encountered in Homer, the woman with a strange power to convert men into pigs. Into the pigs they already are. Or into anything else they may wish to become in order to satisfy her. I prayed to paint her from the life just once, and she answered my prayer. But she demanded in return that I produce you and then paint you in a rapt, eternal longing for her. For her ass. To kiss her ass! As an implied part of her portrait. As her eternal spectator. That is what I am now doing. It seems that when you surpassed the numbers of both Casanova's and Don Juan's seductions of women taken together you offended something very deep in all women, and many prayed for you to get your comeuppance. Circe heard, and this moment is the result. There, I'm done!"
He turned the portrait toward me. There she was, the colors, brushwork, and hipshot pose as inept as ever, but with a delicacy and yet corporeal grossness caught from the life! There was that glorious glowing ass yet again! I hungered after this woman in his painting, and leaned far forward to kiss her.
"No!" Circe said. "What I wish is that you will wish eternally to kiss my ass, and spend eternity on your knees in front of this painting, staring at it, devoted, desiring, forever frustrated. You are already the spirit of an ideal spectator for this painting. Gleyre has painted your desire perfectly, even your angle of vision on your knees as you gaze up at a desireable rear end you will never ever touch with your lips in the flesh."
I was bewildered. "Where?" I asked.
"You are the spectator constructed by the image itself, the viewer for whom this painting was created. You are now in the picture, an implication of the picture, and you will never escape this fate as long as the portrait exists."
"What?" I asked. All this was then beyond me. I am not an art theorist, only a spectacular seducer of women. But she was right in one respect. My eyes were transfixed by that portrait!
Gleyre spoke gently but firmly. "I have now painted you out of existence except as the implied, devoted viewer of this portrait of Circe. The man who would love to kiss ass, and has never been allowed. The seducer of women become now their ultimate brown noser."
"What?" I repeated, stupefied even as I looked to find Miss Circe again, and found only her portrait, and yet felt this terrible urge to kiss her buttocks on paint that wasn't even yet dry."
"She's gone," Gleyre assured me. "She comes and goes in men's imaginations. I can tell you though that there's one additional way you may relieve yourself of this compulsion. A little. By doing what all spectators of narrative paintings do. By imagining yourself into the scene as its chief character. By exercising your sympathies, for once. Imagine yourself this innocent maiden piping into a dark wilderness to see what she may call out of it. Or imagine yourself to be Circe herself, piping into the woods as if a mere nymph seeking a satyr's fucking, all to seduce you as you've seduced so many others."
The desire to embrace the woman in the painting and press my lips to her lower cheeks was now overwhelming. I tried to imagine myself that frail flower of a woman, the most powerful sex goddess on earth, and failed. I had never felt sympathy for a woman. I tried again. This time I felt some of the fragility of those fingers. A timid hesitancy. It was a beginning. And this was how I was now doomed to spend eternity?
"But before you disappear into the painting, as its viewer or it's subject," said Gleyre, "I must warn you!"
Warn me? Still, now, better late than never!
"What?" I said, my eyes intent upon that naked woman, eager to be absorbed into her.
"Even if you do succeed in achieving full sypathetic identity with the woman in this painting, even if you become that woman, you will still feel the same urge as before."
"What?" I asked. 'What urge?' is what I meant to say, but I wanted to concentrate on this new identity, to feel the woman's fingertips as my own, to become that which I so devoutly desired and so relieve myself of that desire, to achieve a perfect union with that woman portrayed in the painting. Gleyre understood me even so.
"Then, my friend, you will feel a desire to kiss your own ass. If that is your bent, and I suspect that it is. And then the portrait will change. The woman in it will then seem to be a self-absorbed lesbian eager to kiss her own ass. As she is not now."
I nodded. Rapt, I no longer cared.
All this occurred long ago, on the day the portrait was painted. Decades have replaced each other, and now a millenium is ending, and I am still implied by that painting, and I still seek to read its states of mind and feeling as my own. Study the painting closely yourself. Does the young woman in it seem to be someone who wishes to be raped by satyrs? To kiss her own ass? What is she really doing? Seducing you? Is she you?
But be careful, because while feeling your way through this labyrinth, you will certainly feel an uncontrollable urge to become like me a voyeur in love with his own imagined desires. And then like me, *as* me, you will be unable to tear your eyes away. Circe can enchant anyone, of any sex or gender. Her body is the most powerfully seductive, the most potent in the world. No one possesses it.
Copyright(c) 1999 by Vickie Tern
Vickie [email protected]
You can e-mail Vickie at:
[email protected]
>Before we go to the chat, Vickie is such a pleasure to read, here are some answers from the questionnaire!
I can chat now with pleasure!
I'm much less conflicted or inhibited or timid now than a few weeks ago. First, I just spent a week at a gender meeting with lots of all kinds of TG-concerned or TG-impacted folk. See the opening section of "A Place of her Own" for what gender meetings do to my stealth tendencies. Second, on return I plunged into a knockdowndragout flame war on another list with some supercilious woman who thinks TVs in general and TG fantasy fiction in particular beneath contempt (but bend to express their contempt anyhow). I exposed a lot of myself to them in anger. So I can't not expose myself to fellow writers here with genuine curiosity about how this mysterious creative process works.
Let's go down your questions and then see what's left to say. You'll see I LOVE being "on". Narcissism Spoken Here!
>Where did the name "Vickie Tern" come from?
I was a practicing closeted TV for many years, utterly isolated from any others. Playing computer games maybe ten years ago, it occurred to me I could enter a female name for me among the high scorers, it was another way to look into a mirror and see myself as feminine. Over a few years I used different names, but none felt quite right. I did want to confess my TV nature in code, at least, anyhow. So I finally settled on VT, being a backward TV.
"Victoria" because I've read a lot about that splendid, regal, pompous age (and its prudish, rather dull Queen with the triumphant-seeming name). I like the ironies in the name read that way, no less because I'm a homebody.
"Tern" because I've spent a lot of time on the ocean's shore, and I have a special feeling for that nervous little shore bird strutting and pecking on the edge of a huge ocean, but occasionally also wheeling and diving over it for scraps left over left by voracious fish beneath. Just right for the shy girl I felt myself.
The "ie" spelling on the end of "Vickie" because that's a diminutive too, unlike "Vicky" which strikes me as a complete name, or "Vicki" which strikes me as very mod, very smart. "Vickie Tern." That's me!
When I discovered the Net's TG communities maybe seven years ago, it felt as if the top of my head blew off! Others like me! I could take on a social existence, talking to those others on the Net! And I did, very shy at first, very experimental. But I had a gendered name. And the first time I could say "That's just darling" to someone I had a gendered voice as well as a name!
Later still, the lady with that name wrote a first story ("Jack and Jill") and fed them into A.S.S. and A.S.S.TG where they disappeared. Of all things, I was on long distance to Sierra downloading one night when Mindy broke in and introduced herself and called me a "good writer." Talk about a thrill! There was little feedback in those days. Mindy's praise ranked with Celeste ranking "Nice" (my third or fourth story) #5 of the year's hundred best. I never knew if she thought highly of it because it was a good story or because it was literate. During the intervening years I've gotten a lot more confident. More like a gull. Like a little gull all grown up! :-)
>If you have a home page, what is the URL if you wish it to be known?
Don't have one. Wish I did. I no longer feel the (male) territorial imperative to master the machines and procedures needed to make one. But no doubt will one day.
I'm not a computer freak, and I've lost my American Boy's birthright curious eagerness to meddle into and understand any machine or procedure. I mean to make a website (AOL entitles me free), but the challenge bores me in prospect. I'd rather spend the day writing smut.
>What are the next stories you are working on?
I've just looked into my workbasket. There are six substantially under way, that is, six already over 50k Two of them already over 100k.
One is about a suite of college girls who decide to cure a freshman boy of his disabling shyness with girls by -- guess how. The others are like most of my stories about love and fidelity and need and deception and ulterior motives inside a marriage, each with a different reason why a man should wish to be feminized (or agree to it) and a different reason why a wife should wish it (or wish to trick him into it).
I move from one to another when I hit a crux or boredom, and find that in the interval some ideas for it have ripened. Or -- my curse -- I abandon for a while whatever I'm doing if I should get an idea for an altogether new story. If it can be a quickie I write it over a few days. Sometimes I'm wrong that it's a quickie. Stories dictate themselves at their own pace and length. I just write them down (and then revise the hell out of them).
>Is there anything special that you would like mentioned?
Vickie Tern Will Bare All! Will Tell the Shocking and Bizarre Truth About her Own Marriage, the Reason Why She Creates her Tales of Dominating Wives and Feminized Husbands!
Confidentially, what's shocking is that I'm male, monogamous, faithful! On Y2K Day (January 1) I will celebrate a fiftieth wedding anniversary!. True! I'm partially transgendered, a now-finally-altogether-unashamed (if discreet) CD, and my wife, a professional with her own career, is gentle, loving, rather dependent on me, tolerating but absolutely non-participating, wishes I didn't or wasn't, stubbornly vanilla. That combination requires a lively fantasy life. The wives in my stories are my own various compulsions playing cunning games to gratify themselves, and the husbands are variously the compliant remaining parts of me who learn to accept it all, even love it.
>So let's start the real chat...
+ Darkside has arrived.
+ Vickie has arrived.
(*Anne-Mal) Hello Darkside! Welcome honored guest!
(Darkside) Hi Y'all
(*Anne-Mal) So how are you feeling Vickie?
Don't tell me that Vickie is speechless!
(Vickie) Hah! Found the bottom of the page, where I reply. Also my fingers, most of them anyhow.
(*Anne-Mal) Gee, everyone is quiet!
(Vickie) It isn't that I'm speechless, I love to talk. It's that I still type with a club and a quill pen, and it's slow the old fashioned way.
(Darkside) Sorry. I'm shopping as I do this as well.
(Vickie) What for?
(*Anne-Mal) Oh, so if Vickie mentions something she needs you may buy it for her on Christmas?
(Vickie) Ahem, maybe just tell you my sizes and let your imagination choose? ;-)
(Darkside) Shopping. This n' that, mainly that. I still have her presents from last year.
(Vickie) I drank yours, all but one bottle.
(*Anne-Mal) Ah, I never knew that the two of you wrote interactively!
(Darkside) Anne, don't feel too left out. VT and me, yeah we do sometimes. She corrects all the 10000's of errors in my stories while I read hers right through.
(Vickie) I've met two of us in their three dimensional form, Darkside and Rhonda Wagram, I am privileged to report. Through this medium, originally as mutual admirers, too.
(*Anne-Mal) Gee, I keep seeing the name, Rhonda Wagram all the time, though I have never seen her work. Where does she mostly write?
(Vickie) I should have cued her especially about today. She'd love to be here to needle me. We once did a year-long collaboration, and disagreed over plot or character only once. I can tell about it later if you wish, since she isn't able to contradict and defy.
(*Anne-Mal) Where does she mostly put her stories?
(Vickie) Rhonda has a profession she gets lost in now and then. Lost to us, that is. Her stories come in spouts now and then,. The collaboration ended up in print, not the Net, because she'd never seen herself in print. (I had.)
(*Anne-Mal) Oh, her stuff appears professionally!
(Vickie) No. She's a determined amateur (lover) of this kind of writing, but just hasn't time for it, not as much as she'd wish. She has a much more boring profession, as she says, which is why she does this at all. TG fiction-writing for the full, well-rounded life! (that could be a tag for a Fictionmania Picture.)
(*Anne-Mal) I just wonder, I see she has two stories on FM, but she is cited by many as an inspiration.
(Darkside) VT, I never knew you'd wanted to do a tag for a FM picture?
(Vickie) I have all sorts of secret ambitions, but not all sorts of talents to match. Rhonda is a wonderful person. I'll be sure to see she sees I said so.
(Darkside) I'm still trying to remember that guess the number thing that Carrie Gore did last night. Anne, you got the logs for it?
(*Anne-Mal) Well if you multiply any number between 2-9 by nine and add the digits you get nine. You subtract nine by five and get four, and the fourth letter is D.
(Vickie) Is Jack Chalker that difficult to track down? How did you do it?
(*Anne-Mal) Nope, just asked! So where did you find Rhonda's stories?
(Vickie) I didn't. I posted "Girl's Night Out" and she wrote praising it and suggesting a sequel. There followed a year of swapping chapters and sketching further plot developments. And overwriting each other, no ego problems at all. Astonished when once in process she sent me hers, two of them anyhow. There's a third in her native language (it isn't English though she's utterly fluent and idiomatic.), that may emerge some day.
Hey, let's get her on here to deal with all of us. It could encourage more writing of what WE like to see her write, not what clients want.
(Morgan) Well since we haven't started yet. Hi, again Vickie! :)
(Vickie) Hi Morgan!
(Morgan) I did my home work and read the two stories Vickie! :)
(Vickie) The two stories aren't my most popular, but I like them for my own reasons
(*Anne-Mal) Okay, lets start!
(Vickie) Should I be feeling like the Virgin on the Aztec Altar awaiting the High Priest's arrival?
(*Anne-Mal) Today's chat guest is Vickie Tern!
(Troy) Applauding
(*Anne-Mal) To me Vickie is THE TG author! She was the first author I found on a Newsgroup!
(Vickie) There fustest with the mostest? In some ways I suppose.
(Darkside) Hooray!
(*Anne-Mal) When I first went to the web she was the most articulate of the authors I had seen and have always been impressed with her works! (Thank the maker I can fix the errors in the log!)
(Vickie) For me, what entranced me utterly was an anonymous story called "Boy2Girl". Lovely and charming and seductive. That was my first TG story proper, showing me what the attractions could be.
(*Anne-Mal) So without further ado, I give you Ms. Tern! Do you have an opening statement?
(Vickie) Only that you get me fast or you get me accurate but not both. I type with two fingers. Primitive, but I do arrive eventually!
My heavens, that was accurate!
OK, a statement. I call everything I write fantasy, because the reference is to the desirable and plausible, almost never to the actual or probable. So I work darker corners of desire that way. Yet I almost never do SF or Magic. I suspect it's because the process of conversion to the other gender is what fascinates, not what then happens.
I have five unfinished beginnings of stories in which the reasons for conversion are established and plausible, but where should they then go? That takes real thinking, not fantasizing.
(Darkside) Vickie, You've often said (to me anyway) that you prefer CD/TV stories to the magic kind. Why is that (apart from the reason above)?
PS. I'm after a little more than it doesn't fascinate me, why doesn't it? :)
(Vickie) Reason above mainly. For me gendercrossing is a little wicked, forbidden tampering with deep taboos. So it needs nudging. If too quick or easy the sense of the forbidden disappears. To become that which is desired! Aha! Slurp, slaver! To be tricked into it though, because I detest force !
(Darkside) So a slow transform is more fascinating rather than wham bang thank you wizard?
(Vickie) Yep. In most of my stories the revelation to the hapless man of how deep a pit he's dug, or to the reader of how far the narrator has gone without apparently realizing it, is where the art is. Disclosures little by little, entrapments more and more intense.
(Morgan) I enjoy the slow transform too. Do you prefer the male to be aware or unaware, partially aware of what's happening?
(Vickie) Nice guy, willing to cooperate to please the woman, but altogether unaware how far she means to take him. Or why she really wants him to do it. I've got a query. The story "True Love" got very strong feedback as unpleasant. Anyone here find the humiliation too painful? Humiliation there always is, as something to be finally overcome.
(Morgan) Too painful for my tastes :)
(*Anne-Mal) A story is a story.
(Darkside) After what Dr. Bexley put her victims through in "Fury", "True Love" was tame. No gratuitous violence there.
(Vickie) Is that also true of "Trust Me"? I wondered whether the embarrassments I put my characters through are too close to what readers actually fear. I used to, don't any more. (I did say in my Bio I'm TV and not ashamed any more.)
(Morgan) For me yes, but I have "definite" tastes in TG fiction that result in only partial embracing of Vickie's recurrent themes.
(Vickie) What's most troublesome or least wanted. What's best liked? I'm still working over why "A Place Of Her Own" has twice the hits of any of my other stories have on average.
(*Anne-Mal) Well, if it gets too bad I can always just stop reading!
(Vickie) But Anne Mal, then you don't get to the twist "things aren't what they seem" part of it, which is for me the rest of the fun. Sort of like detective stories in which the truth emerges but never as you'd think it.
(*Anne-Mal) I never said I stop reading your stories!
(Vickie) When did you start reading? I was appalled to find I've been writing for nearly four years!
(Darkside) I think "Jack and Jill" was the first VT story I read.
(Vickie) That was my first. I didn't even know how to paragraph dialogue then (as you now do!)
(*Anne-Mal) Only four years! Well, that was about when I got a computer with internet capacity.
(Vickie) The net was then BBSs. I found one on the west coast with TG stories and my head exploded with joy. Then found Sierra, ditto!
(AlisonW) I see from your Bio that you were involved in teaching, how has this helped your story writing?
(Vickie) I hate clichés, obvious turns of plot, and bad sentence rhythms. Because I'm a better critic than I am a writer, alas. Critics are made, talent is born.
Teaching gave me a sense, you've started this, go with it and see where you end up. Not always where I'd wish. But sometimes, marvelous discoveries. Anyhow, I write a story like that. Dive in and see if you can hit and swim. Or flap and fly!
(Morgan) Do you prefer the male to be aware or unaware of the changes occurring in your stories Vickie and why?
(Vickie) Depends, Morgan. If the woman (always the person feminizing him) is malicious, I want him to know it by the end. But acquiring consent can be the first thing the woman does with the man. I DON'T want him to know her REAL reasons until it's too late.
In a story like "Choices", the man's led deliberately step by step into the pit. Until there's no way for him to back out. Yet he knows, he just doesn't see all the consequences at each step.
(Morgan) That's part of the emotional tension that works very well in your writing, an aspect I very much enjoy.
(Vickie) Thanks. That's where I have a good time being the entrapping woman. Nostrumo used to protest that my men were too wimpish, going along. Maybe. I make them more deliberate or skeptical now. But it doesn't help! :-)
(Darkside) Vickie, you have this aura(rightly or wrongly) of being mysterious, an enigma. Did you do this on purpose?
(Vickie) Lots of readers WANT me to be my women, and that mystique helped them enjoy the stories. I hesitated a long time before blowing cover in my Bio. Didn't post a Bio until a few weeks ago!
There are lots of subs who need a domme, and my dommes (that part of me?) are ideal. We're not dealing with easy access areas of human eroticism here. A lot of what I write is explicitly erotic.
I was many stories in before "Flowers", the first one I could offer to the AOL TG site in payment for the stories I read there when I needed them (in a way). They want nothing explicitly erotic or sexual. Even a joke like "Designated cocksucker" (as in baseball) had to be converted to "designated mouth". Not because I have a dirty mind (nothing wrong there, I just don't), but because my characters are under compulsion, and erotic desire is a powerful way for a woman to manipulate them. And reward them for complying.
(AlisonW) Which authors do you admire and why?
(Vickie) Hard to select. Of the Fictionmaniacs, Pervy and Pamela for the innocent charm in the ways their characters are turned, I simply can't do that, wish I could. Tigger for the argumentative, polemical style. People there are always persuading each other.
SUKI for the same sense of wicked sinfulness I write and enjoy.
Carol Collins for cunning.
I started out trying to be Parker (for the hapless entrapments) and Deirdre (for the compulsive erotic behavior leading in strange directions).
Rachel Varga triggered the marital sagas, wife entrapping husband. Primary violations of trust and love, sometimes to mutual advantage, sometimes not. So I've stayed with husband and wife ever since.
Hi Nostrumo. I commented earlier you were unhappy with my hubby wimps. Any better these days?
(Nostrumo) Vickie, yes you did, I liked your last one. :)
(Vickie) Because he got even at the end? Maybe I should have more of that. But she REALLY tricked him for her own career, not for his own good as she saw it (as other wives do).
(Morgan) Why are many, if not all of your feminizing women so impersonal, detached, and seemingly cold to the male they've ensnared?
(Vickie) That's not easy. In "Jack and Jill" the wife didn't like his crossdressing to begin with, and in a way was avenging herself because he wasn't the man she thought she'd married. That's a fear lots of crossdressers have (and transsexuals have really serious ones).
Other times, in my second story, "Soooo Sweet", the wife is lovey dovey and just admires and loves her feminized hubby to death. Doesn't realize she's exploiting him for her own self-satisfaction. She's too enthusiastic to notice.
I always have problems with "Why should a wife wish to do this" as I do with "Why should a husband wish to go along". These are solved in different ways. More often than not these days the wives are trying to be helpful. But some are disappointed women who act that way. As wives do. Not personal. Mine worried but never forebade or resented. Now is at ease with it.
(Darkside) Any stories that you've written that you wished never seen the light of day?
(Vickie) Lord!! "Friends" started well, but I never want to reread it, afraid of what I'll find.
I'd rewrite the ending of "Happening" in a shot, I threw the twist away. Nobody sees it. Not even me sometimes.
My favorite is still the most recent. Because the narrator at the beginning is very close to what I am and where I am. Only in the beginning mind, the rest is fantasy. And it seems to be the most satisfying of the lot. Why still a puzzlement in part.
I like "Trust Me" for its origins, that reversal/discovery moment when the hotel clerk asks the wife "And will your husband be joining you?" the husband alongside dressed as a woman, and hubby hears her say "Yes, when he comes, send him up!" That story was written so I could use that scene!
(Nostrumo) I would like to know what had brought you the field of TG?
(Vickie) It's in my Bio, so here goes. I've been a crossdresser all my life. Compulsive, glorying, ashamed, fearful of discovery. Five years ago found the TG parts of the Net and others like me. Then the fiction. Then the fiction I especially liked.
Then when I ran out of that, found I could write my own and enjoy doing it. That it wasn't too bad! That some writers I admired admired it! That's the best part of the Fictionmania ethos! We get to meet each other!
Fantasy is what makes up for realities that you'd never risk, or wouldn't really want because of everything else that really comes with it.
(AlisonW) Can you give any words of wisdom to those who want write their first TG Story?
(Vickie) Wisdom, humph!! Do it. No apologies. Keep going until done. Then revise. If it pleases you (or arouses you, whatever) it will others. We are none of us that different!
There are people here who'll help with a weak draft, make it stronger, but a draft is needed!
So the best advise is, to be a writer, write. I wish I'd known that way back!!
(AlisonW) Thanks Vickie. I have to leave, bye.
(Carrie) Hi Vickie. Sorry I'm late, all! :)
(Vickie) Hi Carrie. Love your stuff!
(Carrie) Well, same here!
(*Anne-Mal) As I have said, I first found you on a Newsgroup. What kind of response have you gotten from it? (Besides offers of marriage?)
(Vickie) The first responses were crucial. Celeste was just getting started, and she found a weakness in a story I found I could repair easily. (Nice!) Parker eventually praised "Back Door" as worthy of him, so I quit trying at that point to do his kind of entrapments (unrelentingly cruel, some).
Until some dozen people found virtue in "Jack and Jill", the first, I had no idea whether it held up. I liked lots in it. These days with the Newsgroups spammed, no one can stumble onto a new writer any more. Even I rarely look.
(Nostrumo) Well, you explained why you wrote all these couple stories with domineering wives, but is there a story category you would like to write of or is there an idea in you mind which wants to let free which is not a couple story?
(Vickie) Good query. I have a five story backlog, unfinished, all couples. Yet "JayCee" is my favorite voice, because so new and different from any of the others (or my own), and lots of times it's the voice that tells the story, discovers the story in fact. I should launch out as a wholly new character to see where she or he leads me. That's the joy of writing, really. That and closing off, finishing well, like a tight jigsaw puzzle.
Have I one in mind at the moment? No. Next moment? Maybe :-)
(Nostrumo) In anticipation and patience, we are waiting. ;)
(Vickie) Any choices preferred? A male graduate student with certain proclivities? I have a mean boor male voice and a 4/5 done story he tells. Too unpleasant to finish! ;-)
(Nostrumo) Errr, next question! Blush
(Carrie) Vickie, I am in awe of your ability to write such popular stories. "A Place of her Own" is pure TG Fiction and hits all the right buttons! How do you know, in your mind, when you're onto a winning plot line?
(Vickie) Thank you! It did with me! But lots of mine do though not with others. I'm still working out how come in this case. Not as mean as some?
(Carrie) Hmmm, I think different stories do different things for different people. :)
(Vickie) I like the motivations, and they reveal themselves gradually,. The REAL motivations (the twist at the end of my tales) emerge as naturally. But I don't always know them until near the end. Then I revise back to prepare for them.
Incidents occur as ways to reveal further entrapments or desires. They come easily, if the basic premise is sound. Not all are. I write into holes and there the story stays!
An oddity is, I'd never treat another human being the way my characters do all the time. Yet even they don't blackmail or bully.
(Carrie) Thanks Vickie! :)
(*Anne-Mal) Would you like to meet one of your characters in real life?
(Vickie) O Lord! Maybe I have? A few I've modeled on people I know. Pearl in "Girl's Night Out" is a sharp witted, shrewd woman I know.
The wives I've encountered as administrators, and I have as little to do with them as I can, sometimes. Some of the wives! :-)
The husbands are variants of me I suppose. The wives variants of my own compulsions. In that sense I meet them all the time!
(Nostrumo) How your initial idea emerge? Like a picture in your mind, a smell which triggers memories or what?
(Vickie) You set up the nasty character and the likelihood that's how she'd be. I like the irony that for love, supposedly, people will do the meanest, most self-aggrandizing things, and never think it so.
(Darkside) What puts you off doing 'darker' stories? Your guest chapter in the "Fury Directive" was nastier than anything I could've come up with!
(Vickie) I don't like hurting others even in fantasy. There's enough pain in the real world, undeserved. But your main character, Darkside, is one of the most fatale femme fatales I've ever met! So when she decides to have a vengeful honeymoon, what can I do? I write it that way! It was not easy!
(Darkside) I thought smut came easy to you. It doesn't to me, smut is the hardest for me to write!
(Vickie) I've said, alas, I'm as vanilla and conventional as they come in actuality (but for the touch of TG). So writing my first M/M scenes came VERY hard. The one in "Jack and Jill" had to be humiliating in detail, imagined in detail.
(*Anne-Mal) Smut! We are talking about Vickie's stories aren't we?
(Vickie) Now I can do such scenes easily, on paper! :-)
But eroticism is where characters are least in control of themselves, and my characters are always being manipulated by people who know how to use that eroticism. So I find I write lots of smut, filth, etc. My SO would be appalled to read any of it!
(Carrie) Hate to dash off, but I can't stay. I hope you have a great chat Vickie, bye!
(Morgan) My apologies to all, but I must leave. Thanks Vickie for a great chat!
(Darkside) Nearly time for your evening meal isn't it Vickie? Or have you got a hall pass?
(Vickie) Shall we end it, Anne-Mal? I've had a good time! Could go on.
(*Anne-Mal) If you wish, do you have a closing statement?
(Darkside) I'm easy, either way. As usual Vickie wrote so much down I have to re-read it a few times to get all of it. Better hurry up with those chat logs Anne!
(*Anne-Mal) So do you get much feedback for your stories?
(Vickie) Feedback. Some. The occasional generic "love them", which is always cheering. Pervy will sometimes comment in detail. A few others. Not a lot. By now I'm on my own. Even Rhonda says "What can I say? I liked it! (or didn't)."
So I write to satisfy me, but with an eye out for what people seem to like. I have to respect that.
(*Anne-Mal) Well, one of the few stories I wrote was "The Things You Do For Love", a story puzzle which is a homage to you and Steve Zink.
(Darkside) But the 'people' like SRU stories, if you believe the hit counts. Any chance of a VT SRU story?
(Nostrumo) Chuckle The old man gets a wife with some wit! :)
(Vickie) I would have to shift my own perverse attention from the ACT of feminizing to an odd or curious result of it. That could happen. I wrote "Charmed" as a challenge story for someone I owed a favor, who asked people to write a story about a painting he liked.
I should try an SRU fast and then see if it's any good. Maybe not. The juice for me is in the corrupting of masculinity. COULD do that after the physical conversion, true. Hmmmm!
(Michelle) Yes, but the wizard MIGHT have something to say about that.
(Vickie) The wizard isn't me, in my imagination. I'd have to be wary of him!!
(*Anne-Mal) Did you like "My Letter to the Editor", the story written because of a bet?
(Darkside) Careful what you say Vickie, I know this Doctor. :-)
(Vickie) I liked Letters, yes. Because it worked. Also because Darkside uses such a huge canvas I couldn't tell if he could do a miniature, so to speak.
(*Anne-Mal) So do you think it is a good thing if authors are 'forced' to write stories?
(Vickie) The Bet premise is so often used that to make it fresh is hard. Often used because a good premise, no fault there!
(Darkside) The bet was my idea, I lost. So Vickie didn't do the forcing. She even offered to let me off but being honorable I did it anyway
(*Anne-Mal) But it did let you stretch!
(Vickie) In Darkside's case, it enforced shrinkage!! :-)
(Darkside) Yep. I still find it hard to write a story in less than 150K. That's why it takes me so long to write one! Vickie's punishment of a story in less than 50K was harsh indeed.
(Darkside) So the rule of thumb is don't bet against Vickie Tern!
(Vickie) Snarl snarl. Take that, Darkside! And count each K as delivered!
(Nostrumo) Vickie, do you think you could write a story in the Aunt Jane story line?
(Vickie) Aunt Jane? Yes. I like frumpy modern women like that. I don't usually write third person (only "Dolls", in fact), but that's a good universe to enter. I've chatted with Tigger about some of the drafts of his stories in that world, and they're fun.
(Nostrumo) So when we could expect a story there?
(Vickie) Aunt Jane stories are LOOONG ones. I write slowly. Lemme think of a premise, and I could tell you. Would ask Tigger about it early on, because he loves to live there.
(Nostrumo) I think a lot of closet CD/TV's would like to met Aunt Jane. :).
(Vickie) Say, Aunt Jane does a grownup miscreant male, instead of her boys? I could relate to that! Father of the bride as the next bride?
(Nostrumo) More like a father brought his son and was forced to stay there for some reason.
(Vickie) Good idea, Nostrumo. Will see if that seed grows.
(Darkside) If you liked Vickie's previous one's you'll love her new one! (Which I've just done reading.)
(Vickie) I haven't written the end yet, only framed it. Not too dark, Dark?
(Darkside) Spot on. out before Y2k?
(Nostrumo) It have to be before Y2k because after that the Net will not be the same as it is now.
(*Anne-Mal) Do you think it important that authors get their stories read by someone they trust beforehand?
(Vickie) Yes. I've always sent my things to someone, even if they can only glance. So I can feel there's no major gaffe or self-indulgence in it.
Or blame it on them afterward if so! ;-)
(Darkside) I do, Vickie is my trustworthy proof reader. She did most of the proofing on "Fury" (all 1.9Mb of it), a feat which I am forever in her debt.
In my humble opinion it's essential to have someone like that!
(Vickie) And so I make you read my drafts now. But you picked up on proofing fast!
I admired the hell out of "Fury", as you know. The Chesswork POV shifts were astonishing!
Proofing is an excuse to read carefully and try to figure what is really going on.
(Darkside) Blush Vickie, has Anne tried to recruit you into one of the two camps? (Axis and Allies?)
(*Anne-Mal) Since both of you are established writers, would you join a writer's workshop? Syela has proposed one, to improve the quality of the stories.
(Vickie) Sure. Time permitting. Established meaning a somebody out there likes us? Or am I walking into a buzzsaw?
(Darkside) I'd be glad to help, but real life is very real at the moment. I'm always willing to lend a hand.
(*Anne-Mal) Actually she means it for serious writers to improve their work, rather than something for beginners.
(Vickie) I work over whoever asks me, really good writers like DS, Tigger or newbies. I like good stories and when I can help, better stories. There's a matter of affinity of course. I doubt I could do much for Morpheus other than mis-steer him.
(*Anne-Mal) Which brings up another question, have you ever gotten a criticism that actually helped you out?
(Vickie) That quest can hurt! Celeste's query about Nice (Why didn't the husband just pick up and leave?), found a major hole I could fill with a few additional paragraphs here and there. Parker told me to give up on a really Mean narrator's story, just too unpleasant!
The collaboration with Rhonda turned one nice 70k story into a massive but readable 650k novel (MagsInc pub's but we kept the e-rights, and maybe should give it out finally.) She helped me enormously. We disagreed over whether to, um emasculate the hero(ine) at the end. So that issue was managed delicately.
(Darkside) Vickie, I've gotta go now. It's been great. Thanks Vickie, it's been very informative.
(Vickie) Good talking, DS. As always!
(*Anne-Mal) So you are now a professional author? (You got paid.)
(Vickie) Enough for a good dinner out. Better than Burger King, anyhow. Actually, MagsInc paid in kind, access to much of his inventory of TG stories. I have yet to pick them!
(Vickie) Sissify.Com paid me flowers once, and a small check another time, for the right to put up some stories on their pay website. Other than that I don't think there are fortunes to be made in TG. It's too easily written to the level of satisfaction many readers look for. Good question for Jack Chalker! Is there a living in it?
(*Anne-Mal) As PJ would say, what about Shakespeare!
(Vickie) He kept an interest in the Acting Company and the Theater both. Triple dipped! They still pirated him. There's an hilarious version of Hamlet where the actor playing Claudius dictated the play to a pirate printer. He remembered his lines, and mangled everyone else's!
(Nostrumo) Vickie, you mentioned the collaborative work with Rhonda. I had read a bit of it and wonder how you could get that nasty from the more innocent beginnings.
(*Anne-Mal) (Wicked imagination?)
(Nostrumo) I have to leave now, sorry. It was nice to read you! Ciao :)
(*Anne-Mal) Okay, let's call it a night! Do you have a closing statement?
(Vickie) So long, N! Thanks for hearing me out. I love to see what I say, so I'll know what I think! Bye all!
(*Anne-Mal) Well for me it was a pure pleasure!
• Vickie just left.
(*Anne-Mal) You have always been one of my idols here on the web!
Oh well, she will at least see that in the log!
End of chat
Chatting with Vickie Tern © 2000 by Vickie Tern. May be made available free to individuals, but all rights to any fees or royalties are reserved. If you want to post this anywhere else, please ask the author for permission first. Thank you.
Vickie [email protected]
If I pretend I'm your best girlfriend...
Copyright 1999,2000 by Vickie Tern
If reading this story offends you or the law, do what I do, don't.
Choices
by Vickie Tern
I was so miserable I felt like crying. A single sob escaped, but I
stifled it, couldn't allow it. I was terribly worried yet there was
nothing to do but wait. There never was. Sit in the living room, turn
on the tube, turn pages in some magazine, wait. Ignore all sorts of
hysterical fears. Finally realize I'd been dozing in my chair, and
wake to hear her key scratching in the lock. This time it was nearly
three a.m.
Her meetings rarely lasted this long. Usually they began and ended
early and she was home by midnight. This time there were still gleams
of daylight in the sky when she'd given me her usual quick light kiss
on the cheek and her usual "G'bye for now honey. No, you're sweet but
don't muss me. And please, this time don't wait up. I'm not sure
when, but you know, I'll be home when I'm home!" True enough. But
once past midnight I couldn't help worrying.
She stood in the hallway a moment, her topcoat hooked over her shoulder
with one finger, saw me sitting and looking at her, glanced wistfully up
the stairs toward our bedroom, then reluctantly came in to join me.
She looked tired, yet in some obscure way satisfied. Her dress wasn't
much wrinkled this time but her hair was mostly undone, coils and
strands hastily pushed back up off her face. Obviously she'd rather we
talked in the morning, but she saw the mingled anxiety and relief in my
face and she took pity.
"You're still up, honey? Aw, that's sweet. You poor baby, you were
worried about me! I've told you not to worry. I've told you over and
over that I'm perfectly safe, always in good hands. We all look out
for each other, and Chuck always takes special care of me. I think he
feels something for me, poor man. But you see, there's no reason to
feel fretful!"
An odd smile had flickered across her face, the same one every time his
name comes up. I'd never met Chuck. I'd seen him only once when her
car wouldn't start and he came to our house to fetch her. She'd rushed
out and then hopped into his car so quickly I caught only a glimpse.
It wasn't reassuring. Wide shoulders, square-jawed, an easy grin.
Once she was seated alongside he'd turned to kiss her with such
possessive self-assurance that my stomach clutched. I couldn't tell
for sure, but I could imagine that she kissed him back ferociously, her
arms pulling his face into hers, her make-up hopelessly mussed even
before they'd driven away. Long after they were gone I stood by the
window still seeing it, trembling.
She continued. "Really, you dear man, there was nothing tonight to
concern you. You shouldn't torture yourself. We dance, we talk, we
enjoy each other's company. Now and then we pair off, but even then no
one's ever left alone. I've told you that so often! Really, honey,
you should just go to bed at your usual time on these nights when the
Club meets. I always come home safe." She raised her eyebrows and
smiled resssuringly. "Tired, I'll admit, but safe."
I knew she'd say that. But this time I had to speak my piece
regardless. I'd been rehearsing it for hours.
"Well, I'm sorry, Claire, I really am. I try, but I can't help it. I'm
always anxious for you when you go out like this. I wish I weren't.
You can understand it. I'm concerned for, well, lots of reasons. I
don't know any of these people, the ones you see there. People change,
I'm sure the membership changes. I don't know if you're with the same
people from week to week, apart from maybe this Chuck and some others
you mention now and then. If anyone decided to get mean and play rough
when you were alone with him, I mean, how would anyone know? How
would I know? And what if your car broke down driving home through a
bad part of town. This is the latest you've come home for a long
time."
Her face didn't change. There was nothing in my speech she hadn't
expected me to say. I was dithering because as we both knew I couldn't
bring myself to name my real fears. She was out having fun and I was
wasn't, and I was jealous of everyone she was with. Moreover, I was
afraid that one day she'd enjoy herself so much she'd see no reason to
return to me.
"Billy, I came home late because I was having a good time. You should
feel happy for me!" She knew that statement was no consolation, more a
riposte.
Then she began deciding where she'd sit down. Not the couch, that was a
commitment to talk, and she wanted to get to bed soon. Yet we had to
talk. I had to, even though she'd given up hope that anything would
ever come of it. An uncomfortable straight-backed chair facing me,
maybe. "You're right of course," she said absently. "It's like any
social club, there are always new people, and some come back and become
old people and others drop out and disappear. We're never the same mix
twice, different folks and strokes. That's what makes each session so
exciting for me. The regulars know each other, and the newcomers add
an element of unpredictablity. We anticipate known quirks and needs
and sometimes we're surprised to discover new ones. We enjoy them. We
enjoy each other."
She paused, weary. Nothing new there either. She knew what I really
needed was assurance that no matter what, I was still special to her,
that she still wanted me. "Now there are even couples," she
volunteered hopefully. "A few. I don't mean people like me and Chuck,
people who spend time with each other no matter who else also, or no
matter what else they're into. I mean, some guys bring girlfriends.
There are even husbands now. A few."
There it was. She paused again, then reconciled herself to it and sat
down in the straight back chair. From the way she slithered down I
could tell she was leaking, that she was a little concerned for her
dress. Plainly she'd rather be in the shower right now and then in bed.
But the old topic had come up again, and Claire was never one to avoid
tough issues. She had to put blame where blame was due.
"Billy baby, this is your same old jealous resentment speaking, isn't
it? Well, I've told you repeatedly that you can come with me any time
you want. That you'll always be more than welcome. Even if you only
come once just to see what it's like and then never come again. I know
that if you're properly prepared for it you'll love it! But you don't
want to, you never want to."
She looked directly at me to drill the point home. "Well, that's your
choice. You pay your own piper and you call your own tunes. You'd
rather sit here and agonize over whatever you imagine I'm doing there,
and never just go and find out for yourself. I still don't know why,
really. The offer's still open."
We'd started in again. "Well, no, Claire," I said gently but
pointedly. If we were going to remind ourselves of some of it, we
should remind ourselves of all of it. "It isn't exactly my choice.
You set conditions. I can't meet those conditions. I can't agree to
the terms you stipulate."
"You mean that if you come, it has to be as my roommate, not my
husband?"
"Yes. Sort of."
She took a deep breath, trying to maintain patience but starting to lose
it. "What's wrong with that? I've told you the reasons, over and over!
No one in the Club wants to meet my husband. Any husband! For one
thing, if they've ... ahhh ...spent some time with the wife it makes
them uncomfortable. We all have our little secrets and kinks, special
intimacies husbands shouldn't know about."
True enough, I thought morosely. Claire had let slip one morning her
exultation that she'd worn down eleven men in a single night in some
contest they'd held. It depressed me. As only one man my chances with
her seemed all the more hopeless, whatever the game.
"But mainly, no man wants to risk tangling with a husband. Whether a
husband's possessive or generous or just plain indifferent, there's
always something at stake for them. They get contentious for no
reason. Well, life's too short for hassles, and there are always
plenty of unencumbered women available. So everyone figures, who needs
it? Believe me, the high schools and colleges and the divorce mills
keep cranking out all the singles anyone would ever hope to meet!"
"And Billy, just think about it! How can I possibly play romantic games
with some beautiful man I may have just met when my husband's moping
around in the background watching? How can the man? How can I dance
with someone long enough and close enough to know whether he's got what
I want deep inside me later on, if my hubby's watching and worrying and
maybe disapproving? And what if I'm dancing amorously with a woman,
and my husband doesn't know anything at all about that part of me? No,
husbands as husbands are definitely out! Brothers are out too, the way
they confuse family honor with chastity. And live-in boyfriends can be
worse than either of them! "
"But roommates? You know! They enjoy seeing each other start little
adventures, and they love to talk about them endlessly afterward.
Roommates are fun! I gave you a choice which kind of roommate you'd
like to be, and you chose not to be either kind. So again, if you
choose to stay home and be jealous and resentful and anxious and
worried and miserable, don't blame me for that!"
That wasn't the point, and Claire knew it! I felt a little irritated,
and it must have been in my voice when I answered her. "Claire, it's
never that I object to pretending I'm your roommate! It's what kind of
roommate! You insist a decent girl can have only two kinds of
roommates, an obviously gay male or a girlfriend! If I came with you
I'd have to be one or the other. No way your husband so no way a
threat to the others."
"Some choice! If I decide to be gay, then everyone understands that I'm
a man you share your apartment and your secrets with but never your
body. I'm your dear friend and confidante. Someone with no designs on
you who's always urging you to go off and have a good time with any guy
hung heavy enough to interest you."
"So? That's what I do anyhow. You'd get a greater feeling of
involvement if you gave it your blessing. Why don't you?"
I ignored her. "Or if I pretend I'm your best girlfriend, the girl you
live with, everyone would assume we lend each other clothes and advice
and that we share all our girlish concerns and desires with each other.
And again, they'd think I'm always happy for you when you go off to get
laid. And again, that you tell me all about it afterward!"
"Well, don't I? Mostly? I don't like to keep secrets from you, honey.
We're married, after all!"
"Yes, but most of the time I don't want to know those kinds of secrets,
Claire, they make me uncomfortable. You're right, even jealous, in a
way. Or maybe envious. I mean, for example, with this guy Chuck, I
have the impression that you're more intimate with him, you do more
different things with him during any one Club meeting than you've ever
done with me in the whole of our marriage. And I haven't even met
him!"
"So? What bothers you more, that he has more access to me or that you
haven't met? It's true. I'll take that beautiful prick of his into any
one of my openings any time he wants. Mouth, pussy, or ass. I love
it! God knows I'd want him in all three openings at once all the time
if he could manage it. And it's true you've only been in my pussy and
no where else. Because that's where I want you, where I feel you
belong when you're inside me. It feels right, and the other places
feel ... improper, somehow! Wrong! That's what sanctifies marriage,
Bill, proper sex in proper places!"
"But Bill, if that's your idea of 'intimacy,' the fucking and sucking I
do with Chuck, I must beg to differ. No, with Chuck I never feel
intimate. I feel stuffed, crammed as full of his goodies as a
Christmas goose. Or sometimes the other way, he leads me into
something so pure, so spiritual, so out-of- body that my whole being
becomes one grand throbbing orgasm pulsing in a cosmic universe
surrounding his cock, until I've just about lost my mind. But
intimate? No, sweetheart, *we're* intimate, you and me! We have
feelings for each other that go way back and way deeper, far deeper than
my admiration and gratitude to Chuck because he has such a great cock
and he gives me such great sex."
She sniffed, and tossed her head self-righteously. "In fact, Bill, you
shouldn't feel jealous of him, you should feel grateful! He's the one
after all who persuaded me that it wasn't right, my not allowing you to
kiss my pussy now and then as a special treat.
"Claire, that 'special treat' as you call it always seems to be whenever
your pussy and your asshole are so stretched out and raw, with cum
pouring so heavily out of your crack and down your thighs, that you can
barely walk into the house. That's when you seem to want to feel my
tongue slurping and soothing you!"
She smiled at me smugly. "Well, that's when I need you most,
sweetheart! Especially when he's come in my ass over and over and it's
leaking heavily, and I can't douche it out easily and a tampon stuffed
into it feels uncomfortable. When the accumulated goop in there needs
to be sucked out gently. And when my ass cheeks are chafed from all
that rubbing and thrusting. That's when your sweet mouth and tongue
feel so very welcome, lover! So soothing and comforting! There's no
one I love more than you when you're down there between my legs,
licking out my rosebud and my pussy and cleaning all that sticky stuff
off my bottom. Isn't it true? You know how sensitive I am when we're
like that and your tongue touches my clit. Sometimes I come almost as
often on your mouth as I do on Chuck's prick when he's first working it
into me and it won't quite fit."
I couldn't say anything. For years I'd wanted to have oral sex with
Claire, and only after Chuck told her had she let me. And only after
she'd been with him. It was as if she were awarding me his leftovers
in exchange for my mopping up after the two of them.
Well, I'd run out of arguments. I had to open up to her honestly. So
finally I just said, "Claire, please! I'm so lonely when you're gone!
And so frightened each time that you won't come back! And yes, I do
feel jealous that you do things with him you don't do with me! And
with the others. I can't help it!" My voice quavered. I felt so
vulnerable!
In response, Claire's voice held as steady as her gaze, unmoved. "I've
invited you to come with me and join in with us and make yourself
welcome, and do all kinds of things with us. Just agree you'll come
not as my husband but as a gay guy or a girl. Of course Chuck would
know that you're really my husband. But if you were really sincere
he'd know that you don't intend to act like a husband in any way during
the evening, and that would be good enough. The others wouldn't know
anything."
"I don't know why I can't be introduced as your husband. If that's what
I am, and that's what he knows I am, why not?" Something in me just
wouldn't quit.
"Oh dear," she said to the air, rolling up her eyes. Then she mustered
enough energy to look directly at me and to speak slowly, deliberately,
with some force. "Because that isn't how he or anyone else wants to
know you. I've already told you! He wants to meet you either as the
gay friend who lives with me or as my live-in girlfriend. As no
competition whatever! Because he wants to know right away where he
stands with you. That you aren't jealous or resentful. Especially of
his prick. That he isn't making you feel bad about your own endowment.
Oh yes, he knows all about your endowment!"
That was shocking! I was horrified! "You told him about me?" My voice
shrank back into the rest of me. I'm not bad as prick sizes go, low
average maybe, maybe a little lower than that. When I first met Claire
she'd called it "unimpressive," but she didn't laugh, and I'd been so
worried she'd think it ridiculous I took that as a compliment. I've
always felt ashamed of its size. Teenage kids see to that. They know
nothing about how to use the things, so they make a big deal out of
size, that's what they can measure. Mine never measured up.
"Sweetheart, yes, of course I told him! I've told everyone! When I was
first initiated into the Club they all wanted to know why I wanted to
join, and I had to tell them. Your cock size was one of the big
reasons. No, let's call it one of the main reasons. That night after
they'd accepted me the big reasons for my wanting to join pushed
themselves into me one after another and kept coming in me and at me
until by morning I was stretched out and drenched and gooey and
everyone else was exhausted, but for once I was satisfied!" She
smiled, amused by a stray thought. "I could have gone on for another
few hours," she added. "A lot of men have since found that out."
"Just what did you tell Chuck about me?"
"Nothing to discourage him from voting you into the Club, if I could
ever finally entice you to join. He likes the idea of you becoming a
member. That's a plus as far as he's concerned. Of course your small
cock does raise problems with our women members. They'd have no use
for it. So when I talk to them about you I have to accentuate the
positive.
"What's that?"
"That your secret fantasy really is in fact to be either gay or a girl.
That you'd be more a woman member than a man member. A lesbian with the
women and a slut with the men. That above all you'd love to feel a
really big cock inside you, your legs wrapped around a masterful
cocksman. That you'd love it almost as much as I do."
"Oh God, Claire! You told people that?"
"The women understood that and sympathized immediately! But more
important, that's why Chuck is now persuaded that the husband in you
won't interfere with us. That given the prospect of getting really
royally fucked yourself for the first time in your life, you won't
allow yourself to play husband!"
"So that's why you told me that if I attend any of your meetings it has
to be as either a queer or a queen? To make good on your claim that I
want to be one or the other?"
"No, honey." She was beginning to sound really weary now. "The other
way around. That's the condition the Club's rules set for admitting any
husbands. No spouses as spouses! Period! End of discussion! A spouse
has to behave like a queer or a queen, as you so delicately put it. And
do it convincingly! Do I have to spell it out for you again? I've
already told you, and I've already told you why -- please don't make me
repeat myself. I also told everyone that given your low-voltage cock,
you'd probably get more pleasure out of being a queer or a queen than
you do from being a man. I think that's true!"
She paused, then looked at me so very sadly. "Oh, honey, I do wish you
would! I don't like having this life apart from yours any more than you
do!" she said. Then she said nothing. She seemed on the edge of
tears. Tears of sorrow and sympathy and frustration, because I was
miserable and yet I was unwilling to help myself.
I had to offer her at least some small encouragement. To seem
interested. So I said, "You said there were a few husbands attending
your meetings now. Do they meet the Club's conditions?"
Claire was silent. Then, "Yes. Maybe not originally, but they do now.
If you were to attend one of our meetings, you'd see a few gay men
flouncing about. Some are for real and some are pretending, or think
they're pretending, but all of them offer to suck cock. And all seem
to be delighted when a man wants to pump their assholes, or a woman
approaches them with a dildo. Yes. Does that answer your question?"
"Is that what Chuck would expect from me when he meets me?"
"Of course, sweetheart! He very much wants to get to know you first of
all as someone sucking on his cock, whether as a grateful faggot or a
cock- hungry girl doesn't matter to him. He doesn't care which as long
as there's devotion and respect in the way you bring him off."
She repeated her plea. "Please, honey! You'd get to love it. We'll
all see that you really and truly get to love it. I promise you!"
I retreated and threw up a defensive shield. I resented being made out
to be the one at fault here, and the hour was late, and I felt bitter.
So I let fly! "Your Chuck isn't satisfied that he's taken my wife from
me? He also wants to turn me into a cocksucker and take my self-
respect as well?"
A big mistake! It was as if I'd slapped Claire's face. She winced,
then stood up suddenly, angry! Then sat down again, and couldn't
suppress her scorn.
"Oh don't be ridiculous!! You can be such a pompous fool, Bill! Self-
respect? It's simply that you're no use to either of us as a man, so
you'll need to cultivate other talents. Your little thing is, well,
I've said it, you've said it yourself, 'unimpressive'. I told you that
before we were married, when you first agreed to let me make up for it
with other men whenever I was feeling really needy. Remember, that's
why we took the phrase 'forsaking all others' out of my marriage vows?
So I could remain faithful to my vows and to our marriage despite your
deficiencies? I'd hoped at the time that you'd join me now and then,
at least to the best of your ability, and that was why we took that
phrase out of your vows too! Remember? But you never did join me!
You were faithful to me! That's yet another way you've been a
disappointment to me, Bill."
She recovered herself somewhat. "Not that I don't love you to
distraction anyhow!" she said more earnestly. "I do love you, my
darling, darling husband! Just cuddling with you is for me so much
more erotic than getting it on with Chuck or with any of the other
regulars these days. Most of the time I can't feel you when we fuck
anyhow. You're too meagre. But I can always feel your arms, and when
you're down on me I can feel your mouth. And your mouth is wonderful!"
She took a deep breath and tried to speak calmly, her love for me almost
balancing off the resentment still lingering in her voice. But not
quite. I braced myself.
"How can you speak of self-respect? Already whenever I come home from
a meeting you can't wait to bow down low before me and bury your face in
my crotch and swallow down a bellyfull of Chuck's cum, your rival for
my affections, a man who can outfuck you in his sleep! And if I've
felt a little wild that night who knows how many other men's cum is
mixed in, and you're eager to suck it all even out of my asshole!
Chuck arranged for you to do this when he heard you wanted it, and you
accepted his gift. Where's there an issue of self respect there? You
should thank him humbly! You should feel flattered that now Chuck is
willing to let you suck him off directly, to let you swallow cum
spurting fresh from his cock instead of dribbling hours later out of my
cunt. That's if you're able to bring him off at all! If you're man
enough, or girl enough! It's only for my sake, really, that he's
willing to let you try. Because of his respect for me, because he knows
that I love you and want you to enjoy my pleasures."
Now that she was on the attack she warmed to it. "Self-respect! You'll
really learn to respect yourself the first time you get that huge thing
of his in front of your eyes and you start to lick it, and then finally
manage to figure out how to wrap your mouth around it! If you can!
That'll be an accomplishment to make you proud! And you'll really
learn self-respect when you've learned how to open your ass wide enough
to take him in, his whole thickness and his enormous length, and when
you learn how to pump him until he fills up your guts! And all through
the next day, to love the thought that your innards are still coated
with his cum, that you've earned that reward. To smile each time you
realize it!"
"You see, Billy dear, it isn't easy to give Chuck a blow job or a fuck.
Believe me, I know. I'll be awestruck with admiration if I ever see you
manage it. And you'll have to offer him your mouth and throat and also
your ass the first time you're allowed into our meetings. Or who'll
ever believe that you're really queer or a girl, whichever you mean to
be. And when you've done it, Billy my love, that's what you will be,
No pretending, no fraud then. When Chuck's inside you you're the real
thing!"
Then she struck hard.
"Billy, I've done a lot of thinking about us lately. I really don't
know that you've got enough genuine self-respect to quit feeling sorry
for yourself and instead attend a meeting with me. I don't think
you've got the guts. I don't think you've got enough courage to follow
out the consequences of everything I've said to you tonight and
everything I've done without you since we first got married. It should
be obvious by now. You're a man with a bird-sized pecker and a loving
wife you'll never be able to satisfy. I'm offering you a way to be
happy and to make her happy too. To become truly married to each
other, and to completely satisfy each other's desires. Are you willing
to commit yourself?"
"Or do you really prefer sitting up late waiting for me to come home,
imagining me doing who knows what with who knows who and wringing your
hands in grief because I'm enjoying myself and you're not. All the
while worrying that some day I might not come home at all. Billy, some
day I might not! I still love you, but my love doesn't seem to prevail
here! For the first time, I've begun to wonder whether maybe I should
leave you. For both our sakes! I can no longer see clearly that we
have a future together."
Having uttered those terrible words, she sat there, then added in a
forlorn voice, "I hate feeling like this, sweetheart! I just hate it!
But there it is!" Then she turned her huge eyes to me and said in the
most incredibly small, pleading voice, "Please, honey? Please! Just
once?"
I sat there frightened. It was very late. I felt monumentally tired,
used up. Why had I chosen tonight to force the issue? Had I? Had this
conversation simply evolved of its own will toward this crux? No
matter, I had to face it now or I'd surely lose her! I myself could
feel my own tears rising, of loss, of regret, of lamentation for what
might have been, tears of sorrowful acceptance rising into my eyes,
and I knew that if they actually erupted I'd lose everything. Claire
would leave me, a hopelessly helpless, indecisive, small-dicked, self-
pitying, sobbing wimp. She'd mourn my loss briefly, until those studs
in her Club persuaded her to forget me.
So I restrained myself, and instead forced myself to speak. "Claire,
I'm not promising anything. But if I were to agree to attend one of
your meetings, just to prove to you that I can do it, how would that
help us? Husband or no husband, how could I deal with it when I see
you and Chuck head toward some suite of rooms upstairs in this mansion
you people meet in, while I'm left standing alone in some reception
area somewhere. What would I have to imagine while you're with him?
At least sitting here I can imagine anything or nothing, and I always
choose to imagine nothing!"
Claire now stood up unexpectedly, and came over to the large easy chair
I was sitting in and sat down on an arm and leaned way over me, and
kissed me on the lips. Oh so tenderly! So very sweetly! And again.
I began melting!
"Billy my darling," she whispered to me. "My sweet, precious angel!
Don't worry about such things. Your first time everyone will take good
care of you. You won't ever be alone. I promise you, when Chuck and I
next get it on you'll be there, you'll be a part of it! To watch,
maybe even to share! Whichever, it'll be your choice."
"That's if I decide to go," I insisted.
"Whichever way you decide to go," she replied.
"You mean as a fruit or a whore?"
"That's crude, honey! But whichever. It's altogether your decision!
Maybe you should try out each one first to see which is more *you*.
Which expresses better the way you want to feel when you're having sex.
Are you more one of their kind, or are you one of my kind? Because
there'll be quite a few men who'll want to use you even your first
time, whichever way you flip. Or flop!" She smiled reassuringly for
the first time that evening.
"May I make a suggestion?" She waited for my nod, then kissed me again
before continuing. So soft, her lips! I wanted to do anything to make
her happy. "Honey, choose to be a girl, not a gay. I love it, being a
girl. I think you would too. And I'd love it for you! But there're
other reasons. We have many more men who prefer girls to boys, so
you'd have more choice among them. Some of the men who prefer men are
into really rough sex, even blood sports -- if you're gay you don't
have to go with them, but you can't always tell, and you'd feel a moral
obligation to them probably. And you're so fragile, so sensitive,
sweetheart! I think you'll be happier developing a feminine
personality. Even though you have so much to learn about being a girl,
and even though you already know enough about being a boy to fake it
convincingly. Once you're a girl, you can always change your mind and
go the other way and become a shemale or a femme boy, if that's more to
your liking. But if you're gay and want to go the other way, you'd
have to start all over again, and go the whole distance!
What she said made sense as an abstract problem in sequencing. I
understood her and nodded. I thought about it, looked into her face,
and then nodded again. "That makes sense," I said.
She altogether misunderstood me! "Then you'll do it? That's your
choice? You'll come as a girl? Oh, darling! I'm so very, very happy!"
She leaned way over and clutched my neck so tightly I thought I'd
choke, and then with a great sigh she began to cover my face with
kisses!
I tried to recover. To pull back. "Now Claire, wait...!"
But it was too late! I wanted to tell her that this was all
hypothetical, but it was already too late! It wasn't hypothetical for
her any longer! She was already very, very happy! She crawled on top
of me in the big easy chair, onto my lap, and she wrapped herself
around me, and then she began giving me long, serious, responsive
kisses. Her free hand reached down toward my altogether neglected cock
and unzipped my fly.
"Oh darling!" she breathed in utter contentment. "Oh, my sweet baby!
We'll have such a good time together! You'll never regret this.
Never!" And gently she began to jerk me off. Slowly. A sweet
yearning rose up in my loins and into my belly and my thighs. As it
intensified she kissed me. "This darling little thing," she said. "So
cute! Practically a clit! We are all going to adore it! Kiss it,
fondle it, tug on it, gays and guys, lesbians and ladies, everyone!"
She manipulated my penis slowly, carefully, and brought me to an edge.
Then slowed. For the rest of our conversation she kept me just under
that edge, enraptured.
"Everyone will take care of me, you said?" I said. I was frankly
frightened. There was no point any more to maintaining a conditional
mode. I had better find out what she's committed me to do. Find what
reassurance I could in whatever she could say.
"Everyone, sweetheart! Let me tell you how. The Club has a welcoming
ceremony for first-time members, and for spouses it's fully scripted.
First, to prove your sincerity, you and Chuck will make love in public.
As a courtesy, because you're mine, and Chuck's more mine than anyone
else's. That means that I'll ceremonially hand you over to him.
Remember that the membership already thinks Chuck is your girlish
heart's desire. Lots of us are hopeless romantics, and will want to
see you fulfill your dream just as I've described it to them. So
you'll suck his cock in front of everyone, and then wrap your legs
around his waist just as you've always dreamed, supposedly, while he
takes your virginity. And you'll try to be as affectionate with him as
any girl can be when she's with a man who is so marvelously fulfilling
her girlhood fantasies. You'll kiss him all over his face gently but
passionately. Like this."
She did so. Light, soft, dainty pecks lingering for a moment on my lips
when they landed there and pressing delicately against my cheeks. "Just
the way you're now fulfilling my fantasy for me, you marvelous man!
That's the last time I'll be able to call you that, my dearest
girlfriend, a man I mean, but I just had to one more time!" Her hand
magically sustained my cock's delicious intensity of feeling. I almost
rose to cum, then didn't. Then again.
"Then when Chuck's broken in your mouth and your ass you'll belong to
anyone who's attracted to you. That'll be our confirmed gays first of
all, of course. They'll want to use you while you still more or less
resemble a man. But I imagine it'll also be anyone at all. Some of
the girls have been so envious when I've told them about how wonderful
it feels when you suck and lick me after I've had sex with several men.
They'll want to find out for themselves. And some straight guys want
to get at you for their own reasons. There's a business competitor who
told me that you'd once fucked him out of a contract, so he'd take
special pleasure fucking you in the ass. You might enjoy it too -- we
all love it hard, deep, and relentless some times, don't we? Then
there's an old schoolmate of yours who still admires you and thinks a
session of 69ing would be blissful. And there's an old flame of mine
who never got over the fact that I married you and not him. You may
need to watch out for him. No telling what he'll want from you. He
gets pretty wild with me these days."
I'd never dreamed that anyone I knew belonged to this club of Claire's.
I was appalled. But another warning bell was ringing in my head from
something she'd said.
"Claire, wait a minute. You said that the gays will want to use me
'While I still more or less resemble a man'? What does that mean?"
"Sweetheart! You're a girl! My girlfriend! The straight men in our
Club want to see breasts on their women! Like mine, even bigger! So
we'll start breasts growing on you at once! Don't worry, you'll feel
so good about them you won't be able to imagine a time when you didn't
have breasts. For many reasons, but the main reason will be that
you'll feel so deliciously wicked when you fondle them!"
"Oh!" was all I could say. I was overwhelmed. I should have known.
"To get back to it. A first-timer is available to whoever asks, and a
first year girl is always available anyhow -- she's available to anyone
for anything but S&M, unless she's into S&M. You'll be an available
mouth and asshole at first, because you won't yet have a cunt or
breasts! Though the men will call you a cunt even so, you know how
guys talk. You'll be a pretty cunt, I'll bet, when I get you dolled up
and we make a few adjustments in your face and figure."
"Then at the end of a year's probation you'll decide if you want to
continue as a Club slut for another year, or divorce your wife and
become a male clubmember in your own right, or get a pussy and become a
complete woman member. You'll have full-sized breasts by then, if only
for your own satisfaction, so your men can suckle them in return for
similar favors rendered. Most wives of Club sluts usually want them
to go all the way, to finish up with everything a girl should have,
vagina included. Out of guilt at depriving them, or to encourage
feminist independence, or because they've already found better men --
different reasons. You'll need to choose which kinds of breasts you
want fairly soon, inserts right off or wait for your hormones to grow
you your own. I favor the natural kind. They're usually worth the
wait."
I tried asking indirectly how much of this was reversible. "Doesn't
anyone just leave after the year? Decide it isn't for them? How many
decide they'd rather be men again?"
This time Claire paused, and looked away. Then toward me. Then kissed
me. Then thought some more, and finally she said, "No, honey. None.
No one ever leaves. No one changes back, either. It's always been for
keeps. They aren't able. You see, they've gotten accustomed to it all
by then. They like it!"
I didn't know what to make of that. As an afterthought Claire added,
"Eunice was our last Club slut. She had to leave town not long ago when
her wife's firm -- it used to be her firm -- relocated in another city.
She now tends the household and entertains clients for her wife, helps
out like that, and I hear she's kept herself busy doing volunteer
fucking and sucking among the underprivileged. Because in a way, she
can't help herself now. I can understand that. Once you're a girl,
why should you ever want to be a man again?"
This was beyond me. I tried again to find some reassuring precedents,
others who had gone where I was now sort of committed to go. "You said
there were already a few other husbands there. What do they do?"
"Oh, them. All three decided they'd rather be queer. So all three now
are. Their first session turned them on so throughly they now spend all
their time with each other, and two of their wives are divorcing them.
It's ironic. When the divorces go through they could revert and go
straight and fuck anybody. But the chances are they'll be so busy
sucking each other's dicks and burying them in each other's rear ends
that they'll never notice."
She continued to slide her palm up and down my cock. I was in ecstasy.
But my mind wasn't altogether euphoric.
"Claire, please don't take offense. I have to be honest with you now.
It's one thing to hear about these things, but it's another to actually
do them. I know it's silly, and it's wrong, and I shouldn't, but my
mind still keeps finding all kinds of objections and inhibitions and
resentments. There's Chuck for example. I understand everything
you've said. But how can I let the man who's fucked my wife fuck me?
How can I suck a cock that she's sucked? It's like conferring a Good
Housekeeping seal of approval on my arch rival. Moreover, I've always
been faithful to you. But now you tell me I'll need to become
promiscuous, a slut, and have sex with anyone of any sex or gender or
sexual preference. How can I do that and do it with sincerity? My
heart wouldn't be in it!"
Curled up on my lap, Claire kissed my nose. "My dear darling! I know
it's difficult. I was hoping you wouldn't raise that issue until
tomorrow -- it's so very late now. The problem is, you're still
thinking like a man. Like a husband. And that's the next thing we
need to talk about. Since you're now willing to meet all the
conditions I've mentioned, I've got to tell you how you'll meet them.
By fulfilling one more condition. Not by choosing to fulfill it. Here
you don't get a choice. By submitting to it."
I was far from feeling easy about the way this conversation had gone.
In fact I was apprehensive. What had I agreed to do, or seemed to agree
to do? I couldn't imagine myself actually fulfilling any of these
things. But did I have a choice? Really, it seemed my choice was, do
it or walk away from my marriage.
"Submit? What else can there be? You want me to play the pansy slut at
these meetings of yours. What more is there?"
"Not pansy, darling. A gay man can be a pansy, but not you. You're a
girl. As of right now. Right now the two of us are girlfriends, not man
and wife, and we're lesbians too, sort of." She kissed me as if to
confirm the point, then smiled into my face. "We'll stay married, I'll
never want to give you up, but we're no longer equal partners. You
see, the one additional condition is that you submit to me. That
whatever I want, you'll want me to have. And that you'll do everything
I want you to do."
I was silent, a little puzzled.
"I know, that's how a gentleman always feels about the lady he loves.
But in this case it's also necessary. It's a formal condition of our
relationship from now on. You obey me. Whatever I want, you'll do,
and whatever I want you'll *want* to do. That's essential."
"You see, sweetie, to become the girl you need to be, you'll need
guidance. You'll want it. I know you don't feel that way yet, but don't
worry, you will. You'll change so much faster, your desire to please
others will grow so much stronger when my desires for you become yours.
If your greatest happiness is seeing me smile at you. If my approval
sends you into ecstasies. We can arrange it. There are training
programs that accomplish this, and if you can't achieve it on your own,
there are drugs that can help you."
"At first it'll be easy. You'll feel more like a girl the moment you
look more like one and begin to practice being one, and that's tomorrow.
Nothing much, just a beauty salon and shop for some clothes and get
your hormone regimen established -- no cosmetic surgery at all until
later, when we see what's necessary. Tomorrow we'll play. It'll be
such fun! Like when I was a little girl playing with my dollies!"
"The second step is more difficult. It isn't easy to learn to think
like a girl instead of a man. To get so you really want to do what
girls do. I'll help you there too, but now that you've finally agreed
to all this I mean to get away for a while to do something else I've
had in mind. Now I'll know that you're too busy to be sitting at home
moaning and sulking because I'm somewhere else. So someone else will
take over for me. This next stage takes time, weeks maybe. But you'll
enjoy it, believe me. The woman I have in mind for you will use only
positive reinforcement of different kinds, from a hand gently tugging
on your penis while she talks to you, like mine right now, that's one
kind, to certain kinds of suggestions she'll implant whenever you're in
an appropriately receptive state of mind. Maybe you'll embrace your
femininity to escape the way she'll humiliate your manhood. You'll
see. When she's done you'll love doing whatever you're asked, and in no
time you won't want things any other way!"
"The really hard part comes with heightening the intensity of your
desires, so you become in some ways insatiable. That's the third stage.
You see darling, a willingness to do the job isn't enough. You'll need
to be eager to swallow all that cum out of all those cocks and pussies.
Not just mine, anyone's. You'll practically have to live for it to be
of use to us. Beg for it. Crave it and feel joyous when it's about to
happen! Now, that requires radical behavior modification. Special
training and conditioning full time for at least a month."
She paused. I was still silent, trying to absorb it all, so she
continued. "That takes professionals, and a special school you'll
attend. The people who'll actually be training you are first class,
thoroughly experienced. I don't doubt that you'll be all we hope for
in plenty of time for your debut in ... let's say ... six weeks! You
won't recognize yourself!"
I was addled. The lateness of the hour, the deliciously distracting
yearning in my crotch. Her hand slipping up and down on my penis. I
couldn't think. "Full time you say? For six weeks? What about my
work?"
"Quite impossible from now on, sweetheart. Preparing for this new role
is your work. I'll make arrangements tomorrow for a three month leave
of absence for you. When you resign at the far end of the three
months, if you do it in person you'll create quite a sensation! By
then you'll be gorgeous!"
This was a late-night hallucination! It had to be! I tried finding
some place in the soft ground where I could dig in my heels. "Claire,
what can you be training me for that it's so necessary for me to quit
work? Your Club meets only evenings, and only once a week." I was
trying at that point to test my sanity.
"Well, really, Billy, a Club slut is special. What we'll want is for
you to walk around in a dazed haze of erotic desire all the time. To
think about it all the time. Because between meetings, you'll be on
call. All the time. Don't worry, the membership will pay you
something for your services. Not well, but enough for you to
understand you're our whore, not yet an equal member with the rest of
us, that you're performing for money no matter how sincerely you may
also want to please us. That way you can measure the satisfaction
you're providing by the tips you've earned. You'll pay your dues and
help here with household expenses. If you need more you'll earn it on
the street. You'll find you've been as well-trained as any
professional!"
"And you'll love your trainer. Erika is her name. She's available now,
as it happens. A woman with a wonderful force of character, really
overwhelming. I'm sure she'll begin very gently with you at first,
probably nothing more than rewards granted or deferred. But I'll bet
that within two weeks you'll be blissful when she fucks you with her
dildo. That you won't feel complete when she isn't mounted on you."
"It won't be you?"
"Me? Oh, Bill, no! I need to be held in reserve for you. I'm the
woman you really love, remember! I'm the highest pinnacle of your joy!
Pleasing me will be your loftiest aspiration. Now and then you'll be
allowed near me, on some really rare occasion when you're fully
trained. I may even let you back into my bedroom then."
She wriggled on my lap, her hand still stroking me. Her bottom felt
moist. No, wet. She had indeed been leaking, the whole time.
"You see, sweetie, Chuck and I will be going away for a week or two as
soon as you're set up with Erika, now that I know you won't be sitting
here alone pining away for me. We've wanted to for the longest time.
I want to condition him to recover erections more quickly, so he can
last as long as I want him to last. And install some other little
reflexes he doesn't need to know are there. Then when he can go all
night I'll want him upstairs with me in our bedroom, snugged into me
all night, at least for a few weeks, maybe more. Don't look so
downcast, you'll scarcely notice! You'll move into the guest room with
Erika. She's the woman you'll want to learn to please now. I'll have
higher expectations you can't possibly hope to meet for many weeks."
"You see, darling, you're still too accustomed to thinking of me as your
wife, not your girlfriend. Be happy that your girlfriend is now free to
play with her boyfriend whenever she wants to. Get used to it. You
have so much to get used to! I mean, you've never even had a tampon in
your pussy, much less a butt plug or dildo, or the ultimate
fulfillment, a real cock. So Erika will go slow. We'll just put you
on high hormone doses and watch you closely and see what happens
naturally. Your mind will change along with your body, so you'll
always feel comfortable as it happens."
My face must have looked as appalled as I felt, because she reassured
me. "Believe me honey, you'll get into it! I've had lots of experience
with submissive men, and you're a natural."
"Why are you so sure?"
"I can sense it. I know. Watch!"
She suddenly let go of my member and wriggled clear of my lap and stood
up. Then hiked up her skirt -- I saw it had a drenched area just as my
pants did -- and lay down on her back in the carpet, all the while
looking at me. She spread her legs wide and gestured to me with both
hands. I could see she'd come home without any panties. There was her
slit in the lamplight, puffed out, distended, glistening, pooled with
opalescent fluids, her whole bottom slick.
"Do you want to bury your face in there, Billy?"
I tried to pull out of it. "Claire," I began.
Then failed. "Yes" is all I said. It had been so long!
"See?" She said. Then "Do it!"
A second later she was saying "Ohhhh, that's so goooood!" her thighs
holding my head tightly to her quim in a loving hug. I couldn't bend my
neck, and I could barely breathe! But I didn't care!
Her fingers were running through my hair. She gripped it
"Yes," she said. "I think I prefer you as my girlfriend, not my faggot
roomie or my former hubbie. If it's girls you've always loved, that's
what you should become. There's more chance then that you'll love what
you've become. Yessssss! I will miss that tongue of yours until Erika
can certify that the rest of you is ready! Oooohhhhhh, yessssss!"
And she came, her thighs tightening and hips in spasm, lurching my head
and neck uncontrollably.
Then she rose, and gestured me to sit back down again. "It's nearly
four now, my lovely darling. Let's fuck now this one last time together
as husband and wife. My sweet girl. My sweet slut girl. You *will*
love it! It'll be perfect for you! No more choices! No more
anxieties. No more worrying. You'll go with me to all our meetings
whenever I go, and to lots of others in between on your own. Always
eager to help. Never questioning anything. You'll blow anyone I ask,
and suck anyone who asks you! It will be wonderful. I love you.
Here, put yourself into me now, and add your cum to the other cum
inside me from tonight. Maybe for the last time."
She lifted herself up and dropped her crotch down on me, and writhed up
and down a few more times. I felt a wet warmth on my cock, humid,
slippery, though I couldn't feel her pussy at all. She slid up and
down on me again, and then I felt myself shooting off inside her as if
into moist air. At last! Heaven! Breathing heavily, I hugged her,
and she hugged me back.
I felt blissfully happy at that moment. And finally, for some reason, I
started to cry.
End
COMMENCEMENT
By Vickie Tern
I.
That’s right dear, I’m sorry, it’s just that you caught me at a bad time. But I can talk just fine now. No, nothing serious, only a customer left over from when Bill was running things here. He said he hadn’t seen Bill out inspecting the job site lately, and wondered if we were neglecting him. Can you imagine? Bill hasn’t been there for a year, and he notices only now. They’re like children, these men, they think they have a problem and they come crying to you to make it better. So I showed him our progress reports, how it’s going fine, he better get the money ready for our completion bonus, because we’re way ahead of schedule.
I tell you, Madge, I don’t know what these men do all day. I come in here and make a few calls, and then the contractors take their fingers out of their asses and do an honest day’s work for a change. Then I come home and I tell Bill how fast things are going, and he doesn’t believe me. Just last night I told him about the Peterson project, and that Mall complex he got mixed up in, I don’t know how, it’s taken me ages to straighten it out. Well, he kept asking me questions about this and that, and I kept answering him, until he finally decided I knew what I was talking about, and he sat down and got moody–I was doing his job better than he’d done it. Yes, he gets that way sometimes when I change his hormones for a few days each month, same as we all do. Suddenly he realized the roast was getting overdone and he jumped up again. Well, it was overdone, a little, but I wasn’t going to say it, and when he served it I had nothing but praise for it, and for his scalloped potatoes, he found a marvelous recipe in this “Modern Woman” magazine he likes to read.
But still he was sad, poor thing. I could tell. He’d worked so hard to
clean the house, and the table was set just beautiful, and then he’d gotten to talking about business and ruined the roast. I praised him and praised him, and told him I wouldn’t bother his pretty little head with office matters ever again. Finally I had to just take him to bed and give him a blow job and tuck him in. I didn’t even insist he take off his makeup or put on a nightie, and he just went right to sleep, so I cleaned up the kitchen for once. These men! They need to feel loved and appreciated all the time, or they come apart!
Is this an OK time for you, Madge? No, I’ve got some time now. There were invoices to get out, so I told my secretary he’d better take them direct to the post office so we’re sure they’re mailed, no mistake, and then to go home and bring me the receipts tomorrow. So no problem, dear. He’s gone, and I’m waiting on a Fed-X right now, some powers of attorney I need for Bill to sign. Then I can go home too.
I guess you’ve heard about it? From Becky? The word must be all over town by now then. No, it’s just as well. They’ve been keeping to themselves I guess for a year now, and we’ve had to make all sorts of excuses for them wherever we went. Now it’s out, there’s nothing more for them to hide, maybe they’ll stop all that silliness about being ashamed to be seen for what they are. Can you imagine? Ashamed to look like women–how’re we supposed to feel about that? Especially when we went to all that trouble? And they all really are kinda cute, now. You should see my Bill, I’m so very proud of him. He’s really been trying so hard now that he thinks there’s no going back.
Well sure, I suppose he could, but he doesn’t know that. They all think it’s for life. That’s why they’re all trying to get used to it. And trust me, Madge, they really do like it. They prefer it. How do I know? It’s a long story, you want to hear it or not? When I tell you, you won’t believe me. But maybe you’ll want to try the same thing with Dave. There’s no reason not to.
Well, you remember last Winter, Super Bowl time, when the boys were all getting together to watch the match, or whatever they call it. I asked them what’s so super about it, and all they did was laugh, and say, “Women!” and I’m a little peeved but I don’t say anything. Well, Helene, and Beth, and Lorie, and me, we sat down to play cards, and its near this open door to Bill’s study where the husbands are inside watching the television.
Honey, I think its 325 degrees. For a slow oven, I mean. Maybe that’s moderate. But I’d have to ask Bill, I don’t remember any more. He’s done all the cooking ever since I took over here at the office, and that’s nearly a year ago.
Well, anyhow, at first they’re laughing together and we feel good the boys are enjoying themselves. But then it gets mean, you know? They start shoving on each other, and they get really nasty? Beth’s Joe, I guess he’s looking at a cheerleader, or maybe one of those football players always patting each other’s behinds, and he says “Now there’s a piece of ass!” Then there’s no stopping them. “How would you know, all you ever see is your wife’s,” says I think its Tom. Tom, you remember, Helene married him just last year in that big country club affair. “You can think so if you want to,” says Joe, and Beth perks up at that and starts listening. Then my Bill wonders how come the girls on television are so thin and we’re so fat-assed. I hoped he was kidding!
But then they all start in! One of them says how we’re fleabrained, can’t be trusted even to answer the phone properly, and they all agree, and they all start telling each other stories about how we never do things their way. Then they move on to how we truss ourselves up in girdles and stockings and brassieres and things, squeeze our bodies into weird shapes, and one of them starts to mock our clothes that button backwards, and silly hats, and the way we paint ourselves, and how we’re always asking each other ‘What’re you wearing?’ as if we couldn’t make up our own minds, and saying ‘Can you imagine?’ and ‘Isn’t that darling?’ and exaggerating everything. And spending too much money on ourselves, yes, that too.
Charlie, that’s Lorie’s husband–yes Madge he is cute, he’s a dreamboat, but listen, Madge–Charlie he starts telling them what Lorie sounds like when she’s having an orgasm, uhhhh, uhhhoooh! something like that, and these assholes start laughing and talking about “moaners” and “screamers,” and I’m waiting for Bill to start in on how I sound off when he’s finally gotten me going. And sure enough, he does. I was so embarrassed! We all were. They start telling each other our favorite positions, or theirs, and the little things we like to do. That’s right, Madge, all those little private things that are none of anyone’s business! Did you know Charlie gives it to Lorie in her rear end? He says she likes it that way, and real rough, too. So I look at Lorie, and she’s shaking her head ‘No’ to that, and her face is all, twisted, and tears are running down her cheeks, but she doesn’t say anything.
Then they all start talking how women have a “basic triviality of mind,” that’s what he said, my Bill, a “basic triviality of mind,” and am I ever pissed? He says that’s why he doesn’t ever tell me anything about his work, and the others agree, they don’t let their wives know anything, they’d only offer useless advice. By now they’re on their third sixpack, maybe the fourth, and there’s no stopping them. It’s like they’re infecting each other. I keep waiting for Bill to drop the other shoe, and sure enough he starts telling them how I let our house go to hell when I was studying for my finals for my management degree. It was only for two weeks for God’s sake, and did he lift a finger to help when I was at it all day and half the night? Someone else is muttering about ‘ungrateful bitches,’ or something.
Anyhow, Helene is sitting there real quiet, and sure enough, her Tommy starts in how women are frivolous and grasping and only good for shopping and sex, spread ‘em and forget ‘em, that’s what we’re good for. Yes I think he was serious, because Helene at first gets all red-faced and then she’s crying a little too, and Beth has to lean over and hug her around the shoulders a little, you know? And Tommy keeps going that we never know our own minds, and Helene suddenly says out loud, “That’s right, you shit, that’s why you rape me most nights!,” and she starts to cry, and it isn’t too funny any more.
And Joe, that’s Beth’s husband, he starts waltzing around the room and saying in a high-pitched voice, “Dear go to the store and buy me some tampons, will you, I’m all out,” and the others all laugh, they think it’s funny. So I just motion with my head, and we all get up from the table and go into the living room, and we can’t hear them clearly any longer, but they’re as loud as the Super Bowl reporters still all jabbering away, and there’s no mistaking it, they’re mocking and laughing, and nasty and spiteful, and obviously they’re telling each other everything about us that’s no one’s business but ours.
Poor Helene, she’s really crying now, and the rest of us aren’t feeling too good either. Beth and I are just furious. We love them and sacrifice for them, and just listen to what they really think! Helene starts to makes excuses, says Tommy can’t really help it! He has a rotten boss so every night he stops off and then comes home drunk, and then climbs on her and forces it in and calls it making love. “But he’s sweet to me sometimes,” she says. And it turns out Charlie, the dreamboat, you remember from a minute ago? Lorie says he’s got a temper, punched her out a few times, and once busted her nose, and when they argue he’s never far from it again, fists all clenched and everything. But he cares about her down under, she thinks, really. She hopes. Beth and me, we don’t say anything. But now we can all hear all of them in there making high pitched squeals, pretending to be us. Very funny!
If the book says 300 degrees, that’s what it is. Put it in, I’ll wait. I may as well tell you all of it. No, I won’t be late. Even if I am, Bill’ll greet me with a kiss, no complaints, pretty as can be, all dolled up, and dinner ready. He really appreciates how I take care of him. He’s such a lovely man, now. I tell you, Madge, every girl should have a husband like my Bill.
So first thing is, Beth and I have to calm down poor Helene and Lorie, they’re both crying now. “Bastards!” I say. “They should try walking in our shoes for once, and see what kind of basic triviality of mind they’d end up with.
Beth says, “They need a taste of their own medicine!”
I say “No, they need a taste of our medicine, what we go through as women. We should teach them a lesson they can’t ever forget. We should fix them!”
And Beth, she’s a head nurse over at Mercy General, in obstetrics and gynecology I think, she says to me “Well, Janice, if I understand you, I’ve got plenty of our medicine we can lay on them.” I just stare at her, and this terrific idea is born.
“It’ll take more than medicine,” I say.
“We can do it,” she says, and that’s all she says. We’ve always been that way, know exactly what’s on each other’s minds. “Should we?”
“Bill’s a dear,” I say, “But obviously he can stand improvement.”
“I’ve been working on Joe,” says Beth. “And I thought I had him the way I wanted him. But I guess not yet. Lets.”
So while we’re consoling Helene and Lorie, and bringing in the tea service and little cakes and things, I’m just thinking hard. You know, Bill would never let me come near the office. “It’s no place for a woman,” he’d say. But that management degree really did teach me a few things about project planning. By the time the tea’s ready, and the boys are still in there hooting and hollering and laughing, and the television’s shouting, I’ve got it pretty well worked out.
“Here’s what,” I say while Beth pours the tea, and Lorie and Helene are taking sugar and lemon or milk or whatever, and stirring, and then we’re all stirring and sipping, and we can still hear those bastards yipping and laughing. “They need to learn things we can teach them. And they can learn them, if we give them the proper motivation and guidance. Clear so far?”
They nod, and sip, and stir.
“Well, we are going to educate them. We are going to put them in our shoes, literally, and let them walk around and see the world the way we do. Why are they being so hateful in there? Why do they put us down like that? Because they don’t understand us, for sure. But more than that, at some level they’re afraid of us. Why? Different reasons. But I think a lot of it is, they’re scared not to measure up as men, all that macho bullshit they’re throwing around in there right now. They don’t dare to resemble us, or act like us–if they do, they get mocked and called sissies when they’re kids, and faggots when they’re grown up.. They can’t even let themselves think about it. They can’t handle it. So they exaggerate how they’re different and superior, and that makes them worse, in some ways a lot worse.
“Well, we’re going to make them more scared not to be like us, and to be
proud to be like we are. We’ve got to tear down their crazy notions
about who and what they are, and rebuild them with our feelings and
ideas”
“I see what you’re driving at,” Helene says. “Not just get even with them but rehabilitate them. I like that. But what do you mean, ‘like we are’? Do you mean we turn them into women? Then maybe lose them when some man comes on to them? Anyhow, I don’t know that I want to live with a guy who thinks he’s a girl.”
“No, they’ll know they’re men all right. We’ll make sure they think they’re failures because they’re not real women. But they do have to want to be women, enough so they’ll try real hard, and get to know what it’s like. Maybe we’ll get them to think that’s what they are for good, so they’d better get used to it! Then later we can lead them back to what they were, if we want. Or to anywhere else we want.”
“Think of it this way. People are all basically different. Some of us are bold, or shy, or rough, or gentle–we all have lots of different traits inside us, and whether we’re boys or girls has nothing to do with it. But then we get fucked up. Little boys get taught some traits are OK for them and others are bad, and little girls get taught the same, but with different traits. Boys get taught they have to be tough and pushy like it or not, and drink beer out of cans, and never use lipstick to look pretty, ever. Little girls learn not to fight but let boys do the fighting, and to be shy and gentle, and to help each other, and never to drink beer out of cans, and to use lipstick. Boys are supposed to be competitive and go to work, and girls are supposed to help each other out and stay home. You know.”
“Well, we’ll leave them men down under, sort of. But we want them to be nicer, more the way we are. Maybe even shy and gentle, and to want to look pretty. We’ll suppress all their boy habits, and encourage all their feminine traits. Then we can each of us decide what boy habits we’ll let them have back. It’ll take patience and a lot of work, but we can do it. I think Tom will look darling wearing lipstick.”
Helene giggled. “I see your point,” she says. “He’ll think twice about climbing on me drunk without asking me first, if the next day he wants to borrow my lip liner.”
And Lorie really brightens up. “And if Charlie’s got long fingernails he’ll be more careful with his hands. You know, he’s cute, but he’d really be cute with an upswept hairdo!”
“There you go,” says Beth. “More tea, anybody?”
“Now, we’ll meet with each other every week to compare notes and give advice,” I tell them. “Each of our husbands is a little different, and we’ll need to use different methods on them sometimes. There’ll be unexpected problems. But mainly we all face the same problems. So there are some things we need to agree right now.”
“Most important is, we talk to each other, but they don’t. We don’t want them finding out we planned this, or they might quit before they’ve learned to appreciate what we’re doing for them. And if they see each other before we’re done, they may feel a little ridiculous or ashamed. Because they are going to look silly for a while. We don’t want them to see each other until they’re each so pleased with themselves they don’t care what anyone else thinks.”
“It’ll take maybe six months to change their habits. I’ve got some ideas for a commencement ceremony, where we’ll welcome our new feminine husbands back to their new lives, or maybe to their their old masculine selves again, but a lot nicer. Then settling them into their new lives could take another six months. We’re talking about a year here, probably, altogether. Everyone still with me? Good! Beth, your turn!”
“Thanks, Janice. Now, most of our problems will get solved the same way. We are going to make them feel real sick at first, and in deathly fear of losing their masculinity. By which I mean literally, their balls.” says Beth. “For at least six months, we’ll give them good stiff doses of what made us what we are when we were little girls starting to become big girls. Hormones. Lots of them. They’re going to become big girls too. But we’ll give them some other drugs too, especially at first.”
“For a few weeks we want them scared and miserable, ready to try anything. We don’t want them able to go to work, or to feel like doing much of anything . We want them dependent on us for everything, the way they were dependent on their mommas when they were little boys who didn’t feel good. I’ve got something to make them each feel bad enough to stay home, and then I’ll visit each one at home and set them up with their hormones. With the hormones I have in mind they’ll get terrific headaches and nausea, and some bad belly aches for a while. They’ll want to see a doctor, and I have one in mind who’ll be willing to make house calls. She’ll scare them into doing everything we want them to do, and she’ll fix their voices at the same time, so they won’t want to call their offices and won’t be able to talk to each other. She’s not crazy about men, and she’ll love this idea.”
“They won’t be able to talk?” Lorie asked. “That seems cruel. And it can get lonely for us.”
“No,” Beth answered, “They’ll be able to talk after a few days. But then you’ll feel the reverse of lonely. They’ll be ashamed to talk to anyone except you, because their voices will be higher pitched, like ours. They’ll sound like women. Then as their bodies accommodate to the hormones, they’ll change. Their faces will soften. There’ll be a redistribution of their body fat to their hips and their butts. And to their breasts. They are going to grow breasts. That’s essential to changing their sense of who they are, changing their body image to include our most obvious feminine feature. So they can’t ever deny what they’ve become, and never forget for a moment. Does this bother any of you?”
Helene and Lorie looked uncertain.
“It oughta be fun, going to the store with them to try on brassieres,” I broke in, mainly to reassure them. “If our men are being good girls, we’ll let them shop looking like ladies, so they can use the dressing rooms. If they’re being difficult, we’ll make them try on their bras looking like men, out on the selling floor. That should help keep them in line.”
“And it might be fun to grab Charlie’s boobs the way he grabs mine, really feel him up,” said Lorie, “especially in public.” She was smiling again, and she leaned over to whisper something to Helene. They both giggled.
“Now one more thing, girls. The hard part, maybe. The massive amounts of hormones we’ll put into them will make them impotent after a while. When that happens it’ll scare the daylights out of them, and we want them scared. Remember, they won’t know what’s hitting them. Later when we cut them back to sustaining doses their potency will return, though their bodies won’t change from what we’ve made them. But they won’t know that either. Anyhow, you won’t get to enjoy your husbands in your usual ways for some months while we’re changing them over to our ways of living and thinking and feeling. In effect each of us is going to have to make love to them like lesbians, or else not at all.”
“That’s the hard part?” Helene asked. “Sound pretty soft to me. It’ll be good for the son of a bitch to need to satisfy me if I’m going to satisfy him.”
We started making jokes about oral sex, getting kissed in the crotch by our new Ladies in Waiting while we’re lying in bed like Queens, and what would happen when our husbands found they couldn’t get it up, that their weenies had decided to stay weeny. Then we couldn’t stop giggling, any of us. Beth had time to get out to her car and come back with a bottle of pills, and she gave each of us a few. “Here,” she said. “Give each of them three of these tomorrow night. By the next morning, that’s Tuesday, they’ll feel like death’s door and will call in sick. Then I’ll come by and take some blood samples for tests, and start their hormones, and tell them they’re in the throes of a dread disease almost always fatal to men who fail to take certain precautions. Then they’ll really feel peculiar, and we’ll add some other medication to addle them some more. They won’t seem to get better, and I’ll explain that the disease has to run its course, at least a month, with severe after-effects that last maybe six months more, maybe for life, so they’d better arrange their affairs at work accordingly. You’ll pay attention to what they arrange, because in fact they’re not going back in for the six months this’ll take all in all. If then. At some point, I guess very soon, my friend who makes house calls will come by and take care of their voices, so they’ll be ashamed to call out. Then we’ve got them for the duration.
“Meet Tuesday night to plan things further? My Place?” I asked. The three of them nodded. By then, I figure, the men will all be in bed groaning or trying to sleep, so the four of us can do some serious thinking about what to do next.
The men came in to say a few sociable things to us before thanking Bill for the good beer and the lousy football game. I was thinking, now that I know about it, that Tommy and Charlie are pretty low specimens. But maybe they just don’t know any better. Maybe they aren’t really bad guys, just guys with lots of room for improvement. Bill is really a nice guy, I was thinking, but I’ll enjoy him more when he’s less hung up on these masculinity trips of his. And that’s a fact. I used to think that about lots of boys I went with, and I improved some of them. I was really looking forward to this.
Here’s the Fed-X now, Madge. I’m off! When Bill signs these papers, the whole business is mine, so I’m a little anxious, you understand. Call me in a few days and I’ll tell you more. No, I’m here every a.m. by 8:00 and I usually stay till six, so call me here. I begin early and keep at it–we’ve gotten a lot busier since I took over from Bill.
II.
That’s right, in triplicate to meet the code requirements, then just leave them on my desk. Hello? Madge! No, I wasn’t talking to you, just my secretary. Nothing to it, get everyone working, keep after them, and when they’re done make sure they’ve done it right. Do that, and there isn’t much else you have to do. Certainly we can talk now. Yesterday around this time I left the office and went shopping. Had to remind myself to buy Bill some tampons and some new panties, so I did. He’s so helpless sometimes. I pay no attention to the laundry for a few weeks, and then I find all the panties I’ve bought him are stained, that from now on he needs to use tampons when he’s having “those days”. No of course not, Madge, where would he get menstrual blood? They’re stained with semen! Yes, I suppose it’s his own semen, some of it, how can I tell? Well, never mind, I’ll get there, and then you’ll understand.
So anyhow, I slip the pills into Bill’s coffee the next night, and the following morning he’s feverish and headachy, just as Beth said, terrible cramps, and he calls in to put off his morning appointments, no, he says, better to reschedule everything for the next day. Around ten Beth stops by, she’s already been to see Lorie and Helene, so Charlie and Tommy have been fixed, and she did her Joe first thing that morning of course. So she goes in to look at Bill, and takes his temperature, and taps him here and there, and takes her blood samples to keep an eye on him, and looks real worried. She starts whispering to me so Bill can see. Then Bill looks even more worried.
I nod, and Beth explains to him there’s this new Virus X, very, very serious, there’s no publicity about it or there’d be public panic, he’s got it for sure, and there’s no fast cure. It affects only men, feeds on testosterone or chromosomes or something, I don’t remember, Beth was pouring out gibberish. First it shrivels their balls, then it kills them. But there are precautions you can take, and also there’s this antibody to keep it from killing you while the disease is running its course, six months maybe. Pretty clever story, because in fact his balls will go down in size once they’re drowning in estrogen, and he’ll go impotent too. “This is very serious,” she says, and she’s going to send a doctor who specializes in this disease. Isolation and bed-rest until symptoms ease off, and follow every prescribed instruction precisely. He needs to sign a waiver for the antibody, and of course Bill signs without reading it, his head’s killing him. I witness it, and we’ve got him for anything we do to him, in case he finds out and threatens to sue everyone in sight, Beth in particular.
Then she gives him the antibody, and Bill realizes this has got to be serious. It’s four little slow-release hormone rods she slips under the skin of each arm. Then the butt plug. That’s right, Madge, an expanding butt plug! Once he’s loaded with his first full-month supply of triple-potency girl-juice, she slips a mineral oil suppository into his butt and then a tranquillizer, and then the butt plug, and it’s all firmly in place before Bill even knows what’s hit him. His eyes go sort of round and his face goes real worried, like a beagle’s, and she tellt a side effect of the drugs that’re keeping him alive, to keep his asshole from closing up, so he won’t die from being full of shit. I have to leave the room at that one, and then I can’t stop laughing! She told me later she thought of the butt plug when she stopped by the hospital to pick up supplies for her morning rounds. It’ll hold in different suppository medications until he’s absorbed them, expecially the tranquillizers he’ll need to stay mellowed out, not thinking too hard about his fatal disease. And it’ll keep him dependent on me, she says, because I’m the only one permitted to remove it, so he’ll have to ask permission when he goes to the john. And it’ll reminded him he’s still sick, especially once he’s out and about again. And we’re both thinking, it can have other uses.
Poor Bill’s never had anything like it in his ass before, and I tell you, Madge, he’s plenty aware of it from then on, all the time. Every week I turn the knob and make it a teeny bit wider, and he knows it’s there all right all over again. He gets used to it by the time his anus is stretched out full, of course, but by then I’ve got him practicing walking in high heels, and I can see how it forces his hips to sway like a pendulum. It turns out to be a terrific idea all around. With that thing in his rear, he decides, he must be real sick. It’s like being nailed to a cross, sort of. And it’s handy, because then he never questions any of the things I push into his backside each morning, before I close it up again. From then on, he does what he’s told. Well, I moved the timetable up and that afternoon I let him sort of waddle out of bed to visit the bathroom, and to show me how to open the safe where he keeps important papers for the office then, because Beth tells him he’s in for some real bad days before he starts recovering. That’s when I started taking over the company, and really making it pay.
Well, we all met that night, and everyone’s story is the same: husbands afraid they’ll die or lose their balls, and they don’t know which is worse. Tommy’s really terrified Helene says, and cries and whimpers until his tranquillizer kicks in–Beth tells her to double the dose, and to add another kind of hormone she’s got, a kind they once used to make nursing mothers into contented cows. All four of them are plugged up the ass, and docile, stuck in bed, calling out to us for relief from their headaches and tummy aches, and arranging for long stretches of time off from work.
Well, it turned out Charlie and Tommy work together, and were about to go on six months’ paid furlough anyhow, you wouldn’t believe it, because their main office is relocating in another city and they’d already decided they didn’t want to go. Didn’t even think to tell their wives, their life-partners, or even ask Lorie or Helene for an opinion. So they’re home for a while, no mistake about it! Beth’s Joe is a writer of some kind, works at home and e-mails his copy to whoever’s paying him for it. So he’s home all the time anyhow. I’m taking over Bill’s office. So the really big problem, where does the money come from while we keep our men home and re-educate them, that’s solved! Beth says the boys will be really miserable, feverish, aching, very unhappy, for maybe about a week, then they’ll pick up. But by then her doctor friend with the throat treatment will come by, and she’ll scare them some more so they’ll want to start looking like women right off.
Well, Lorie’s really getting into it. She wants the doctor to come right away. When she comes in to see Charlie, she says, he still bellows at her. It would do him good, and her too, if he couldn’t use his voice for a few days. Then if he’s going to lie in bed and yell, she says, she wants to be yelled at by a man with a high-pitched voice wearing full lipstick, mascara, eyeshadow, blush, and if she had her way -- we restrained her a little–even that cute blonde upsweep she’d mentioned already, topped by piles of curls. Fair enough, considering the abuse she’d taken from him in the past. So we decide to go ahead with makeup, so they’d learn how to put it on properly by themselves while they’re still bedridden and can’t do much else.
Helene thinks Tommy’ll look a little more loveable if he’s wearing a frilly nightgown, when she has to bring him his meals in bed. So we all agree on that too. Beth’s story makes anything easy–to keep their balls they’ll do whatever crazy thing they’re told is necessary. We vote frilly nightgowns and makeup, and decide to leave it to Beth’s doctor friend to explain it, and leave it to the tranquillizers to cover any doubts. We agreed to meet again in a week.
Sure, honey, call our lawyer and let him handle it. No, Madge, only to my secretary–he just came in with some Accounts Receivable over a year old. Can you believe Bill carried some of these sons of bitches forever, at no interest, firms perfectly able to pay us? He thinks he’s a businessman? Well, I’m being unfair, Madge, he thought he was a businessman, but he doesn’t any more.
So, the hormones begin to get to Bill, with a bellyache Beth tells me is really in his liver while it accommodates to his new body chemistry, and he’s fine, his blood counts are excellent, and he’s scheduled for his voice operation the next day, Beth assisting. This Dr. Teague, Beth’s friend, shows up the next morning. I’m expecting a Dyke, a man-hater, but in comes this short, pleasant, middle-aged lady, well-turned out, with a firm handshake and a steady gaze. And no makeup. She walks in on Bill, and if there was any hesitation or doubt in his mind, it ends immediately. She says right off, “I see no makeup. Why is there no makeup on this patient? Is he in tertiary, that you figure why bother, he’s dead already?”
“No,” I explain. “He’s my husband, and I knew he’d think it was an odd treatment, so if I suggested it he’d think it’s silly, so I’d wait until you could....”
“Well, my dear, what’s silly is none of his business. You shouldn’t have waited. He’s a man, isn’t he? And this virus is specifically fatal for men. Look at his skin color already. Look at it. The virus lodges in hair roots especially, and the eutrophication is phototropic -- that much we know. So full facial makeup! And you’d better begin his electrolysis at once. No hair roots on that face. And his skin covered at all times if you want him to come through this alive and unscarred. No daylight on facial skin anywhere. Exposure to air and daylight can kill him during this active phase, the next several months. Women’s makeup, exactly the way you’d use it on yourself. We know women’s makeup contains some form of protection and doesn’t cause allergies, and we don’t know why, and we don’t know what else might. Lipstick day and night! And get him into a nylon nightie at once, his skin is abrading already. Do you have satin sheets for him, too? Now I’ll attend to his throat. Those tonsil roots are a core area where the virus lodges. I see he’s had no tonsillectomy. I’ll attend to that too.”
Bill commented that this was...er...unusual treatment. Dr. Teague just said, and talk about icy contempt, “Oh? You know about these things? Have you seen any women with this disease? That was our first clue, it attacks only males past puberty, so we thought it was in some kind of symbiotic parasitism with testosterone. Now we think it’s also triggered by secondary sex characteristics, male skin especially. Above all with male testicles. You see what it does to the testicles, and how the patient agonizes while it’s doing it, well, it’s a welcome death, if it gets that far. We’ve thought of recommending that testicles be removed at the first sign of the disease, it’s so bad. Women are somehow immune. Believe me, you don’t want to look like a man. We can treat these symptoms in the early stages, and save lives, if we have the patient’s full cooperation. Do we have yours?”
Bill nodded vigorously, and said “Yes! Yes, doctor!” and pulled his covers up to his neck. Dr. Teague then called in Beth, and told me I could leave the room.
Three hours later there was my poor dear Bill, his face badly swollen but looking peculiarly well-groomed, feeling utterly miserable. He had insisted even before Dr. Teague put him under on having everything she prescribed. So I had put foundation, blush, lipstick, eye-shadow, eye-limer, mascara, and one of my prettier full nighties on him, one with puffed sleeves. Then a lot of it came off once he was out. To take advantage of the anesthetic, the electrolysist I called managed to burn out over half of his facial hair follicles, and the other half went during the next few weeks. His throat was raw for a few days, and so was his face. But sure enough, when his voice returned it was no longer that usual deep resonant tone but a high-pitched sound like Minnie Mouse’s. He sounded so silly, Madge! I had to try real hard not to laugh. But he did his exercises, and in time he brought it down to a pleasant woman’s voice. I must say, I found it charming, once he could speak up without squeaking. I’d close my eyes and imagine that I had a new girlfriend already, and we’d talk about all kinds of things, and he began to adopt some of my other mannerisms too. But he realized he couldn’t make phone calls to his office any more, so he had me make them, and then he began sending me instead.
We compared notes every Tuesday. Of the four men, only Tommy kept a kind of flute-like Bimbo falsetto, and Helene said she loved hearing it come out of him. She taught him to do his own make-up, and she especially treasured a moment she came into his bedroom and found him fluffing up the shoulder ruffles on his nightie, so they’d look prettier for her. He was really beginning to get into it. She said that was when she began thinking she might rent him out as a call girl for perverts when we were through with his re-education. Beth told us Joe had done electrolysis years before, because shaving annoyed him. But Charlie had a thick black beard that took the whole six months, three times a week, to make disappear.
Charlie gave Lorie a problem over the nightgown. It made no sense to wear a sexy nightie, he said, when he could wear men’s nylon pyjamas. So she used up one of our reserve tricks on him. Friday morning she gave him sedatives enough with his morning orange juice so he dozed off and slept until Saturday morning. Then on Saturday morning she brought him Friday’s paper and made a bet with him about a Friday night basketball game, who would win the game “that night” with what point spread. After he made the bet she drugged him again, and on Sunday she told him he’d slept all through Saturday, now it was Sunday, and she’d won the bet. She proved it by showing him the Saturday and Sunday newspapers. The bet was that for six months he’d wear anything she wanted him to wear, anywhere, anytime, and would give her no further trouble. Or if she lost, she’d wear anything he wanted, even the slutwear she hated but he always made her wear when they went out. How could he refuse a bet like that, especially when he knew she knew nothing about basketball?
Anyhow, in the end, all of our husbands’ cheeks were as smooth as ours, and their voices were even more mellifluous, and their nighties were soft and their skin was getting softer, and when we snuggled up to them at night they felt smooth as silk.
And after Dr. Teague frightened them about their skin corroding or something, they all used used makeup to cover their faces completely. Bill tried a shortcult with suntan lotion once, but I just kept repeating ‘Doctor’s orders!’ After a while he took pride that he could put his face on every morning neatly, even elegantly, in under a half hour. When he began feeling better during the second month or so, and showed up for breakfast, he was always beautifully made up. I was proud of him, because he really seemed to care about looking nice.
It was around that time that male pattern balding was discovered to be a primary source of phototropic eutrophication for Joe and Tommy, or whatever the gobbledegook talk for it, I forget, and the Doctor immediately ordered them to wear their wives’ wigs at all times to cover their bald spots. Eventually they went in for fittings and got wigs of their own, really pretty ones, in styles they liked. It’s only right, Madge, every girl gets to choose her own hair style, so why should our husbands be the exception? Bill and Charlie each have full heads of hair of their own, so we each flattered them into blow-drying it into a girlish style they didn’t know was girlish, until it could grow in enough to get a girlish cut and be styled properly. By the third month, when I was going into his office every day and Bill was fully in charge of the household, he always looked lovely when I came down for the breakfast, a sweet gamin cut swept back, long lashes on his beautifully outlined and shadowed eyes, and curling red lips. When I remembered to compliment him he’d dimple, and look pleased. It took time to talk him into lighter shades and natural tones for day wear, and just a few cremes for bedtime. Like the other husbands, he was taking no chances until the virus’s full six months incubation had passed, and his balls were safe. Can you imagine? Men!
Anyhow, when they began feeling better they got out of bed and puttered around the house, and the nighties we’d “loaned” them were no longer suitable. We decided not to push matters yet, because their breasts and their impotence were expected to appear soon, and when that happened they’d be so embarrassed and desperate we could talk them into anything. But they understood they needed to wear “slippery” clothes at all times, and that meant pantyhose and slips. And while they were wearing slips, dresses to cover them. By the end of the fourth month we were all living with well-dressed, beautifully coiffed, and impeccably made up men. I had Bill slimmed way down, so his curves would show when they developed, and he really was starting to round out, front and rear. No one but the wives and Beth ever saw them, and they didn’t know about each other at all, od course. We showed each other pictures, and half of our weekly conferences were taken up with making jokes. Helene wondered if Tommy was Charlie’s type, how they’d get on if they dated. I thought Bill was better suited, and Bill liked dark, mysterious-looking women. Lorie thought Charlie would be more attracted to Joe, because both of them were feisty, and they’d enjoy teasing each other. And so it went.
When our husbands began to feel healthy we began to teach them how to become our kinds of women. That was the price they had to pay in order to get out of the house, they had to be passable in all respects. That was when we brought on heels, really high heels for dressy wear and maybe two or three inch heels for around the house. We taught them to walk, and sit, and use their hands expressively, and when each one was ready, we each took our husbands to the mall to buy them more clothes. By the fifth month they were as avid shoppers as any women anywhere, and sometimes when they got caught up with their housework they’d go roaming the malls on their own. No chance they’d recognize each other.
Helene taught her husband to wear real dark eye makeup, mince around on four or five inch heels, wear leather miniskirts, and patrol the mall asking men if they knew what time it was. Their arrangement was, every tenth man he asked entitled him to another article of lacy lingerie from Victoria’s Secret. He got to love roaming the mall stopping men, and Helene told us with a broad, beaming smile, that just as she’d hoped, sometimes he’d disappear toward the parking lot for a half hour or a more with a man he had just approached. She never asked him what he did and he never told her, but she’d tell him his lipstick was rubbed off even when it wasn’t, and he’s always believe her. She was looking forward to a time when he went away and didn’t come home at all, she said, so she could throw him out of the house altogether. “He’s a natural slut, my ex-rapist. Promiscuous? Who would have thought it?”
Lorie allowed Charlie to wear slacks and pennyloafers or flats, but always with the most feminine blouse imaginable. She wanted him to be highly conscious of his upper areas. One blouse she showed me had a low scooped neckline that showed his cleft–he was really getting impressive up top. And another was satin with panels that draped across his breasts and nipples as they grew. After a while his breasts got real heavy, and he really needed to wear bras to keep from sagging, and she saw to it he was well-set-up with figure-hugging sweaters..
Once I came upon them coming out of the Bon Ton, and I didn’t know whether I should recognize them or pretend not to notice. But Lorie called me over, and Charlie said “Hi, Janice, it’s been a while,” as though he were wearing a business suit or blue jeans, though in fact that day it was a calf-length skirt and loose print overblouse. He was made up just the way Lorie had described, and his black hair was now cut in a neat bob at earlobe length. “Hello, Charlie, you’re looking nice,” I said a little uncertainly. “I heard you haven’t been well.”
“Thank you,” he said calmly. “No, I’ve been quite sick lately. I’m still not myself.”
“So I see!”
“Do you like Charlie’s earrings?” Lorie asked. She seemed to be signalling me, keep it cool.
“We’ve just had my ears pierced,” Charlie added. “The selection of earrings for pierced ears is much wider than for clip-ons.”
“Yes, I know,” I said. “They’re very nice, Charlie. Wear them well!
Well, I’ve got to run. See you!” And I was off.
Lorie told us at our next meeting that was Charlie’s first encounter with anyone who knew him, and that she had been training him for that very moment, to take everything in his stride, always to remain poised no matter what, always to act like a lady. When I left, he had begun to shake, and she’d had to take him home to recover. But she was proud of him, and that night as a reward she had allowed him to lick her pussy for a long while, until she came several times. Earlier, while he was still sick, she had decided to let him kiss different parts of her own body as different rewards for good behavior, to teach him to respect her body always, and to feel privileged to touch it, though only with lips and fingertips. This was only the second time ever he had been permitted to kiss her crotch, and she said the next day he was positively euphoric, singing and humming as he worked at repairing the lace on her panties, which was one of his regular chores.
I went out to restaurants with Bill a few times to get him accustomed to being seen, and when I thought he was ready we went to a businessman’s grill near my office–formerly his–to see how he’d handle being seen by people he knew. He was tense until he realized no one recognized him, though a few times men or women we both knew stopped by to greet me. Once he realized what terrible risks of exposure he was running, I had no problem feminizing the rest of his appearance out of all recognition. He spent a full day at the Beauty Salon having his hair permed, lightened and frosted, and his fingernails done, and his face completely made over, and it really made a new man of him. After that he felt perfectly confident when he drove off to the mall for a day’s shopping on his own. I would advice him about purchases, but Bill had good taste, and he’d been reading about women’s styles from when he was first bedridden and saw the handwriting on the wall. So gradually, his part of our closet filled with dresses and skirts and things, and sometimes I borrowed one or two that weren’t too feminine looking, to wear to the office.
Beth didn’t usually report much about Joe, and it was only near the end of the six month training period that she told us why. It seems Joe had always been a transvestite, even before they were married, and had a full wardrobe of women’s clothing he’d often worn when they were out together. She’d always encouraged him to look like a woman whenever possible. “None of this is that big a deal for him,” she said. And he always did whatever she wanted, because she had pictures of him looking really sexy, and whenever he objected to anything, she’d comment that it would be good for the world to know about his hobby, what’s he hiding it for anyway? He knew what Beth was up to with those hormonal implants from the beginning, and he was uneasy about it, but he raised no objection. Then each month when she replaced them, he more and more welcomed the changes in his body. It was like wearing the ultimate in women’s underthings under his underthings, he told her, transvestism down to the skin. He didn’t understand why she wanted him to wear the butt plug or undergo the voice change, but Beth told us he was happy with his developing breasts and especially with his wider hips and rounded tush, even though he wasn’t really a transsexual and wasn’t planning to go further.
Helene was the first to report the onset of outright impotence in her formerly rapist but now silly-Bimbo-voiced slut of a husband. She couldn’t contain herself, she was so happy. “He tried, the bastard,” she crowed. “Nothing happened! So I tried, even with my mouth, which I haven’t tried for years! Nothing! So I told him next time I’d get a dildo and fuck him like those men he ran around with, and turned over and went to sleep absolutely delighted! The next morning he looked as if he hadn’t slept at all, and when he saw I was awake, he asked me, “Am I going to die now?” I told him “No, worse, you’ll live!” Then I caressed and squeezed and pulled on his little worm for a while, just to be sure it was out for the count. He could feel it, he said, and he looked so grateful to me for my half-a-hand job that I thought, even if this goes no further it’s been worth it!
Well, Madge, I’d been preparing my Bill for the same moment by caressing his nipples. They were beginning to swell into points pushed out by the developing tissue beneath them, hard lumps growing increasingly sensitive, and finally excruciatingly erotic. Then real breasts started to emerge. One night neither my hand nor my mouth could make him stiff enough for, you know, penetration. I told him the breasts were a side effect of the antibodies he was getting to save his life, and that later he’d recover his ability to get an erection. He told me he’d been worried the virus was spreading, or the medicines were giving him breast cancer in some way. My heart went out to the poor dear, and I almost let him in on the secret. “No, my love, you’re getting something much better than breast cancer,” I said. “Breasts! Maybe better even than a penis!” And to prove it I brought him off by nipple play alone.
He never asked me how I was so sure the breasts were benign. But he was amazed, he said, that his orgasm that night had seemed to fill his whole body, not just his prick. It was glorious, he said, and seemed to go on and on, and higher and higher, before it finally eased into an afterglow. Only then did he discover that his little limp penis had ejaculated even though it was limp the whole time. For the first time since we started this, I began to think that I might really be doing Bill a favor, not just educating him about what it’s really like to be a woman, bringing him to task for not respecting women. Now he knew how women enjoy sex, through their whole bodies, and now he’d had a taste of it!
Joe and Charlie were also beginning to have unaccustomed failures in their erections and bulges on their chests. After some discussion of what we wanted next, we decided to consult with Dr. Teague again. “They bought those last explanations?” she said. “Then they’ll buy anything! I’ll visit each one of your husbands, and just wait until you hear what I tell them. Just be sure to give them two doses of those tranquillizers first.” We assured her the men had been on tranquillizers since we began, which was why they had been so amenable to everything, scarcely ever complaining, no matter how strange our requests or explanations.
When she arrived at our house she elected to see Bill in the living room. I sent him in wearing a plain cotton print house dress and flats. Dr. Teague just stared at Bill and shook her head in amazement. “Billie, my dear,” she said. “Why didn’t you tell me last time that you really are a woman? The virus doesn’t seem to have affected anything essential at all. Only your penis, I hear!”
“I’m not a woman,” Bill said with a certain determination. “Ask Janice if you don’t believe me. I’m a man!”
“Are you, dear?” she replied. “How interesting. Breasts well under way, no erectile tissue to speak of, wearing a dress, beautifully made up with a lovely hairdo. You’re working at home and your wife’s at the office. Tell me again what kind of man you are, in that lovely voice of yours.”
“Whatever kinds there are, I’m one of them, Doctor! Or I hope so!”
“Well, dear, you’d better hope not. I’ve seen your blood workups. It’s true you have testicles, and that may have deceived your parents and affected the way they brought you up. But now, call yourself fortunate. The antibody has neutralized your testosterone, fortunately, or the virus would be attacking it at this moment, and you’d be dead by now. Now, the antibody that has saved your life, the one I prescribed, is a form of estrogen. That’s why you’ve grown breasts, and hips, and why your face is now so much softer than a man’s. Your bloodstream now contains the estrogen usually raging in the veins of a fifteen year old girl eager to suck cock to stay popular with the boys. I do recommend you do everything you can to complete your passage into full womanhood. Sucking cocks is one way. But if you’re still a virgin, consider losing it in one of the more traditional ways, as soon as possible. It’ll improve your estrogen balance and prevent any recurring male hormones from metabolizing the virus and killing you. This treatment has now gone on for six months. I think we can declare all risk past after another six months, to be on the safe side. Then you can do whatever you wish about finding you manhood again. Needle in a haystack, if you ask me!”
Well, when she was gone, I went to hug my darling. He was staring out the window frightened. “She told me I need to get fucked, or to suck cock, or I might die,” he said. “For another six months I need to dress like you and be like you. I’m getting to kind of like that. But I don’t want to have sex with a man. I don’t want to die either. What should I do?”
I realemony I’d planned from the beginning. Now Bill was ready. Soon after Dr. Teague visited the other husbands, and so were they.
Goodness, look at the time! Gotta go now, Madge. I’ll call you this Friday, before the weekend, maybe we can get together some time soon. I know you’ll want to know how our guys finished up.
III.
Madge, you’re the first person I’m telling this to, but what Dr. Teague told all four of our guys was what I had asked her to tell them. We decided fairly early on that our husbands needed a full feminine experience in order to respect us properly. All of it. They’d made fun of how we think, and dress, and talk, and behave, and also what kinds of noises we make when we’re getting laid by a stiff prick. So it’s only fair they should find out for themselves what kinds of noises they’d make when they’re getting laid by a stiff prick.
It’s true that Tommy didn’t need to be encouraged into a full feminine experience, including sex with a man. Fairly early on it looked like he had to be peeled off any man who’d let him come close. But our other guys, I don’t know, they were a little shy about getting intimate with a man. I knew they would be. They spend all that time horsing around, and punching each other’s shoulders, and maybe like me they’d rather be feeling up some guy’s buns, but they repress it. It’s that competition thing again. They think it’s manly to fuck but it isn’t manly to get fucked. Even though there never has been one without the other. As if one was winning and one was losing.
Think about it, Madge. It’s only sex with a man. We all do it all the time, you know, or we wish we could, some of us. Nothing more common! Every woman does it. But our big strong brave men, the very idea of it spooks them. Just suggest it and they get crazy angry, and they tense up, and you can’t reason with them any more. I knew it would be that way the first night I thought of the plan, that Super Bowl Sunday. That’s why right off I thought about the commencement ritual we’d have to have, when we got our guys together for the first time since we transformed them, and gave them a chance to get to know each other all over again. And to be initiated into full womanhood together. That’s what we wanted for them.
And that’s what we gave them, Beth and Lorie, and Helene and me. Here’s how. Remember that none of them knew that any of the others had been feminized. Charlie knew that I knew about him, but Lorie assured him I’d never tell Bill, and of course I didn’t. They each think they’ve just barely been saved from this virus by their body’s hiding out from its own masculinity somehow, suppressing its testosterone, looking feminine. I know, it sounds a little crazy, but we’ve been shoving tranquillizers up their asses every day for six months, so even if it still sounds crazy they never questioned it. They’re a little zonked, remember, Madge! They’re thinking the way they think we think, like women, right? Sure it’s funny. At this point they believe they’re still at risk, for five more months, and to reduce this risk they need to get laid. Sure, but what do you expect? From a man? They’re scared!
Well, we decide we’ll hold the commencement as the final meeting of our Tuesday night group, because after that there won’t be any reason to meet in secret any more, and that’ll be the big moment we’ve all been working toward. At my house because I’ve got the biggest living room. We get each of our men ready. Remember how they thought we were all so silly, going around all trussed up in girdles? Well, now, each one of them has a corset, and we make sure the laces are tight, so each corset is nearly rigid, and each of them has a wasp waist and spread out hips and real breasts pushed up into the cups. Bill’s are an honest C cup with no padding now. They look so sweet sometimes. I love to kiss them. That’s right, Madge, he can’t go without at all any more, or they sag down and hurt. Well, they’re all wearing their nicest dresses, and are beautifully made up. Bill knew there was something special happening but didn’t know what, so he went to the beauty parlor for a hairdo and makeover. I tell Bill no panties, maybe we’ll want to paddle his bottom, who can tell, and no butt plug for the same reason. The other girls tell their men the same thing.
So, anyhow, Bill’s sitting in the living room, waiting for the first arrivals, and I go into the kitchen, supposedly to fix up snacks or something. The doorbell rings, and in comes Lorie with Charlie, very quietly, and she motions Charlie to go in the living room and then joins me in the kitchen. Well, Charlie goes. The two men check each other over and each sees a strange woman, so they nod and smile politely, and Bill returns to his “Cosmo” and Charlie picks up a “Vanity Fair.” It’s so funny–Lorie and I can see from the pass-through in the kitchen that they are reading the ads much more closely than the articles, the same way all women do. Same thing when Beth comes in with Joe, and Helene with Tommy. Now there are four women in the kitchen, grinning and whispering excitedly, and four men who each think the others are women in the living room making brief polite remarks and mainly trying to ignore each other, sitting and waiting. Oh yes, and four men from the Gay-Bi Athletic Club, two of them trainers in terrific shape, and two others long-time regulars in the Nautilus program, sitting in a car parked across the street, making jokes and waiting for the signal.
Well, when everything looks right, I signal and then I call out “Bill, where’d you put the wine?” and Lorie follows with “Charlie your lipstick’s smudged!” Without thinking Bill calls back to me in his new voice “In the pantry, dear,” and returns to his magazine. Charlie pulls a mirror out of his purse, checks his face, and starts to repair an imaginary imperfection with his lipstick. The other two ladies stare at both of them.
“Bill? Did she say your name is Bill? And you’re Charlie?” says Tommy in his Minnie Mouse squeal.
Joe picks up on it quickly, an experienced transvestite accustomed to seeing other men in drag, and just as Bill is looking at each of the others in turn, all confused, with his mouth and eyes wide open, Joe says, “Well, I’ll be damned! Here we are again! All four! What have those women done?”
Charlie just stares around a little wildly, his lipstick still in his hand. “What?” he says. “Who are you?” But he already knows.
There’s a brief pause while the boys recognize each other, then recover themselves, and then recover from their embarrassment at being seen, and then from their realization they’re all in the same boat, and then recover their sense of humor. “So we’ve all had this same disease, this virus, and we were all too ashamed to admit it all these months,” says my Bill. I could kiss him! He’s so wrongheaded! He leaps to the wrong conclusion and leads the rest of them there, that they’ve all been fighting the virus. Then even Joe abandons his correct line of inquiry, that we women connived together and did it all.
So they all feel this enormous relief and begin talking at once. Charlie tells Joe he’s wearing a gorgeous tunic, is it silk? and Bill admires Tom’s leather miniskirt–“I wish I had the courage to wear a skirt that short,” he says. “It’s really precious! Where did you get it?” And then they all begin talking at once, and we’re listening, and each of us is hearing the kinds of exaggerated comments they had once told each other was dumb. I guess they no longer thought so. It’s amusing, and cute, and really loveable, you know? They were really enjoying themselves making girl talk in those lovely voices. We wives are grinning and feeling so warm about everything we’ve been doing. Our husbands are so much...well...nicer now. You know? Then we decide, time to move on.
So we march in together in a row, one behind the other, and sit down in four chairs that happen to be lined up across the room from the chairs they’ve settled into. We look like a tribunal, or whatever the four of us would be called if we were sitting in judgement of them, which in a way we were. “Ladies!” I call out. “Ladies, please!”
They look up at us, and smile, and the gibble-gabble gradually quiets down, until finally they’re just looking at us, expectantly. We’re all here for a reason, they know, but they don’t know what it is yet.
“Ladies,” I say to them, “Let’s get to it. You have each of you been making some difficult adjustments during the past half-dozen months, and you’ve all four survived them, and you’re still here with us, and we’re all of us grateful for that.” The other wives beamed at them. “There are more adjustments to come, of a different kind, but tonight we reach a threshold, and we want to help you cross it, each of us. So we’ve arranged a kind of ceremony. I assure you, after it, you will not be quite the person you are now. You do have our best wishes for what you are about to become. Please, now, each of you, kneel down here a few feet from your wife, in front of her.”
Well, Madge, they were still guys, no matter how beautifully coiffed and
dressed. They glanced over at each other with half-smiles. It was
clear to them that there would be some fairly heavy pussy smooching
coming up. So they got up and knelt down elegantly. All of them were
wearing stockings, and heels, so the kneeling wasn’t easy. But we have
a soft carpet,
“Now if you will bend way forward, each of you, chin to the floor, bottom to the heavens.”
They do that. Behind them, unheard and unseen, the Athletic Club jocks enter the room barefoot, naked from the waist down, and line up behind each of our husbands. Three of them already had erections, and the fourth was pulling on his dong until it hardened and then stood out even while we watched. I must say, they were all the biggest pricks I had ever seen, but then up to that moment I ‘d only seen Bill’s, and a few half-hidden ones in college. I was glad for Bill that his butt plug had expanded his anus, that it was now as elastic and loose as a vagina after childbirth. One stud tossed another a tube of KY, and in a moment they’re all slathered. The boys may not even feel anything slip into them, I think. But then I think, No. They’ll feel those pricks all right!
“Ladies,” I say. “This is very important. Listen to this instruction closely. No matter what happens now, you must keep looking at your wife until we tell you otherwise. She wants to see your face the whole time. She wants you to see her face the whole time. No matter what happens.
Is that clear? No looking back. No changing your position.”
I wait a moment for my words to sink in. They are now each looking up at their wives. The position is awkward, so they now look a little mournful. The studs behind them are grinning. I nod at them, and they advance on our husbands, bend over behind them, and then at a signal from the one on the left they place their hands on our husbands’ hips, lunge forward, and bury their meat all the way into our husbands’ rumps. Then they pause. Our four men are impaled by four other men.
The expressions we see are priceless. Bill is shocked and amazed. I look at him amused. I’m sure the other wives are feeling delight, contempt, concern, vengeful glee, I can’t begin to guess. I’m too fascinated watching Bill.
“Ladies, welcome to full womanhood. We all hope you enjoy it,” I say.
Now it’s up to the Athletic Club.
They start stroking in and out, and Bill’s face keeps staring at me, reproachfully. Then I notice his eyes begin to glaze over, and his beautiful rump begins to pump up and down, very slightly at first, then more and more. I glance at the other men. Tommy’s eyes are closed, and a beatific smile lights up his whole face while he pushes back sinuously against the man fucking him. Obviously when he was been disappearing in the mall for a half hour at a time with men he’d picked up, it hadn’t been just to suck cock. Charlie looks worried. Joe looks as if he’d just had a pleasant revelation, and is thinking it over. I look back at Bill, and though he’s still facing me, it’s obvious his attention is now altogether elsewhere. He has a pleased smile, and his ass is now pumping strenuously into his partner.
And it happened. As Bill’s stud gets closer to coming he changes into a rhythm of long easy strokes each seated deeply into Bill’s cockpit before he eases off and starts to pull back, slowly, all the way, and then forward to seat into the hilt again. Bill starts to moan. Then as the pace picks up, each time his lover pushes in all the way he calls out “Ooohhhh!” louder, in a tone of longing and regret, each time faster and faster. When his man finally comes into him with a mighty push, Bill in a frenzy pushes back hard and deep, and when cum starts throbbing into his bowels Bill can’t contain himself. Out comes high pitched shrieks, one after another. The other boys are shrieking too by now, and Beth, sitting next to me, is laughing uproariously. “Like feeding time at the zoo!” she can barely choke out at me, and then collapses into her chair again in stitches.
Eventually the Athletic Club finishes, and each man pulls out of each of our men with a “Plop!” sound. They’ve left a fair amount of cum behind, I’d guess. The leader looks at me again, waiting for the next signal. “Now Ladies,” I say, trying hard not to join in with Beth, who is still laughing out of control, “Turn over on your backs, and lie flat, and feel free to do whatever comes into your heads except get up.”
They do that. The studs straddle our husbands’ torsos, knees wedged into their armpits, leaning slightly forward, balls are hanging over our husband’s chins, their shiny, slick, wet pricks, still partially swollen, hanging directly over each prettily lipsticked mouth. One by one the boys lift their heads and lick the cocks hanging over them, then start sucking on them. Bill is no exception. Then as each cock grows hard again, ready again at different times, each stud changes position. Tommy is sucking away at his man’s cock so vigorously I doubt there’s any way he will get fucked in the ass a second time. Joe fucks his stud from in front with his legs held high, draped on the muscleman’s shoulders. Charlie has his legs wrapped around his stud’s waist. Amazed, I see Charlie tighten his arms around his lover’s neck and kiss him passionately while his asshole is being reamed. I remember that Dr. Teague has told our men that this is the way to assure they’ll survive the virus, and I imagine Charlie is grateful for what the man is doing to him. But his gratitude seems excessive. I suspect that now he’s into it, that just like any other woman, he loves getting fucked.
When it was over, each of our husbands’ lovers had pumped yet another load of cum into our husbands’ rear ends. They stood, nodded to us, one or two grinned a farewell, and they disappeared back where they had come from. Now we looked at the sorry specimens still on the floor, still breathing heavily, still with their eyes glazed or closed. The evening wasn’t over. As we’d planned and discussed it, now each one of us would take her husband into a private part of the house, interrogate him, and when he was feeling properly guilty, turn him into whatever each one of us wanted. That was our scenario, and we’d talked at length about why this was the most important part of the evening.
When the other men had been led elsewhere I went over to where Bill was still sitting on the rug, by now fully aware he had not been himself but a slut utterly out of control. He looked bewildered. A special tranquillizer I’d slipped into him earlier to relax his inhibitions had helped, I’m sure. But he didn’t know that.
I took charge. “So, Bill. First of all take off your dress. You’re probably leaking that man’s cum, and you don’t it to get stained. You might want to wear it again when you take up whoring for a living. Now just stand there in your slip, and if you don’t mind, tell me. How did it feel when he first stuffed his prick into you. Good? Delicious? Feminine? Can you hardly wait for more?”
Bill answered earnestly, as if full and open confession could earn forgiveness. “It felt full, Janice. At first it felt like like a big, fat, soft butt plug. Then I don’t know, it began to feel nice. Then very nice. It was strange. As if I wanted to move my bowels, but move them the other way. Then when he started going in and out I went crazy, the way it felt.”
“Bill, I arranged for you to get laid because the Doctor ordered it.
You had to endure it, not enjoy it. But you made love to it!”
Bill looked down embarrassed. “Janice,” he said in a pleading voice, “You know I never would have done any of that on my own. I never wanted to do it. It was embarrassing. You know that.”
I figured, now embroider it a little, he’ll never dare correct me. “What I know,” I told him, “Is that once that guy got his full length into you, then the first one of you to push toward the other was you. Then when he was roaring along full strength you couldn’t get enough. You even gave your tush a little wiggle before he pulled back, each time, didn’t you? Was it that delicious? Did I tell you what a pretty tush you have now, Bill? We have to get you some tighter skirts to take advantage of it, and attract other boys to fuck you, it’s one of your most attractive features. And that blissful smile on your face while he was moving around in you as if he owned you? Tell me what that meant! And after he came into you and then pulled out, I saw your face. You felt a little deprived, didn’t you? I know that feeling. I could recognize that look.”
“Then you turned over onto your back, and he crouched over your chest with his prick still dripping cum into your mouth, and who lifted his head just a little in order to kiss the tip of his cock? I saw that. And did you need to grab it with both hands and your whole mouth, and lick and kiss it over and over, and make your mouth into a cunt that couldn’t stop fucking him? Who told you to do that? And when it got hard again and you wrapped your legs around his waist, who smiled like a kid on Christmas morning, and who kept crying out “Oh yes, oh yes, again, again!”–that’s an exact quote I think–and who reached down to guide his cock into whose dripping asshole for a second go-round? And when he was plunging into you a second time, who was squealing like a fire engine with a house on fire somewhere. Who was that exactly? Am I married to a squealer? A screamer? Should I imitate it for you, the way you boys imitated us during the last Super Bowl?”
Bill just looked down, still blushing furiously. He had nothing to say, of course. There was cum leaking out of his ass and down his leg, and he knew I’d seen it all, so there was nothing to deny and he had nothing to say. “Janice...” That was all that came out.
Then to his amazement I came over and kissed him. “Don’t look so unhappy now, dear. Whatever makes you that happy should never make you unhappy. I love you. I knew you’d never do it on your own. That at first you didn’t want to do it. That once you started doing it you couldn’t stop. Because that’s the way it should be when a women has an affair with a man. I never would have been unfaithful to you with another man, the way things were. But now that I’ve actually seen you being unfaithful to me with a man, in front of my own eyes, and actually enjoying it, it’ll be much easier for me.”
“Oh, I imagine it’ll be a little embarrassing the first time, same as for you. I’m basically shy, like you. But I hope I’ll enjoy it as much as you did. You really loved it, Bill. What you just felt, that’s what I hope I’ll feel when I start my first affair with some man. You won’t be there watching that first time, of course, the way I was watching you, but maybe later, if you want to, if my man doesn’t mind, if it would give you pleasure. We’ll see.”
And I kissed my fingertips and touched them to his lips. He just stood there, cum flowing down both thighs, bewildered, distraught, helpless. He’s really such a dear, Madge. I do love him. “You’re a woman now,” I tell him. “So I know you understand. A woman wants to have a man to make love to her. You can’t right now. So I know you won’t mind when I find someone who can. Now shower and change and come to bed, dear.”
That’s what I wanted to get from that evening. Lorie got Charlie for her willing slave, ready to do anything to make it up to her. So she converted her game room into a dungeon, complete with a rack, and whips, and ball gags, the full equipment. Now when Charlie doesn’t hand wash her lingerie properly, or doesn’t serve dinner enthusiastically, or doesn’t lick her to orgasm artfully enough, she says he goes down there himself to hang there half the night doing penance. Beth ended up pushing Joe over the edge from transvestism into full transexualism, which is where she always thought he belonged, though he never did. Now he really does believe he’s a woman born by mistake into a man’s body, and he’s discussing a sex change operation with a surgeon who’ll turn his prick inside out to make a vagina. Then she’ll divorce him, she thinks, but she’ll pass her boyfriends on to him as they accumulate. He’s promised to do the same. Helene didn’t want anything more from Tommy. Now they still live together but they each go their own ways, picking up men and spending the night with them, and they chat together about different men’s techniques and cocks like the dearest of friends.
The boys all got something unexpected from it too, though we all knew it was coming. More than just something. We encouraged them to see a lot of each other after that night. I’m always delighted to hear Bill call Charlie or Joe when they’re going to dinner together, to ask what he plans to wear. When they came over to play cards, or for some other reason, it’s very satisfying to hear them chatting about recipes and hair styles. Then it was Helene who told us that their new relationships matured right on schedule. Tommy told her they’d begun sucking on each others’ soft cocks. It seems that one evening Tommy couldn’t resist and sucked on Bill with Bill’s consent, then asked Bill to return the favor, and Bill complied. Before long it turned out they were spending most of their evenings together sixty-nining each other in different combinations. They thought we didn’t know. But Tommy enjoyed tellng us a lot about our husbands’ techniques with each other.
The next step for them was obvious enough. Beth reduced their estrogen intake around the ninth month, I thought just in time, because my Bill was now a C Cup, and I was beginning to think enough was enough. Well, they began to get hard-ons again! By then we’d each of us taken up with different boyfriends, and I’d already gotten accustomed to bringing mine home, so my sweet Bill could attend us when we wanted–blot us dry when we showered together, or fix coffee when my lover-of-the-night was ready to drive back home to his wife, and always suck me clean afterward, since he couldn’t do anything else, and was half-convinced her was a lesbian woman anyhow. So when Bill started getting erections again, I didn’t really want to return to our old marital state. The way it is now, if I want Bill to fuck me, or to suck someone’s cum out of me, he does it, that’s all. No big deal.
Wait a second, Madge. ‘Night, see you Monday! Love that new blouse, the red stripes match your lipstick! My regards to your wife!
No, my secretary, leaving for the weekend. Like I said, they need reassurance all the time, these men!
But the real point is, once the boys found they could do it again, they started in doing it to each other. Now, sixty-nine is only the half of it. Did I tell you about this last Super Bowl, the one just past? Ok, I will, but then I really gotta go.
We all got together again, and the boys all made themselves pretty for each other as usual, and then they went into Bill’s den and shut the door, and then they forgot to turn on the TV. It was very amusing. “They think they’re doing it under our noses and getting away with it, “ I said. “That’s sort of dear.”
Helene wasn’t at all amused. In fact, she got rather tart. “Maybe so,” she said, “But someone should tell them to use tampons or sanitary napkins afterward. They leak all over their panties, and their skirts, and even on the car seat sometimes when driving back home. At the very least they should excuse themeselves and go douche before they rejoin us.” Lorie just smiled. I think she gives Charlie these evenings as a reward for satisfactorily performing God knows what with her.
Well, after the game this year the husbands planned a sleepover pyjama party for themselves, with lots of giggling, and I’m sure lots of other things planned too. Bill laid out his prettiest nightie, and I suppose the others did the same. They understood we were going out while they stayed home, and they didn’t seem to mind at all. I told Bill we’d be home late, not to wait up, and I told him to have fun. He told me the same thing. He said he really loves me. He said he didn’t know of any other wife who’d be so understanding.
Well, I know of one other. When we were leaving the boys to their Superballing and their pyjama party, Beth told me that her first idea had been only to fix things so the boys’d be too busy with each other to notice that we were getting well-fucked by decent guys who really appreciated us. Or if they did notice, to fix them so they’d be in no position to complain, lying on their backs the way they were, with their own pricks working in and out of them.
Then she said, “You know, Janice, now that we’ve done it, it doesn’t matter to me what they think they are, women or gay men or what. We’ll just make sure they continue to service each other, getting all the ass they want any time they get together, and all the cock too. We can’t expect them to be strictly good girls, they weren’t bred up to it like us. Look what happened to Tommy before we were even halfwae men, so of course they’re sluts now. I like it that this arrangement keeps them from roaming too far away from home. Right?”
I agreed.
Then Beth said, “It’s simple justice. The way they were behaving last year, mocking us, mocking all women, falling all over each other to humiliate us, their own wives, showing off to each other like that, we had every right to arrange for them to get their fill of each other. I listened to all that boasting and insulting last year, and I thought to myself, every macho asshole deserves to get stuffed by a macho prick. And that’s what they are, and that’s what they’ve got, and that’s what they do. C’mon, our guys are waiting for us.”
Oh my goodness, Madge, it’s past six! My guy really is waiting for me right now! I wanted to take him home first for a drink and to meet Bill, but now there’s no time. Well, give me a call over the weekend, we’ll get together. No point any more in keeping our husbands under wraps. It’s time they met some new people anyway. How do you think my Bill and your Dave would get on?
END 3/3 Vickie [email protected]
"Are you? Oh, of course, look at the time. OK, Enjoy yourself, baby. Oh, first let me look at you?"
Slightly impatient but smiling modestly, he came further into the room and then did a slow turn. Beautiful! I could see at a glance that he'd gone all out. He'd given himself a flawless complexion, and bright red, delicately shaped lips, and eyes that were deep pools of mysterious black. His streaky blonde hair was gently curled this evening, and swept up in back. He'd gone all out -- his black brocade dress was set off with the pearl necklace and earrings I'd given him for his coming out party. Which was ... what, only a few weeks ago? Good heavens, only a few weeks ago, and now look at him.
I was impressed, and I wanted him to know it in case he still felt a little nervous about his appearance. "Very nice! You're lovely, honey. Your turn to be the girl tonight? Well, you've done yourself proud -- very suave, very chic, sweetie. Are those new heels?"
"Yes," he replied. He was already using his girly voice, only a little flutey but coruscating across the scales, across the range of the human voice, as women's voices tend to do. "I needed something really high and strappy to go with this dress. They're black, so they'll also do well with my mauve silk. And they're really wonderful with those tailored slacks I found at Simpson's last week. I'll get use out of them."
"I'm sure you will. I've been thinking about shoes something like that for myself. Will you be late, do you think?"
He smiled and looked at me a little conspiratorially. "April, that'll depend entirely on Bob. I was all over him till nearly three last time it was my turn. Or he was all over me. It's so good, after a while it does get to be mutual." He grinned and blushed, then maybe to cover his embarrassment he adjusted his decolletage -- daintily, but even so, that cleft of his remained its most prominent feature. He did love showing it off! I saw that his nails were newly lacquered in the same red shade as his lipstick, with oval tips. A professional job. He really had gone all out.
"Well, Jerri, tomorrow's Saturday, you can sleep in as late as you like. Just don't utterly exhaust yourself. Did Bob get tickets for a show or something?"
"No, he says it'll be dinner, then probably dancing, there's a new band at the Highland Lodge I hear. There's a nice crowd goes there -- I'm getting to know some of them. They know he's married, so they think I'm his little piece of fluff on the side." He grinned. "And it's a nice night, and the air's balmy, so they'll probably open their terrace for dinner and dancing. You can see half the city winking at night from up there, it should be marvelous. By which I suppose I mean it'll be romantic." He sighed. "We'll be meeting Maureen and Garrett there -- you remember them I think, they're friends of the Cartwrights. We'd see them now and then at mob cocktail parties." I recalled Garrett. He'd once somehow managed to get a hand on my breast while helping me on with a coat. If he hadn't been leering when he did it I might have let him, for a moment anyhow -- that was his reputation, and he'd lived up to it. "Oh yes, Garrett," I said. "Garrett's nice enough, as I recall, but he can be a little brash. Does he know who you really are?"
Jerri smiled smugly. "Hasn't a clue," he said.
"Well, watch out for him. He comes on to every woman he meets, as I well remember. So watch out for him."
"I know. I will. Don't worry, I intend to be true to Bob!" His conspiratorial grin broadened into something almost masculine, but he recovered with a toss of the head that shifted his hair prettily away from his face. I'd seen him practicing that gesture for the first time only a few days ago, after dinner. He really was taking this thing seriously. Well, why not? He made a pretty girl, and one of the pleasures pretty girls enjoy is flirting with attractive men, getting a rise out of them. He knew I didn't mind occasional flirtations with men other than Bob -- that's part of the fun. Even when they threaten to become more than flirtations -- that'd happened now twice that I knew of. But no harm. Some of the things Jerry likes to do when he's being Jerri really does tap into his inner slut.
"I may need to watch out for Maureen though!" he added.
"Oh?" Personal or intimate relationships with other women were another matter. We'd agreed, absolutely forbidden. Off limits. I wouldn't allow it. Jerry and Jerri were both mine! I looked at him inquiringly.
"Not long ago we ran into them at Le Cirque, Garrett and Maureen, and it happens she made a full scale pass at me when we were alone together in the Ladies' room. It really shocked me -- I hadn't expected it, I mean, I was feeling romantic, really hanging onto Bob's arm that night, and I know she'd seen how we were together. I found out afterward that she's bi. But whether she'd read me and wanted me as a man who cares about feminine things, or whether she just wanted me as a woman, that I simply don't know. Either way, I guess she saw no harm in trying."
"Well there she was wrong. You're mine, Jerry. And Bob's too of course, when you're being Jerri, because it's important for Jerri to know how good it is to belong to a real man. Gwen thinks so too -- that's why she gives Bob to you when he's being Bobbi, so he can also enjoy being a girl with her fella now and then. We don't either of us mind because you're always only each other's and no one else's, and also because you take turns being the guy and the girl. That way you both enjoy the best of both, and we aren't likely to lose either of you to one or the other -- we do worry about that sometimes. It's all kind of sweet and cute and ... well, you know, fun and exciting, for you and for us too. How many women get to be married to men who are also women?"
Jerry nodded, his face serious. He knew I was being serious even though I sounded almost silly.
"You're both spoken for!" Now I was speaking emphatically. "You're ours. So ... well, let Maureen find her own girlfriends or boyfriends or whatever!" And I stamped my foot for emphasis. Some of it was for show -- I was sure I could trust him.
"That's exactly what she was doing, April honey, trying to find her own girlfriend or boyfriend." And Jerri actually winked his black eyelashes at me!
So I picked up a couch cushion and threw it at him. "You get out of here!" I said. How I loved him! "Just don't exhaust yourself utterly, save some of your energy and charm for me. When I wake up tomorrow morning I expect to see you lying beside me asleep in your favorite nightie, still smiling, with no memories whatever of Maureen. Oh yes, you forgot last time, I expect to see all that gorgeous make-up you're wearing creamed off. We do not clog our complexions."
"Yes, Ma'am." And he blew me the most darling, delicate kiss. Lightly kissed his palm and held it in front of his pursed lips and gave it a little puff of air. Absolutely fetching! Then flipped his wrist away. He must have been practicing that gesture too this past week, the little tease! I gave him an air kiss back and settled back into my book. Jerri left to walk next door to Bob and Gwen's. Since he was Bob's date, Bob would do the driving. Just as Jerry drove when Bob was being Bobbi.
II.
It wasn't that all confusing, and not even very novel any more, though this steady alternative dating got added to Jerry's pleasures as Jerri almost by accident. Jerry'd also been Jerri for a long time, since his boyhood I suspect. I'd noticed the signs and reached that conclusion long ago, though we'd never discussed it. Like most cross dressers, he felt ashamed and tried to hide it from me, as if he was violating his manhood or something. As if I'd think less of him because now and then he wants to be the kind of person I am. As if imitation weren't the sincerest form of flattery! Eventually though, it did seem the right thing for me to force the revelation, to bring Jerri out into the open so to speak. So he'd understand that I love all of him regardless of the parts that embarrass him.
So I did bring Jerri out, and after that things got to be really fun! I picked a good time. The mood was just right. We were driving home from Jenna and Scott Cartwright's -- we'd met them at an art gallery opening and they'd invited us to stop by their house for a drink along with quite a few other people. A light-hearted, spontaneous social situation. We'd been joking with all sorts of people about all sorts of things, and that may be why I decided well, enough already. As as soon as we were alone I turned and said to my husband in a sprightly but affectionate tone of voice, "You really do like imagining you're a girl, don't you?"
"What?" he replied. Obviously he couldn't think of anything else to say. Because it was true and we both knew it. Obviously, he was wondering how after all those years of concealment, I knew. So he stalled, wondering above all how to deal with whatever was coming. The poor angel!
"When you're with women you behave exactly as if you were one of us," I said. "You move as if you were graceful, and curved in all the right places. You try to display your pulchritude prettily," I said, trying to sound both cheerful and delighted. "To be attractive as only girls are. With all sorts of dainty gestures. You're really very good at it, and I know why. I've seen you practicing."
"You have?" Still stalling for time. Unaware that he'd put his fingertips to his lips in a typically feminine gesture expressing surprise. I'd seen him gently lower his coffee cup to the table in a single fluid movement, as women often do, not just set it down and abandon it with his hand as men do. And once, when he thought I was absorbed in a book, he gave the most delicious hip wiggle when he got up from an easy chair and straightened his clothes. If I'd been a man I'd have leaped him! I knew where his mind was then. He apparently didn't know how much this other self of his had absorbed his proper self. Or rather, absorbed his male self -- as I saw it, since it came easily to him and he liked it, and it seemed intriguing to me, both his male and his female self were proper.
I paused, then decided to go all the way. "I've also noticed that now and then you like to try on my clothes, I suppose to see if they help with the illusion. Help you feel more girly. Even my make-up. Isn't that true?"
It was getting toward evening but even so I saw his face go deep red. His thoughts were quite clearly written there. I knew! How did I find out? Had he slipped up anywhere?
Our marriage was built on honesty, of course, like all good marriages, though no more than any other couple did we feel bound to tell each other the whole truth about everything. I mean, that could be insensitive, tactless, even risky. We all have egos to protect, after all. But we never lied or allowed wrong impressions to remain uncorrected. So he couldn't deny the facts as stated. He did sometimes try on my clothes and make-up. I knew it for fact, though he didn't know how I knew.
"I guess," he said, still stalling.
"It isn't just appearances either, is it? Take tonight. There were the husbands talking about somebody or other top-seeded in the semi-finals of something or other, and there were the wives talking about Helen's Versace and whether sequins are coming back for formal wear, and whether 'Sex and the City' was worth seeing, and also dishing about how Veronica never seems to be home nights when her husband's on the road, just call her and see for yourself. And so on. And which group did you choose to chat with?
"The wives."
"Because?"
"I like the way women talk. They share. They talk about people. Men get pretty pompous when they aren't actually putting each other down -- they're always 'guying' each other -- needling and pretending it's joking and so on. It's annoying. Or they talk about things, or they talk shop, and that's boring."
"And?"
"OK, yes, I like the things women talk about too. I'm fascinated that Veronica may be a little bit naughty."
"A little bit, yes. I guess you are. Very much like the rest of us." I looked at him proudly -- now he needed reassurance, lots of it I was sure. "Some of the women congratulated me as we were leaving for having a husband who cares about things we care about. About fashion, for example. 'He must be a great help when you're putting an outfit together,' is what one of them said to me during those few minutes when you went to refresh some of the women's wine glasses I had to agree. I told her I'd intended to wear rhinestones tonight but you knew that this silver choker was more appropriate. And everyone agreed you were right."
"So, given my interest in clothes, in women's styles, you think I want to be a woman?"
I grinned at him. "Oh, no, Jerry, not exactly." There had been one point in our gossiping when Jerry'd fallen silent. We were wondering aloud why Samantha had dumped her husband Patrick for Ralph, who was nowhere near as clever. Jerry'd contributed some shrewd observations about Patrick as a man with a temper, quick to argue about nothing. "He's a little man in every sense," he'd said, and we'd all agreed. But when we began to joke and smile wickedly about Ralph's contrasting attributes -- Ralph is tall and muscular and generous, a body-builder, a big man -- Jerry'd had nothing to say. Especially when Joanne wondered aloud what it must feel like to snuggle up to a man-shaped wall his size. We'd all giggled at the thought of a massive man lying next to us, maybe with a massive part of him inside us. Jerry acted as if he was as amused by that thought as the rest of us -- he did want to seem one of the girls. But his knowing smile was forced, and it was certainly inappropriate. Jerry did not share a woman's sexual desires. He couldn't be a woman that way. Not yet, anyway. I hoped he wasn't feeling too excluded, too left out.
"No, I don't think you want to be a woman," I replied. "Not always, not for good. But I'm sure you like to imagine you are one, now and then. That you like to doll yourself up and let the mirror persuade you. Like when you were talking with us about other women -- didn't it feel sort of sexy to imagine you were one of us? Am I wrong?"
He swallowed hard and struggled with himself a moment. Then, "Yes," he replied. And, "No, you're not wrong." He drove a little further toward our house. "I do like imagining I'm one of you. How long have you ... been wondering about this? Suspecting it? About me?" His eyes were almost pleading. He was terribly worried that the compromised masculinity he'd just confessed might compromise my love for him. Maybe already had?
No way! No way imaginable! "How long have I suspected? Oh, honey, for years and years! Practically since we first met. I remember how you were obviously different from all the other boys, how you endeared yourself to me forever simply because you knew about different hair styles -- you knew whose hair was layered, or shagged, or bouffant, and so on. Only women see such things -- men appreciate the result but not the art, unless they want to be hairdressers. But you cared. You knew the styles and their names and their effects on how a girl looks wearing each, and yet you were a young financial wizard, no way a hairdresser. That was so flattering to all of us! It made you special."
"My mother and my sister talked about such things all the time," he offered in explanation. Pathetic!
"Yes, but how many brothers pay the slightest attention? Then again, I knew almost right away that you were browsing through my drawers, no, not only those kinds of drawers, I mean my bureau drawers. I noticed long ago that you'd gotten into my underwear, and I mean that in both senses! And I've been aware for some time that my make-up isn't always the way I usually leave it."
I paused, giving him plenty of time to review his failings as a thief in the night. Then I went on. "How long have I known for sure? Well, I'm ashamed to say I started deliberately trying to collect evidence and at the same time to please you ... maybe it was a year or so ago. I began leaving certain items of clothing out, and certain shades of makeup I thought might especially appeal to you. And I was so pleased when I saw that they'd done just that. You'd worn them, the evidence was obvious enough! I imagined how you'd looked in them, given your face and figure, and I was pretty sure you weren't too bad, rather cute probably! The whole time I thought it was a lovely hobby, and harmless enough. But you never mentioned it to me so I always assumed you were ashamed. That you must have thought it a fetish or something like that, disgraceful, not one of the ways a free spirit enlarges his range of experience. Which is what life is for! That was when I really began trying to help you in earnest, but always trying not to embarrass you." I smiled ruefully to myself, remembering the subterfuges. It hadn't been easy.
"You've been helping me?"
"Of course! Do you think it's accidental that my dresses happen to fit you so well? Remember when we put ourselves on that crash diet, and you lost forty pounds and me ten, and we ended up practically the same size? The same dress size?"
I wondered how much more I should say, then decided, in for a penny. He is my beloved husband after all. And I do love him. And he's in a rather ... sensitive state of mind right now, "We aren't shaped the same of course, I'm sure you knew that. Or anyhow, we weren't. Nothing fit you quite right. But I wanted you to be happy with your new ultra thin figure, so along with your weight-loss pills I got you some others to tweak your body just a little to look a teeny bit more like mine. You lost weight, but you also redistributed some of it. You started getting softer here and rounder there, remember when you first noticed? Little by little you began to get quite shapely. You thought it was flab or something and wanted to join a gym and work out, but I kept telling you not to worry, that I didn't like hard bodies, I liked you soft, that you felt wonderful soft. And you did! You do! You remember how I steered you into my Yoga class so you could learn to stretch out your muscles and become more limber, the way women like to be, instead of toughening them up and going musclebound the way men do?"
"So instead of getting buff I got pliable as well as soft? You did that?"
"No, you did that. I encouraged it. Yes. You're better than soft now, you're deliciously curvy here and there. I love it. You don't?" I knew he did.
"I have noticed that parts of me look ... a little feminine." He looked a shade guilty, as if his secret enjoyment of his new body was somehow a crime
I glanced at him. Only a little? With those hips and breasts? "Well, I should hope so. When you try on my panty hose these days, aren't you impressed with how glamorous your legs have become? Wide calves, slim ankles, luscious!"
He was silent. He had noticed, of course. They were now altogether satisfactory for his feminine ambitions, those gams. He loved that they were so arched and rounded -- I'd come upon him admiring them in the mirror once or twice, and immediately I'd wondered how they'd look in stockings or pedalpushers or clamdiggers. And how his new wider hips would look flaring from his narrow waist if emphasized by a short skirt. Sexy as could be, I was sure!
"My legs do look like a woman's, that's true," he said finally.
"And your breasts? You think you've been getting a little flabby there too, but when you wear bras, I bet you're pleased that you now fill them so beautifully. You're a B cup, aren't you?"
Now that was really embarrassing. Jerry glanced at me -- I was looking at him with the widest-eyed, most accepting expression any woman has ever mustered on her face. Waiting for him to agree as I knew he had to. "Well, all right April, yes, I do try on your bras. And the way my pectoral muscles sag these days I guess I do fill them. But your breasts are way bigger than my pitiful excuses for ...."
"Oh honey baby, they aren't at all pitiful, they're darling! Really cute! I have news for you. I'm a C cup, I have been since I was a teenager. What you've been wearing are your own bras, not mine. I got them in your size for you! It isn't just your pectoral muscles that are sagging, honey -- you have real breasts now, your own lovely B cup breasts, and enlarged nipples to go with them, and you've been wearing your own bras for months. When we make love and I tweak them or suck on them just a little, do you think I don't notice how you go ape? How I can bring you off just by caressing them? You may end up a C cup, but that we won't know for a little while longer."
"These are breasts?!"
"Honeybun, yes, of course they are! Real breasts for a part time real woman! And you love them, don't tell me you don't! You now have a perfectly respectable figure with very nice boobs, even if they are still a bit small for your shoulders. And your hips emphasize the marvelous lush tush you've been growing. I know you've admired those globular buns whenever you've looked at them over your shoulder in your mirror. Do you think I've never seen you checking out your rear guard like any woman who's pleased with her body and making sure it's all still there? Did you think you were only imagining that gorgeous butt of yours?"
"Well, yes, in a way, I ...."
"That's why we're talking about this kind of thing now. Honey, just listen. Your birthday is coming up soon and I love you and I've been racking my brains for a really fabulous present for you. Something that would really express how much I love you and at the same time give you the greatest enjoyment. Well, I've just about settled on getting you a whole female wardrobe of your own, and a whole day's makeover at Sally's so for once you can really look as fabulous as you deserve to look. I want you to really show yourself off, to be all you can be! And that's why I decided tonight to let you know that I know all about your hobby and I don't mind it, that in fact I think it's flattering to me as a woman, to all women. And think about this, it has possibilities for all sorts of new fun relationships we can explore with each other. I might well find myself attracted to a new you in new ways altogether! And you to me! Really, it's nothing for you to worry about at all."
And so on. Well, that was my speech to him that evening as he was driving us home. It was an incredible revelation to him, and at first he was terribly embarrassed, even humiliated. Also uneasy, because he couldn't quite believe I meant what I said. Then gradually, as I'd hoped it would, it made him incredibly happy. By the time we got home his mind was filled with wild surmise. He was glowing! Now he could play at being a girl as much as he wanted to, out in the open! And I'd help!
We arrived home, and he parked the car, and without a word he led me upstairs and without a word he got naked and insisted I do the same thing, no nightie, no nite cremes, no nothing, and he guided me, half-lifted me onto his cock and then lay me down gently on our bed. And for two hours we made love. Oh, Lord-God, we made real love, sweetly, devotedly, passionately! Not fucked, loved! Well, maybe we fucked too -- we both did get absorbed in our own pleasures now and then. It was heavenly -- he was so exhilarated and so raunchy that his cock simply would not quit!
When finally -- I think it was three climaxes for him and I got lost in how many for me so I'm not sure -- well, I told him I'd had enough, I had to sleep. I was oozing, his semen dribbling out on my thighs and filling my crack, and my mouth was so sore from all the kissing and sucking. Which gave me my own slightly raunchy idea.
"But before we sleep," I said. "I'd love for you to kiss me down there with your mouth. With lots of tongue!" And I beamed at him mischievously, even a little smugly. Because I knew he would.
At first he didn't understand -- he'd always gone down on me before making love to me, never after, so I always felt clean down there, pristine and ...well, eager for him when his cock head finally poked me and parted the ways. Afterward I was always messy, gloppy, sloppy, maybe even a little smelly down there, and I disliked the feeling even though getting that way was so marvelous. But now? I just kept looking at him, drowsy yet insistent. Trying to look insistent anyhow. There was a wry expression on his face -- I couldn't read it.
"Haven't you ever tasted a boy's cum?" I asked him. "Girls love semen, the feel of it in their mouths, on their lips and tongues and everything. It means they've made their lover happy! I surely love it -- you certainly know that!"
I'd suck him off now and then when he was feeling hornier than I was, and when he spurted into my mouth it was always satisfying. I'd be sure he knew when I swallowed his loads that I loved it. I actually did. My main reason for cocksucking him wasn't that, though -- it was to increase the time before his second cumming, so I could enjoy long, leisurely sequences of orgasms instead of hoping for just one while he raced frantically toward his first climax. This time though I looked at him meaningfully and then just lay back. He wants to be a girl? Then he ought to swallow semen like the rest of us. I wanted him to know that.
He finally understood that I meant it, and his head disappeared under the covers. Almost immediately I felt him between my legs. I raised my legs high up and rested them on his shoulders -- thank God for Yoga! -- and immediately felt his tongue licking the ooze from my crack. He pushed my thighs wide apart and then ... there came this ... this desire in me down there that grew and spread and became incredibly intense, a terrible yearning I felt through my whole body, growing until it filled me and ... oh, God, it finally peaked, and I tensed and screamed and came and came and came, exulting, as long-lasting, powerful, orgasmic spasms squeezed me and sent all his juice pumping out of me into my darling's mouth and all over his face. And he swallowed it all down just as I wanted him to. Just like a girl! I have never loved him more than I did then!
He emerged with his face glistening and his hair soaked and clotted by our mingled cum, and he licked his lips and patted his belly. "There now," he said, smiling at me. "All back inside me again. Ready for recycling!"
"Was it so terrible of me to ask you to do that?" I asked, as if unsure. I needed to know how he felt. The idea that my hubby was swallowing sperm, man juice, somehow appealed to me. It was what he would do if he were a real girl. It felt ... well, friendly. More intimate than sharing our undies. Somehow more ... bonding as equals, as girl to girl.
"I loved it," was all he said. "Because you wanted it." And he fell asleep almost at once, wrapped in my arms as I was in his. As I drifted off I mused contentedly, so very pleased that under the right circumstances my Jerry could enjoy and swallow semen. Like me. One more way for him to be a girl! I hugged him, and his breasts -- there were pectoral muscles beneath them, but I knew they were breasts -- pressed themselves against mine. And this time I knew he knew too.
This would be so much fun! Why didn't I encourage him to confess this desire of his years ago?
III.
The next morning when he came from his shower I handed him one of my robes to wear to breakfast, one so girly-girly I hardly ever wore it myself. Frou-frou, layers of chiffon, embroidery, and lace, a bridal shower gift that was still practically new. He instinctively froze, then gingerly accepted it, and with a single understanding glance at me he put it on, carefully. As if it was impregnated with something that might destroy him.
As well it might! But rather, I wanted it to complete him!
It did have a magical effect! His boyish, slightly effeminate body suddenly became willowy! Just like a girl's, though a girl with a plain face. He looked at me shyly, proud yet embarrassed to be himself so obviously. Then looked at himself in the mirror and ... preened! He approved!
"You do know what I'm going to ask you to do next, just quickly, minimally, before we go down together for breakfast," I said.
"Yes," he said.
"And you know why."
"Yes," he replied in a subdued but nevertheless excited voice. "So there's no more secrecy. Because we're open with each other from now on. And because a girl ought always to look decent."
"As open with each other as we can be," I corrected him. "From now on your femininity is mine to have and to hold, something I married along with the rest of you, something I love and want to see whenever you feel you want to express it. But done right. Tastefully. You know.
"Yes," he replied.
He sat down at my make-up table and began to look for a mascara brush. I always came to breakfast wearing minimal but adequate make-up. Just mascara and a light lipstick -- the major facial artistry came later. Because, as my mother had explained to me, I was a girl twenty-four hours a day, so I should look like one twenty-four hours a day. Girls who are not in bed asleep always wear eye make-up and lipstick, whatever else. Sometimes even in bed, sometimes especially in bed -- I had to smile at that wicked thought. I must make love to my new girl soon, I decided then and there.
"Your things are in the large central drawer. Now that you're kind of ... ah, my live-in girlfriend as well as my beloved man we'll fill in all the other things you need. And when you look presentable we'll go out together and give people a chance to admire your other self."
"No!" he uttered, shocked. "I ... I...." He couldn't speak! That simple proposal freaked him out! I saw I'd need to go slow.
"Well, we'll reveal you only to strangers first," I declared, concerned not to spook him. "Only in passing. But maybe eventually our friends. Honey, remember, being a girl is a privilege, not a secret vice. You are not going to hide yourself away."
Still worried about exposing his secret vice to the world but obviously deciding he'd deal with my liberal ideas another time, he began brushing mascara on his upper lashes. He was obviously not unaccustomed. Then he expertly twisted on some lipstick. His face actually did take on the aspect of an innocent doll! This would be so fun! For the first time, I noticed he'd plucked his eyebrows -- cautiously, so I wouldn't notice, and I hadn't. But I could see, now that he was wearing make-up, that they were shaped, thinned and neatened, adequately enough to sustain a feminine appearance. He could go further with them, came the random thought. Imply delicacy by making them look really delicate, as some women do.
"Oh yes, when you shower this morning, depillate," I told him. "And use a body lotion. And let's say all day today you practice your sitting and standing and walking, and using a girl's voice, I'm sure you know better than I do just what I mean. Oh yes, for now just run a brush through your hair a few times -- we'll get you professionally done when you're ready. Your eyebrows aren't a problem now -- you've been shaping them, haven't you, you sweetheart!"
He nodded, his open secret no longer secret.
"Since you intend to be a part-time girl, you'll want to be as complete and persuasive a part-time girl as you can be! I'll expect no less!"
"Yes, Ma'am," he said. And he stood up, keeping his elbows close to his sides, another feminine gesture. It looked a bit clumsy but definitely he had promise. "Shall we?"
"I don't dine with just any girl," I replied. "What's your name, sweetheart? We've just slept together, so you can tell me."
"Jerri. With an 'i' not a 'y'."
"Well, Jerri with an 'i' not a 'y', let's see how good you are in the kitchen. I already know what you're like in the bedroom."
Arm in arm we descended, to make breakfast together. It was fun! We divided the chores and worked together as if we really were two girlfriends. The whole time we chatted and giggled together over some of the gossip we'd overheard at the art gallery, then later at Jenna and Scott's. It was so delicious! Several times I had to stop doing whatever I was doing and just kiss him. On impulse, I couldn't help it! Then after breakfast when we'd cleared the dishes and put everything away, I simply took him by the hand, led him back to our bedroom, told him to lie flat in his back, mounted him, settled myself onto his distended prick, leaned forward to kiss his sweet rosy lips again and again, and screwed his ass off. And of course my own.
When his penis finally lay there slack, unable to engorge again, a total flop, I slid forward to kiss him with my labia and bury his face under my ass. His tongue had barely touched my clit when I tensed up and came, orgasmed all the juice he'd squirted into me onto his face and into his mouth. He not only didn't seem to mind, he moaned as if he himself were orgasming. I decided then and there that all our lovemaking would end like this, with me sitting on my darling's face while he serviced the my pussy and his own cum.
An hour later we were both sore and exhausted but blissful. It was the weekend, so I suggested that Jerry spend the whole day as Jerri. He accepted the idea as eagerly as a puppy. I handed him the four bras I'd bought him and told him to put one on and to put the others in his own undies drawer -- he'd wear them daily from now on. He did, bending expertly to clip it on his chest more expertly than I'd have expected, and I saw that indeed he filled his B cups easily. I then loaned him a pair of tan shorts, a pair flared wide at the legs to look like a miniskirt, and sandals to match. And a shocking pink, scoop-necked, embroidered tank top left over from before I lost weight. It seemed to him oversized enough to provide the illusion that his breasts didn't show, though it was obvious to me that they were thrust out nicely, noticeably, his bra saw to that.
He was in heaven, my darling! He seemed rapturously unaware that he was still wearing make-up, and I didn't remind him by suggesting he fix his face -- despite all the kissing he was still wearing enough lipstick to preserve decency. "Now you're my girl," I said, and he beamed. He felt comfortable enough to agree to adjourn to our back terrace to lounge there, reading.
We were doing just that, still being two girls, when behind Jerri's back Gwen Shanahan from next door looked over the fence and waved at me. I waved back. She glanced at Jerri, smiled at nothing in particular, then disappeared elsewhere. Maybe she thought Jerri was a house guest or relative or something? I hoped so. I didn't want to embarrass Jerry -- he was presentable enough, marginally passable, but still a long way from feeling the confidence every woman needs to feel that she's properly presentable. All in good time.
And so the next few weeks went. Jerry became Jerri whenever he could -- most evenings and weekends, and as he grew better at it we both grew accustomed to it. Always though, only in the house. We watched chick flicks on the tube and gossiped together as women will, sharing amusement or outrage about the delicious things some men try to do to women and how charming other men can be, mostly chatting about women's things. I deliberately kept away from masculine or even neutral interests during this period -- this was a kind of indoctrination by overcompensating, if you will. Each night I gave him his hormone pill deliberately, "so you can feel more comfortable with yourself." Each night he had to decide for himself whether or not to take it, and each night I watched him hold it in hand as if it were a magic talisman, look at it, then swallow it with a glass of water and smile at me as if seeking my approval. Clearly, he needed me to help him overcome whatever his doubts about changing his body quite so deliberately. I was happy to help.
If he'd chosen not to take them, I'd have smiled at him and approved that too, I suppose, but the fact is, he didn't. Immediately afterward, both of us in our nighties, we'd make love devotedly, or sometimes we'd just fuck hard and steady -- I can be pretty relentless until I've risen to my third orgasm. Then without my even asking any more, without my moving a muscle, he'd go down on me, suck out all the cum he'd just spurted and swallow it down, and I'd cum yet again against his mouth. Sometimes, when his nose was nuzzling into my ass, I'd bounce up and down and wriggle it in deeper, as far as it would go. It was heaven.
For casual wear after work and on weekends I wear pants more often than not, but my Jerry needed to get accustomed to skirts, to full femininity. So I praised his legs all the time, trying to convince him they were too attractive to hide. So he took to wearing pantyhose all the time, even to work -- as he told me, it gave him a sense of secret sisterhood with all the women who worked in his building, that in this way at least he was one of them. When I pointed out he ought to wear a bra every day too, his breasts needed support, he did that too. It wasn't true of course -- his breasts were soft outcroppings but no way pendulous, not yet -- but he loved the sense of belonging his bras provided, and I thought he should get accustomed to how a bra feels. So wearing one would become as second nature to him as his breasts.
I pointed out as a truism that any woman in skirts, no matter how informal her outfit might be otherwise, always wears full proper make-up -- it was true for any woman wearing a dress, of course. When I commented on it as if a fact, he looked puzzled, but then duly nodded and left the room. Only ten minutes later he came back looking ... well, smashing! Just perfect. Obviously he'd mastered not only mascara and lipstick but also the arts of spreading foundation over his face as a beard cover, brushing on blush and face powder, stroking on several shades of eye shadow, then tracing and blending eye liner around his eyes. And making it all look ... natural, customary. He sat down again so ... delicately! Like a lovely maiden in a floating dream! Well, if that's what he wants to be, I decided, that's what he is. Though it was a pity he didn't want to go out and show the world how lovely a specimen of femininity he could be.
One evening when I came into the living room and saw him buried deep in a book, oblivious of me and biting his lower lip, hair a little askew and wearing only minimal make-up, I suddenly realized that he was nevertheless an altogether passable woman. He'd been trying very hard, and he'd crossed some sort of line between imitating a woman and being one. Now he just was. "You're lovely, you know that, Jerri?" I burst out.
He looked up at me and flashed me a dazzling, confident smile. He did already know! My heart warmed when I saw how happy he was! How much happier would he be if the world knew too? All in good time, I told myself.
Meanwhile we were enlarging his wardrobe. Sometimes I'd announce to him, "Honey, there are some marvelous sales this week, I'm going shopping, want to come along?" A lot of the time he did. I waited while he changed back into his men's clothes -- he'd leave his bra and pantyhose on of course, because they were anyhow undetectable under his shirts and jackets, and as a concession to me he'd wear his women's loafers -- they looked almost like men's. He'd wipe off his lipstick, but as often as not he'd forget or not bother to remove his mascara or eyeliner. I thought that was fine -- it made his eyes more emphatic, like a woman's, and it put at least some of his commitment to femininity on public display. So I'd say nothing about it.
We had a ball. We went into lingerie shops, sportswear, better dress shops, all sorts of places, and bought all sorts of things. At first he enjoyed playing the beleaguered husband protesting his extravagant wife's bottomless desire to purchase -- let's face it, some well-tailored clothes but also some really sexy clothes for herself, even though he knew all the time that lots were for him and being purchased in his sizes, which were mostly the same as my own. I'd try on an item, make mental adjustments for my slightly broader hips, narrower shoulders, and larger bust, and decide whether it would do. I could always tell by his face whether or not he'd love it, the moment I emerged from the dressing room to show him. Some things obviously not, but some things he was eager to get home and try on himself.
One Saturday at Nordstrom's we were staring at a fitted dress, a tight sheath designed to hug close going around curves, wondering if he needed a size larger, when it occurred to me. "Try it on, honey," I said. "Then we can be sure. There's no one in this section of the store right now. Use the fitting room I've been using."
He was eyeing it wistfully enough, and could see that with a style like that fit was everything. "All right," he said in a small voice. "But will you stand guard?" The poor dear was frightened. Of a dress!
"Of course," I reassured him. "Just slip into it and let me see for a moment. That's all it takes."
I waited, and a few minutes later he emerged and stood in the door to the fitting room area. "OK?" he asked hopefully. "It feels fine, I must say that!" He was using his girl voice, maybe from fear, maybe because he always did when dressed as a woman and was no longer aware of it.
Something wasn't quite right. "Wait just a moment," I said, and I reached out with both hands to fluff up his hair. "There," I said finally. "I wanted to see the full effect."
"O, yes indeed," came a woman's voice behind me. "That's just lovely! Kate Beckwith's styles are so flattering on a slim woman. It's perfect, that sheath -- if Jerry won't buy it, I want to take it home for my Bobbi!"
I turned, and who should be there but Gwen! Our next-door-neighbor Gwen, also shopping -- she had a few garments draped over her arm -- but now she was gazing admiringly at Jerry. Or was he Jerri now? He was standing there frozen. He realized I suppose that if he disappeared back into the fitting room and then reappeared as himself, it would be obvious that he was a man ashamed to be caught on a crossdressing expedition. But he was also ashamed to seem ashamed! So he'd decided to stand there and brazen it out.
But she already knew who he was! She'd said 'if Jerry won't buy it'-- she knew whose figure that dress flattered! I decided that being carefully casual and matter-of-fact was my only option, and also the best example I could set for Jerry at this point. He'd been outed, and that was that.
"Oh, hi Gwen!" I said in response. "You're shopping too?" That much was obvious enough. "Your Bobbi?" I then asked. "Don't you mean Bob? Your husband?"
"Not when he's dressed like your Jerry -- that's when he's Bobbi. You didn't know? Bob's a crossdresser too, a little bit transgendered like Jerry I imagine, maybe even a lot. He loves it! And he's very good at it, like Jerry. Sometimes when you leave your blinds open Bobbi and I will watch Jerry putting on a fashion show in your bedroom, trying on whatever you've gotten him and altogether unaware of his appreciative audience. Some of his outfits we feel like applauding! We've gotten some good ideas for dressing Bobbi from seeing what seems to match Jerry's moods and temperaments, and how he accessorizes. He is Jerry when he's being a girl, isn't he? That's still his name?"
"Jerri," I replied. "Same sound, different spelling. Different other things too. As you can see." The jig was up. Jerri was now known to someone outside our household and there was no denying it. There he stood, still petrified. But an idea was forming, a way to help Jerry overcome his fear of being seen as his alternative self! If he got to know another girl just like him ...!
"Gwen," I said, pulling myself into my most authoritative mode. "Why don't you and Bobbi come over for dinner next Friday evening? Around six, we'll have a drink first? We'd love to have you. Just a foursome, just four girls getting together, nothing elaborate." I stared at her as meaningfully as I could. She understood right away.
"Four of us with no guys around to interrupt our girl talk? I'd love that," she said, staring back at me. "We both would. But do ask Jerri to wear that darling dress he's got on so Bobbi can see it -- I do so want him to get one just like it."
"All right, dear?" I turned back to Jerry, still standing there in humiliated silence. He'd heard as clearly as I had that he'd long ago been outed, that Gwen and Bob Shanahan had known for a long time about his shameful if delightful compulsion. And that her Bob -- her "Bobbi" -- shared it, that he also loved to dress to look like a woman. He had no escape, but now there was no reason to try to escape. He nodded. "Well, I guess we're buying you that dress," I added. "Or else Bobbi might look prettier than you will next Friday, and we can't have that, can we? Will you change out of it or would you rather wear it home?"
"I'll wear it," he said. Then hearing what he'd just said he added abruptly, "Next Friday I mean. I can't ...."
"Oh, I think you can," Gwen interrupted. "I mean, my Bobbi's further down the mall this very minute wearing his Gloria Vanderbilt jeans and the highest heels anyone's ever seen. He's getting his hair done -- now and then he feels he should do that. And his face, too. He's promised to take me dancing tonight at the Glen Island Club."
An intriguing idea. "You go out dancing together? The Glen Island crowd doesn't think that's strange, two girls ... ahhhh...?"
"Oh, we aren't always together, dancing together I mean. Though I'll go out with Bobbi sometimes as two girls prowling the town. We did that even before we got married. No, the Glen Island's fine. Some other places can make me very uneasy, because some places you never know what kind of men you'll meet, or what they'll expect when they've danced with you a few times and bought you a few drinks. Some simply won't settle for a kiss or two, and then it can get ... difficult for both of us. You remember how it used to be?"
I remembered. The excitement when a strange man bought you a drink, or asked you to dance, and if he was nice you asked him to sit and chat, and later if you really liked him there was passionate smooching and wandering hands caressing your breasts, your nipple tips, your wetness down below. I remembered. Gwen still does that? While her husband's with her watching her make out with another man? Good heavens! And Bobbi makes out with other men while Gwen watches?
"Luckily, most of the men we meet are simply delightful. Family men away from home out on the town and looking for company. And how else can Bobbi learn proper behavior with men, how it feels to be a real woman in the real world, if he doesn't just let himself be one now and then?"
"Complete with what happens? Bobbi kisses men?" I was astonished. Was he secretly gay?
"We both do, if they've been solicitous, attentive to our wants and not too insistent on their own. Good Night kisses at the very least, but sometimes a little more." Her expression became inward, bemused. "Sometimes a lot more than a little more, April, if you know what I mean. It's harmless when Bobbi's nearby doing the same thing. It's the least we can do when someone's offered us pleasant companionship of an evening and bought us a few drinks. If we didn't, they'd wonder why not, and we can't have that, can we?"
"No, we can't have that," I said. But I was still absorbing this revelation of Gwen's. Just as I had a Jerri, she had a Bobbi, and just next door moreover! "Doesn't it make you uneasy? What if Bobbi was found out by one of his men? Or what if he felt attracted to one of them more than he feels attracted to you?"
"And what if I were to feel more attracted to one of the men we meet than I am to Bobbi? Yes, that could be a problem. Fortunately one we haven't had to confront, not yet. And now, maybe not at all."
I sensed that she had something in mind for the both of us. "Next Friday at six, then?" I reminded her.
"Without fail," she replied. "I'll call," she added. "I think maybe we need to talk first. Say, Monday lunch?" And she was gone.
No sound from Jerry. I looked at him still standing stock still in his cling sheath and fluffed hair, looking at me. Reproachfully? Desperately?
"It'll be fine," I reassured him. "Would you like to have your hair done now too now? Like Bobbi?"
He shook his head. "Can we go home now?" he asked in a weak voice. Jerry's voice. The poor dear had had it.
"We certainly can, honey. Just let me have the tags from that dress and I'll pay for it along with these other things. Then go collect your clothes, don't bother to change, just head out the door and through the mall and straight for the car. I'll meet you there in a few minutes."
To my amazement, that's exactly what he did! Snapped off the tags, disappeared into the changing room, gathered up his shirt, pants, and jacket into a shopping bag, reappeared a moment later still wearing that very dress, and carefully, gracefully, slowly, he proceeded down the aisles and out into the mall! Among all the other shoppers! Some distance away from me he turned left toward the entrance doors, every inch a lady. His first public appearance as a woman!
My heart went out to him, and I admired him immeasurably. I'll have to get him a purse now that he's out in the world, I was thinking. Wearing no make-up except for the mascara he'd forgotten to take off before we left the house, he still looked altogether passable. No one glanced at him strangely, though a few women gave his new dress the once over, as women will. I felt so very proud of him.
That night, we talked about this new turn of events as I rocked back and forth on his penis. As we brought each other to the heights and beyond, as he crept down to slurp his own cum back out of me afterward, I confessed how pleased I was, how much I admired him. He looked uncertain but grateful. He was a little proud of himself too! He'd been out being a woman among women, fulfilling an old dream!
Gwen and I met for lunch downtown two days later to discuss this new situation. It seems Bob too was a lifelong crossdresser, and she too was encouraging him to display himself more widely, to live a little. It was a deeply enjoyable thing that some men seem born to feel in their bones -- and in their boners, we both giggled at that. Bob was now seeing an endocrinologist to help him shape his body and feel more comfortable with it, yet not make him altogether impotent.
I commented that my Jerri was also on hormones and also shaping up, maybe a little softer but no way impotent -- I'd never allow that.
Gwen commented emphatically that her acceptance of Bobbi's crossdressing, her enjoyment of it, was a good thing for their marriage -- they'd never felt closer. Living as a woman whenever possible had developed in him a more empathetic understanding of her, indeed of all women -- he'd become much more gentle and affectionate and he no longer associated himself with the vigorous, abrupt, sometimes nasty kind of manliness he'd grown up with and sustained in the earlier years of their marriage. They'd been going out together as two women for months now, because Gwen felt -- and I agreed -- that a woman's sense of her own attractiveness has at its core her ability to attract men. It's something other women can sense -- it even gives you status among your own kind too.
"That's after all what it's all about, isn't it?" she asked me. "To feel fully feminine and attractive, and love feeling that way? That's how I knew beyond doubt that Bobbi needed to learn to flirt, to appreciate and enjoy the sense of power even a casual but successful flirtation can confer on a girl. Even if it does end in a sucked cock or two."
Bobbi is a cocksucker? I was a bit shocked, but I couldn't disagree with her main contention. Before my marriage I'd flirted shamelessly for the fun of it, sometimes for more than that -- in order to get an interesting man interested in me and then see where it went. Since then too, now and then. It amused Jerry to watch me gleam with seeming anticipation whenever I met a likely man, to sparkle in conversation with him while casting him sly glances, as if we already knew each other's secrets. Sometimes it worried him when I seemed overly warm and the man was evidently turned on, especially when I stopped tossing Jerry sideways glances and concentrated entirely on that man, gave him my undivided attention. That was fine by me -- it kept Jerry on his toes and appreciative of me. His lovemaking was always especially ardent after he'd seen me roping in another conquest.
On impulse I asked, "Was that an accident, Gwen, your running into us at Nordstrom's the way you did, then making yourself known to us the very moment Jerry was looking his most feminine?"
"In a way," Gwen replied cautiously. "I've known what you two have been doing, of course. I've known for some time, as I said -- Jerry has never realized that he should pull down the shades or close his blinds when he's changing into his lingerie. Then there was that over-the-back-fence glimpse I had of the two of you on your terrace not long ago, Jerry in those darling wide-legged shorts I've seen you wear other times. And in a tank top that hid nothing of his bust or his bra. He really is coming right along, isn't he? Bobbi is a beautifully shaped C, finally, I'm pleased to say."
"Jerry's a B cup," I said. I tried to sound matter of fact, but it came out sounding proud. Because I was proud of him.
"I've noticed. Even without his bra, when he perspires on a hot day there's no mistaking it -- whatever the blouse or shirt your Jerry's wearing, it clings to those boobs and ... well, it gives the whole show away. Just last week when he was cutting the grass in your back yard and I stopped to chat with him, I could see he was wearing eyeliner as well as a bra. So when I happened to see him accompany you willingly into the women's section of the store -- most men hate shopping, my Bob included if it isn't for him -- I just had to follow to see how far along Jerry'd come. Or how far you'd brought him."
I wanted to return to the earlier topic. It was fascinating -- I wasn't yet sure why. "Has Bob been with a man, yet, Gwen? Has he in fact enjoyed all the pleasures of being an attractive woman, all the rewards?" I had to smile. "However messy those rewards can seem afterward, especially when you leak and you're douching, and trying to clean the odd secretions off your clothes."
"Only tentatively," Gwen replied. "Bob can be something of a power freak, a tease. A 'real cunt' is what some men call it. Now that he's discovered his female charms, he gets a charge out of arousing other men and coaxing them along. He'll sucking their cocks until they're helpless -- he loves that glazed look men get when they're near cumming. He's such a sweet guy himself it doesn't occur to him that other men can be terribly dangerous when they're aroused and sexually hell-bent. That they can get mean. Especially if they should reach down and discover that the sexy babe they're so friendly with is not a babe after all! So I've been very cautious with him. I don't want him hurt or discouraged -- I enjoy his femininity too much. We don't want that for either of our guys, I'm sure. So has a man been inside him yet? Once or twice. You know. When the right man comes along, everything suddenly seems easier."
True enough. I had to agree with Gwen. No girl passes through an adolescence and early maturity without at least one bad experience with one arrogant son of a bitch who cannot be trusted and refuses to hear the word 'No!'. I hadn't always said 'No' to guys I was dating, but at times. One time in particular I was nearly raped -- this guy was obnoxious and had refused to listen to me, and my weak punches only excited his determination all the more. I'd finally had to scratch and bite my way out of his car, and some of the bruises on my face and arms from that encounter took weeks to heal. I considered carrying a small can of Mace on my next date in case that kind of situation should recur. But then I met my sweet Jerry, and my whole world changed.
"No, we don't want our guys put at risk," I said. Recalling another hard case or two I'd had to deal with, I began to feel scared for Jerry. "Some men can be very mean. Imagine if one of those discovers that the woman he's with is really a man?"
"You bet!" Gwen nodded soberly. Then grinned. "It's different when girls date other girls of course. Girls know what to expect from each other. I had that in mind when I encouraged Bob to let Bobbi come out and get comfortable, then go out with me sometimes and live a little. There are many places girls can go together and have fun just as themselves. So many things to do without men as well as with them. You know?"
She looked at me meaningfully as she said this last, and I felt a delicious twist of apprehension and delight in my belly. I knew what she meant. I'd had my girl-on-girl experiences while in college. For a while I'd even wondered whether I was a lesbian, not merely bi-curious or experimental. I suppose that was part of my enhanced attraction to Jerry, my lovemaking with him when he was being a woman. My pleasure in having him lick out my snatch. There were possibilities here, and Gwen was hinting at them. For the moment all I did was nod. "You too?" I asked rather cryptically. Then Gwen nodded, her eyes never leaving mine. Yes, we both knew.
We talked a while more about ways to gratify our husbands' cross-gendered desires, to teach them to be sweet girls, compliant especially to our own wishes. Yet also how to safeguard them now that they were both out in the open in this wicked world, where women are not altogether safe and trannies are not safe at all. We agreed, we'd see how Friday went, how they behaved when they met each other. And we grinned broadly as we agreed on a strategy to ease their shock of recognition and help them develop the sort of friendliness as women I felt instantly toward Gwen.
I wasn't at all surprised that when we parted Gwen leaned forward to give and receive from me a brief kiss on the lips. It felt so comfortable, so natural. So very nice. Almost like kissing our own husbands when they were being women and their lips were also soft. My heart rose up and I leaned forward to extend the kiss ever so slightly. I well understood why men liked kissing us! I did too!
Yet I had to agree with Gwen that a woman's greatest satisfaction as a woman remains her attractiveness to men. If only because learning how to provoke and then satisfy a man makes him in turn eager to satisfy you. So dressing and behaving in ways that attract them, ways that may seduce them, yes, that can be as important as dressing fashionably to impress other women. We both wanted both kinds of satisfaction for our adopted girls.
So, picking up on one of Gwen's suggestions, on my way home that evening I stopped at a sex shoppe and bought a variable sized dildo for Jerri, its attached testicles a small air pump for inflating the penis. The saleswoman showed me how it could grow from a modest five inches long and an inch thick to a massive nine inches and over two inches thick, just by squeezing its balls repeatedly. "When you're ready for something this serious," she added. "You may find that you prefer it to men!" And she gave me a quick grin.
"Or that my husband does," I replied. "I hope so." She looked puzzled for a moment, then her grin widened. "You'll want this too, then," she said, handing me an elastic harness for fastening it to my crotch. "To keep everything in the family."
And that night I began training my darling to receive a cock gratefully and pleasurably. The smallest version of course first. He was lying there with his stiff cock in the air, waiting for me to mount him, when I hauled it out and showed it to him.
He was puzzled. He looked at my cock, then his cock, then my much smaller one -- smaller now, though I intended later to intimidate his masculinity by confronting him with it pumped to gigantic size. And raised an eyebrow in query.
I really must tweeze those brows of his back severely, I thought to myself. Or have it done by a beautician. Yes. But first, the issue at hand. "This is what girls want, sweetheart," I explained to him. "When you're being a girl you'll want to know more about how we feel about these things. It'll help you feel more authentic."
"I already know how you feel about mine," he said, staring at the thing warily. "I mean, you make love to it all the time."
"No you don't know, not really," I replied. "We lick and suck and kiss these things out of affection for our guys, because it makes them feel good and it flatters them and makes them feel wanted. But only when it's inside us do we feel really fulfilled! Because it feels so good inside us. Even thinking about one inside us puts a certain sway in our hips as we walk, a certain feeling inside us, as if we already had one tucked in there. You need to know that feeling yourself at first hand. I want you to know, and I want to know you know."
He was reluctant, but he nodded.
"This week we're two women, honey. We're lesbians. Women who make love to each other. Accept my cock as joyously as I accept yours."
"All right. If that's what you want."
So he sucked on it when I attached it to my crotch and asked him to grasp my buttocks and pull my groin toward him repeatedly, to fuck his own face with it, and then after some teasing foreplay he accepted my imitation penis into his rear. But as something that pleased me. The next night the same, though I detected more enjoyment on his part as I worked it in and out of his anus. The third day, when I made it a little larger, a little more challenging for him to accept, creating a little more pressure inside him swelling outward in every direction, fulfilling him in a true sense, he at last seemed to surrender his inhibitions and begin to feel the same devout affection for that expanded cock I'd felt for his during our honeymoon.
He began to groan, and when I momentarily paused he cried out "No, more!" as if he was afraid I was abandoning him. Each time I moved it in and out of his ass his own penis grew more tense, then leaked, and then at last exploded. But I kept going. The second time he was less frenzied, more -- if that's the right word -- placid. Pleased. Then, after working him up almost to a third orgasm, I deliberately denied him final satisfaction. I offered that cock instead to his mouth. He went genuinely berserk, licking and sucking and slobbering over it as if his mouth were one vast erogenous zone.
It was, now, in a way. The next evening we were sitting together after dinner watching the tube, "Desperate Housewives," so we could discuss its appeal to women afterward and he could understand better if not empathize with us. Jerry was wearing a simple flowered skirt and plain blouse, nothing extraordinary, when an idea occurred to me. I pointed to the floor beside me and he immediately sat at my knees. I then extended my forefinger to him and after a moment he began to lick it, then suck on it. Then two fingers. Finally, a third.
He then settled in and nursed on my hand devotedly for a half-hour before I sighed and released him. "Imagine you're a seductive girl and those fingers are a penis," I suggested to him as he ran his lips up and down their length. "Doesn't it feel marvelous?" He thought so. "Now sit next to me and keep sucking. On my cock." He did. I took hold of his and stroked and pulled it until he stiffened and said "Mmmmmm!" and spurted into my hand. Then I fed him his cum. As he lapped it I asked him, "Yummy?" "Mmmm!" he replied.
If Gwen was thinking what I thought she might be thinking, so was I. He was ready.
IV.
"Gwen and Bob are coming over tonight, Jerry, remember? Can you deal with chicken breasts and thighs without thinking lewd thoughts, and marinate them for cooking this evening? I'll prepare everything else."
A haunted look appeared in his eyes, and I knew it wasn't from the challenge of cooking chicken -- he was a master chef and loved proving it. "You'll wear that sheath we bought at Nordstrom's last weekend. Remember? I fluffed up your hair a little and then Gwen showed up? She was impressed!"
I suddenly remembered my original intention. "You know something? I'm going to get you a beauty salon appointment for this afternoon, have Sally give you a cut and set. You'll be a knockout!
"Honey, Bob will be there. I can't .... It's one thing to walk down the mall where no one knows you. It's something else to ...."
"Jerry, Bob will also be wearing women's clothes. He loves doing that too, same as you. He's even a little further along -- he's already getting professional help with his hair, remember? And with his hormones too -- he takes a larger bra size than you do! Gwen wants him to see your new dress so he'll feel pleased to get one just like it. She loves the way it set off your figure. You remember!"
He nodded, though he was still worried. On that hint I leaped to the telephone in the next room and spoke for close to ten minutes, telling Sally exactly what I wanted. Then emerged smiling. "You have an appointment at Sally's for three this afternoon. It'll take two hours. Be there!
I admit it, I tricked him. When he got home that evening his hair was blonde, and done up in a darling cloche of curls. No way feminine! Monday when he went to his office he'd wear a wig -- from now on he'd be a woman who had to disguise herself as a man! His lipstick and nails were now a flaming red, and there were studs in his ear lobes. His eyes were huge pools of what seemed gleaming desire. In short, he looked like a budding porn movie starlet! Yet, he also looked apprehensive.
"You're gorgeous!" I told him, and he knew from my husky tone of voice that I meant it. "Isn't this what you've always wanted?"
"Yes," he said. "I've dreamed of it. To look like this. But actually to look like this? What will everyone think?"
"That's for later. This is for now. Gwen and Bobbi will be coming over looking like two women. I don't want us to seem anything less. I mean, after all, I am one, and you love looking like one, imagining that you're one. Isn't that true?
It was. He had no response.
"Your best feminine behavior, honey. Tonight you're Jerri through and through. Movement, voice, the lot. Remember. You'll serve dinner and be gracious. I'll pour the wine. No manly prerogatives. This is your coming out party. And so you feel especially pretty, here's this, with all my love."
I handed him a small box containing an exquisite pearl necklace and matching drop earrings. The dear struggled not to weep, though his eyes were wet nevertheless. He blotted them carefully so as not to smear his makeup and gasped. "Thank you!" I helped him put them on, and when he saw himself in the mirror he almost cried a second time.
When they came, I greeted them at the door while Jerri pretended to do something essential in the kitchen. And I must say, I was surprised. Amazed in fact. I hadn't seen Bob except in glimpses, not for months, but I remembered him as a thin, short man with a short thin moustache, rather feisty, always seeming to occupy more space than he did. But the Bobbi who sat down and smoothed her skirt in our living room was a dainty doll! Delicate, with a small chin and huge eyes.
"You're perfect!" was the compliment that came to my lips before I realized it. "Surely not just hormones ...!"
"Oh, no. I've been touched here and there by lasers. Also by a cosmetic surgeon," he said in a sweet, high voice, and he smiled reassuringly at me. "My rough edges always bothered me, so I eliminated them. Gwen kept reminding me that the least hint that I'm not what I seem when we're out on the town and there are men loitering nearby can get us both into trouble. And there are always men loitering nearby." He smiled understandingly at me, woman to woman.
"I'll bet," I said. "Do you carry a club to beat them off?"
"Why should I ever want to do that?" He looked smug, complacent. "Men can be such fun! Some ways, anyhow. If you don't let them go too far."
"Gwen doesn't mind?" I glanced at Gwen, signalling her not to answer for Bobbi. I wanted to know what he understood.
"When I'm a girl, Gwen wants me to have the kinds of experiences girls have." he said. "As long as it's only with men. I sort of enjoy them, though I might well enjoy women more. Men help me feel like a girl, and women help me feel accepted when I'm a girl. I've gotten to like some of the things guys want girls to do. A lot of them, in fact." He looked at me wide-eyed, as if an utter innocent. "Of course I don't dare let men go all the way with me unless they're gay and know all about me in advance. Otherwise things can get ... nasty."
I didn't want to know about anything nasty. "But you have gone all the way with some men?" I asked. Gwen had mentioned that. It could make things easier. "Was it good?"
He looked secretive. "I'm not gay, because that's when I'm most being a woman. But it can be very good," was all he replied. It seemed to me he was getting uneasy, what with all this talk about intimate matters.
Gwen broke in. "But where's Jerri?" she asked.
Jerry, or Jerri tonight, was taking an infernally long time in the kitchen, fussing with the food no doubt to avoid showing himself to ... well, he must still be thinking that this diminutive creature was Bob. "Jerri," I called out. "Come in here and meet Bobbi and take some drink orders, will you sweetheart?"
"I'll be right in!" I heard him call back from two rooms away, his voice muffled but even higher pitched than usual. "Don't go 'way now!" He was trying to hide his embarrassment behind at least a reasonably passable facsimile of a cute woman. There was a pause, no doubt as he took a quick glimpse at his face and dress before his grand appearance. And then there he was, perched on his high heels, a dressy lace apron covering his Nordstrom sheath, looking ... well, perfect. No way manly. I was so glad Sally had done all those extras with him, even the ear lobe piercing that now supported those earrings I'd gotten him. How he'd deal with his new look at the office on Monday, well, that would be Monday. For now, we really did seem to be four women together, though two of us were men and all four of us were married!
I watched as Jerri greeted Gwen as I'd instructed him, as women often do, hands lightly pressing on forearms, face bobbing forward as if to kiss each other lightly on the cheek but settling for air kisses that respect each other's make-up.
Then we both watched as he attempted the same with Bobbi and Bobbi revealed his longer experience at this game. As Jerri tried to press forward, Bobbi held him back almost at arm's length, smiled, and said "I love your hair, Jerri -- don't change a thing about it ever!" Then kissed him full on the lips!
Jerri was stunned. Confused. Bobbi looked like a cute, diminutive girl, and all, but he was nevertheless a man, and Jerri had never been kissed on his lips by a man. He looked at me quickly as if asking for help, and I beamed delight and approval back at him. At the same moment, I noticed, Bobbi glanced at Gwen as if to ask, "Is this what you wanted?" Then they both just stood there holding each other's shoulders, refocusing on each other.
Jerri recovered first. "Thank you," he beamed. "You're so sweet! I love it too. I'm so glad you two could make it over tonight. We have so much in common I hear."
"Yes, we do," Bobbi agreed. "I think we should be seeing more of each other. Is that the dress Gwen said you were trying on when she ran into you in Nordstrom's?"
"It is!" And to my delight Jerri stepped back a foot and did a pretty pirouette to show it off. "I hear you want one just like it. If you do get one, we'll have to be sure never to wear them to the same places at the same time!"
"Oh, I'm sure we can avoid that. We'll just call each other up first, and coordinate what we're wearing before we go out." Bobbi actually giggled. "Just as our wives did with their girlfriends! Sometimes still do."
He suddenly turned to Gwen. "Are we going to that Heart Fund Raiser cocktail party next Thursday?"
"No," Gwen replied. "I can't, I have a board meeting. But you can go if you wish. Take Jerri to go with you. It's a good cause. Then you two can have dinner out afterward and get better acquainted." This time she glanced at me to make sure I understood and approved. I did. "You go as a boy," she said. "And Jerri can go as a girl. That way there'll be no chance you'll duplicate anything you're wearing. But more important, you won't be attracting predatory men the way single girls do when they're out together on the town. I'd feel safer if you went as a mixed couple. Then on your next date you can reverse -- you be the girl and Jerry the boy. That way you'll both get opportunities to dress up and go places and do things and you won't either of you risk ... inappropriate attention." She checked with me again and saw me nodding wholeheartedly. What a brilliant solution for the problems we'd discussed! They'd be each other's girlfriends and boyfriends both!
"And now," she said to Jerri. "If you don't mind, I'd love to try one of your famous Bloody Mary's. I hear you make your own mix and that you don't spare the horseradish or the cayenne. It sounds as deliciously hot as you look!"
Jerri beamed, suddenly recalling what he was there to do as a host, or rather a hostess. Ever the gentleman even though a lady, he next turned to Bobbi. "A white wine, thank you," Bobbi replied almost demurely. He too was being determinedly ladylike this evening. "I mustn't get too tiddly."
"A Bloody Mary for me too," I told Jerri without waiting to be asked. He disappeared, and when he returned with our drinks I was amused to see that he'd poured a white wine for himself too, though his usual drink as Jerry was straight vodka. Our two girls were out to match each other!
There were a few moments during dinner when the two of them began trading anecdotes about their crossdressing, lapsing into deeper voices and speaking as the males they were. Yet each time I was about to turn the subject back to something women might discuss as women, they did it themselves. Bobbi had been to several national gender meetings, hotels where men dress as women full time for a few days or as long as a week, un-self-consciously, and also attend various talks on topics ranging from gender theory to make-up techniques. "That's where we can be completely ourselves," he said. "But there are trans-friendly places here in town too. I'll show you!"
"I'd be delighted," Jerri replied. "Maybe next Thursday, after this fundraiser you mentioned?"
"Next Thursday I'll be a man," he reminded Jerri. "How about Saturday afternoon? Both of us out as girls. We can do a little shopping and then I can introduce you to some of the other girls just like us."
And as easily as that, my Jerri agreed to appear in public all afternoon as a woman. No more fears of exposure. Gwen and I exchanged glances.
Conversation eventually turned -- as one might expect, given our self-consciousness about gender -- to how men make love and how women make love. "Women have altogether different attitudes," Gwen said. "Men are always so eager to get off. We have a much nicer relationship now that Bobbi's also a woman. He's so much sweeter, so much more gentle and considerate. We can make love for hours at a time. Bob was one of those 'Wham, bam' men."
I broke in. "Oh, but some men think of fucking as self-improvement. They have so much more ego involvement. They want to get off, true, but also -- maybe even more -- they want to win approval from their women. They want to be the biggest, the best, the most ardent. The most satisfying for a woman, so they can feel assured that the women will never look anywhere else. Because the threat of cuckoldry hangs over every man whenever any other man dares glance at his woman. Women feel less anxious to please and less threatened by the competition. We know who we are." I then added, feeling quite daring, "We can be much more loving. Especially when we make love to each other, girl to girl. Men can't dream of what we're like then."
"Oh?" Gwen picked up my cue. She saw just where I was leading the conversation. "You know?"
"I've had my little flings," I said, as if pleased to reminisce. "With women, a few," I added, in case Jerry should think I meant something else. "Before I married Jerry."
Jerry knew about my college proclivities, so there was no risk of shocking him. He even approved of them -- 'your women friends kept you safe from other men until I came along,' he'd said. I let him think that. He preferred not to think about my men friends from back then.
By this time we were wandering back into the living room. "Suppose we see for ourselves if that's true," Gwen said to me, settling onto our soft, overstuffed couch. "You come sit here with me," she said to me. "And you two girls" -- she gestured toward our two feminized husbands -- "Settle together over there on that divan and start feeling affectionate toward each other -- it looks soft enough for your delicate bodies. I think before we have dessert we should pair off and do something equally sweet. I mean, snuggle and cuddle each other as women. As women do naturally when they're feeling amorous toward each other and have been invited to enjoy each other's bodies. Whether they're budding women like you two or in full flower like us. Let's see how affectionate you can be. Watch us and take hints from whatever you see us do, if you wish. But gentle or aroused, remember to think, feel, and yearn for each other as women. No indulging in masculine eagerness to get off. No being men. Not even partly men. You don't look it so don't behave like it." She paused. "Maybe later we'll let you take turns, one of you can be the man making love to the other. That should be fun for both of you! You're a virgin, aren't you, Jerri -- well, no fear, Bobbi remembers his first time and I'm sure he'll be gentle with you. But its as women that you need the most practice."
And with that Gwen took me by the hand and pulled me toward her, onto her. I lay atop her with my breasts pressed against hers. She kissed me. This time softly, lingeringly, and I felt an old warmth arise in me as I kissed her back. One manicured hand came up onto one of my breasts, fingers settling onto my nipple, and I decided that before much longer I wanted to be naked in this woman's arms, being a pure woman with a pure woman. I recalled that Jerri and I hadn't yet made love woman to woman, though the idea did occur to me when he first came back from Sally's looking so beautiful. Well, we would, from now on. And often. The kinds of love we had been making together recently was the kind gay men make, I realized, me with my dildo and him with his prick rampant. Because he needed the preparation. That was what he and Bobbi would be doing, I suspected, before this night ended.
"I'd better take off my dress -- I don't want to crush it," Bobbi said a little breathlessly. He'd been in this kind of situation before, plainly. "You too, Jerri."
"Yes," Jerri replied. He too seemed peculiarly breathless, most likely from nervousness. Also from eager anticipation? Here was a pretty girl close to him, sort of, and with my complete consent, by my insistence in fact, he was expected to kiss and caress her. And be kissed and caressed in turn. This was so new! The two of them then lay back down, Bobbi in his chemise and garter belt, Jerry in his bra and panties. It was clear at a glance that Bobbi really had grown some substantial breasts. I felt a brief surge of pride that Jerri's were adequate, full and womanly, bulging from his B cups.
"Quick," Gwen whispered to me. "Have you two long silk scarves somewhere? We want them to feel really close for this first get-together, and we want them to feel they have no option but to explore each other and their own feelings. For now, head to head. Later we'll reverse them, head to crotch, and what they do then we can leave to them. The same things we'll be doing by then I imagine."
I smiled and nodded, and as I peeled myself off Gwen to go fetch the scarves I whispered, "Spend the night, Gwen."
"Love to," she said.
I returned almost at once. Gwen took them and deftly tied our two men close together with large bows at their necks and their waists as they lay alongside one another face to face. Not so much binding them as reminding them that they were bound to each other by our desires for them. They seemed to be nearly immobilized. There would be no air-kissing now, no preserving of their makeup!
"Sweethearts," Gwen said. "We'll leave you like this for a while. Enjoy each other's femininity for as long as you can. Enjoy the intimacy. When you feel you really and truly belong to each other, that you're a part of each other, closer than the closest of girlfriends, kiss each other. Love each other. Caress each other. You'll be possessing the gift we're giving you. Then we'll give you another."
They lay there embracing. Jerri's eyes turned to catch mine, and I beamed approval and encouragement at him. He then closed them and turned back to his partner, realizing that one way or another, what he was about to learn as a woman was inevitable, inescapable, and by my lights desirable. He sighed, then kissed Bobbi full on the lips.
Bobbi seemed much more self-assured. He locked his lips onto my Jerri's and began to writhe and twist his head as if trying passionately to get even closer to Jerri, to stick his tongue even further down Jerri's throat. After a moment Jerri began reciprocating. This was his first man on man experience, and he knew that. Yet whenever he opened his eyes, whenever he came aware of Bobbi's soft bulges pressing against him, it was a man on woman experience. Or woman on woman. He realized that he was now sort of a lesbian, sort of, as his wife had been in college. As she was being this moment over there on that sofa.
He surrendered himself. His arms went around Bobbi's neck and shoulders and began to hug Bobbi fondly. He pulled back from Bobbi's deep kiss, looked into that pretty face, smiled, and kissed both of Bobbi's eyelids. Then they resumed kissing each other's mouths. Jerri's hand began to fondle Bobbi's tits, and Bobbi reciprocated. Jerri gave a delicious groan of gratified desire, and pressed his breasts into Bobbi's hand.
We saw we could safely leave the two of them alone for a while, so Gwen and I used our greater freedom and familiarity with girl on girl lovemaking to begin building each other's desires. We soon rose to feverish intensity, and then we began to bring each other off. God, I'd forgotten what heaven it could be to rub my entire body on a girl's satin-smooth skin. We stroked and caressed and kissed each other repeatedly. I was about to turn and bury my face in her crotch at last when she held me back.
"First, our girls," she said. "Then ourselves."
We both looked over at our girls. Their scarves had come loose, but it didn't matter -- they were bound tightly by desire. Jerri and Bobbi were now naked and clutching each other's heads devotedly, taking turns kissing each other's faces, necks, shoulders, breasts. They were suckling each other. There was a languorous ease about the way they were nibbling -- I looked forward to Jerri doing that to me soon, when he had learned more about this kind of lovemaking and felt comfortable doing it as a woman. I was shocked to see the clock on our mantle. Over an hour had passed!
"Darlings," Gwen said to them. "Swivel into a sixty-nine position so you can please each other as we're about to do." They looked at her almost as if at an intruder, but Bobbi did reverse himself, and that was all that was necessary. His head now lay on Jerri's thigh, and Jerri's on his. "Lovely," she approved. Gwen was then about to retie the scarves, but she seemed suddenly to change her mind. "Never mind these now. Just enjoy each other. For now, orally. But later, remember, if one of you accepts the other into his own body, the other one must do so too. Remember that. Reciprocity in everything! We both hope you will, so you'll both feel like complete women, each of you knowing how a man's penis transforms the way a girl can feel about him!"
I was pleased to see a gleam appear in Jerri's eye. He'd accepted my dildo gladly, eagerly. Now, to accept an actual penis, even from the young woman who was practically his alter ego by now, seemed an immeasurable bliss. I hoped that in his eagerness he wouldn't stint at providing Bobbi oral service. Not a minute later I saw my hope realized. Bobbi's cock was fully extended, its tip in his mouth, and then he slid his mouth down it. My lovely husband was now a cocksucker! Yet another feminine bridge crossed. He groaned, and I saw that Bobbi was also mouthing his cock, giving as good as he was getting.
"We're going to bed now," I said. "You might be more comfy later if you shift to the spare room. See you at breakfast." I was telling them we intended to spend the whole night with each other, but they didn't seem to pay any attention at all. They were now each sucking off the other ardently, with total concentration. They looked so sweet!
I rose, eager to move with Gwen into the bed I usually shared with my beloved boy-girl Jerri, now so contentedly sucking away on Bobbi's prick. Even as I watched, Bobbi's hips rose and then pumped and Jerri swallowed and swallowed and at the same time tried to smile, his eyes still shut tight so he could concentrate on the whole experience. Like any girl, he had now induced and then swallowed a man's cum. Could he do anything more authentic and satisfying than that?
Yes, he could. And he'd soon discover what, with Bobbi's help. "Let's just leave them," I proposed to Gwen. "They're fine." They were in good hands, embraced by good arms and legs. So together with Gwen I proceeded to the bed I knew I would be sharing with Jerry and Jerri until the end of my days, now that he was as naturally and blissfully a girl as he'd been a boy.
During the night Gwen and I did everything we could to bring each other joyous satisfaction. Our orgasms abounded. Then midway through our embracing and caressing and sucking and licking I brought out my inflatable dildo. Before sunrise we'd both clamped our pussies onto it and cum on it helplessly several times, impaled repeatedly. Finally we were unable to move, and we just slept.
In the morning we found our boys, now also our girls, still clamped in each other's arms in the spare bedroom, still sound asleep. Stuck to each other by crusty and sticky cum. All over both of them, running down their plump buttocks and into sheets that were -- I saw -- quite beyond recovery. They'd tried it all. I almost cried for joy.
V.
That was a few months ago. Other changes in our lives followed rapidly. That same week, rather than dye his hair back to its usual color or wear a wig, rather than abandon his new femininity, Jerry quit his job. So did Bob. They formed their own investment counselling partnership, carrying some of their old phone contacts and clients with them, cultivating a few wealthy widows who were suspicious of men, and by providing advice that was partly shrewd and partly lucky they quickly became even more prosperous than before. Jerry took to looking effeminate each day when he went in to their new office, and when I asked why, he replied simply, "I like looking pretty." His new secretary thought he actually was a woman, I found when I called his office and was told that "she" -- meaning "Ms. Jerri" was on another line speaking to a client and would have to call me back. This was a little troubling, but I had to grant that I'd encouraged him in it.
They both preferred being women. For a while they took turns being the man when they dated, and went out often as if a couple, but gradually they phased out the masculinity in their lives. And they dated each other often. Even though they saw each other all day long at the office, Bob and Jerri, or Bobbi and Jerry, more and more often Bobbi and Jerri would go out together a few times each week, always spending the night together at one of our houses. Gwen and I didn't mind -- we'd consult, then get together ourselves at the other house, leaving them free to explore themselves, their new selves. Sometimes we'd just talk, Gwen and I, but most of the time we'd also spend the hours in each other's arms, doing what we knew our husbands were doing, only more skilled at it.
Jerry spent much of his spare time planning and shopping for these dates. At least once a week he'd schedule a salon appointment to get his hair and face done, and then when he took Bob to our house he'd do up the spare room in the most romantic manner imaginable -- hang peach-toned curtains to enhance his complexion, place little candles here and there to reflect the glow in their eyes and hearts, things like that. The next morning when they kissed and parted, both were blissful.
"I truly think Jerry loves your husband," I told Gwen one evening when they were out together and we were together in bed. "He does everything he can think of to please him. Or her. Whichever."
Gwen thought that Bob seemed to feel the same way. "Love?" she replied, marveling. "They are besotted with each other! I must say, I hope their honeymoon ends soon and they'll settle down into some kind of middle-of-the-affair serenity so we can reclaim them as spouses. Bob hardly pays any attention at all to me these days. He seems to consider me a pal, the co-conspirator who first set him up with his girlfriend Jerri. He's grateful and all, but just when I begin to sense a certain sexual desire for me growing in him again, certain lecherous feelings, he gets on the phone to your Jerry, however he spells his name, and they're off again that night. Until well into the next morning. It turns out those desires I'd sensed weren't for me at all."
"I've noticed that same thing," I said. "It's weeks since I've felt a really hard penis in me. This dildo we're using is marvelous, especially when it's inflated way past anything Jerry can get to. And I've noticed that you scream as loud as I do when it's at peak and it's gotten you going." I smirked with satisfaction at the memory, and she did too. And then spontaneously, we kissed each other with real affection.
Gwen then turned serious. "Honey, we have to talk again, I'm afraid. Shall we schedule a lunch, the way we did once before?"
"We don't need lunch," I replied. "We lunch on each other! What's on your mind, Gwen?"
She hesitated. "Has Jerry made love to you at all lately?" she asked.
A surprising question. I just looked at her.
"I can't say Bob has either."
"No," I replied, finally pulling myself together. "You're right. He has not. Not at all. When he's being the girl and entertaining Bob in that boudoir he made out of our guest bedroom, and I get home from visiting with you and find they're still there, they're usually both a mess, covered with each other's cum, whatever cum they haven't managed to retain in their rear ends or swallow or lick off each other. I suppose what they do with each other uses up their passion for us for the next few days. Then when they've recovered they call each other and make another date and they're off again. I must say, we've created a pair of lovebirds that feel more for each other than they do for us right now, I'm afraid."
"A pair of lady lovebirds, I'm afraid," Gwen said. "Let me tell you what Bob told me last night. It's important."
I untangled my legs from hers to signify that I was altogether attentive, though my hand still rested idly on her breast as hers did on mine, expressing our continuing affection for each other.
"Neither of them can get it up any more. Not for weeks. Bob asked me if they could borrow that dildo we use, and I pointed out obviously not -- that we pair off on the same evenings, so it's always in use when he and Jerri are being ... intimate. So he asked me where you bought it -- they want one too. I asked why, and he explained that they no longer get erections that are capable of penetrating each other. Neither of them."
I wasn't surprised, somehow. "You mean their hormones have done them in? Wasn't that being monitored?"
"I asked Bob how come. He told me that soon after the night they spent together under our auspices, they decided to double up on their hormones in order to make themselves more attractive to each other. Not only to round out their tits but their asses too. Because their asses are what they were each fucking, and they each wanted them rounder and plumper and more desirable for the other. That's what love can do to a girl I guess."
I was annoyed in the extreme. "They doubled up on their hormones? That's disturbing, Gwen!"
Gwen was still quite calm. In fact she smiled. "I agree, it would be disturbing if in fact our men had made themselves impotent. But they haven't. I've checked with Bob's endo about both of them. They're well below the hormone levels needed for self-sterilization or total impotence. They can't get rock hard these days, true, but that's the price they're paying for their beautiful complexions and faces and figures. Age would have done that to them anyhow in a few more years, she says -- they aren't either of them teenagers any more, not even young men in their twenties."
"Then why aren't they getting erections?"
"Honey, think! They think it's the hormones, that they're becoming more and more feminine. And believe it or not, they love the idea! But the fact is, they're just overdoing it. They see each other for multiple bouts of sex twice a week, sometimes more often. They get each other off several times each time. And who knows what they do when conferring in their new office. So of course they can't get stiff any more. They don't give themselves time to recover! Bob says that even when they're too flaccid to do anything more than dribble they still don't quit -- they suck each other off just for the dribble, and they push fingers into each other's rears to milk each other of any leftovers. Over and over. Even a satyr couldn't maintain that kind of schedule and maintain erections."
"This doesn't bother them?"
"If anything, they prefer it. I asked Bob. 'I like girls,' he said. 'And Jerri's a real dish! My special girlfriend. We're really eager to please each other the way girls do. Thank you for introducing us!' So I asked him if Jerri feels the same way about him, and he blushed and nodded yes. They buy each other little gifts, flowers, jewelry, lingerie, did you know that? And perfume? They've taken to calling each other's cocks 'clits' and their assholes 'pussies.' Even if one of them tries to play a boy he does it without conviction these days -- he finds it's more fun being a girl pretending that he's a boy. Then they giggle a lot about how unconvincing they are as boys. You may not have noticed, but that's what they're doing now, being girls. Even when they look like boys, they're girls. Full time. Like us. When they're in bed with each other they're exactly like us, not even pretending to be boys. They make gentle love to each other and lick each other's 'pussies' the way we do. That's why they want a dildo like ours. 'I'd love to feel a big, masterful, stiff cock inside me again,' those are Bob's exact words. Bobbi's, I mean."
I began to feel annoyed. In a subtle way, betrayed. "So our boys now think they're girls full time? In their minds and hearts they're sleeping with other girls? With each other?"
Gwen looked at me, a little amused. "They're very persuasive as girls. Passing them in the street in the kind of clothes they like to wear these days, you'd never know they weren't. I'm sure you've noticed that Jerry's now very well endowed up top as well as down below. He's maybe even bigger than Bob. And those well-fucked asses of theirs -- formerly well-fucked I guess -- those would look great on either of us."
"Gwen," I said with a certain asperity. "I have an arrangement with Jerry. We are faithful to each other. He doesn't fuck any women apart from me, and I don't fuck any men apart from him."
"Well, honey, he's keeping to that bargain. These days it's questionable whether either of our guys is fucking anyone -- they're keeping each other too well drained. At the moment he's only having sex with ....
"Bobbi. Who wants to think she's a woman. And looks like a woman. Same as Jerry, who knows better but also wants to think she's a woman. As he is."
"Honey." Gwen cautioned. "We did tell them, 'watch us and take hints from whatever you see us do.' That's what they're doing. Having the same kind of sex we're having."
"But they're men! They shouldn't be ...."
Gwen's voice grew more severe. "They were men. Now, think, April! If it walks like a girl, and it looks like a girl, and it thinks its a girl, what is it?"
I felt chastened. After a long pause, I said, "We have to break this obsession they have with each other. They're no use at all to us as women or men the way things are."
Gwen cautiously offered a suggestion. "We both like girls. Shall I invite Jerri to my house some night and you invite Bobbi to yours? Or shall we just lay down the law and reclaim our husbands just as they are for our own girly uses? That doesn't seem to me to be fair, if we're to continue doing each other as we do. As I want to do."
I considered the matter, then said forthrightly, "Gwen, not as they are. I haven't been laid in over a month! Except for my times with you, and they have all been lovely, I haven't had sex at all since Jerry discovered that fucking Bobbi and getting fucked by Bob fulfills all of his fantasies about himself as a woman. I can't believe it now, but I actually wanted him to do it. So he'd feel complete as a woman! So he'd be happy!"
Gwen suddenly grasped my whole body and pressed it to her. Our breasts crushed against each other. We embraced beautifully. I responded to her impulse by hugging her as close, but I was puzzled.
"I have a solution," she said.
I couldn't imagine what she meant. "What?" I asked.
"If all four of us are women in our minds and hearts -- you said so yourself, and those two need to be broken out of their obsession with each other into more normal desires, and we two love what we have with each other but want sex with men as well, what's the answer?"
It dawned on me all at once. "Jerry doesn't fuck any other women, and I don't fuck any other men," I repeated weakly.
"I think that understanding has been dissolved. He's been fucking another woman for months, as far as he knows or cares to know. He has sinned against you in his heart, as the good book would put it."
That stopped me. "I see," I said. "'In his heart.' You're right."
"April, all four of us need to get laid by real men. The real kind with real cocks. Then we can each of us decide which we prefer, or whether we want both, and our bodies as well as our minds will each have an informed vote. That may straighten things out for us!"
I was still thinking this through, and as I considered the matter I felt an interesting urge, a delicious stirring down below and deep inside me. It'd been so long since I'd felt hot thrusting meat in there that I was starting to imagine what it was like so vividly that my body was responding. I was actually wet!
Gwen then added, "Shouldn't our girls know what it feels like to really be women? To know what we know about taking really attractive men into ourselves and giving them as good as we get?"
"Yes," I said, a little breathlessly. They now believe they're women, though they'd been taking each other into themselves as if they were men, at least until recently. But as real men? As dildos? My urge down below was growing stronger. It was the generous thing to do for our beloved husbands. Our girls, I mean! They needed to get fucked by real men!
"Can we deny them that?" I asked. I didn't think so. I didn't want to deny even myself that. Not any longer. "No," I said. "They need to get themselves laid as badly as we do," I said finally!
Gwen nodded. That was the answer she was hoping to hear. "It happens that there are four young guys in our office who play squash with each other every morning before work," she continued. "Vigorous young men with exceptional stamina -- it's an exhausting game, and they all four try to exhaust each other in the shortest possible time, it seems. All four are unattached and sexually they're highly desirable -- I can see that much for myself, and some of the women in our office testify to it, and every Monday morning I overhear them tell each other about their Saturday night triumphs, all sorts of stories that don't bear repeating. Two of the guys are bisexual it seems, and they taunt they the other two for being afraid to take on men as well as women. And it happens that all four of them hit on me now and then, just to see what'll happen. I suspect it's time for me to hit back. Shall I invite them to dinner this Saturday?"
I couldn't say 'No' so I said 'Yes." For Jerri's sake. Or Jerry's. For the sake of our marriage, maybe. Whatever. "Yes," I said. "We're two couples now, and that's making for problems. Four couples may solve those problems." I smiled to myself. "Even if not, think of the permutations!"
Gwen agreed. "I have," she said. "And consider this, too. We may end up sleeping with our own husbands again. At least now and then."
And that, we both agreed, would be very nice indeed. We loved our men dearly, as men or as women, no matter how they spelled their names or how eagerly they licked up whatever the sperm in our pussies or their own. As from now on they would be doing, it seemed clear, whether their own or someone else's. Maybe their own. Maybe now and then someone else's. We'd encouraged them on their journeys, and like children finally come of age they'd completed the trip in their own ways. We could both feel proud of them.
I embraced Gwen even more closely, and reached to move a finger into her slit. It was wet. As was mine. We'd completed our own journeys too.
As we moved toward our bedroom, kissing, our fingers already plunged deep into each other, I wondered whether Jerri was ready for the kinds of surgical enhancements to his femininity Bobbi'd already undergone. A touch here and a snip there and he'd look really cute! Then, a few snips more and he really could be one of us!
The odd thought came to me, 'If Jerri really did become a woman, I wonder what she'd be like in bed.'
Copyright © 2008 by Vickie Tern. May be archived to free archives only, single-copied for personal use, but not sold.
Vickie [email protected]
Diana uses Bobs attraction to her to turn him into a member of her Doll collection. See what this bored, wealthy lady has in mind for her play things.
I'll appreciate knowing what you think: [email protected]
My other stories can be found in http://www.fictionmania.com and
http://library.gaycafe.com/nifty/transgender/by_authors/vickie_tern
Let me know about any of these too, if you can after reading them.
Don't read this unless the State, the Law, and your Parents can all three
approve your reading it, or all three don't care.
DOLLS by: Vickie Tern
PART ONE
Bob still didn't know how he felt about it, or even how he was supposed
to feel. At first he'd said "No!" abruptly, without thinking, and she'd called
it a typically mindless male response, which of course is what it was. She
said she'd hoped for better than that from him, especially given the way he
claimed he felt about her. This was something she wanted him to do, she
really did, never mind why. It was for her! And he'd refused.
She'd told him he had better rethink his answer, or she'd start rethinking
lots of things about their relationship. So that's what Bob was doing, more
and more desperately, over and over. The old sufficient reasons he came up
with at first got more vague and meaningless with each repetition. She was
marvelous, an incredible girl, and he was hopelessly in love with her. She'd
become his whole life, his reason for breathing, practically. He didn't dare
risk losing her. But she was odd in some ways too. His refusing her "one
teeny little request, please, for me, just because I want you to is why," now
looked as if it was going to destroy everything they'd been to each other.
It had all started out casually enough, a straightforward slow-percolating
affair with a girl who seemed at first to be far beyond the reach of his desires.
He'd met her in a singles bar. He'd been leaning over the bar alone as usual,
nursing his Chardonnay and meanwhile looking sideways at different couples
chatting each other up. They all looked like people he'd like to get to know,
he thought. Maybe less lonely and uncertain than he was these days, but
who wasn't?
He was still new in town, and still knew hardly anyone. Still with no job,
though thinking of looking. He'd come a month earlier from another town
where he also knew no one, to collect an inheritance from his grandmother,
and he'd planned to leave that evening. But when the lawyer handed him the
check it looked a lot more sizeable than he'd anticipated, like real money in
fact. So he'd decided then and there to stay and try to make a fresh start, take
his time looking around, and if he liked what he saw settle in. Now, being a
little shy, he still didn't know anyone. But this singles bar was the one place
he could go to get out of that drab furnished apartment he rented by the
month, and who could tell?
This particular evening he was glancing down the bar to his right at a
dark-haired girl in a green silk breast-hugging blouse, wondering if those
small bulges poking forward through the fabric were her nipples or some
dressmaker's contrivance. She was looking sideways through heavy black
eye makeup at a chunky man leaning over her, and laughing as if amused by
something he had just said, though she sounded a little forced. Girls on dates
always did that, tried to look pleasing and seem pleased. The man was hefty,
a football player once maybe, not yet gone soft. No matter. Bob was thin.
Always had been. Too thin to interest a girl like that?
"I notice you always order the same wine. Don't you ever feel like
trying something new?"
Startled, he looked left, toward a voice too close not to be talking to him.
At first he saw only a mass of loose blonde hair, piled up but then falling like
theatrical curtains to frame a strong, beautiful face. Its almond-shaped eyes
stared steadily at him, amused, confident, friendly, seeming to share
something. She had bright, pouty lips. Bob didn't dare look down further,
to check out her body -- that would be too obvious, too rude. A single sweep
of his eyes and he might lose her.
"I try different things till I find what I like, then I stick with it," he replied.
Dumb! Still, it was the best he could think of on such short notice, not
too bad. Quick. Something else!
"Can I order something for you? What would you like?"
She looked surprised, as if this never happened in singles bars, even
somewhat grateful. Yet her eyes remained amused, and never left his. The
bartender noticed that finally something was happening in Bob's vicinity, and
came over.
"Bailey's Irish on the rocks," she said.
"Bailey's Irish on the rocks," Bob repeated to the bartender, who was
already turning away. Then feeling foolish, he added, "Make that two."
"I thought you stick with what you like," she said.
"I'd like to try what you like," he said, now feeling rather racy.
"What I like can get you into trouble," she said, "Unless you're really up
to it, really ready. Creamy, thick, sweet. You lick it and suck on it, its more
like kissing than drinking, and then you lick it off your own lips. You think
you'd like that?"
"I'll find out, I guess," he said guardedly. "I'm willing to try." This
conversation's eroticism was racing past him. He'd better change the
subject.
"I'm Diana," she said abruptly, holding out her hand. It was as if he'd
somehow just passed some kind of test.
"Bob," he replied, resisting a gallant impulse to bring her hand to his lips.
He let it go. "Mistress of the hunt," he added, to show her he'd read some
Greek mythology.
"Not mistress," she replied. "Though I suppose I've been. Goddess.
Maybe you'll find out. Or maybe all you'll find is what else I can be."
"I hope so," he said, hoping that was the right answer. She'd lost him.
And that was how it started. They'd set up a date, he had no car so she
told him she'd come by his place to pick him up, and still looking straight
into his eyes, she picked up her purse. Then suddenly she was no longer
there.
For a while Bob had every reason to believe he was dating Diana the
Chaste, not Diana the Huntress. He couldn't understand why such a
beautiful girl -- with really a ravishing figure once he got to look at it, round
yet trim and willowy -- why she sounded so pleased every time he asked her
for a date, and never put him off, and always seemed reluctant to leave when
it ended, yet never accepted his invitations to come in and relax in his place
before driving on home. She had the brisk ease of a woman raised wealthy,
and her clothes showed it. She could afford to buy whatever she liked, and
she seemed to like him. The more they saw of each other, the further their
talk advanced into small intimate confessions, the luckier he felt that such a
marvelous girl was at all interested in him. It was beyond hope or belief.
Yet physically she remained reserved. He never pressed her for more than
their brief good night kisses because the initiatives were all hers. She'd pick
him up and drive them wherever they were going, then drop him off before
disappearing into the night. When he'd asked for her phone number she'd
waved her hand and given it to him, but she'd said something about calling
her being difficult, she shared her phone, and she was so often out. She'd
take his number and call him regularly. As she did.
On their fifth date she surprised him with an unexpected and elegant blow
job, quite casually, while they were sitting and talking in her car in front of
his apartment building. While she was saying something in her comfortable,
matter-of-fact manner, she'd reached into his lap, unzipped him, taken it out,
bent over, and no mistaking it, he'd immediately felt himself enclosed in her
moist warmth. When he came he spurted semen in helpless surrender deep
into her mouth, and it seemed that she swallowed all of it. But then when she
sat up again and leaned over his face to kiss him, there it all was, some of it
dribbling from her mouth into his, then all of a sudden her tongue pushing
great glops into his mouth while she sealed his lips tightly against hers, so he
had no choice but to accept it and swallow it down. It tasted a little creamy, a
little salty, very odd, not too bad. He was licking his lips as she leaned back
to watch his reaction, and she smiled at him, and he smiled back. "See," she
said. "It's like I said, you lick it off your own lips." He'd thought she'd
meant her own juices that night they'd met at the bar, bantering in that racy
way he could barely follow. Maybe she did. But he decided not to say
anything.
It was just as well he didn't object to licking and sucking his own cum out
of her mouth and swallowing it, because that turned out to be a regular thing
with her, a kink she enjoyed, and not at all accidental. She liked doing it.
The next few times she held all of his cum in her mouth and then spooned it
slowly back to him with her tongue, in ardent kisses all the more sensuous
and sultry, it seemed, for being laced with his own jism. She pressed her
lips tightly against his mouth, and repeatedly her tongue pushed a teeny bit
more to where his tongue could lick it off, their two tongues so salaciously
entwined that he had no choice but to receive it gratefully and swallow it
down.
It bothered him at first, but that was what she wanted him to do,
obviously, and he saw no harm in it. His semen became part of their shared
desire, and after a few more dates he was avid each time to sip it from her lips
and swallow it down. Once she didn't give him her prolonged cum kiss after
she blew him, instead swallowing it while looking at him with a mischievous
smile, then giving him a peck on the cheek and settling back for him to leave
the car. His face fell. She noticed, and smiled half to herself. She said next
time she'd make it up to him.
That next time, a week or so later, she surprised him with a moment that
was utterly magical. Under the stars on a deserted turnoff high above the
valley, they parked and looked at the town's lights far below. He walked a
little distance away to take a leak behind a tree, and when he returned he
found her sitting sideways on the front seat, the car door open and both her
legs dangling toward him, thighs spread wide, Diana with her pussy open to
the chaste moon. She sat imperiously over her open crotch watching him
return, and as he came up to her she made a single sweeping gesture
downward with her whole arm, pointing to the juncture of her thighs, or
maybe to the ground beneath. He fell to his knees between her legs as if
clubbed, and buried his face in her slit, and lapped and sucked and thrust his
tongue into her like a man demented. It was true. She was creamy, thick,
and sweet. She wrapped her legs around his head and shoulders, and pulled
him close into her with her thighs, and stroked his hair. She seemed to cum
several times, pressing her pussy ever more tightly into his face while tensing
her legs and making mewing sounds. Perhaps not. No matter, he loved it.
From then on he was hers. He loved her, helplessly, hopelessly, utterly,
more completely than he had ever fallen for any girl anywhere. He doted on
her, and lived only for their time together. She began to allow him to go
down on her before each date as well as after, each time in her car, Bob's
bowed back tucked down under the dashboard, his face thrust forward
eagerly into her pussy, tongue fucking her until she seemed to cum with
those cute little squeals and gasps he loved to hear. He was ecstatic that he
was able to please her. Then, she always went down on him too before the
night was out, always feeding him his own cum out of her own delicate lips,
in small sips, like a rare wine. He couldn't get enough of her.
Once she agreed to spend the night with him in his bed, if he'd promise to
keep his penis to himself or else available to her mouth and no where else.
He nodded joyously, unable to speak. That one night she'd lain back
completely naked, hands clasped behind her head, watching him, saying
nothing at all. He'd kissed her from head to toe over and over, in little
nibbles, pausing at her nipples and returning to them again and again. She'd
allowed his mouth free access to her cunt, and he wore down his tongue on
her slit and clit while she heaved her hips into his face repeatedly. Who
knows how often she'd orgasmed? That same night she'd gone down on
him three times, each time more sweetly, each time serving him his own fresh
juice from her own sweet mouth. Yet she denied him entry into her body
except with his nose and his tongue, And she never seemed to hear his
pleadings for an explanation, to know why or why not.
The next morning as she prepared to leave his flat, another odd kink
showed up. She was standing at his bureau making up her face in his mirror,
and he looked over her shoulder and pressed his cheek to hers, to see their
two faces reflected together. They were about the same height, both thin,
with the same high cheek bones. His blonde hair was shorter than hers, but
getting longer -- she liked long hair she'd told him, and she'd asked him not
to cut it. What little beard he had was thin and blonde, and anyhow still
smooth-shaven, hardly visible even the morning after. His cheek snuggled
against hers, she placed her palm on his other cheek, and they smiled at each
other's images. They looked so much alike, like brother and sister. It was a
marvelous moment.
Then she resumed putting on her lipstick, looking seriously at her own
face in the mirror, her mouth partly open, her cheek still pressed against his.
When she was done, she opened her mouth wide as a signal to him, her lips
stretched taut. He opened his the same way. Then before he knew what was
happening, she'd lipsticked his mouth just the way she'd just done hers, as if
his lips were alternatively hers, all the while she held her palm firm on his
other cheek so he couldn't move away. Then she pressed her lips together in
another signal for him to do the same, to spread the lipstick evenly on his
upper and lower lips. He did. It was all so unexpected, he had no time even
to think about it.
Suddenly she turned and put her hands on his shoulders, backed him to a
chair, sat him down abruptly, bent over him, turned his face up to hers with
both hands, and deftly, in a series of quick strokes, made up his face to
match the way hers looked in every particular. Foundation, blush, powder,
eyeliner, eye shadow, mascara, and each time he'd wiggle or protest, or grin
to ask her what in the world, she'd hush him with such ferocity he quickly
lapsed into silence. Then when she was done she led him back to where he'd
first seen himself with her, cheek to cheek in his mirror, her palm on his
other cheek. They looked again at their faces reflected together over his
bureau. No longer were they brother and sister. Now they were sisters, a
pair of very pretty girls, though his hair hung in rather lank strands not quite
to his collar.
She grinned, and patted his cheek reassuringly with her upraised palm,
and said to him, "I'd hoped so. You'll do. Leave it on all day today, see
how you like it. As a favor to me." Then she'd picked up her overnight bag,
her cosmetic kit, and her purse, and the door closed behind her while he was
still staring astonished at his own reflection, no longer him, wondering what
all that was about. One more odd thing about her, he thought. But in a way
that was why he loved her, these unpredicatble impulses of hers.
Because she'd asked him to, he left his face made up all day. At first each
glimpse of himself in a mirror surprised him, but by the afternoon he'd gotten
used to it. He barely registered that his lipstick had worn off though his eye
makeup was still as dense as ever. He put off running out for a few errands,
and washed his face only that evening, just before bed. When he showered
the next morning he no longer remembered.
***************
But now her "teeny little request, for me, please" was destroying
everything they'd been to each other. What was it he was refusing her? As
their previous date ended, he'd been lying content with his head in her lap,
his nose pressed against her mound. She'd cradled his face between her
breasts as she leaned forward across him to suck on his cock. He'd come so
sweetly into her tender moist mouth, so deliciously, as always. As always
she'd loomed over his face as he raised himself up to her, and she'd lovingly
pressed gobs of his sperm through pursed lips down into his open mouth.
As always he'd received it gratefully and swallowed it all, and each time he
swallowed, she'd kissed him, so very sweetly. Then she'd cuddled him, and
in the most matter-of-fact manner mentioned to him that she'd had a
marvelous idea for their next date. Together they'd enjoy a girls' night out.
She'd come to his place two hours earlier than usual to help him get ready,
and then the two of them would go on a date with each other as girlfriends.
She'd make him up to look as pretty as she did. It would be such fun!
Nothing much, dinner and a movie, maybe dancing afterward. She knew a
lesbian bar where no one would notice or care that two pretty girls were in
each other's arms, rubbing themselves against each other.
He'd felt a sudden severe qualm in his belly and said "No!", allowing
himself no time even to think about it. She'd reacted as if he'd slapped her.
The strength of his own denial surprised him. But he was indeed shocked
by her proposal, and to tell the truth, he was also a little frightened. He was a
man! He had his dignity! And he wanted her to admire him, to respect him.
She couldn't possibly admire and respect some nancy faggot mincing along
beside her on a date! He told her that.
There then followed the conversation that still gnawed at his mind. She
wanted him the way she wanted him, she said, and it was not for him to
decide how she wanted him. She'd hoped for a more loving response from
him, less brutal, more considerate of her desires. She asked him to
reconsider his decision, while she meanwhile reconsidered their whole
relationship. That much sounded stern. Then suddenly she'd begun to tease,
and wheedle, and tickle him, saying "Please!" and "For me!" over and over
until he'd agreed to reconsider the matter.
Then for the next few days in repeated phone calls she'd coaxed him
along, just this once, just for fun, just to please her. Plainly it meant a lot to
her, and the more he thought about it the less it meant to him. But still he'd
held back his consent, as a matter of pride, he realized. His manly image of
himself in her eyes was at stake. And he didn't want to seem too pliable, too
easy.
Then for two days, no phone calls came, and his resolution turned to jelly.
He thought he'd lost her.
One morning he woke up hoping she'd call yet again, while he was still
in bed, so he could tell her "Yes! Of course! Anything!" He couldn't forget
that earlier glorious morning when he had awakened to find her dear head
with its gray-shadowed eyelids on the pillow beside him, her blonde hair
streaming back from her pillow and tumbled free, just as it had fallen the
previous night when he'd set her down gently and then leaned over her, and
kissed her. That morning her wide eyes had opened to look at him innocently
for a moment, then to study him as her mouth curled as usual into a sweet
smile on seeing him bent over her, just looking. This had happened only
once, that one time she'd been willing to spend the night with him while his
penis was out elsewhere. That one time. The thought that he might never
again see her face and golden hair on a pillow next to his suddenly devastated
him.
Of course he'd go along with her. He'd wear whatever clothes would
please her. It was what she wanted. He'd tell her that when she next
phoned. The whole issue was too trivial to think about any more.
By ten she still hadn't phoned, and he decided he had to call her. As he
dialed, he realized suddenly that had no idea where she lived. From the
exchange he was dialing, somewhere south of town. But she'd always
picked him up in her BMW, or they'd met somewhere, and then she'd
always dropped him off again at his place. The penalties of not having a car
of your own. He heard her answer the phone, and he said simply, trying not
to sound contrite, "It's Bob."
"Well?" was the way she answered him. Her voice sounded hurt and
distanced, even a little impersonal he was horrified to notice. She'd half-
written him off?
"Diana, for you, yes, anything at all," he replied "If that's what you want
me to do. I'm sorry I've been such a wimp. I told you once, I'll always
want to try anything you want, whatever you like."
Now that she had him, she played with him. "Anything, Bob? Always?
That's a lot more than I'm asking from you now. But now I just might want
a lot more. You'll do anything at all for me? From now on?"
From now on! Bob realized with joy that he hadn't blown it. She was still
thinking they had a future together! He felt enormously relieved. "Of
course," he said grandly. Then he realized she might not be feeling altogether
playful about this. Be serious! He thought a moment. "Yes," he said. "I
will. I think so."
"Remember that, dear. Keep thinking it. I'll hold you to it. From now
on. Remember that."
Bob had no idea what she was talking about, but he didn't care.
"How do you want to do this?" Bob asked. "It isn't Halloween. We
haven't got that excuse when people see me."
"That's why we have to be perfect. You'll look real. Don't worry, you'll
pass just beautifully. You'll make a lovely girl. I don't want to embarrass
either of us, you should know that. I want you to have a wonderful
experience. You'll be my date. Don't give it another thought. I'll bring
everything and decide everything. Just be home next Friday at five p.m.,
naked, and we'll take it from there. I'll want to remake you from the skin on
out. Trust me. You'll love it. It'll be exciting. It'll be our little thing
together."
"Let me tell you one thing more, Bobbi honey. It won't end Friday
night. Now that I have you I won't want to let you go. Not yet. Maybe not
at all. Maybe we'll spend the whole weekend together. Maybe all of next
week. And I really mean together. As long as you're the person I want you
to be, I'll see to it that you're very, very happy. This will be wonderful for
you. You'll see."
She then hung up. Bob just sat there, the phone still in his hand, unable
to move, tears slowly filling his eyes. He blinked. He'd nearly lost her! The
most wonderful girl in the world, and he'd nearly lost her, just because she
wanted to play this game with him and he'd balked. Never again! He didn't
understand some of the things she'd just said, but whatever she wanted, from
now on that was what he wanted!
****************
Now it was Friday and nearly five. Bob was already naked, pacing up
and down, waiting. He had no idea what to expect. It seemed to him a little
silly, Diana wanting him to date her wearing women's clothing. He'd heard
of men who liked to do that, and he'd always thought them a little strange.
Well, a lot strange. Probably gay. He loved seeing women's things on
women, where they fit, and curved, and declared soft, delicate things about
their bodies. He'd always felt there was something mysterious about
dresses, and blouses, and bras, and those other things women wore and men
didn't. Their clothes were like themselves, desireable, remote, different,
erotically charged, a large part of what being a woman was like. They had
their things, Bob thought, and we have ours. That's what makes them
feminine, and us masculine. He tried not to remember that in anticipation of
tonight, all week long whenever he'd seen a girl his age and shape in the
mall, or the street, or in an office, he'd looked over their dresses, and jackets,
and blouses, and hosiery, and high heeled shoes, and hairdos, and tried to
imagine himself wearing them. Is that what Diana wanted? His imagination
had already submitted to her.
It's only clothing, he told himself. Wearing it won't make me feminine.
Will it? Or was it that when other people saw him and thought he was a girl,
then that would that make him feel feminine? Maybe. Was this some
supreme test Diana was putting him through to see if he was worthy of her,
or sincere in his feelings for her? Bob wanted her to be happy.
But as the moment approached his heart started beating faster. For some
reason, what he was about to do seemed very dangerous, a threat to
something fundamental in himself, something vulnerable, even fragile.
When Diana's car showed up and he saw her walk toward his building with a
large valise in each hand, he felt genuine fear.
She sensed this immediately as she came in, set her bags down, looked
his bare body up and down with a nod, and reached to kiss him. She locked
both her hands behind his neck and stared into his eyes from just a few
inches away, pressing her fully clothed belly against his naked, engorging
penis. "Don't worry, darling," she said. "This is something I do every day.
Half the world does this every day. Just think of yourself as one of me. I
think you'll enjoy pretending to be me. Until you can decide for yourself
what kind of a girl you are and then be you, with your own style and ways of
feeling feminine, for the time being just pretend you're me. OK?"
This was getting a little more extensive than he'd figured, Bob thought.
What's on her mind isn't just tonight. But I've got to humor her. I did
promise her. I want her to have what she wants. "Whatever you want, I
want," he told her. "I'm yours." And for some reason, when he said that he
felt reassured.
What she showed she'd brought in the suitcases was also reassuring, a
little. She wasn't planning on a high-styled date, just drinks and dinner for
two in a restaurant already crowded with other couples absorbed with each
other, two women together having a TGIF evening, then maybe a movie,
then a casual drink at a bar where men wouldn't try to hit on them. She
smiled when Bob looked startled at that last. Diana was dressed as always
with a simplicity that seemed elegant, in a billowing silk blouse gathered at
the wrists and a full tweed skirt to mid-calf. She'd brought him a similar
blouse and a "dress for success" business suit, gray with a few purple
threads highlighting the fabric, the skirt tailored and nearly knee length, the
jacket short and nipped in a little at the waist. Not terribly effeminate or
threatening. But form-fit, and decidedly a woman's suit.
"No pants for my first time out," he asked hopefully? He realized he'd
just agreed to go out with her this way other times too.
"When you next wear pants on a date with me," she replied, "they'll be
cut so fashionable or so cute that men will try to climb all over your sweet
litte ass. You'll be eager to get back into a sound, sensible skirt, like this
one." She held it up. "Your first Chanel classic. The basis for your future
wardrobe. Isn't it just lovely?"
Bob saw she was looking at it it with obvious pleasure, and thought he
should share that pleasure with her, show he was a good sport. "It's just
lovely," he said.
She glanced sideways at him, not at all fooled. "Yes, it is," she said.
"You'll love it. You'll see. But let's go to the bathroom and get you
started."
An hour later, Bob felt very peculiar indeed.
First of all, his body was utterly hairless. He'd never felt so naked.
She'd taken him into the bathroom and stood him in the tub, and directed him
to shave himself everywhere. "You can leave a little triangle on your crotch,
around those sweet little toys of yours," she said. "All girls have hair on
their mounds, and yours proves you're a natural blonde. That's an asset.
And we're going to give you a pretty hairdo, too. But all the rest of your hair
goes!"
When he was done she foamed his stubble with hair removing lotion of
some kind, and then washed it all down the drain, and then soothed his skin
with a perfumed body lotion, her slim fingers wiping it smooth over his
curves and into his crevices. Now he was more naked, smooth, and exposed
than he'd felt since he was born. She looked him over appraisingly, not
disapproving but somehow speculative.
Then something more shocking, that made him feel even more vulnerable.
She suddenly produced two Fleet enemas and told him to use them to clean
out his "you-know-what," first one then the other. He'd gotten to his knees
on the bathroom rug and bent way over, shoulders also on the rug, asshole
high, and inserted the first and squeezed in the fluid, while she watched him
impassively.
"I could fuck you with that," she said suddenly. "But I have better things
in mind. Still, why don't you do yourself a little when you use the second
one?" He didn't respond. This was her game.
He held the liquid from the first inside himself under orders for nearly
fifteen minutes, until he was convulsed with cramps. Then when she
permitted he poured it all out of himself into the toilet, embarrassed that she
was there the whole time, sitting on the edge of the tub watching him
casually, waiting for him to finish. It smelled a little, but she seemed not to
notice or mind.
Then she'd made him repeat the whole procedure with the other enema
kit, telling him this time to work the plastic nozzle in and out of his anus to
make sure the area inside was clear, "as if you were fucking yourself with a
pencil-sized dick." Only clear fluid came out the second time, when finally
she gave him permission to sit and expel it.
Then came a surprise. She handed him a Massengill Douche kit with a
picture of a woman in a long white chiffon gown imaged on the box, looking
somehow pristine and soft. She told him to use that too. "I want you to feel
like that woman," she said. "Clean, as beautifully clean in your body's
openings as I am in mine. This is very special, what we're doing tonight. I
want your body to feel different on the inside as well as the outside. A
woman should always feel fresh everywhere when she starts out on a date.
Remember that. Whatever scents and fluids then fill her body should be
those aroused by her lover."
She watched as Bob inserted the tip and administered the douche to
himself. "Gently," she said. "This is a rare privilege. Don't let it seem
routine. You are doing something very feminine. You should feel that it's
helping you to feel feminine. Work that long tip in and out of your bottom
just a little. Lovely! Only women douche themselves. And now you."
She smiled at him. "Bobbi dear," she went on. "From now on, whether
we're seeing each other or not, I want you to do this for yourself every day.
Whenever you take a shower, cleanse your insides thoroughly with an
enema, and always finish with a douche. I'll supply your douche kits for
you, specially prepared the way I'd like them to be, perfumed and especially
womanly in other ways too. So I'll know your insides are as sweet as any
other part of you. And you'll know. We'll both be glad you did it,
afterward."
Bob nodded, amused and a little puzzled, but still willing to go along with
whatever pleased her. He started feeling especially comfortable shortly after
his douche. Nice. Calm, not at all nervous. He imagined this was how
women feel, why they always looked so serene. Nothing extraordinary, he
was only a woman going out on a date with his girl.
Then just as they left the bathroom, she suddenly asked him to bend way
over, and before he was quite sure what was happening she produced a
tampon, swiped a bit of jellied lubricant on it, slipped the plastic tube into his
rear end, and then withdrew it, leaving the tampon itself inside him with a
string dangling from his anus. He let out a little yip, but it was over before he
could tense up or protest. She patted his bottom. "Inside and outside," she
said, and she smiled reassuringly as she led the way back into the bedroom.
He felt as if he were waddling. His bottom waggled when he walked,
with that tampon inside him. Was that why girls waggled when they walked?
It was an odd sensation. Very full. Somehow not dissatisfying. He reached
down to see what she had done to him, but except for the soft string his
fingers found dangling out of him, his opening felt the same as when he'd
showered or wiped it, now tight shut, it's new secret well hidden within.
"Now darling," Diana said, her voice slightly amused. "Don't play with
your pussy right now. Just imagine you're having your period, dear. Girls
do, you know. I told you I want your body to feel feminine inside and out,
and there's only one thing you can put into that opening that would make you
feel even more feminine, isn't there? You don't want that just yet now, dear,
do you?"
Bob wasn't sure he had heard what he had heard. "What?" was all he
could utter.
She ignored him "Is it very uncomfortable, dear?" Diana replied, "If
you're feeling cramps I can give you the kind of pill women take for cramps.
Would you like one?"
Bob just shook his head.
"Then let's get started."
They went back into his bedroom and she settled him into his straight-
backed chair facing the bed, where both suitcases lay open. He was
surprised to find he could bend with the tampon in him. He still felt sort of
full, but it wasn't unpleasant.
"You have enough new things to deal with tonight, dear, so we won't go
anywhere that requires high heels." She grinned. "Maybe after tonight
you'll want to kick up your heels and be a party girl. But not tonight. We'll
have a lovely, gentle, easy time of it, relaxed. I want you to feel very
comfortable, to get used to things."
"What do you mean, get used to things?" Bob finally asked, not really
disturbed but still, not lulled either by her reassurances. He was going along
with her, but she seemed to have some extensive plans in mind.
"This bra," she said, holding it out to him. "Put it on. Do you know
how? You've seen how women put their bras on. Shall I help you?"
She did. Bob didn't know if she'd answered his question or ignored it.
She hooked it in front, and he looked down and saw that he now had a slight
rounded cleavage between the cups, his smooth, hairless chest caught up and
compressed by the bra to form two crescents. "Look at that," he said, in
order to say something, anything at all. Then to let her know he was taking it
all in stride, he added "Do I get big titties too, after a while?"
"Don't worry, Bobbi. All in good time. No breast forms for you, love. I
want you to feel, well...natural. I have wonderful plans for you. If that
means right now you're just one more flat chested girl wearing a bras with a
little padding for shape or for cleavage, then that's what you are. When you
won't want to be that kind of girl, you won't be. Trust me."
The rest went as he'd imagined and anticipated all week as he'd looked
closely at the gear different women laced and buttoned and snapped and
zipped and snugged and tucked and strapped themselves into. She showed
him how to put on pantyhose, then watched as he practiced putting on several
pair, until she was satisfied he could handle them with care and respect.
They felt incredible as his legs rubbed against each other. The same with a
cute lace panty girdle she handed him, which turned out to be made of a tight
spandex that held his penis and testicles tucked way down between his legs.
He worried for a moment whether she expected him to sit on them. She did,
so he did. He squirmed onto one haunch, and she told him to sit square on
his pretty bottom, to keep his knees together, and to cross his ankles
whenever he sat like that. Then she handed him a pair of low-heeled shoes
with little leather bows in front, and a slip that felt wonderful whenever the
insides of his arms accidentally brushed against it.
"Now you're all gussied up, my dear. It's time for you to say your very
own girl name. Bobbi. Say it."
"Bobbi," Bob said. It was what his mother had called him when he was a
kid. Cute, but a little helpless. "Are you sure ....?"
She interrupted him. "Bobbi," Diana repeated, with the least hint of a
stern tone in the way she said it. "Now you've been christened. Dear Bobbi,
turn around, and we'll do your hair. There isn't much we can do with it now,
but it should look a little fuller, don't you think?"
He felt rebuked, and didn't answer at first. "If full hair isn't you, we can
always give you curls, but that'll take a little longer. Do you want your hair
curled now, Bobbi, or will you settle for a big hair look until we can bring in
a consultant?"
"Big hair is fine," Bob replied hastily. Every time he hesitated, she
seemed to raise the ante on him.
"I think so too, dear. It's more like what you're used to."
Twenty minutes later his hair was up in heat rollers, and twenty minutes
after that she had made up his face, carefully this time, and plucked his
eyebrows until they were high and delicately shaped, like two thin comets
arching together over his eyes. She hummed as she worked over him,
pleased as under her long fingers Bob disappeared into Bobbi. She reminded
Bob of a little girl playing with her dolls, with total concentration. While she
was shaping his eyebrows, he realized his face would not look feminine just
for tonight, but he didn't want to interrupt her. She said something about his
nails being all right for now as they were, it was better to do them right later
anyway. He was feeling quite mellow. He managed to smile to himself at
just how far he seemed willing to go to please her.
"I thought so," Diana said. "You love this almost as much as I do, don't
you. Never mind answering, Bobbi, I don't want to embarrass you. Just slip
on this blouse and skirt, and we'll brush out your hair, and you'll be ready
for your grand debut. Hungry?"
"Yes," Bob replied. She never seemed to ask him questions that allowed
any other answer. He stepped into his skirt, fastened and zipped it up, and
turned it on his waist until there was a pocket at each hip. He slipped his
blouse over the rollers bulking out his hair, and tucked the tail into his skirt.
She handed him a broad belt, and when he'd cinched that tightly, he could
almost believe he had a figure.
"Sweetheart, don't slump. Stick out your chest, and hold your head
high."
The full blouse completely hid Bob's flat chest -- its drapes and folds
promised anything or nothing underneath. Diana looked closely at that part
of him, then reached over, and with her long fingertips lightly caressed his
nipples inside his bra cups. They felt exquisite!
"Yes," she said aloud, to herself. "This is how we'll do it for now. Later
we can get real."
Bob still didn't understand her. Even so, her fingers felt delicious, and he
thrust his breasts way forward into them. But she moved her hands on,
patted his cheek, then handed him the jacket matching his skirt. He slipped it
on, and saw that it flared out at his hips as if he really did have a figure.
"See how much nicer this looks now?" She unrolled Bob's hair and
began to brush it out. With the heat and the spray she had used, each strand
curled loosely around itself, and his head was a huge cluster of soft curls.
I'll never look male again with my hair like this, he thought to himself. But
as Diana worked over him he found to his surprise that the clusters of curls
brushed together didn't look curly but curved, falling full and abundant down
his head and covering the back of his neck, well-shaped and full of bounce.
Not much of a male look either, not at all. It was what she had called it, big
hair, designed to frame his face with opulent excess, hair to make his face
seem petite and pretty, hair a man could get lost in. But it was his hair. Bob
stood up and looked in his mirror, the same one they'd looked into together a
few days earlier, when she'd lipsticked him. Now he was lipsticked again.
His eyes looked darkly romantic. And everything else, too. There was
nothing masculine at all in what he saw.
"See? You do look lovely," Diana said. "No ponytail tonight. You're
much more attractive wearing it full on the sides and in back like this." She
looked him over carefully, and apparently approved what she saw, and
smiled, pleased. "You like?"
Bob inspected himself in the mirror. What he saw was reassuring, not a
man pretending to be a woman but a thin, rather pretty girl, not smashingly
gorgeous but appealingly vulnerable, moving with awkward grace as if
slightly ashamed of herself. I suppose I am, he thought to himself. This feels
like a girl's first date. I guess it is. But it isn't *my* first date. He decided
to act more confident. "I like," he replied.
"I just knew you would. I knew it from the moment I saw you sipping
wine by yourself in that bar. I thought, if he only knew how, he could be a
stunning girl, a real charmer, with that long hair and thin figure, and those
delicate features. That's why I chose you. Did you know you have a very
kissable mouth? No, not now, you'll ruin both of our faces."
She'd seen him like this when they first met? She'd planned this moment
then? What else had she planned?
"Here dear," Diana handed him a light topcoat. "Just throw this over your
shoulders. And carry this purse. Set it down wherever you see me set mine,
but otherwise keep it under your arm. There's not much in it now. Some
makeup, and another tampon -- I'll want you to change yours in the
restaurant, to get used to changing it in ladies' rooms. No money or credit
cards yet. That comes later, perhaps. We'll see."
"Oh yes," she said, handing him a teeny pill. "Just a little more for now.
You'll enjoy yourself more when you're less worried about things." Bob
swallowed it
'Now,' she said, and 'get used to' things. More mysterious references
to plans Diana had never discussed with him. But no matter. As the pill bit in
he didn't care. They went out the door.
**************
It turned out to be much easier than Bob thought. The worst never
happened, that he'd be seen to be a man in drag, a mincing, shameful, self-
humiliating pervert. His manhood never came into question -- it wasn't even
implied. As Diana reassured him, he looked like a nice young lady, and that
was what people saw, so that is what he pretended to be, very carefully, and
there was nothing further to think about it. Except that people treated him so
much nicer! They smiled at him, and Diana had to caution him to smile back
a little more modestly.
She also had to caution him to take smaller steps, and to keep his elbows
tucked in, and to take smaller bites, and to giggle with her now and then, and
to fix his lipstick after dinner, using his compact as she used hers. Bob could
begin to believe they were what they seemed to be, two women having a
sociable dinner together. Except for a few unfamiliar sensations -- the feel of
nylons rubbing his legs as he walked, the sound of clicking heels on the
sidewalk -- it felt almost like an ordinary date. When they visited the ladies'
room while waiting for the bill, Diana gestured toward a stall, and Bob
entered it, then sat down to pee. He reached behind him, pulled on the string
in his rear, removed his compacted tampon, then took the fresh one out of his
purse and pushed it into himself with his finger. It was very simple.
As they left the restaurant Diana told him that he was acting and looking so
lovely he'd be wasted sitting in a darkened movie theater, and besides, she
wanted to hold him in her arms, to dance with him. Her tone of voice was
peculiarly insistent, and she looked intently at him as she spoke. So Bob
merely nodded -- he was her date tonight, she made the plans. He wondered
how they'd manage it without attracting attention, but Diana only laughed and
told him not to worry.
They drove to a place called Sappho's, a luxurious night club with a first-
rate all-girl group beating out the melodies so loud you could feel it vibrate in
your bones, and with two self-absorbed young women on pedestals shaking
their bodies to the beat of the music. They drank and danced, and danced and
drank, and several times Diana put her elbows on his shoulders while they
swayed across the floor, and threaded her fingers into his hair behind his
head, and pulled his face toward her and kissed him. Each time his heart
melted a little more, so wonderfully full of love for her. There were other
women dancing together too, and being affectionate with each other, so Bob
felt increasingly easy, and Diana even allowed him to lead a few times.
Once during the evening a rather large, stocky woman in a purple blouse,
her hair in a bun and her face shiny, cheerfully leaned over their table and
asked Bob to dance. "I don't think so, dear," Diana answered for him, in a
voice hard and sharp enough to shatter ice. The cheer vanished from her
face, then the face itself. "You're mine," she explained gently when the
woman had gone, and Bob had to admit to himself that he was indeed, and
that he loved being hers. A little later, when he was in the Ladies' by himself
straightening his hair and makeup, another girl tried to hit on him. Bob had
to smile at his peculiar attractiveness while wearing a dress, when he'd never
had much luck wearing pants.
But all he said was "I'm taken, honey," in the gentle, mid-range voice he
and Diana had practiced together on their way to the restaurant, and that left
him free to return to Diana unencumbered. By the time they left Bob had
completely forgotten he was in a dress and stockings and a girdle, his chest
bound up in a bra, and wearing slip-on shoes that clacked when he walked.
It all felt perfectly natural, even ordinary.
Maybe Bob had drunk a bit too much, but when they got back to his place
Diana had to take his key from his purse and open the door for the two of
them, smiling over at him so he wouldn't feel uneasy about it. He lurched
toward the sofa, but she steered him into his bedroom. He stood there in the
gloom. She didn't seem concerned to find the light switch. Instead she
stood close in front of him and raised her hands high over her head. He did
the same. With a quick tuck of her wrists she undid his belt buckle and skirt,
which fell to his feet, then pulled his blouse over his head, and set it across a
nearby chair inside out. He remembered his hairdo. Now it didn't matter.
He stood in his slip and stockings and flats. She looked at him, her eyes and
lips dark in the reflected moonlight in the room. An eye gleamed.
"Shall we, lover?"
Yes. Oh, yes.
"Sit on the bed and take off your shoes and those pantyhose."
Yes.
"Now lie back, sweetheart," she said.
He lay back. She was his shadow. He was her sweetheart. He was on
his back. She knelt on the bed beside him, shrugged her arms up, and her
slip flew over her head. Then she reached behind her and her bra fell away.
Bob reached for one of her breasts. It jiggled nearly out of his reach, so soft,
so elusive!
He struggled onto an elbow to remove his own slip.
"No," she said. "Let me do everything."
No, he thought. Yes.
"Leave your bra and slip on now." She kissed him on the lips. So softly.
No semen. Her lips.
My bra. My slip. Like my hand. My skin. A part of me I possess. A
part of me that's me. Naturally. I wear my bra and slip. So softly.
"Wear them all day tomorrow," she said. "Every day from now on.
Promise?" Her hands moved across his nipples, and he felt her slide the
material of his slip against the tips of his bra cups, firming and smoothing it
against the sides of his breasts. Her thumbs kept feeling him up.
"All day."
"For me. You'll think about me."
"Yes."
"Under your dress. Tomorrow. All day."
His dress tomorrow? She mounted him, knees on either side of his hips,
reared herself up, and began to undulate his stiffened prick into her, her hand
floating over his bra, caressing his breasts. He was entering her! She was
surrounding him!
"It will feel wonderful."
"Yes" Bob said, his eyes closed, all of his attention centered on his groin,
the place where their two groins joined, and the enrichment of feeling brought
on by her hands on his nipples. Yes, naturally.
"Always. From now on. All the time, even when we make love."
"Yes"
"Except to sleep. Then wear a nightie." He had slid all the way into her
now, and he could feel her pussy muscles spasm on the base of his prick as if
to milk him.
"Yes"
She began to rotate her pelvis on him. "You're my adorable, precious
girl," she said.
"Yes," he said, eyes shut, clenching his buttocks up into her as she
responded by pressing herself down on him.
Now she seemed to be squirreling and squeezing him deeper and deeper,
all the way into her, and he was rising into a delicious place he had never
before entered. He knew he couldn't hold off much longer.
"That's what you are! Aren't you?"
"Yes," he said, rising to meet her.
"What is it you are? For me? From now on?"
"G-g-girl," he called out to her from the sweet, sweet darkness spreading
now rapidly through him.
"What kind of girl?"
"Adorable...!" he said, her sweetness spreading through his body into his
breasts, and arms. He was helpless. "Precious."
"My girl. Even when I'm not here. All the time. From now on."
"Yours! Yes!"
"My darling, darling girl. You'll be so pretty. You're my pretty girl now,
aren't you?"
"Yes! Yes!"
"You are!"
He could think of nothing more glorious than to be what she said he was.
"I am!"
"You want to be my girl."
"Yes!"
"You want me to help you become a real girl!"
"Yes!"
"You'll do anything I say?" And Diana lifted herself up nearly off his
penis, his cock head barely held by her soft pussy lips, and suspended
herself there. Bob went out of his mind.
"Yes! Yes! Anything! Yes!"
He tried to lift himself back into her. All of his yearning concentrated on
slipping back in, becoming her, becoming whatever she wanted, being hers,
adorable, precious, oh how infinitely sweet, sweet, the quintessence of her, a
girl.
"Yes! Yes! Yes!"
"Again."
"Oh, yes, Diana, yes!"
And with that she sank back down onto him and clamped herself to his
crotch, and he lifted himself up into her and came, and came, and came, each
spurt an affirmation plunged deep into her while she smiled and squeezed him
with her pussy, milking his prick until finally he had no more sperm to give
her. He was near fainting with the pleasure of it. He never noticed that she
didn't come at all. She just smiled, as if deeply satisfied in a different way..
When he found his breath again she was lying with her head on his chest,
her hair falling over him in all directions, his softened penis still inside her.
"Yes," she said. "My sweet, adorable, precious girl. Mine From now
on."
"Yes," he replied in his rich afterglow. This was quite a game. He
wondered how seriously she was playing it.
"Yes," she confirmed, and she began to suckle on him. His body began
again to squeeze toward feelings of ecstasy. "My precious girl," she said.
And they resumed. As his penis hardened, his body seemed to melt into
hers. It didn't seem to matter to her that his body was being pleasured by
hers, not hers with his, that all she seemed to want for herself was his
consent to anything she wanted to do now or hereafter, the one thing she
asked for repeatedly, in many forms. As if declaring his love for her over
and over, he surrendered his manhood to her repeatedly, blissfully, each time
she asked. He grew hard again, and squirted his girl-juices into her again.
He was her precious girl. From now on. Yes.
****************
When they woke up the following morning they made love yet again. She
was silky softness everywhere, under his arms, against him, surrounding
him, and her thighs were warm and moist and sticky, and her pussy was still
slick with their juices from the previous night. He hardened yet again as he
felt her pressing against him, and then this time he mounted her and plunged
into her, and came into her yet again.
When they finished, she seemed pleased. Then she commented that there
was one more thing she wanted him to do for her, and then they could see
about breakfast,
"What's that?" he asked, stretching like an enormous cat. He had never
felt better! He rolled off and looked at her. She was stark naked. She wore
her skin the way other women wore leotards, as if her body was its own
sufficient clothing. He came suddenly aware that he hadn't himself
undressed the night before. His slip was now around his waist, and his bra
had ridden up above his the nipples. It all seemed a little silly by the
morning's light. But she had wanted him to wear them. For some reason the
idea now stirred his loins, as if he were about to begin yet another erection.
But no, he had now altogether spent himself into her. He stayed soft.
"This!" She suddenly reversed her body and lay down on top of him, her
legs spread wide as she slid her crotch up his chest toward his mouth until
her lower lips kissed his lips. Then she wriggled her hips slightly, seating
her pussy firmly onto his face, his nose pressed into her anus. For a moment
he couldn't breath. Then she unlimbered her legs slightly, and he opened his
mouth to take in a great gasp of air. She clamped his mouth firmly against
her crotch.
"Kiss me, Bobbi dear, my lovely, dearest girl! Suck on me! Clean me
out, my dear, precious Bobbi! Lick me! Suck me! Drink me!"
And once again Bob went into ecstasy, drinking her juices, mostly his
own cum, nibbling and sucking on her clit until she spasmed. Every spasm
squeezed more of his precious cum out of her cunt into his mouth. There
was quite a bit of it deep in her from the previous night, kept fresh under her
mound between her legs, inside her beautiful rosy-lipped pussy. He licked
her deep inside, and along her slit up to her curls of hair, and down the
outside of her labia, and then inside her thighs. When she allowed he licked
the crust from her belly and hips. This time, as she pressed her pussy into
his face, then away for him to lick her more delicately, then again pressed
down, this time he was sure she came. She never made a sound, but her
whole body clenched and then relaxed into luxurious ease while he licked her
again and again, kissing gently those folds he knew now were sparkling
clean, finally taking her little clit into his pursed lips and gently, sweetly
kissing it. Then again.
"Time for a shower," Diana said suddenly. "You first, sweet Bobbi girl.
I'll lay out your clothes for the day."
"We won't shower together?" Bob asked her, a little disappointed. He
wanted to run his hands over her skin, and between her legs, while she was
all slick, wet and glistening.
"Another time, my dear girl. You first."
While Bob showered he kept grinning to himself. He felt so good!
Finally, he had gotten into her, and obviously she loved it. But he wondered
how far she meant to carry this "dear girl" thing. He had promised, he
remembered vaguely, to wear a bra and slip today for her. So he would.
And under a dress. Well, all right, a dress. But this weekend only. All
right. But then while they were making love last night, in that so delicious
moment when he had yielded all of his soul and will to her, he had promised
her "from now on." He was her girl. What did that mean, from now on? It
meant all the time. Not just this weekend. Stretched out taut in the ecstasy of
coming, he had promised her. He had wanted to promise her. God, how he
had wanted it! Now he wasn't sure how to deal with "from now on."
Maybe he could ignore it. He was a man. After last night and this
morning she could have no doubt of that! He decided to ask her, casually,
how she planned to have him be her girl and yet remain her man. A man is a
man, after all. He knew she couldn't really be serious, calling him a girl.
So he hadn't really promised her anything. There was no real problem here.
But when he got back to his bedroom, still naked, his body squeaky clean
and hairless as a baby's, he was shocked! Astonished! There in the room
stood a large, stocky woman, filling most of the space in front of Diana, who
sat at ease on the edge of the bed looking up into the woman's face and
listening, then talking, throwing her hands here and there expressively while
she talked. The woman was wearing a pale purple starched uniform of some
kind, like the kind beauty parlor operators wear, or nurses. Bob noticed that
she was listening to Diana attentively and respectfully, every now and then
nodding. Diana noticed Bob out of the corner of her eye, completed
whatever she was saying, turned to Bob, and smiled at him.
"Bobbi my sweetheart, you adorable darling, come here. I want you to
meet Erika. Erika looks after different things for me, now and then, and I've
asked her to help me look after you now, to help me prepare you. There's so
much to do! Oh, you are going to love being a girl, I just know it! Right
now I thought you should just see each other -- you can take the time to get
acquainted later on. That's about it for now, Erika. You might see what can
be done about breakfast before you go."
Bob was bewildered, flabbergasted! He was standing in his own
bedroom stark naked, and here was a strange woman looking him over with a
mildly attentive professional eye. He tried to cover himself. His hands
fluttered over his loins and, unaccountably, his chest before he realized he
had better just stand still on his dignity. He finally found his voice and tried
to declare his indignation, but before a sound could come out Erika broke in
and said, "Miss Bobbi, how nice to meet you. I see you've had your
shower. Did you remember to take your enema and then your douche?"
Somehow, this seemed insulting! Bob lookled at Diana, his lover,
expecting her to intervene in such a delicately personal matter, but Diana also
seemed to be waiting for his reply. "Erika," Bob replied, as if completing her
introduction to him by acknowledging her name, trying to grasp the initiative.
"Pleased to meet you." The two women waited patiently for this obvious
untruth to dissipate, and Bob realized he had only one more thing to say. A
moment passed in total silence. "No," he said, "I forgot." He felt like a child
asked if he had scrubbed his teeth.
"Well, shouldn't you now?" Diana asked. "Would you like Erika to help
you? Erika, would you go with Bobbi and help her clean herself out? I'll bet
with all the excitement this morning she's even forgotten that she's still
having her period, and needs to change her tampon."
Bob suddenly realized this was true. He was still having his period, and
needed to change his tampon. No he wasn't, he tried to tell himself. Men
don't have periods. Even so, he felt like a twelve year old . . . girl (he
swallowed hard) who has been reminded she needs lessons in personal
hygiene!
"Yes Miss Diana" Erika said. "And while we're about it shall we begin
preparing Bobbi's vagina for its new responsibilities?"
"Well, no, not yet," Diana replied. "Just help her clean herself out, then
see to breakfast. I'll get dressed meanwhile. After this weekend we'll want
to move Bobbi into that spare apartment in the your building, and then you'll
be able to look after her needs much more easily. Now that she's my special
girl, and she wants to be mine, we'll want to take especially good care of her.
She's very precious to me." Diana looked directly into Bob's eyes, and said
with no noticeable irony, "Aren't you, my adorable girl? Aren't you? Yes.
Yes, you know you want to be mine. Don't you? Say it again. I love to
hear you say it."
Bob couldn't quite grasp what was happening, and said nothing for a
moment. Erika stood there in her starched uniform and looked at him as if
preparing to move forward. "Miss Bobbi," she said. "Shouldn't you
answer?"
"Yes," Bob said, "I'm yours. I know it. I want to be yours, I know that
too!"
And for some reason the naked man felt utterly helpless. Unaccountably,
unexpectedly, he fell to his knees in the doorway, and realized he had started
to cry. It was as if somehow his old life was over. Somehow he was saying
a sorrowful goodbye to his old self. For her! Diana came forward and knelt
down, and cradled his head in her hands, and comforted him.
"There, there, Bobbi" she said. "You'll love it. It'll be beautiful. I
promise you, this will be the loveliest thing that will ever happen to you. But
just hug me now, and cry as long as you want to."
Stark naked and on his knees, Bob hugged her and sobbed, at first
uncontrollably, then in spasms and short bursts of tears, then looking up to
her in a kind of hopeful helplessness, gasping now and again. Diana stroked
his hair and his back, and hugged him gently, looking over his shoulder at
the wall, or at Nurse Erika, who waited patiently for Bobbi to compose
herself, at least sufficiently to complete her toilet, her enema and douche, and
to change her tampon.
*********************
That day Bob wore all day the slip and bra he'd promised to wear, under
the dress he'd somehow promised he'd wear, a simple purple wool with a
flared collar. And panties. Then in the afternoon another blouse, a full skirt,
and a cardigan sweater. From her large suitcases Diana fitted him out first
with rather plain three inch heels, then later in the day with four inch heels.
By mid-afternoon the wobble in his walk had disappeared and had become a
slight sway in his hips, and Diana decreed they could go shopping. Bob was
still so demoralized he raised no objection at all, though this was his first time
out in daylight while dressed in women's clothing. He felt numb. He had no
choice but to trust her judgement that he was unmistakeably feminine, and to
seek comfort in her reassuring smile. She told him to use his pale lipstick
and only a little mascara, so he did, surprising himself that after last night it
went on so easily.
They walked into an upscale store where Diana was evidently known, to
judge by the way two saleswomen immediately came forward to attend to
her, and by their deferential smiles when Diana introduced them to Bobbi.
She then bought Bobbi a really stunning dress, a draped red silk, sleeveless,
beltless, flowing down his figure and touching each of his hip bones on its
way nearly to his ankles.
"This style's just coming in," she commented. "It's perfect for thin
women like you. Dignified but still somehow provocative. Sometimes you'll
want to wear shiny micro-minis for stepping out, but mostly these I think.
We'll keep you thin this way, though I think that after a while you'll be
getting a little more plump here and there, where it matters." He didn't
understand what she meant and suspected he'd better not ask. Two less
dramatic dresses, fit for posh luncheons but simple enough for every day,
and they were off to buy other things. "Remember this store when you're
shopping on your own," Diana told Bob as they were leaving. "They have
lovely things, and these two women will always take good care of you."
Bob nodded. Again he didn't dare ask what she meant, nor ask himself how
he really felt about it. He'd wait for the right moment. He couldn't risk
angering her, maybe losing her again.
Before returning home Diana stopped with him at a beauty salon. There
they both had their nails done, until Bob's fingers extended a half-inch longer
than they'd been, his nails a near-natural pink, and he saw as he curled them
that they seemed almost graceful. Then she had Bob's hair lightened just a
touch, and trimmed so it seemed to fall gracefully onto his neck of its own
will, even without rollers. When the beautician pierced one of his ears he
worried how far this thing of Diana's would go before it retreated, but he
thought it ill-mannered and pointless to object to his other ear also being
pierced. By now he was altogether accustomed to being thought a girl by
everyone, and no longer feared exposure. Diana gave him another
tranquillizer pill, but told him as she handed it to him that he hardly needed it.
"I'm so proud of you dear," she said that evening as they set out for
another restaurant. "You're just lovely. And learning so quickly!"
He did look smashing when they went out that night, wearing his new red
dress and matching shoes -- four inch heels this time -- and carrying a red
clutch purse, with little diamond studs in his ears, his hair beautifully set in
the salon, and wearing what Diana assured him was her own favorite real
diamond necklace. Relaxing, he realized that this could even be fun. His
clothes were lighter than his usual suits, and floated on him. His bra and his
panty girdle and stockings hugged him intimately, as if affectionately. He
loved feeling hugged. As the waiter seated the two of them, Diana
commented that he seemed positively radiant. He really did. He didn't know
why.
Except that he now felt prettier, the evening went like their first, was it
only the previous night? This time it happened that two men across the room
sent a waiter over to them with a bottle of very fine wine, and an inquiry
whether they would like company. Diana looked up delighted, but Bob felt a
sudden pang of terror. He watched her silently, horrified she might accept.
But she said to him, "Don't worry, love. I told you, you're mine." She
looked over at the men, and smiled at them, and dipped her head and raised
her hands regretfully, as if to say "We'd love to, but . . . circumstances . . .
you know." Bob mimicked her gesture to the two men, smiling at them, and
like Diana he managed to make a charming moue and a similarly cute shrug.
He felt safe with her. She laughed, and looked across at him affectionately.
"What if I'd said 'yes' to them? I might some day, you know." Bob had no
reply.
Later they went dancing at Sappho's, and no one approached them at all.
It was as if Diana had sent out word they were not to be disturbed. Later
still, back in Bob's apartment, they made love again, Diana again on top of
him, lifting and lowering her vagina onto his cock while he blissed out,
chanting over and over how much she loved her darling girl. Again his
sexual tension built, and at its peak she poised herself high over him until he
had completed his catechism, confirming that he was her girl forever, that he
would always do whatever she wished. Then after an excruciating pause she
lunged down onto him and he spurted into her over and over, near fainting in
ecstasy. She asked, and he repeated that he loved being a girl, as if a gender
change had already occurred deep in his sense of self. When he'd come into
her body yet a second time, she twisted again and immediately pressed her
pussy against his mouth, and again clamped his head between her thighs.
Again he licked her clean, swallowing gouts of his cum and her juices
together as she squeezed them out of her, orgasm by orgasm, and he kept on
slurping. It was delicious!
In the shower the next morning, cleaning himself inside and out and
douching himself, changing his tampon yet again, he marvelled at the lengths
he had gone for her, how far he had come. As Diana requested, he applied a
few small drops of perfume onto his wrists and neck, a kind Diana assured
him would cling all day so that anyone who came near him would think of
him the way she did, as a bouquet of flowers. It didn't matter that he'd smell
flowery all day, he realized, because Diana had told him that today, for the
third day in a row, he would be wearing only feminine clothing.
But he was now musing about a key question, wondering at first idly,
then seriously, why Diana wanted him dressed all the time as a girl. It no
longer seemed peculiar to him, but it was certainly kinky. Was she a little
afraid of men, more comfortable with one in the aspect of a woman? No
way! He felt flattered it might be her way to misdirect her competition, other
women, to steer them away from him. But as a man he had never been
overwhelmed by hordes of designing women. Or was this her way to assure
herself he wouldn't reveal himself sooner or later to be some sort of macho
pig? She hated that kind of man, he knew, and he was glad he wasn't one of
them. But she certainly knew he wasn't one of them. Was it her way to give
him a deeper insight into the way women feel, so he'd become more
understanding of her needs and desires? Maybe. It could also be a way for
her to control him in her absence -- the perfume he was wearing, for
example, would certainly keep him from going out on his own in male
clothes when she went out and left him to his own resources.
But that wasn't happening. She seemed to be spending the entire
weekend with him as he'd hoped she would. Maybe she was attracted to
women in some way but didn't want to admit it, and this was how she dealt
with it? Maybe she was into humiliating men? No. She was always careful
to strengthen the way he felt when he dressed for her, to make him feel proud
that he was pretty. He was even beginning to feel deep pleasure that he could
make himself appealing in a feminine way for her, and now and then,
delighted, he felt a demure or flirtatious impulse!
He had to decide he didn't know why she wanted him dressed this way,
and in his euphoria he didn't care. Today was Sunday, and she had allowed
him stirrup pants and a frilly blouse. But he'd found it difficult to pee while
wearing pants with no fly. He asked for and was granted permission to
return to skirts, and this time she allowed him to wear two small breast forms
under his clingy knit sweater, just enough to imply a girlish figure
underneath. He'd found he felt a little freakish without them, not quite
shaped right, and though she kept saying she preferred him shaped as he
naturally was, she was delighted when he told her he thought his chest
should hint that he had breasts underneath.
Sunday afternoon he went with her in his skirt and sweater to look at the
apartment Diana had mentioned earlier in her conversation with Erika, It was
wonderful! The building had a burly but fatherly-looking doorman who
smiled at Bob, and told him Diana had asked him to take special care of her --
she should freely phone down for whatever she wanted, any favor or errand
at all. The apartment itself was large, flooded with sunlight, with a view of
the river from huge living room windows high above the traffic, and a huge
pink canopied bed in the bedroom, and huge walk-in closets.
When they stepped inside, Diana handed him the keys and told him they
were never going back to his old dingy place, not ever again. What was there
that he needed would be brought over, she said. And none of it would be his
men's clothing. The closets and drawers here were already filled with clothes
in his size, clothes befitting the young woman he'd agreed to become. She
emphasized that last by looking straight at him again as she said it, though her
voice remained casual. He raised no objection. He wondered when she had
prepared this apartment, and felt a little flattered that she cared so much for
him, and told her so. "Bobbi," she said to him, "You *do* love being a girl!
It's obvious! So that's what you are and that's what I want you to be from
now on. You want it too, you know it! The rent on this place is paid, and
now its your place. I want you to stop looking for work and just be yourself.
Take some time off. You can have all the fun in the world trying out your
new looks and your new life. But here is where you'll be when I want you.
Here is where I want you to be."
So from then on, there he was. That night was the nicest of all. They
went out for a pizza and a movie, nothing special, just two girls together,
chatting and giggling. Then they came home and made love in the huge bed.
Bob felt transported. As she leaned over him, smiling, his prick buried deep
inside her, he rolled his hips to gratify her as if she were the man and he were
the woman, and he reached up and delicately wrapped his arms around her
neck, and pulled her face down to his, and kissed her closed eyelids gently,
and as she fucked him he heard his throat making a soft, long, languorous,
amorous moan, then another. He felt wonderfully feminine, wonderfully her
lover. She didn't ask him that night if he was her darling girl. She just said
it, over and over, in that slow, sweet, dark voice that so entranced him
whenever she mounted him, as if she couldn't believe her luck and needed to
reassure herself. He kept uttering small, delicious, ecstatic squeals as she
spoke, his cock soaking itself deep inside her sweet pussy, too enraptured to
find words. They both knew he was her darling girl.
The next morning, their first in the new apartment, she patted his cheek
and told him she had to attend to things, and wouldn't be back for a few
days. She told him to wear whatever struck his fancy in his closet, and to go
anywhere to pass the time, but to remember that he was hers, and that he
needed to practice being the girl she loved him to be. "Look how far you've
come in just a few days, my darling," she said. "While I'm away, you'll go
much, much further. Erika will see to your every need. She knows what I
want. You'll do everything she says." It was a statement, not a request.
And he was astonished to realize it, but he had come far! A vast distance.
Last night he had felt not like a man but a woman in love. He had crossed an
invisible line in his own psyche. Erika would look in on him and attend to
things each morning, Diana said, and she would call soon. And she hugged
him, and pressed her cheek to his, almost as if they really were girlfriends
instead of lovers. Then she was out the door.
Life in the new apartment took on its own flavor. The next morning Erika
showed up and cleaned up, and fixed his breakfast, and saw to it that his
pussy as she called it was clean, well-douched, and gave him his tranquillizer
and some shots, medications Diana had ordered to build him up. He felt fine
all day, relaxed, even languorous. If it was one of his mornings to soak in
fragrant bath oils instead of taking a shower, Erika prepared his bath and
rubbed him with more oils afterward, and he noticed after a few weeks that
his skin was softening. Each day she put him through his exercises, walking
in high heels or holding his arms and hands just so while bustling through the
apartment. It was as if she were a dance instructor teaching him ballet.
He read the papers, and the different women's magazines that came in the
mail almost every day. Increasingly he became interested in hairdos and
styles of makeup, because every day he realized he would be making
decisions about which were more becoming for him. He looked carefully at
the ads in magazines like Vogue and Cosmopolitan, to see what the beautiful
women there were doing with their faces that he could emulate.
There was a beauty salon in the building, and Diana set him up with two
appointments each week. One was to set and maintain his hair -- Diana liked
it long, but it needed more lift and body, and the beautician -- a gay man
altogether uninterested in Bob's birth gender -- was magical in the way he
coaxed it to wavy fullness. One was for his nails, complexion, and what he
later learned was electrolysis, elimination of what few hairs he had on his
chin and body. This session always finished with a rather extensive
makeover, and Bob looked so chic and well-groomed afterward that he
always went out shopping afterward -- it was a waste to carry such an
exquisite face back to his apartment, with no one to see it. But he always
looked smooth and elegant, even when out walking casually dressed in jeans
and a slouch coat. And after Erika arranged some advanced tutorials for him
in feminine movement, how to use his hands, and also how to walk, sit, and
even turn his head like a lady, he began to look classy. It was a fun game,
trying to be a beautiful woman with so few natural endowments.
Above all, it pleased Diana. Whenever she saw him she would comment
on some new evident feminine accomplishment, and ask him what else he
had learned, and Bob would feel very proud. The dull and mediocre Bob
began to feel like a gifted and happy Bobbi, someone very special. If he
happened to wake up feeling male, as happened now and than, he felt
depressed that he was still Bob, and he treated himself to something
especially feminine to overwhelm Bob, to remind himself that he was not
Bob.
He and Diana saw each other a few times each week. They were casual
together, girlfriend and girlfriend, usually informal in socks and sneakers and
a plaid skirt, now and then more formal in a little basic black dress she
bought him, and sometimes kinky in a leather skirt and red vest over a huge,
balloon sleeved blouse. He learned to make himself up and to move as Diana
did, and he added grace to his natural courtesy, and even a certain playful
cuteness. He looked forward to dressing for his dates with her, because they
gave him special opportunity to play with his look, to be beautiful in a new
way each time. He was her girl until they got home. Then with
unfathomable skill she rewarded him for his willinglness to fulfill her fantasy
image of him. She put her adorable, precious girl into an erotic stupor that
lasted for hours, where all he could do was utter small squeals and plaintive
cries while she did magical things to him.
He was hopelessly enthralled. Each time they made love, she chanted
new questions at him, and he always answered "Yes! Yes!" as he
approached his climax. He scarcely noticed it when her questions began to
ask if he wanted to have breasts of his own, or a sweet little round tush
instead of a bony bottom. But after a night when she asked him that
repeatedly, and he had said "Oh, yes, yes!" over and over, and then had
come gloriously melting into her, and had actually fainted from the exquisite
intensity of it, he noticed that the following day and from then on, Erika gave
him different kinds of shots, in his tush, and each morning a huge pill as well
as a tranquillizer.
Diana had taken to calling him "Bobbi" that first evening they went out
together as girlfriends, but he didn't know how his new name was spelled
until one morning she sent him flowers with a card explaining why -- she had
made a carelessly abrupt remark to him the night before, and had hurt his
feelings. The more feminine he felt, the more in touch with his feelings, the
more easily he felt hurt. She respected him all the more for that, she wrote in
her note to "Bobbi". He accepted her apology and sent her back a note
(though no flowers), also signed "Bobbi." And that is what, with each date
and each passing week, he increasingly became.
One evening when he'd tried especially hard to be pretty for her, she
complimented him when he opened the door and she saw how pretty he had
made himself, and he glowed, and without thinking curtsied for her, and
said, "Thank you kind sir!" Then he wondered why he'd said that. She was
as always dressed in stylish but distinctly feminine clothes, so there was no
question of her gender. Maybe because whenever they were together, she
invariably took charge?
Diana took due note that it meant he was a heterosexual man beginning to
think of himself as a heterosexual woman. At dinner that night, as the two of
them sat in a quiet and elegant little restaurant -- ourageously expensive, but
she always seemed to have money enough -- she began the next phase of her
assault on his mind and heart.
"Bobbi," Diana said, "have you ever wondered whether we should take
up one of these offers gentlemen are always making, what would happen if
we did?"
Bobbi enjoyed his femininity. It was not merely a way to feel, it was
erotic, because of the way Diana tended to treat him when he was dressed.
He loved everything about it. But to cope with a man was something else
again. He felt faintly repelled.
"No," he said. "I don't want it. I've never wanted it. I wouldn't like it.
I wouldn't know what to do."
"Now Bobbi," Diana said as their salad course arrived, "Some of those
statements don't chime with others. You can't know if you'd like it until
you've tried it. And not wanting it is different from not knowing what to do.
Every girl knows what to do. It's instinctive. Mostly, it's let the man do
what he wants to do."
Bob felt somehow driven back to a second line of defense. "Diana, I'm
not a girl."
"You're my girl," Diana told him in a tone that allowed no disagreement
whatsoever. He was her possession, her tone of voice told him, and she did
with him what she pleased. "A girl who has never had any experience of
men. A virgin. So far."
And then she added, as if it were a casual afterthought, "We'll want to
change that, I suppose, won't we? Girls do become women."
Bob just sat there, petrified with terror. Diana saw she might have said
too much, and eased off a little.
"Don't worry, darling. I don't mean now. It's that your sense of
yourself as a woman is incomplete while you're still a virgin. We'll do some
new things starting tomorrow. That's all."
"All right," Bob got out. He was so overwhelmingly relieved, he scarcely
noticed that was still a little apprehensive.
But the next morning when he woke up Diana's comment came back to
him. Was this the way he wanted to go? No. The idea of intimacy with a
man, those hairy, muscular animals! A guy?! How do women do it? How
can they want to? Why would they want to attract that kind of person?
Fully his former self for the first time in weeks, Bob decided that enough
was enough. He hated to, but he'd leave. He put on jeans and a simple
Oxford shirt, no one would notice it buttoned the wrong way, and slipped
moccasins on his feet, no one would notice they were cut rather low and
graceful, and he resolved to wear no make up at all. Only a little natural
shade on his lips, and a touch of eye liner. A girl needs to look minimally
decent. He took down a flowered carryall, and was wondering which of his
pretty undies to pack to take with him when Erika came in. So he asked her
advice. In reply, she gave him double that day's dosage of tranquillizers. He
spent the day dreamy, and by the evening when Diana arrived his mood had
changed. He'd become curious what "new things" Diana had in mind.
Diana introduced Bob to "men" that night, that is, to vibrators and dildoes.
First she pleasured herself with a six inch, pink, cock-shaped vibrator while
he watched her, a little jealous, and as it came out of her dripping with her
fluids she held it out for him to lick, suck, tongue, and then mouth sweetly.
She smiled and fed it to him head first as if it were a lollypop held out to a
baby, her own mouth partly open, her teeth slightly clenched, her eyelids
watchful and hooded. Before the evening ended he had learned how to deep-
throat it, to swallow when he felt his gag reflex rising. She held it out
playfully and asked him to lunge at it like a puppy, to take it in his mouth and
face fuck himself with it. He obliged.
On their next date she taught him how to use his throat like a vagina with a
ten inch vibrator, the way she'd first learned to do it in college when she'd
wanted to know everything at first hand. She'd never ask him to do anything
she hadn't done, she assured him, so he could scarcely object when she'd
turn to him still breathing heavily from her own vibrator-induced orgasm and
say, "Your turn now, sweetheart." She strapped it onto her mound so it rose
in proud, permanent erection from her crotch. Then thereafter each night of
lovemaking began with Bobbi lovingly, affectionately, cock sucking a penis-
shaped vibrator, licking, sucking, slurping, and deep throating it while
kneeling before her while she stood legs apart, hands on hips, looking down
magisterially at his bobbing head. Or sometimes she'd sit on the ruffled
slipper chair in Bobbi's bedroom while Bobbi sank to his knees in front of
her, kissed the tip of her dildo to salute it, and then worked it tirelessly with
his mouth and throat, while she rested a comforting hand on his carefully
coiffed head.
After only a week of this nightly routine she introduced these instruments
to his pristine ass, and he understood for the first time why all those daily
enemas and douches. First her well-lubricated finger, then a small Dildo,
then a larger one, until he could take the full-sized ten inch strap-on pounding
into him. As she commented, the length didn't matter, since his rear pussy
was deeper than the longest prick ever made. It was the thickness, and as his
anus stretched she urged him to feel proud he could accommodate it. She
persisted until his prostate was stimulated to paroxysms and he came spurting
repeatedly into the bedsheets. Soon he couldn't imagine climaxing any other
way. Whenever he saw her reaching for the strap-on with a wicked smile on
her face, his heart leaped up eagerly and his groin spasmed in anticipation.
Not his cock, not any more. Around this time Bob found that no matter
how artfully Diana manipulated it, the flesh had grown lazy. It no longer
stiffened dependably. When she fucked him deep he could still achieve
delicious orgasms, and the thing leaked jism, but only rarely could he enter
and come inside her. "Never mind, honey," she said, caressing his now-
distended nipples, excruciatingly tender on the soft mounds now growing out
of his chest. "It's just that you're getting to be more and more my girl, aren't
you. Well, I'll be the man now. It's my turn!"
Diana settled on one dildo of a particular size, not the longest she ever
used on Bob but one of the thickest, warm to the touch and mouth, with a
crowning purple helmet and distinctive veins running up it. "I don't want
you to become promiscuous," she said. "I want you to feel faithful to one
man." She paused, and flashed him a wicked gleam, and added, "Mostly."
Somehow he felt good at that. They understood each other, as girls do, and
men never suspect.
That dildo became "Diana's cock." After a few times Bob forgot to feel
humiliated when she fucked him with it. Instead he looked forward to it. It
felt familiar, comfortable. All of the other dildoes and vibrators went back
into her box of tricks. He began to feel affectionate toward it, it gave him so
much pleasure, and Diana was amused to see Bobbi kiss it with sincere
passion when he was asked to open his mouth and throat to it, or to lift his
rear pussy high to receive it. He loved it.
He took pride that he was Diana's special plaything, a soft vessel of flesh
whose bodily openings were hers to use as she chose. His whole purpose in
life now was to look pretty for her and to prepare himself for her visits.
When she chose to go out with him, to a restaurant or a show, or dancing, he
was rapturous. Two months after his first date with Diana in a dress, he
found that little else was on his mind than making himself pretty and
demonstrating his devotion to whatever she asked of him. When he finally
asked her what was in Erika's injections, and Diana told him "Female
hormones, so you can be my smooth, round, soft, lovely girl naturally, for
the rest of your life," he only nodded. It seemed natural enough. He adored
it when her hand caressed the exquisite erotic sensitivity of those conical
nipples budded on his swelling breasts.
A week after that Diana decided he was ready for the last thing she wished
personally to teach him, and made a few phone calls. It started as an ordinary
dinner in a small upscale Restaurant coiled into the corner of a new
downtown office building. Two well-dressed men chatted with them at the
bar while they waited for their table, and for once Diana allowed them to join
with the two ladies. They turned out to be excellent company, cultured,
complimentary, and amusing by turns. Moreover, they ordered different
bottles of wine with each new course, and insisted that each be finished
before the next course was brought forward.
Bob lost all recollection of dessert or of leaving the resaurant. He awoke
in the middle of the night to find himself in bed naked, a naked man snoring
into his ear, two strong hairy arms wrapped around his chest, and what had
to be a cock pressing into the crease of his softly rounded rear end. Had the
man...? Had the man discovered....? When he got up to use the bathroom,
he found Diana sleeping in the spare bedroom with another man, and it all
seemed natural enough. So he returned to bed. When he awoke at daybreak
his bed partner was gone, but then he saw and felt the crusts of dried cum on
his face and his belly, and in the crack of his ass. He felt stretched down
there. No way, he realized, was he a virgin any longer.
At breakfast Diana confirmed his surmise. She explained that both men
had done him after they'd brought them home, that neither one seemed to
mind using his ass when that was all they found under his panties, and that
he'd first deep-throated each and then screamed joyously while they reamed
him one after the other for nearly two hours. "I expect your throat's feeling
sore," she commented in conclusion. "Mine would be. And not only my
throat!"
He did feel sore, a little. He felt both pride and humiliation that he'd been
taken by a man as if he were a woman, but he also felt resentful that
somehow he'd been used. He was now a real girl, and his ass was proven to
be a workable vagina, but he was also now a real cocksucker. Or maybe that
was the same thing.
But he didn't feel different. "I don't know what it was like," he
complained to Diana. "I don't remember anything about it."
"Aww! You feel cheated! We'll soon fix that," Diana said, glancing up at
him. "No problem, honey! I've got their number."
So she called the same men, who happened to be in town for one more
day, and they arranged another dinner. This time they had only one glass of
wine apiece, and Bob remained timorously alert to everything that followed.
His partner turned out to be as nice as he had seemed. He joked with the two
ladies during dinner and was gentle and affectionate afterward. He admired
Bob's budding breasts when Bob took off his brassiere, and when he kissed
them Bob thought he would die with delight. After all that dildo training his
cock slipped effortlessly into Bob's pussy, no problem, and Bob immediately
felt that delicious feeling down under begin to build up. He waited to cum
until Bob's gasping climaxed into shrieks, and then the feel of hot sperm
spurting in his ass set Bob shuddering into a second orgasm immediately on
top of the first. An hour later with a bit of sucking he was ready again, and
this time Bob went directly to heaven. He shrieked for joy through three
more orgasms, the last two dry. "Women's orgasms," Diana explained to
him later. "I told you you're a girl!"
Thereafter when they went out as a twosome they frequently returned as a
foursome, and when Diana and one of the men disappeared into one of the
bedrooms Bobbi was always ready to take her man into the other. Diana put
away that last dildo. Men were nicer than dildos, Bobbi had to agree with
Diana, even though they were hairy and their beards scratched. It was a good
feeling, he thought when sometimes it worried him that he was being
unmanly. But he did so much enjoy feeling all that raw male cock with all that
muscle power behind it push energetically into him, and to stroke and mouth
all of that velvety nubby skin was a privilege!
After another few weeks of finding men and taking them home -- Diana
never failed to attract the nicest, most virile yet decent of them, Bob couldn't
figure out how she did it -- Bob realized that he was no longer sleeping with
Diana at all. When he mentioned this to her, she only shrugged and asked if
he was unhappy. He couldn't say he was. She asked him if he'd rather get
laid by a woman or a man, and he thought a long while before deciding on an
evasive answer. "I don't know," he said.
That was a good enough answer for Diana. A few days later she suddenly
appeared in Bobbi's apartment unannounced.
"Now Bobbi," she said. He sensed that suddenly Diana was all business,
though pleasant enough about it. "I haven't told you before, but now you
should know, because we belong to each other. Don't we?"
"Yes," Bob said, with no idea where this remarkable woman was now
going. He was about to add, "I suppose, in a way," but he sensed that
around Diana her way was the only way.
"So listen closely, my dear. Some of this will surprise you." He sat
down, all ears.
"I'm very wealthy. Money is of no concern to me, and never has been. I
get what I want. I wanted you. I wanted you available to do what I want you
to do. To be a girl for me when I want you to be a girl. Maybe with me,
maybe with guys, maybe with one guy I happen to have in mind. Never
mind why. My reasons are my own, and they're sufficient for me to have
gone to a lot of trouble preparing you, so I don't want you to bother your
pretty little head about them now. I know that your inheritance has nearly run
out, and soon you'll need to get back to work. If someone who looks the
way you do now can find work. Remember, you're not quite the slim boy
you were, and the clothes in your closet aren't his clothes any more. Now
you're a girl, aren't you? Pretty much unskilled, so restricted to low paying
jobs and glass ceilings, right? Or, there's always the streets, but who knows
what kinds of men you'd find there? Or what diseases!"
"Well, if you continue to do what I say, you'll never have to work again.
You'll be free to indulge any whims that may occur to you, within reason of
course. In this purse is a whole new world for you. To begin with, the
ownership papers for this apartment -- it's really a condo. Right now it has a
heavy mortgage, but if you're happy with our arrangement, I'll pay it off
month by month, and in one year it'll be yours free and clear to live in or rent
out, whatever you like. Also a new driver's license made out to "Bobbi,"
and the papers for a new BMW you'll find downstairs in this building's
underground garage. Also a few credit cards for the best women's stores in
town, and I'll expect you to use them often.
"Women's stores, Bobbi. Because what you'll have to do for me for all
this, Bobbi, is agree to live as a woman whether I'm supervising you or
Erica, or neither of us. Just keep getting used to it, and find out what kind
of a girl you are, and live as that kind of girl. I'll help you, of course. I'll
start you out with a few women friends who'll help you find a whole new
social life, and will see to it that you learn how to make men happy, and also
learn how to be happy despite the fact that they're men. We all have to learn
that. Then when you're ready I'll ask you to come live on my estate. But
that'll be later still, when the time is ripe. If you don't like what I'll ask you
to do then, you can always say 'No' and at that point we'll part company,
still friends. But I think you'll love doing it. It won't be anything I haven't
done. Nor you, now, girlie."
She grinned at that, and then turned serious again. "I meant what I just
said. There will be men in your life. and one in particular. I want you to
learn how to love them, and how to want to satisfy them, and how to become
expert at making them happy and satisfied. I will not want your affairs to
include any men I haven't chosen for you. So there is that restriction on your
social life. And the women in your life are for suitable companionship and
advice, nothing more. Your cock is useless now, and your ass is mine! But
all in all, you won't find life too arduous."
"Will you agree to all this? Bobbi, do say yes. Please. For me. Do take
this purse. It also contains notice of your new bank account, all yours, with
a first amount in it larger than that inheritance you were using up. And of
course your makeup -- from now on you'll never leave home without it. I'm
leaving for Europe tonight on business, but tomorrow a young woman will
drop by to see how you are. And to double date with you. You'll like her.
She started out in discos and she graduated to sex shop porn, and she's been
a model, and a street prostitute, and then she was kept by several very
influential men, so now there's nothing she doesn't know and very little she
can't teach you. She's well-educated, and she's really quite respectable now.
But I know you'll find it amusing, learning some of the things she knows. I
did."
She held out the purse, looking hopeful. A bit addled, overwhelmed
really, so choked up he was unable to say anything, Bobbi took the purse
from her, and nodded. She looked him over closely and said "Good! It may
be a while, honey, but I'll be in touch. Enjoy yourself. That's your job from
now on."
Then she got into her car, and drove off without looking back.
***************
PART TWO
Diana Claiborne was born very wealthy. This does not mean she was
spoiled. When she was little she adored her father, who adored her more and
wanted to give her anything her whims dictated. What she wanted at the time
was dolls, lots of them, all living together in an elaborate doll house three
stories tall and filling most of her playroom, with ten bedrooms, each
bedroom with a sitting room attached, some of them with a kitchen off the
sitting room, all built according to her specifications. Then she would pair
and re-pair the boy dolls and the girl dolls, so that different doll couples could
spend their nights in different bedrooms, as she had noticed her daddy and
mommy sometimes did. Sometimes she would pair up two dolls of the same
gender for the evening, especially if they had recently spent a night with the
same doll of the other gender, because she liked to imagine what they would
then say and do with each other. She was much more precocious than
spoiled.
She was just beginning to elaborate this game when her father died in a
hunting accident in Africa. Her mother had always preferred being wealthy
to being a mother, and decided to devote the rest of her life to being courted
for her body, her money, or both, by handsome younger men who adored
the life style she could confer on them until they grew tiresome. So Diana's
intellectual and moral education was left to her doll house and her
imagination, neither of which anyone ever investigated, and to her
governesses, tutors, and teachers, the housemistress of her private school,
visiting church ministers, and a lesbian housemaid who taught her to lick and
be licked insatiably even before she reached adolescence and her first period.
Her mother instructed all of these worthy people to provide Diana
whatever material things she needed when she needed them, but to withhold
all other desireable things until special gift-giving occasions came around, or
else to grant them as special rewards for exceptional performance. So Diana
very early learned several truths about herself and the world. One was that
she was extremely clever. She could easily convince many people, including
herself, that whatever she desired was something material she needed, and
therefore something she should have. This was true of ponies, dresses, or
sharing doll coupling games with the gardener's young son, who saw no
point to them but could at least verify for her which boy dolls were
anatomically correct and which were not.
Another truth was that holidays like Christmas and her birthday came but
once a year, not often enough to matter. But she quickly learned that with
persistence, wit, and careful planning, she could perform something
exceptional almost any time. This truth soon became self-evident, whether
she was show-jumping horses, learning to sail, solving problems in
Euclidean Geometry, writing essays on Julius Caesar, or at age fourteen,
seducing the near-seventeen year old Captain of a nearby school's football
team into relieving her of the burden of her virginity. She accomplished this
only one week after she successfully blackmailed the housemistress of her
private boarding school into nightly oral service of her cunt for the remainded
of the school year.
These last two exceptional performances carried their own rewards with
them, of course. The football captain fucked her to her first solid orgasms,
and the housemistress kissed and licked her to more fluid orgasms. But
Diana knew she had earned those rewards and deserved them.
Getting the housemistress to cooperate was easy. Her early experience
with the family housemaid had taught Diana how to recognize a female eye
that looked too attentive when young girls undressed themselves. Such,
though repressed and perhaps even unnoticed, was the housemistress's eye.
So in the middle of the night Diana sent a new younger student to sleep in the
housemistress's bed after a bad dream, and waited fifteen minutes to be sure
the young girl was in place. Then she broke into the housemistress's room to
catch them in flagrante. That is, she switched on the light and revealed each
of them asleep in the bed, each pretty much unaware of the other's presence,
and clicked her empty snapshot camera at them a few times as they woke up.
She then sent the younger girl back to her own bed, closed the door, climbed
into the bed herself, and informed the dumbfounded housemistress of the
price of her silence about this lamentable attempted seduction of a young
child.
To emphasize that she was serious, Diana insisted that the housemistress
get out of bed and kneel on the floor between her legs, while Diana herself
lolled back on the pillows with her legs spread apart over the bed's edge, her
toes just touching the floor. The housemistress's face looked up over Diana's
crotch, outraged but unable to think of a remedy. So Diana had her spend the
night in that position, and dozed between tongue lickings.
By morning the housemistress was well trained to begin by licking the
length of Diana's slit, then to nibble Diana's clit gently with her lips and front
teeth, while occasionally flicking it or trying to penetrate Diana's still virginal
vagina with her tongue. She was instructed to keep doing these things until
Diana had orgasmed. Then she was permitted to sleep briefly, her face
pillowed on Diana's crotch, until Diana awoke and asked her to resume.
After a few nights of this, the housemistress was grateful when Diana
allowed her to kneel all night on a pillow. By then she had learned how to
bring Diana off quickly and expertly, because her adolescent mistress
required that high standard, and also because it increased the lag time for
sleeping between the three or four servicings Diana required nightly. She
learned to awaken and begin again each time Diana flexed her toes and thrust
her mound up into the housemistresses sleeping face. By the end of the week
the housemistress was resuming on signal, Diana was amused to notice, in
her sleep, and was scarcely disturbed by her new nightly posture and duties.
The young football Captain needed different incentives, of course, and
Diana provided them. Diana wanted him to take her virginity as a service to
her, not for himself, and to feel properly privileged and humble about it. It
was not a trophy he could be allowed to dare to boast about even to himself.
Diana was by now a slim and beautiful maiden, with budded breasts just
noticeable, and delicate lips she usually touched with pink lipstick. One
afternoon, while watching a scrimmage at the nearby boys' private school,
she seemed to slip on the grass. Immediately the team was deserted while the
Captain raced to her assistance. They spoke together on the sidelines just long
enough to arrange an illicit meeting that night, each sneaking out of a
dormitory and across the common playing field to a nearby grove of trees.
That night they were together just long enough for Diana to get laid three
times, the first one painful and the second problematic, but the third the justly
fabled delight of a girlhood fantasy that for once lived up to its promise, with
shrieking multiple orgasms that no way resembled the moaning and
shuddering her housemistress could coax from her. Boys were better than
girls for some things.
Then as she came down from heaven to face her partner and saw a
foolishly self-satisfied adolescent expression on his face, she thanked him,
then began to discuss charges of actual and statutory rape she might bring
against him. This brought the Captain to his knees in front of her, and as she
directed him he was soon leaning way back on his elbows, his head tilted
back so she could straddle his face, eagerly sucking up from her pussy her
hymeneal blood, her generous juices, and his own abundant semen.
This gave her an interesting idea. So for the rest of the year, like it or not
her Captain had a steady date with her, for an hour or so each night of five
consecutive nights each month, to use his prick and his cum as a douche to
loosen her day's accumulation of clotted menstrual blood and mucous, then
to use his mouth to cleanse her thoroughly and return her vagina to its
customary sweetness. The much-used housemistress was happy to take
those nights off and sleep in her own bed. In this way the Captain learned
that no one ever owned Diana, and that his highest function was to please
her. By the time he graduated from Prep School she had trained him to feel
helpless before any woman who knew her own mind, able to conceive of sex
only as a service he should provide without recompense or reward. When
Diana passed him on to a girl she knew at the College he attended that Fall,
the girl reported back that he was too grovelling to be worth her trouble, and
that she had donated him to her sorority for general purpose uses.
Once she herself reached College age, Diana found that it was much
more amusing to control her sexual partners by manipulating their desires
than by direct entrapment or blackmail. By the time her formal higher
education ended she had refined her techniques in many ways.
Her initial discovery that men were easy to self-entrap was accidental.
Early one summer she went to a Tennis Camp to improve her game. She
arranged the first day to meet the handsomest of the young instructors, a slim
and pale blonde Adonis, for lunch and a mid-day swim on his next day off.
On that day off they went to a secluded pond he knew of, by a clearing deep
in the woods.
He then committed the folly of trying to talk her into swimming with him
topless as they changed into their swimsuits. This, he hoped secretly, might
lead them in turn to bottomless pleasures.
Diana reappeared from behind a tree where she had been changing,
wearing a pretty flowered bikini, expecting to be complimented. Instead the
young Adonis eyed her with a calculating smile and swung into action.
"Take that top off, little girl," he urged in an overripe voice. "You'll love
feeling free and natural with the wind on your skin. Trust me!"
Diana felt insulted by this crude gambit. Annoyed, she challenged him
instead to spend the afternoon with her swimming and sun bathing topped, as
she was, to learn for himself how girls sacrifice comfort to maintain
respectability. He agreed to placate her, and reached for his shirt to put it
back on. No, she told him, fair's fair, they should each have the same kind
of top. So she went back behind the tree and emerged holding her black lace
brassiere, and offered it to him.
Of course he balked. But Diana then turned icy with contempt and made a
few references to his apparently fragile manhood, taunting him whether she
had uncovered in him some shameful secret desire to wear women's clothing.
He denied he had ever felt any such thing, a bra being a bra, nothing more,
and relented. She helped him slip the straps over his shoulders and fastened
the flimsy lace thing herself tightly behind his back, where he couldn't reach
the hooks. He looked a little shamefaced, but she stood back and took his
measure with her eyes, noted his pectoral muscles delicately swathed in her
lace cups, smiled, and reached to touch one of his nipples through the
material. "Just like mine," she said. They both laughed, and he relaxed.
Things seemed promising, he thought, if a little kinky.
Then for the next six hours they played delightedly, in the water and out
under the clear blue sky and hot sun, nibbling on their sandwiches and
occasionally on each other, and dozing under the sky. Diana's skin was well
tanned from a Spring vacation in Bermuda, so she didn't bother with sun
block. He had brought a bottle, but somehow felt it would be wimpy to
spread it on himself when she wasn't using any, so he set it aside. He
altogether forgot about his pale skin as he explored and stroked and kissed
the selected areas of Diana's body she permitted him access, her neck and
shoulders, and the front parts of her thighs, and one breast. But Diana didn't
forget. She saw to it he remained in the sun the whole time, and turned him
toward it like a basting chicken on a spit. His skin turned pink, then a deeper
pink.
By mid-afternoon the air turned cooler, and Diana suggested they think
about returning. She went back behind her tree to change back into her t
shirt and shorts, and reappeared bra-less, pretending to be surprised and
amused that he was still wearing his damp bathing trunks and was still
struggling to reach the triple bra hooks in the center of his back. She
unhooked it for him and stood back to admire her handiwork. Her Adonis
was now deep pink except where the bra had been. The outlines of thin
white straps rose over each shoulder and a bra band was branded in white
across his back. On his chest appeared the white scalloped outline of two bra
cups, one for each pectoral muscle bulge, his nipples in the center of each
surrounded by a filigree of pink and white skin in near-perfect reproduction
of the bra's delicate lace rosettes. He was appalled when he saw this tattoo,
but Diana was delighted. She told him it would last the summer, and would
turn eventually from pink to tan, but would never blend with the rest of his
chest no matter how much he tried to tan the bra-whitened areas. She told
him it served him right. She then suggested that the next time they dated she
would provide him with matching lace panties to swim and sun bathe in, so
he could have a matched set.
He quickly learned what Diana already knew, that for the next six weeks
he was hers. She knew no normal American male would ever want it known
he had worn a brassiere even for the noble and manly purpose of seducing a
girl who had challenged him to wear one. He took to swimming in a T-shirt
even on the hottest of days, for fear of being seen in his suntan bra.
Sometimes when they were perspiring freely on the Tennis Court and there
were others listening Diana would call to him to take his shirt off so he could
feel natural and free, and feel the wind on his skin.
She added different items to his daytime underwear wardrobe. A week
later they went swimming together again, and this time she insisted he wear
the promised matched pair of black panties with lace rosettes instead of his
swimming trunks, worn all day in the sun along with the same black bra
worn to deepen its tan lines and her grip on him -- this was the price she
exacted from him for letting him kiss her between the legs that day. Then, to
finally let him fuck her, she bought him a panty-for-each-day-of-the-week set
and took possession herself of all his shorts and briefs, so he'd have no
choice but to wear them. Then she spot checked, that on Tuesdays for
example he was wearing the cute powder blue flowered bikini embroidered
"It's Tuesday, so Kiss Me!" and on Sunday, the pink tap pants embroidered
"Every Sunday Tell Me how Pretty I Am!"
A few weeks later, since she already held his reputation in her hand, she
had no problem dressing him up in a padded bra, a T shirt reading "Secretly
I'm a Princess," cute shorts, strappy sandals, lipstick, and mascara, to go
shopping with her in a nearby mall. She showed up for their date dressed in
an oversized pair of men's jeans and a workshirt, with her hair brushed boy
style to one side. Then she challenged him whether he was man enough to
wear a complete cross-gendered outfit the way she was, and he agreed before
he realized she didn't mean him to wear another pair of jeans and another
workshirt. He never did work out that their mutual daring was radically
unequal, women in pants being a common sight, and men in skirts somewhat
more rare. But he knew by then never to question her sense of fair play. So
he let her feminize his appearance, and he tripped and strolled his way
through the mall as requested, taking short steps, periodically turning to her
and clasping his hands together in excitement, as ordered, a stiff erection
bulging the front of his flaring girlie shorts the whole time.
She took due note that a summer with his manhood being teased by a girl
had in fact brought out an effeminate streak in him, and that his effeminacy
turned him on. It amused her that this was so. That night she allowed him a
sixty-nine position in their lovemaking, telling him this was what women do,
gently, kissing and nibbling his penis for the first time, but as if it were a clit,
mouthing and licking only the head. He went wild. His lovemaking that
night had a desperate, even frenzied element in it, as if he were trying to
relocate some lost male center of himself. She helped him to find it again by
mounting him and then, before she let him pump her from below her in
throes of helpless eroticism, she refreshed his lipstick and mascara, fondled
his breasts, and called him her darling girl.
She returned home from Tennis Camp with an essential truth of far great
value than never to waste your second service by lobbing the ball, namely
that men will endure any amount of humiliation in order to avoid being
humiliated, that some even crave humiliation because they feel guilty about
their own desires. Find what men are ashamed of, she took due note, and get
them habituated to it, and they are yours. For the remainder of her College
years she exchanged confessions of secret shame with each new date, her
own confession usually of some trivial occasion in her childhood, theirs
whatever embarrassing desire or event she could then talk them into enacting
or re-enacting, and they were hers.
A few years out of college she came into her inheritance, and found that
for the rest of her life she could afford nearly any amusement she fancied.
She kept herself busy running several scientific, charitable, and
environmental foundations, attempting to spend her share of her father's
money on good causes faster than it earned even more of itself, and for the
most part failing. While the militant feminist movement argued
confrontationally for greater access to male power and privilege, she acquired
and redistributed much more male power and privilege much more
seductively.
To do her bit for the feminist movement she seduced other women's
husbands, then honed to a knife edge the agonies of guilt those husbands felt
for betraying their wives, then informed their wives that she was handing
over to them a powerful weapon for destroying their husbands, the news of
their husband's infidelities. She then helped the wives do whatever they
wished with these hapless males.
The least imaginative wanted and got a divorce, and others equally
unimaginative wanted and got reconciliation based on the old status quo. But
some others looked to convert their formerly macho males into various kinds
of wimps under their thumbs. Some wanted to enslave them to do their least
bidding, to lick their shoes, or their spittle, or their lovers' pricks while these
were still sticky with mixed cum, or to lick their own assholes while still ripe
from doing a dump. Some in revenge wanted to fuck five other men while
their unfaithful husbands watched helplessly, and some wanted five other
men to fuck their husbands into an effeminacy to be endured as an act of
contrition, while their wives watched and gloated. These things could all be
arranged, and Diana arranged them. But after a while she began to run out of
husbands. It was time, she thought, to find one of her own.
*****************
Then Gene appeared as if from nowhere. It was at a summer lawn party
in the Hamptons, and the hostess, her college roomate from years back,
grinned broadly at Diana as she brought them together.
"Diana, this is Gene. Gene, Diana. You two have a great deal in
common. You both like power. You're both movers and shakers, and you
both know how to make men do whatever you want!" And she turned
away, laughing uproariously at her little joke
Diana's first impression of Gene was of overwhelming maleness. A
vigorous self-confidence poured out of him. Gene reached out and took slow
possession of Diana's hand as if it were a continent, as if he were already
having his way with her. He squeezed it gently, irresistibly, and then he
partly opened his own hand so she could withdraw it if she wanted. She
didn't. She couldn't. Amazed, she looked at what was formerly her hand,
thin and long and pale in his large relaxed grip, her red fingernails touching
his wrist. He closed his other hand over it, so it was now a kind of bird in a
cage. Then she looked up at him, and saw heavy black brows hanging over
his ironically amused eyes, a dark, handsome jaw already in need of another
shave, full lips carved into a smile like those found on Greek statues of
athletes, a large head capped by dense waves of black hair, and wide
shoulders spreading his cashmere sports jacket like a thin sweater.
She saw he was also studying her intently for longer than was necessary,
and decided that this was his standard ploy with girls who interested him.
Nevertheless, it worked. Instinctively, she covered his two hands with her
own other hand, caressed his briefly with her fingertips, then surrounded and
gripped it. She forced herself to look into his eyes with the devastating force
and assurance she reserved usually only for only very important potential
donors to her various charities. They said nothing for a moment, gazing into
each other's eyes and minds.
He flinched first. He looked down at his hand encased in both of hers and
said, "I'd better hand these back to you."
But he couldn't. She now held him as he had held her. She waited a split
second longer, until he knew this, then released his hand and finally pulled
her other hand free. His own suddenly felt empty. Then as if without
thinking, she reached up and touched the dense blue shadow on his chin with
her fingertips, testing for herself how rough an hour or so's growth of beard
could feel. A faint uncertainty crossed his face. Then satisfaction.
Good, she thought. I bet that self-confident handshake gets lots of girls.
But now I've got him, and he'll have to hang it out to dry.
Diana took his arm and wrapped both of hers around it, twined her fingers
into his, and gently turned him back toward their hostess.
"Now that we've met, we're leaving," she told her not-altogether-
astonished old friend.
The genuinely astonished man on her arm was too busy replaying in his
head what he had just heard to object to it, or to question her. So they left
together. Two months later they were married, on the same lawn, with most
of the same people attending.
Gene was exactly what Diana had wanted. He too had independent
means, but he was also an architect whose partner kept busy designing town
houses and country estates for friends. This got him out of the house on
those mornings when an early golf game didn't. He was comfortable with
himself, uncomplicated, forceful when he wanted to be, easily taking charge
when no real thought was required, and inclined to do whatever she wanted
whenever a situation really needed thinking through. He had an elaborate
office in town where his partner, a workoholic named Michael, and various
draftsmen and engineers drew up plans for things and modified other things,
a whole floor in a downtown building, and he went there every morning.
He'd supplied the initial capital outlay, and there was little more for him to do
there. While Michael often worked late into the evening, Gene as often spent
afternoons playing a few sets or rounds with friends who also had more
money than ambition.
She loved showing off such a hunk of man when they went to parties,
concerts, or dinners, his dark good looks and manly proportions a
worshipful and attentive backdrop for her own slim elegance. Wherever they
went and no matter what circle she joined, whatever the animated talk in any
of the fashionable living rooms and country clubs they frequented, he was
always in attendance upon her, bringing her drinks, looking thoughtful when
she seemed to defer to him for an opinion, and then looking pleased when
she articulated it and called it his. She was the envy of all the women in her
set.
Within a few years, of course, Diana was bored down to her bones. Her
work consisted of doling out large sums of money, then seeing they were
well-spent, and this required many of her skills and all of her knowledge.
But after years of being courted by worthy causes she found no thrills,
flattery, or challenges in the prospect of more of the same old same old. It
wasn't dull work. In fact it was rather challenging, even intricate in the way it
required that she bring people of many different temperaments and interests
together, to try to locate their mutual interest in conceiving and completing
one or another project. But it was no longer absorbing. When some glitch or
crisis arrived by telephone, she knew how to deal with it almost mindlessly
almost before she had set down the receiver.
Her husband became part of this pattern of repetitive days. He was
supposedly a hard-driving, energetic man of achievement, but she knew she
had married him for his manageability, and because at her age one married,
and because he came on so very much male, with his heavy beard, golf, and
tennis, with his eye gleaming as his calculations trounced the opposition. At
first she was excited to think of him as a trophy, handsome, successful at
whatever he attempted, wealthy enough in his own right to be uninterested in
her money, the most eligible bachelor to cross into her social set in many
years. But he had little wit, and no conversation. He had a direct approach
to people that worked or didn't work, while her approaches were always
devious and self-amusing, and always worked. He was admirable, she
concluded reluctantly, but like all men sooner or later boring. Even sex with
him, with his muscular shoulders and arms -- he lifted weights several times
each week -- was soon boring.
She had to acknowledge he was well hung, with one of the prettier pricks
she had seen, not too long but fat as a sapling tree trunk, and with tennis balls
hanging beneath where others had golf balls at most. A few hours after she
led him away from the garden party where they had just met, and often after
they were married, she was impaled and stuffed by his direct linear approach:
kiss, embrace, enter her, pump vigorously, come, see that she comes too,
and pull out. Then turn and go to sleep. Nothing more. Nothing else. Fun
at first, but in all respects too easy. Dull. She returned to the one word that
repeated itself in her head after each sexual bout with him, despite his heavy
meat. Boring.
She found herself daydreaming about old lovers, the ones she had cajoled
or intimidated into doing whatever she wanted, especially those she had
actually re-made into odd or compulsive sexual creatures, by twisting the
shapes of their desires to accommodate her more bizarre fantasies. But
beginning an affair with someone else, sex of any kind with anyone else, was
impossible now. He was her husband, her partner. He had been faithful to
her, thus far, she was sure of it. She owed him her fidelity. Moreover, he
was due respect. She knew she could manipulate him. She'd never failed to
work her will with any man. But then she would lose all respect for him as a
partner in marriage. Then what was merely a boring marriage would really
become a prison. She would find herself married to her own puppet, and
would need to end it. And she didn't want to end it. He was everything she
had married him for, and she was the envy of everyone else because she had
married him. She liked things that way. She intended to stay married to him,
and to grow old with him. She never wanted to marry any other man. But
she needed more than he could provide, and other kinds of things than he
could provide.
Gradually, one way to deal with her predicament revealed itself to her.
She remembered that when she was a little girl, and bored, she had taken
refuge in her own imagination, absorbed herself altogether into the life of her
dollhouse. She had created a complete, fully equipped household, with a
daddy and a mommy and brothers and sisters and relatives and lovers, none
of which she herself had in fact, and servants of various kinds, which she
had abundantly. Each was a doll ready to do her bidding, and to change and
become someone else when her whims changed, or when she ran out of ideas
for whatever they were. She remembered that as time wore on and she grew
older and saw the possibilities, she would test out new ideas on them, putting
daddy into bed with a servant girl, for example, or the handyman, or putting
an uncle into intimate embrace with one of the pre-pubescent sons or
daughters of the house, or putting mommy into a menage a quatre. Everyone
there did what she wanted. That had been fun.
So Diana decided to play house with her husband. As her husband he
was fully qualified. In fact, when she decided to play dollhouse with him,
she decided to bring in other people to play various other dolls along with her
and her husband, different dolls for different purposes, or dolls who would
willingly play the different roles she required of them. The game would be
more fun if Gene didn't know that's what was going on. He himself would
be, in a way, a doll. But not a doll to be manipulated. One who was treated
with respect. One who freely chose, of his own desires, what roles he
wished to play.
So, she concluded, if spice were to return to her life, she had to
accomplish several things. One was to return to her own uses her main
instrument in the manipulation of other people, her pussy, with its various
implied promises to people who desired access to it. But she could not give
other men access to it, or even the promise of access, unless her husband
first gave some other woman access to his prick. She would not be the first
to breach their marriage contract, though she knew she would certainly be the
second. It was inescapable -- she had to see to it that her husband, of his
own free will, fucked some other woman. But a woman of her own
choosing, and under conditions of her own choosing, with consquences of
her own choosing. She would never risk his running off with someone not
of her choosing. Or running off with anyone. Moreover, what she hoped
for from her husband's liaison, apart from a necessary justification for
fucking other men if she wished or found it expedient, was that some other
woman would teach him how to make robust, passionate, and imaginative
love to her, so he'd be available to his own wife as a lover she could indeed
live with for the rest of her life, perhaps even monogamously. He was not
that now. Not at all. Not yet. And she certainly wasn't going to condescend
to teach him.
One evening, drifting asleep after direct, linear lovemaking with her
husband, Diana suddenly snapped wide awake. For the first time in her life,
she realized suddenly that someone within her own orbit was living a life she
knew nothing about, out of her control! And that someone was her husband!
The clue was unmistakable, and she was dumbfounded that she had missed
it. Not fifteen minutes earlier, instead of coming in her, then maintaining his
ardor and erection until she came (even if his prick started to soften, it was
still more than ample for her purposes), he had waited until her orgasm
approached, climbed its peak, and then leaped off in full flight. Then, when
her gasping had become breathing again, he had asked her "May I come now,
please?" And only after she had clutched him tightly to prolong her
afterglow, her arms around his neck and her legs around his thighs, and only
after she had called out to him in a tense whisper, "Oh, yes, oh, yes!", only
then did he explode into her with his own orgasm.
Not his usual silent lovemaking at all, with his own satisfaction preceding
hers. He attended to hers first. He had been exceptionally considerate this
time. More than considerate. He hadn't even asked her "Close?", checking to
see if he could play out his own end game and not leave her too far behind, as
if for some obscure reason there were doubts whether she'd play out hers at
all, as if those doubts ever mattered to him at such a moment anyhow. He
knew that she'd just gone over the top. His words were "*May* I come
now?" He had asked her permission, and added, as if he were not in charge
of his own body, "please."
The bastard was fucking some other woman! Not just any other woman,
but one who was playing domination/submission games with him, who was
training him not to come without her permission! Apparently, at the peak of
his own desire for sexual release he had gotten his two women confused --
for the moment, he had actually forgotten which bed he was in.
Diana knew the signs, and this one was unmistakeable. In college and
occasionally afterward she had trained men to play bondage games that
interested or amused her, many such men. An early stage was to control their
orgasms -- desperate to cum, they could be conditioned to do anything, to
agree to anything, in exchange for a long-sought release. Especially if they
had been wrought up to extremes of erotic tension. Then their cumming
could be made conditional on many other amusing things.
That was how she had conditioned all of her men to kinkiness of some
sort. It interested her, seeing how far she could move men from wherever
she found them. Impeccably neat gentlemen always ended up her toilets,
grateful she allowed them to cum at all, but never until they had opened their
mouths wide to her drink her piss or eat her shit direct from its source.
Prudes ended up male whores, doing basic training in an actual whorehouse
for several weeks before being sent into the streets to find and satisfy
customers with specified peculiarities, as if they were participating in some
bizarre scavenger hunt, all to please her. For the rest of their lives, some of
her former partners would need to be stretched or whipped or humiliated to
the extremities of physical or mental discomfort before they could climax.
Almost by whim she had brought one man, over only a few months, from
a satyr's readiness to ejaculate anywhere on no notice, to numb inability to
feel anything unless it was associated with pain, and to require near-blinding
agony in order to ejaculate. She then obliged him when he begged her by
squeezing his scrotum with all her strength. But then he went out of control
and became something of a torture junkie on his own. He mutilated himself
while masturbating, as she could see afterward. Then one evening he spent
hours pleading with her to crush his testicles with a hammer. Respectfully,
on his knees, his forehead pressed to the floor and the hammer offered with
both outstretched hands, not daring to look at her, tears streaming from his
eyes. And he hadn't been able to hear her when she ordered him to stop it. It
was kind of sweet, his dedication to her. But she had realized they were no
longer compatible. He had become someone else's problem, not hers, and
she stopped seeing him.
Gene on the other hand was her problem, till death did them part. A few
nights later, Diana confirmed her suspicion. Just as he was rising to a
feverish explosion and his loins were pumping ferociously, utterly out of
control, straining into her while his dick swelled into a massive discharge,
she said in a low, carefully modulated voice, "Not this time" and then waited
to see what would happen. There was no waiting at all. Gene immediately
withdrew from her, fell to licking her to bring her off, and then despite what
had to be a hideous case of blueballs, all that overheated cum still bottled up
inside him, he hugged her and went to sleep without complaint.
Diana lay there furious, but even more, filled with wild surmise. Then
she found that all in all, she was delighted. She felt her life suddenly again
grow rich, purposive. She knew she had to identify this woman, whoever
she was, and confront her, perhaps defeat her in a direct contest of wills with
her husband as the prize, and then secure her husband against any such
onslaughts ever again. Here was a project worthy of her attention! She
closed her eyes and smiled. Within a minute she was sound asleep.
The next day she went to her office and Gene went to his. By the time
Gene reappeared on the streets for lunch he was equipped, without knowing
it, with two faithful observers who never lost sight of him and followed him
everywhere, one an unimpressive young man with thinning hair and an
abstracted manner, a computer geek for some local broker, it seemed, and
the other a middle-aged woman too plain to tempt strangers, a little plump,
but well-enough dressed to be able to shop or take tea anywhere. He never
noticed that he was being followed. Meanwhile, Gene's firm advertised for a
secretary and for a landscape draftsman, and a reputable employment agency
sent over two candidates that same afternoon. Each chatted with the staff for
hours about what kind of place this was to work in, what the bosses were
like, and each made a luncheon appointment for the next day with an
especially compatible new acquaintance, and each arranged to take in a movie
with another new acquaintance, so they could share the real poop about
things. The secretary was eventually hired and the draftsman wasn't. It
didn't matter. By the end of the following week it seemed that they both had
to leave town to tend sick relatives, and neither was seen again. Their real
work was finished, successfully accomplished.
They reported in, and by the end of the following week Diana had the
complete story, with photographs and a videotape, everything she had
wanted to know and some things she didn't. It seems that before his
marriage Gene had routinely skimmed the secretarial staff and filing clerks for
sexual favors, that a number had been hired with that understanding, and that
some of these were still there. These sometimes still met with him privately
in exchange for the gifts Gene gave them (all agreed he was a gentleman).
But the gifts were not for additional sexual favors. They were for their
silence about his earlier sexual harrassment of them.
One had especially missed having his meat in her mouth, or cunt, or ass a
few times each week. In her way she loved him. So a few months earlier,
just about when Diana was realizing how bored she was with her husband,
this especially affectionate filing clerk had flashed a naked ass at Gene from
under her mini, and five minutes later was again enjoying the feel of his huge
cock stuffing her quim, seated on his lap with her back to him, her hands
braced on his desk against his thrusting into her ass. Not in her pussy,
because Gene did want to remain a faithful husband it seemed, but up her
cute rear end, and then into her mouth to be cleaned off by her prehensile
tongue, and then down her throat to be rinsed off. This had become a regular
thing between them, until only a month ago.
A month ago, it seems, Gene's partner's wife had walked into Gene's
office unannounced to ask him about an investment and had nearly fallen over
Gene and the filing clerk humping their way around the room doggy style.
The filing clerk had leaped up and immediately fled, flashing the bottoms of
her cheeks below her miniskirt all the way back to her cubicle, to the
amusement of various office staff and one structural engineer, who dated her
that very night and had been seen steadily with her ever since. The partner's
wife (the investigators' report had her name as "Nicola" though Diana knew it
was "Nicole -- close enough she mused, if everything else is accurate), had
then shut Gene's office door and they had been alone for a half hour. Then
both had emerged, Gene looking chastened and following her through the
office, down the hall, into the elevator, and into her car, where he had sat
with his head hunched down a little, looking straight ahead while she drove
off.
That was probably the day he began spending an afternoon or two a week
at her house, according to Nicole's neighbors, though they saw nothing
improper about this because Nicole's husband Michael usually arrived with
him, and the two of them went in together. A newsboy claimed that he once
saw the two of them on their knees together in the doorway working their
way awkwardly into the front hall while some shadowy person in thigh boots
reached behind them to close the door, He had decided that that was not a
good moment for him to collect the household's two months of arrears for
newspaper delivery.
There was, the report went on, a room in Nicole and Michael's house
known among some respectable couples, the investigators were careful to
point out, as a "dungeon." In fact it was the former game room on the
ground floor, where various pipes, electrical lines, hooks, links, chains, and
mechanical platforms had been installed, of a kind common where couples
practice what the investigators called "Domination, Submission, Bondage,
and Sadie's Masochism." Among consenting adults, the report assured
Diana, these things happened. It was not unlawful.
It was fairly clear what had happened, and Diana only scanned the
remaining pages. She was amused to read one secretary's comment that
Gene's partner had returned from two weeks in Florida with his neck "clean"
while all the rest of him was sun-tanned -- to Diana it was obvious that
Michael had spent the vacation in a slave collar and probably naked, and she
recalled affectionately her games with that young tennis instructor so many
summers ago. Nicole's husband was her sex-slave, probably had been for
years -- let's see, they last renovated their house at least five years ago, she
thought. Gene had tried to remain true to his wife in his fashion, but not too
successfully. He was being blackmailed by some of his former harem girls.
And now Nicole also had him, let's say, intimidated into becoming her
second sex slave.
Diana knew that however commanding his appearance at the Country Club
or various Architects Forums, Gene was a natural submissive. That was
why she had married him -- he was safe, and could always be brought back
into line if he strayed. She had wanted an equal partner in marriage, a man
she could respect yet control in all crucial ways. Maybe she had been a little
schoolgirlish about her expectations, she thought. She hadn't wanted to
come on dominant to him and order him about. Yet, maybe she had been
unfair to him in this. Maybe she had deprived him of something he needed.
Nicole now had his body whether he wanted to go with her or not, but Diana
knew that eventually she'd have his soul as well as his body. His wife had to
rescue him.
It wasn't too late. Probably he hadn't gone very far with her yet --
enough to get to like some of the discipline, but not yet into the heavy stuff,
Diana thought, certainly not yet into total obedience to Nicole's least whim.
Obviously, she used his cock whenever she chose, in whatever ways she
chose, the way less-capable women use their dildoes. That was already a
clear violation of his obligations to her, the unequivocal justification her own
liberty needed. Nicole could easily lead him that way, Diana realized, quickly
re-assessing what she knew of her husband's partner's wife's personality.
As a domme she'd be formidable.
But it wasn't too late. And it certainly was interesting. Not at all boring.
Diana skimmed the photos quickly and stowed them with the report and the
unscreened video in her private safe in her study. She knew what the video
contained, maybe some murky long shots of two naked slaves seen through a
dining room or kitchen window, and Gene's comings and goings with dates
and times duly noted. Maybe it would be useful later. But she had to think
without distraction.
By the next morning Diana had all her ducks in a row. Above all her
husband had to be extricated from this double blackmail by the secretaries and
by Nicole, and for the rest of their lives together -- and Diana still meant to
grow old with him -- safeguarded against anything similar ever happening
again. His architectural partnership had to be preserved, so Gene could retain
his dignity and his self-respect, and have something to do days while Diana
looked after her own affairs a little more freely than in the past. All four of
them had reputations among their friends that had to remain impeccable,
beyond any shadow of gossip or tawdry suspicion. She picked up the phone
and called Nicole, suggesting a lunch where they could chat about charitable
works, and membership on the country club's governing board, and "other
things."
"It's been so long since we've seen each other, " Diana told Nicole. "And
we share so many concerns. We have to talk."
"Of course," said Nicole, who knew never to underestimate Diana, and
who instantly concluded that Diana somehow had come to know everything.
It wasn't from Gene, she felt sure, because Gene had lately been showing up
at her doorstep with a certain...er...eagerness, a spring in his step she had
been planning to begin converting into far darker desires. But no matter
now. "Our husbands are partners. What concerns them concerns us, I'm
sure."
"Wonderful, Nicole," Diana said. "Longfellow's for lunch then?
Tomorrow? Around one? If you have anything else on for afterward, maybe
we can be free by two-thirty. Or maybe the two of us can do together
whatever you're planning to do. We'll talk about that too. Bye now."
"Bye, Diana. Together. Looking forward to it."
What a pleasure to talk to a really intelligent woman. Diana liked Nicole.
She had understood immediately what was happening, Diana thought, and
she had made me an offer, and I told her my terms, and she agreed to them.
No need to spell out anything. This should be fun!
But just in case, Diana then called her office manager, a carefully chosen
unobtrusive title for the woman who looked after Diana's huge holdings and
multitudinous projects. She was really the Executive Director of "Diana
Incorporated," and she earned big money appropriate to her huge
responsibility. Diana gave her a few instructions about reshuffling some
major holdings and stock options, freeing up cash she needed that couldn't be
traced. They briefly discussed certain ways some of the architectural firm's
less-productive but better-paid bimbo employees could be transferred to other
cities or downsized altogether, and Diana provided their names, those
employees who had extorted promotions and bonuses in exchange for their
silence about Gene's premarital exploits. Then she hung up. She began
thinking about what she would wear tomorrow to her lunch at Longfellow's.
Her mauve silk jacquard? No, she decided. Black leather would be more
suitable. That's what Nicole would be wearing.
Then that night, even though the details remained to be worked out with
Nicole, she set her plan in motion. She needed a patsy. She dressed herself
simply in a loose, cream-colored silk blouse and black mid-calf skirt, went to
one of the better singles bars in town, looked around, then waited in a
shadowy corner for the right person to walk in. It might take a day or two to
find someone who might do, she realized, perhaps much longer. She'd be
wasting a lot of time looking for him, but this wasn't anything she could
delegate. She had only a few months to get him ready.
And suddenly, there he was, thin, shy, probably new in town and knew
no one, still relatively young, with a full head of hair down past his collar
neatly clipped into a ponytail. Refined gestures, well-enough educated no
doubt. He was eyeing different couples sideways, as if looking directly at
them might intrude. Doesn't he know people come to places like this to meet
other people, she thought? Well, she said to herself, if he were bolder he
would never do. She watched him for a while, to be sure that he was alone,
and the more she saw of his uncertain gestures, his never quite breaking into
conversations, the more perfect he seemed. She walked over to the bar and
fitted herself onto a stool just to his left. He didn't notice. He seemed to be
staring wistfully at a dark girl to his right, who was wearing a green
sequinned dress and was obviously unhappy with her date. Time to make
her move.
"I notice you always order the same wine," Diana said, though she had
only seen him order the glass of Chardonnay that was still mostly in front of
him. "Don't you ever feel venturesome?"
The young man took a moment to register that he was being addressed.
He turned, and his shocked expression was obvious and promising. He
couldn't believe that a beautiful woman was looking straight at him from no
more than a foot away! His eyes drifted down across her blouse, and then
some impulse toward propriety pulled then up again to her face.
"I try different things until I find what I like, then I stick with it," he
replied.
Diana couldn't resist smiling, even though it might scare him away. It
was such an awkward reply, but in this singles bar world of racy double
entendres it did try to follow her lead. He was perfect!
CONCLUSION
Many weeks later Diana stopped by Nicole's house to see how she was
doing. Gene had been away a lot, visiting building projects in various parts
of the country he had told her, and she had nodded sympathetically each time
he told her about yet another business trip, noticing only that he never seemed
to ask her to drive him to or from the airport.
"Hi, Diana! Come in!"
She entered. That luncheon had initiated a crash program leaving Nicole
and her husband little time to entertain friends, so Diana hadn't been there for
a while. She glanced around. Nothing much had changed.
"They're where we agreed we wanted them? You thought it would take a
few weeks, Nikki. It's been what, more like two months?"
"Diana, you have a stubborn husband. It took a while for him to
understand he had no choice. I had to lead him into it. He wouldn't move
from sucking on dildos to sucking on Michael for a long while. In fact it
wasn't until he'd spent a whole night tied to a bench in the main barn at
Brookside Stables, forced to suck off who knows how many stallions -- I
forget how many, but the stud fee they charged us for all the semen he
swallowed was enormous -- it wasn't until I threatened to make him into a
mare for them that he agreed cocksucking an ordinary man might be
preferable. Then once he'd done it, it was easy for me to renew those old
infantile urges to comfort one's self by sucking -- to bottle train him, really.
Cock train him. Now both of them are quite comfy. I did Michael too, so
they'd have each other. Come look. They really look so sweet together!"
Diana walked through the hallway into the living room. The two men
were naked, lying side by side together on the couch, their legs sprawled
apart and their hips turned up, each one's head tucked down into the other's
crotch, eyes closed peacefully, each one's mouth working gently on the
other's penis.
"They nurse on each other for four hours each day," Nicole commented,
looking down with some admiration and affection. "It's really very dear. I
kept them tied together doing it once for as long as thirty-six hours, when
they needed the discipline. Round the clock was common. They got
resigned to it, and then used to it, and then they found ways to like it. Now I
don't let them go past four hours -- too much of a good thing can lose its
flavor."
She smiled amused. "They'll do it with anyone if I order them, but I
really have to keep them apart when they see each other. I really do think
they're in love, for the pleasure they give each other if no other reason. I
give them their command phrase, and they're immediately so affectionate and
gentle as they settle in to suck each other's cocks, with such pleased and
contented grunts."
"What's their command phrase?" Diana asked, thinking that Gene's mouth
really was working on Michael's cock like an nursing infant's mouth on its
mother's teat.
"The same one I always use. 'Kiss your sweetheart, baby.' I already had
Michael conditioned to it, so it speeds the process when I'm training the other
men women bring me. It works when said by a woman, but never when a
man's voice says it. When you get him back, don't use that command
casually. Gene will reach for the nearest cock in the vicinity, and if there
isn't any he'll get very uneasy. Any command at all stops them. They're
reluctant, but they'll obey."
"Can they hear us?" Diana asked.
"Oh yes," Nicole said. "In fact at this moment, I'm sure Gene has just
recognized your voice, and is surprised to know that you're here and
regarding all this so casually. I'm sure he's got many questions right now.
But not so many that he'll dare to stop sucking on Michael even for a second,
to look up and ask you. Not without permission, of course. He knows
better than to interrupt two women speaking to each other. I doubt he'd
really want to know why you're here anyhow. He's busy with more
important things."
She looked down at him approvingly, not a little proud that he hadn't even
opened his eyes while his mouth continued to tug on Michael's flaccid prick.
"Why don't you sit for a moment?" Diana did, and Nicole took the other
easy chair, both facing the two men locked in mutual embrace together on the
couch.
Diana looked them over. Both well built, Gene with his matted dark hair
and Michael with his blond, both of their physiques robust. She'd need to
change Gene's taste in men a little, but this looked quite promising. Nicole
had upheld her end of the agreement.
"Neither of them has an erection," she commented. "Don't they excite
each other?"
"Oh, yes! Nowadays they get erections as soon as they see each other. I
hear they ran into each other at the Downtown Squash Club last week, both
of them wearing those cute short shorts men wear, that barely cover their
jocks? They both bent over double at the same moment with stomach pains,
they claimed, and begged off playing with their scheduled partners, and I'm
told they scurried back to their offices without even stopping to shower.
They're really hot for each other. They cum the first time only a few minutes
after they take each others' cocks in their mouths, if I let them. If I forbid it,
they can hold off for quite a long while of course, maybe an hour, sometimes
more. A man will do lots of things for you when he's eager to cum, you
have no idea! Or maybe you do. But then when I delay them their groaning
and moaning and slurping and their passionate outcries get so loud it's
bothersome. It's amusing, but also pitiable, the poor dears. I thought we'd
want to talk without interruption today, so I told them this session is 'cum as
you can' in silence. It's maybe five minutes since Gene's most recent.
Closer to twenty minutes for Michael's."
"Let's see. Michael will get hard and cum again in about an hour, and
then again in a few more hours." She looked down on the two as they
continued to suckle each other, their closed eyes sleek as each concentrated
on the sensations at either end of themselves, in their mouths and cocks.
"You know," she said. "Gene is a wonder! That man can cum every hour
on the hour all day and all night, if you let him! That was his problem, I
suppose, why you wanted him trained this way? It's a waste, really, Diana.
He really is God's gift to horny women, with that quick recovery time of his.
Look!"
Around the edges of Michael's mouth, Diana saw the base of Gene's cock
already again emerging, growing fat. In another moment Michael could no
longer contain it, and his lips began sliding up and down it as more and more
emerged from his mouth and then disappeared inside it. Gene's hips pushed
gently toward his partner and then started moving rhythmically.
"He'll do this with any man now, you say," Diana asked?
"Oh yes. If I order him to do it. With any man now if I tell him he wants
to. Suck or be sucked, makes no difference."
"And how long can they keep it up?" Diana checked her lipstick, replaced
her compact, snapped her purse shut, and stood up. She'd seen what she'd
come to see. "I mean keep doing what they're doing?" she added.
Nicole rose with her, and they started toward the door. "They drain each
other's semen altogether in about ten or twelve hours, I suppose. Then not
much can happen for another ten or twelve. A long while. But they'll suck
on each other indefinitely I suspect. A few weeks ago I had them locked
together for four days downstairs, in a basement room with a floor drain so I
can clean things up with a hose afterward. Only each other, no food or
water. At the end of that time they were starved and dehydrated despite the
fact that they had drunk up all of each other's piss, and they had beshitted
themselves too, despite their preliminary enemas. I suppose they were really
bored too, with nothing to do all day but suck on a limp cock. But neither of
them broke discipline. I'm really very proud of them both."
Diana paused at the front door. "You're doing very well, Nicole. I'll
leave him with you another month or two I think. By then he'll have
forgotten what a woman looks like, I imagine. Except for the domineering
kind."
Now Diana looked directly at Nicole, though her voice remained casual.
Nicole got the signal, and listened closely. "But see if you can wean him
away from your husband and toward other men. Effeminate men. I'd like
him to feel proud of his own strength and masculinity as compared with his
bed partner's. And I'd also like him to prefer sleeping with other men, not
women, because they're more his kind, because they're easier to deal with,
because whatever you like. I want him to prefer pushing himself into any
man's ass to fucking any woman's cunt.
"You want him gay. That's difficult, Diana."
"No. Not gay, exactly. More bi-sexual. Encourage him to fantasize that
he's with a woman when he knows he's with a man, that he's got the best of
both worlds. In fact the men should look and act like women, though always
women with penises. No matter what, I want him aroused most of all by
men who look and dress and behave just like women. Because from now on
he'll sleep only with men. That's what I want. Girly men, that's my only
concession to his old randy sexual appetites. That cock of his will never
again dip into any woman's cunt, not as long as we're still married, and I
don't mean to divorce him ever. Never again with a woman. Not even me!
Nor should he want to. Can you arrange that?"
"Oh yes," Nicole said. The two of them touched cheeks in farewell, and
Diana turned toward her car in the driveway. "Positive and negative
reinforcement together can do that. And autosuggestion, and sensory
deprivation. I can bring in some lovely boys, and condition him to them.
He'll adore them! I should think that from where he is now, a month or two
more will do it."
As Diana's car disappeared around the corner, Nicole re-entered the
house, sat down again in her large chair, and stared thoughtfully at the two
men lying on her couch. As she watched, Gene's hips began a violent
humping of Michael's face, pushing deep inside his mouth, and sometimes
down his throat, and Michael began swallowing rapidly in spasms matching
Gene's. As the thrusting eased, a little cream appeared at the corner of her
husband's mouth, to be licked back, and Michael's lips began pulling again
on Gene's penis, now once again limp, as when Diana had first arrived. Not
once did Gene slow down his slurping on Michael's cock. And all of this
occurred in total silence, without a moan or a whimper from either of them.
Nicole smiled, turned away, picked up a TV remote from the table at her
elbow, and clicked her favorite afternoon soap opera onto the video screen in
the corner. The two men on the couch continued to suck on each other, but
she paid no further attention. In another fifty minutes she'd send them back
to their office to deal with their different afternoon business appointments.
Neither would want to stop for lunch.
*****************
When Nicole finally delivered Gene back into Diana's custody, he was as
personable as ever, even jokingly affectionate, but no matter how she tried to
tempt him with her body, he seemed not to notice it. There was no tension of
mutual desire between them any more, even when she felt something for him.
He made no moves toward sex with her, though she noticed when they went
together to various charity affairs that his eye seemed to linger on tall, angular
women or thin, delicate-looking men. It occurred to Diana that she'd better
settle him soon into his new understanding of his sexuality and their
marriage, with its compensations, before he got himself arrested for sodomy,
or pederasty, or one of the other old-fashioned vices.
They were now sleeping in separate bedrooms, so closing the circle and
completing her plan was relatively easy. It happened, as it happened, on
Gene's birthday. They celebrated together at a small, intimate Italian
restaurant, just the two of them. She teased him that she'd left his birthday
present at home, but she was sure he'd just love it. Then when they got back
to her mansion she told him to get into bed and wait. He did, and she was
pleased to see when she looked in on him that he still slept in the buff, his
thick chest hairs set off by the single gold chain he still wore around his neck,
her gift to him during the better days of their marriage, before his novelty had
worn off.
The previous day she had appeared at Bobbi's apartment to tell him she
had the most delicious treat prepared, ready and waiting, the loveliest man,
the very man whose cock had been the model for that dildo he'd
affectionately called "Diana's cock" way back before he'd discovered the
superiority of live cock. This was the original, the real thing. The real man
dangling that prick was tall, dark, and handsome, every girl's dream, even
hers once. "I know you'll just love him," she said. "In fact, you were made
for each other."
She told him to break off with the man he was currently seeing (a person
she'd arranged for Bobbi to sleep with transitionally, short, dark, and
handsome), to pack his prettiest things for an extended stay, and to come
with her to her estate. Bemused, Bob did so. He was put up in a pretty
apartment over the garage, where Diana's former chauffeur and cook had
cohabited blissfully.
Now, with Gene lying expectant in bed, she brought Bobbi forward by
the hand, dressed in his finest nightgown and matching peignoir. She saw
that in the intervening time since she'd last looked, his nipples had grown
large and dark and pointy, and were unmistakably visible through the satin
and lace of his gown, especially the way his breasts now thrust them way
forward. Was Bobbi now too much woman for Gene? She hoped not. She
glanced further down, and saw that his penis was equally in evidence, and
felt reassured.
As they entered Gene's bedroon they both saw in the gloom a handsome
man, dark hair on his sculptured body, resting on an elbow in bed, looking
first at Diana and then at Bob with a gentle smile on his face and a gleam in
his eye.
"Here you are, dears," Diana said. "Bobbi honey, this is Gene. Be as
feminine and loving and sweet with him as you can be, and I'll want to hear
all about it afterward, what you did and how you felt about it. I think you'll
adore him. I do. You already know that men are marvelous. This one's
sublime. You'll see!
"Gene, this is Bobbi. Bobbi is new to being a girl. But she wants to
know more about what women see in men, how we feel about them, why we
love them. She wants to feel more like a woman herself, to enhance her
femininity and confirm it, to feel desires aroused and fulfilled that are
altogether feminine. Help her. Take all the time you need. But be gentle!"
Then Diana turned to leave the room. At the door she paused. "Bobbi is
my present to you, darling. I've been preparing him for you for a long time
now. Now he's all yours, gift wrapped in his best lingerie. I know he
knows fabulous things to do to a man. I know you'll love him. I'll leave the
two of you now to get better acquainted." And she left.
As she settled into the living room with a book, she listened for sounds
upstairs. There were none. They must be in bed together now, she told
herself, getting acquainted. She thought of Bobbi, virginally nervous and
uncertain of himself, yet thanks to that society whore she'd hired, well-
trained and experienced in the management of men's desires. Even so,
seeking reassurance from Gene's sure hands. 'Treat a lady like a whore,'
Gene had once told his wife with that egregious self-assurance of his, "And a
whore like a lady." True enough as a design for living for him, she
supposed. She wondered which way he was treating Bobbi, and she smiled,
and thought 'I'll look in on them in the morning.'
She did. Gene and Bob were still asleep, entangled in each other, the
bedsheets half off, Gene with his head on Bob's breasts where he had drifted
off, one of Bob's pointy nipples lolling in his open mouth, Bob with his
hand still gently holding Gene's beloved pecker. Diana came into the room
fully dressed in a dark tweed suit with a blouse cascading ruffles down the
front, her hair pulled back and tied in a black ribbon bow, looking graceful
and lovely and businesslike. She looked down on the two men, pleased with
what she saw. Before they came awake and aware of her she had time to
notice that the way they had slept, so intertwined and embraced by every
limb, she couldn't tell at first whose arms and legs were whose.
Then her eyes adjusted and it was easy. Gene's body was dark, and
matted with hair over most of it, and Bob's was smooth and creamy-
complexioned, soft with all of the lotions he'd used; and his arms, after much
dieting, and many massages by Erika, were almost rail thin. Bob could now
wear sleeveless dresses without a problem, she realized. She smiled to
herself, and made a mental note to buy him a few. Better, to go shopping for
one with him. No, she realized, he doesn't need me any more -- his credit
card receipts show he's been buying his own dresses and lingerie and
accessories for some time now, and he has good taste. He's like a real girl,
properly bred. She felt very pleased with herself.
"Hi boys," she said in a voice a little brisk for their state of somnolenence.
"Don't get up. I just wanted you to know that I'm going away for three or
four days. I'll probably be back Tuesday night. So when you see I'm not
home tonight, don't wait up."
Gene opened his eyes and looked at her. Bob just lay there, eyes closed,
not yet ready to wake up enough to turn his head, but he ran his hand down
Gene's chest to get his arm into a more comfortable position, then lightly
burrowed his fingers into Gene's chest hair, and snuggled in a little closer to
go deeper into sleep.
"Over the whole weekend, into Tuesday, honey?" Gene asked. "Is this
business or pleasure"
"Both, I hope," Diana said. "I met a man, a client, and we hit it off. So
we're both going away to see if there's more than that between us, if there's
anything else we can do for each other."
"If things work out the way I hope, I'll be bringing him home with me
Tuesday. So if you'll clear out of here and move in with Bobbi over the
garage by then, for the time being, I'll be grateful. You'll be easier to explain
as a husband and wife couple I've hired to look after things."
"Just take your time. But when Bob wakes up, tell him he'll need to wear
his maid's outfit when we get home. Not the fetishistic French Maid outfit.
Just something decent, with a cap, and with his hair pulled back in a bun.
You'll be my handyman and chauffeur, so blue jeans are fine, though be sure
your black suit's presentable in case we need you to drive us around on
Wednesday. There's a proper cap on the shelf in your new quarters. That's
if I bring this man home. We never know." Diana smiled to herself. She
knew.
Gene felt hurt, and a little betrayed. He leaned up on one elbow and
looked at her intently from under his dark eyebrows. Bob opened his eyes
and began to focus them, but didn't move from where he slid as Gene raised
his shoulder.
"Now look, Diana, do you think that's right...?"
She interrupted. "Of course it is," she said. "I've done everything right
so far. I decided that it would be better for me and happier for you if you had
your sexual needs attended by someone else but stayed faithful to me
nevertheless. I decided Bob here would make a beautiful alternative bride
for you, and I prepared him to become your bride, and I arranged for your
bridal night, and from the way you two look now, you're well married.
Aren't you? Of course you are. I've decided that too."
"I've been having such a good time playing dolls and dollhouse with you
two! You're both just like my dolls when I was a little girl. I always know
how you're going to feel about anything, and I always know how to fix
things so you feel what I want you to feel, and then do what I want you to
do, and moreover, so you like feeling and doing what I want. You two are
my living dolls. I love you both. I mean to play with you both a lot more!"
"But what's right is what I feel like doing. As far as you're concerned,
Gene, I'm the Mommy here. I decide what we do in this house. If you're
not happy with anything I decide, leave."
"But I think you are happy. I know that you're only playing at feeling
hurt, the injured husband whose wife is starting an affair, because you feel
you should. But you don't need to, dear. You've got your own loving
girlfriend next to you in bed, and you know you haven't begun to discover
what she can do to make you happy. What he can do, I mean. For the next
few days I'm going to live my own life, and enjoy myself, and not think
about you two at all. I'll be back Tuesday, and I'll probably have someone
with me. We'll see what happens then, how he'll fit in with you two lovelies,
if at all. That's when I'll need you to be my respectable live-in couple, my
chauffeur and maid. So that's what you are. All just for show, of course.
When my new man's elsewhere, you can go to the office, and Bobbi can
spend her days making herself pretty for you, pretty much as usual."
"Enjoy yourselves, dear. Kiss Bobbi for me -- I see he's not yet awake.
Kiss your sweetheart, baby. But don't do anything I wouldn't do!"
And she looked again at the two of them, and felt an impulse to kiss them,
each one, before she left. They made such a nice pair. So cute. Gene
stretched out naked, looking at her in a relaxed kind of way, his fur matted on
a large, brawny body, so very male, and Bobbi curled around him the way
her hair curled over the pillow, looking thin and smooth. She'd changed to a
light, lacy nightie during the night for some reason, delicate, and with her
long fingernails her hands looked even more delicate. Diana did love them
both, each for what they were. She wanted to be sure they knew this.
But even a light kiss might damage her makeup, which she had put on as
carefully as any woman ever does who is about to fly away for a long
weekend with a new lover.
"Bye-bye, sweethearts!"
And she was out the door and down the stairs.
Gene heard the front door open and close, and her car start. He turned
back to Bob, and kissed him.
"Good morning Bobbi," he said affectionately. "Wake up, honey. Time
for breakfast!"
End
(c) 1998 by Vickie Tern. May be freely archived if made available to readers
for free. Otherwise, it'll cost you.
That's not why, as some observe, my other stories also somewhat resemble each other. The reason for that is, I like them that way. ~ Vickie.
Karen suddenly turned and said to me in an unexpectedly sprightly tone of voice, "Dan, you really do like pretending you're a girl, don't you?"
"What?" I replied. I couldn't think of anything else to say. It was true, in a way. But how did she know?
"Oh, sweetie, don't worry, I think it's sweet. I mean, feeling curved and pulchritudinous. Attractive in a feminine way, you know, imagining you have breasts and hips and can make attractive girlish moves and gestures and all." She paused. "Trying on my clothes to see if they help. Using my make-up. True?"
If it weren't dark she would have seen my face go deep red. She knew! How had she found out? Had I slipped up anywhere? But our marriage was built on honesty. Neither of us felt bound to tell each other the whole truth about anything, that would be insensitive, tactless, sometimes risky. But we never lied or left wrong impressions uncorrected. I couldn't deny it.
"I guess I do," I said, stalling. I was staring at the road ahead and driving very carefully. As if I expected the sky to fall in.
"Like tonight. There were all those husbands talking about somebody or other top-seeded in the semi-finals of something or other, and meanwhile the wives are describing Helen's Versace and wondering whether sequins are coming back for formal wear, and when Beth will finally leave her husband. And who do you choose to be with?"
"The wives."
"Because?"
"I like the way women talk. They share. Men can get pretty pompous when they aren't actually bullying each other."
"And?"
"OK, yes, I like what women talk about too."
"Yes, you do. And it shows. You join right in with us. A few women congratulated me tonight for having a husband who's so knowledgeable about things we care about. About style, for example. 'He must be a great help when you're putting together an outfit,' that's what Maureen told me during when you went to refresh some of the women's drinks. I had to agree. I told her I'd intended to wear pearls tonight but you thought this silver choker was much more appropriate, and everyone agreed you were right. I'm sure they envied me."
"So you surmise from that kind of conversation that I want to be a girl?" I tried to sound incredulous.
"No, not exactly. That you like to imagine that's what you are. That you like getting dolled up and letting the mirror persuade you. Because it feels sexy to be inside a girl when that girl is you. Am I wrong?"
I swallowed. No lies between us, ever. "No, Karen, you're not wrong." Then tried to swallow again. She nodded and looked triumphant. No, not triumphant, just pleased. I'd confirmed what she already knew, and honesty had triumphed. I cleared my throat, then asked, "How long have you suspected this?"
"How long have I suspected? Oh, honey, for years and years! How long have I known for sure? Well, I'm ashamed to say I began setting little traps fairly early, leaving out certain items of clothing, certain shades of makeup I thought might appeal, and then later I'd always see they'd done just that. I've always thought it was a lovely hobby, and harmless enough, so I've done everything I could to try to help you without embarrassing you."
"You've been helping me?"
"Of course! Don't be such a silly! Do you think it's accidental that my dresses and undies and all fit you so well? Remember when we put ourselves on that crash diet and you lost forty pounds and me ten, and we ended up nearly the same size? The same dress size I mean? Well, after that I could buy skirts and blouses and bras and panties, all sorts of things for both of us to wear. I stowed yours up front in my drawers and my closet where you couldn't miss seeing them, and the ones I wanted for me alone way back. It was fun! Like buying for a daughter or for a really dear friend's birthday! We've been sharing our clothes for a long time now."
She was right. I was certainly embarrassed now. Talk about "Busted!"? I couldn't say anything for a while. Then I managed to mutter, "That was considerate of you, Karen. I've loved wearing them. Though I've always felt guilty about it. Thank you."
"You're very welcome, love. I have something else to confess, too. You remember all those weight-loss pills you've been on, how you lost weight but also started getting soft here and there, so you wanted to join a gym and do workouts? And I persuaded you not to worry, that I liked you soft, so I steered you to my Yoga class so you'd stretch your tendons instead of beef up your muscles?"
"So instead of getting buff I got limber. Yes. But I stayed soft. Even got a little softer. I don't know why."
"Yes. You're better than soft, you're actually curvy here and there. Distinctly, some places. I like it. You don't?"
"I do notice that some parts of me look a little ... well, more like you than me."
She glanced at me. "Well, I should hope so. When you try on your panty hose these days -- and I know you do -- aren't you impressed that your legs have gone glamorous?"
I was silent. I had noticed. They were altogether satisfactory, my gams. I loved them looking that way. "My calves look like a woman's, that's true," I said finally. "The way they curve down to a narrow ankle."
"And look like dynamite under a skirt, in high heels, right?"
What could I say? Uncomfortably I confessed it. "Yes. Dynamite."
"But only you ever get to see them, and that's a terrible pity. Then there are your breasts. You're a B cup now, aren't you?"
Now that was really embarrassing. I glanced at Karen -- she was looking at me with the widest-eyed, most accepting expression I'd ever seen on her face. Waiting for a reply. "Well, all right, Karen, yes, I do borrow your bras. And the way my pectoral muscles sag these days I guess I do fill them. But even so, your breasts are way bigger than my pitiful excuses for ...."
"Oh they aren't at all pitiful, they're darling! They're coming along beautifully! And I have news for you. I'm not a B cup, I'm a C cup, I have been ever since my teens. Those are your bras you've been borrowing from my undies drawer, not mine. I got them just for you. And it isn't just your pectoral muscles that are sagging. You've been wearing B cup bras for months now, because for months now you've had a lovely B cup chest. You may end up a C cup like me, but that we won't know for a while yet."
"I have breasts?!"
"Honeybun, calm down. You know you do, every time you lean forward and see then sagging straight down, and then catch them in your bra cups and hook up so they'll stand straight out the way a woman's should. You have a perfectly respectable figure, and perfectly appropriate boobs, even if they are still a bit small for your chest. Narrow hips, true, but a marvelous tush nowadays -- you never get to see those globes from the rear when you're naked and wiggle-waggling down the hallway, poor dear. But I do. Sooo seductive! Do you think I've never noticed?"
I had nothing to say.
"Moreover, you know your body's been changing, and I know you like those changes. Because they're making you look more and more like a girl, and that's what you've dreamed of. And that's satisfying even though you don't understand it. You may even be in denial that anything's happening. Did you think you were imagining it all?"
"Well, yes, in a way, I ...."
"That's why we're talking about it now finally. Honey, your birthday is coming up soon. Your last birthday I was racking my brains to think of a really fabulous present for you, something to really express how much I love you and at the same time give you the greatest possible enjoyment. I decided then to get you a whole wardrobe of women's clothes of your very own, and a whole day's makeover at Sally's, Then finish up with a long weekend at a resort hotel in the mountains, so for a few days at least you'd feel free to go everywhere looking really fabulous. That was how I was going to let you know that I know all about your hobby and that I don't mind it, that in fact I find it flattering. That it's nothing for you to worry about ever again. That I want to help you with it!"
I looked over at her. She looked back at me, loving and utterly reassuring. Smiled at me and reached over and began stroking the back of my neck. "My sweetie!" she said. "My darling Danny.
Then she took a breath and continued. "But I knew you'd never accept a present like that! Not that you wouldn't love it, but you simply wouldn't allow yourself. That male shame thing would interfere. You'd think I was humiliating you, that I was condescending, humoring you, thinking the less of you. Sweetie, I don't think the less of you, I think all the more of you! Because after all, you want to know more about what it's like to be ... say ... me. And you're courageously trying to do just that, risking exposure and shame and everything. That's true, and I admire you for it!"
I drove on. This was all welcome news, liberating in a way. But then she dropped the other shoe.
"It's also true that I've had to think different thoughts about you ever since I found out for certain about your ... habit. Ever since I first noticed that you use my make-up sometimes -- that was my first clue. It's true that I no longer can think of you as a man. Oh, don't be terrified, I know you're still partly a man. But obviously there's also a girl inside you trying to get out, and that's so marvelous, to know that I'm partly married to a girl! I'd love to live with her too, do daily things with her -- have breakfast, shop, go to the movies, everything. You know. I've felt such sympathy for you, for both of you, because you've been so ... ashamed of her, so fearful she'll be found out. I felt so helpless sometimes."
True enough. I did feel ashamed and fearful, both of those things, often. Especially now, now that I'd been found out.
"So you know what I did last year just before your last birthday? I asked Dorrie what she thought about it all, she's had experience in these things, being a marriage counselor and everything."
My hair rose and I cringed, horrified, though still looking straight ahead at the road. "You told Dorrie? Dorrie knows about me? My dressing up to look like ...? Karen, how could ...?"
"No, listen, Dorrie told me how to solve your problem beautifully. Just listen. There's this private clinic or club she knows about, really sort of a resort hotel people can go to, or get sent, for a kind of mixed therapy and learning experience and luxury vacation. She thought it would be perfect for you. So I inquired, but it seems they don't accept anyone there until they've been properly prepared. All their guests need preliminary attention of a kind that takes about a year. So their stay can mostly put the finishing touches on what's already happening. Bring it into full bloom, so to speak. That's why instead of a women's wardrobe I gave you golf clubs. You remember? A whole set? You thought I was being so thoughtful and that they proved how much I love you and everything, you were so delighted?"
There was a lump in my throat. "I remember," I said.
"But I love you a lot more than that. That was the present you knew about. The one you didn't know about was much bigger, baby. This place, this kind of hotel, gave me some very specific instructions how to prepare you for your ... time there, and referred me to people who could help, apart from Dorrie I mean. Help locate and strengthen the girl in you, I mean, so she'll feel more comfortable when she emerges, if that's what she wants to do. I followed their directions exactly. You've been on full doses of female hormones for a whole year now! That's why your body's been changing so marvelously! There's a whole new you getting ready to be reborn!"
She sat back, looking pleased. Her delicious secret was out at last.
But I was stunned! Almost rigid! I'd fantasized about going on hormones now and then, of course, changing my body and developing tits and everything, what crossdresser hasn't? So my clothing -- all those bras and blouses and so on, they really are my clothing, that's what she said? -- all that stuff would fit me properly. But to do it? To have it done to me without my even knowing? My body transformed into ... a girl's? Made literally, physically ... effeminate?
I couldn't think of anything to say! I began to feel a little sick. The car lurched, so I concentrated and drove it more carefully, a little slower. Thank God we were already most of the way home..
"That's what this vacation resort requires, honey, a full year on female hormones before they'll accept you as their ... guest. Dorrie told me she sent her husband to this place some time back, and she's absolutely convinced that it saved their marriage. He used to be a pompous bully, she said. And even though she's a marriage counselor and a psychologist and everything, and she's saved hundreds of marriages, she was getting ready to divorce him. But instead, she sent him there and now they couldn't be closer."
I had to say something. I cleared my throat. "She sent him away and now they're closer? Dorrie lives with her ... that's her girlfriend, or her cousin or something, isn't she? Dorrie isn't married. I don't get it."
"That's the way he came back to her."
"Which was?"
"As a complete woman. As her dearest girlfriend. Her one true love. You should see them nowadays, always together, they're inseparable in fact, forever consulting each other about everything. Touching and nibbling at each other all the time, practically plastered together. Wearing his and her dresses and his and her lipstick and shoes, and everything. They even go out on his and her dates!"
"His and her dates? With each other?"
"Of course with each other. Their guys pick them up at the same time and then they're two couples together for dinner and dancing and so on. They separate for a time toward the end of the evening of course. Each to his own, and her own, and so on. To have fun. They get adjoining hotel rooms for privacy for an hour or so, sometimes all night, and then when they get back home they have so much more that's new and wicked they can talk about with each other!"
This sounded appalling. Frightening. "What did they do to Dorrie's husband in this ... vacation club?" I asked her gingerly.
"They fulfilled his fondest dreams. Dorrie explained it to me. Some men would love to be women and live their lives as women, or anyhow live as women now and then, but they just ... can't get over the shame of it. They think silly thoughts like, 'It isn't manly.' Well, duh, but even so, that keeps them in denial. So some of them overcompensate and become bullies, they go way to the other extreme, they think that's being manly. That was Dorrie's husband. Others, instead of fessing up and acknowledging that they want to be girls, they sneak around in their wife's borrowed clothes and try to imagine they're the real thing, but never really live it. Never become the real thing quietly and proudly as their birthright. Guess who that sounds like!"
I remained altogether unresponsive.
"It is your birthright, you know, honey. Transvestites and transsexuals and so on, all transgendered people, you're all born that way, you know? You don't become what you are at first, no more than people who're born all girl or all boy. You start out as what you seem to be, what seems to fit your body even though it doesn't exactly fit your mind. Then you find out what you'd rather be and try to fill in along the way."
She paused. "That's you. You sneak around in my clothes too, don't you? Except that what you think are my clothes are really yours."
It was long past time to break in on Karen's ... well-meaning intentions! She was making far too much of this! I had to end it! Hormones or no hormones! My God, tits or no tits!
"Honey, I don't want to be a woman!" I said it as emphatically as I could without turning to face her.
"Of course not, baby. But you love imagining it so you can live it as if you did want to be one. Not just now and then but as often as you can, and you know that's true. The problem is, it doesn't seem natural to you, it all seems so very exotic and different and strange as well as shameful. So this place Dorrie recommended makes it all seem easy, perfectly natural, no big deal, and no shame attached to it at all. They make changing your gender so easy that her husband decided for himself that he wanted to live as a woman full time, not change back again ever. Most of their guests decide the same thing, she says."
"Most?" Now I was really fearful. What did Karen have in mind for me? "Has it occurred to you that this private vacation club of Dorrie's must really be some kind of brainwashing laboratory, if most of the men who go there return as women full time? What drugs do they use? What hypnotherapies? What kind of conditioning do these men go through that they all end thinking they want to be women?"
Karen began to sound a little impatient. As if I was being impolite, ungrateful. "Dear, they don't all think they want to be women! I mean, a lot of them do go ahead and get themselves castrated and get their genitals changed into vaginas and so on. The way they make vaginas these days you can't tell what's born from what's made, Dorrie tells me. Her husband's for instance ... the first time a man actually put his finger onto the mini-clit they left him, and stroked it, and then slipped it into the slit there, it actually started to lubricate, would you believe it? Just like any woman's. And his first visit to his gynecologist ...? But even those men ... well, my point is, most men who vacation there don't end up as women, they only end up living like women. They still think they're men in some ways, but men who are living the full lives they've only dreamed of living before."
"That's reassuring," I said with a certain irony. Karen didn't seem to notice.
"A few really stubborn cases actually return as men. Sort of. Not many. It's true that after the treatment they've received they don't have much talent for masculinity any more, nor desire for it either. It isn't easy once you've changed your looks and your body and your voice and your desires and habits and so on. But some do insist, so that's how they end up. What's the word they use these days for men who carry purses and use makeup and have arched eyebrows and beautiful grooming, but still like to call themselves men? Oh yes, they're 'metrosexual,' that's how they end up."
"Hmmmp!" was all I could say. What I was thinking was, that's how men emerge from this so-called vacation? As women or as faggots? I suppressed a gleam of envy and hunkered down into all the manhood I could muster. Not for me!
Karen got serious. "Honey, listen! The thing is, the doctors there tell me that men who sometimes dress up like women are one thing, and men like you who dress up at every opportunity and prefer being with women, not men, they're something else. They're really different. They may actually really be women underneath, but afraid to let it out even to themselves. I've suspected for some time that's you, honey. If it is, then as they say, you should let it out and be yourself!"
Now I was seriously worried. What was Karen cooking up for me? There was a teeny submissive streak in me that loved being overwhelmed by my own femininity, that gloried in it, that even loved hearing what she was saying. I knew that. But that wasn't most of me!
"There are ways to tell in advance what a man will choose, they told me. The easiest comes during their year of hormone therapy. As their bodies change slowly, those who will choose to be women gradually feel more authentic, more feminine. More whole. So the rule for wives and girlfriends -- sometimes sisters and mothers -- is, don't tell them they're on the same hormones that flow through you. Just do it. When a man would rather live as a woman but feels ashamed of it, he'll notice the changes but won't acknowledge them, not to themselves nor to anyone else. He'll like what's happening and be grateful that it's happening and he'll enjoy it secretly as a kind of miraculous gift. Like you."
"Like me?" I was afraid I understood what she meant.
"I mean, look at you, sweetie. It's nearly a year since I started you on those womanizing hormones, and now you have B cup breasts and protruding nipples -- don't deny it, I've seen them! -- and curvy legs. And that simply gorgeous tush -- you really must get a peek at it some time, honey, you'll be so pleased with it. I'm really envious, it's crying out to be seen in a bikini! Anyhow, you've been enjoying it all, feeling grateful that your clothes fit better and you look more feminine and so on, and yet you haven't said a word about it. Not a word. Certainly not to me. Danny, for real now! Isn't that true?"
It was. I hesitated, then came out with it. "I ... Karen, I was ashamed. I thought you'd be repelled that I was losing my ... masculine shape. That my chest wasn't a six pack wall any more, but instead I had ... pointy nipples and was beginning to sag. That I filled your bras pretty full. My bras. I kept hoping that with a little exercise ...."
"You see? Was I right? You like looking more womanly, but at the same time you're afraid to look less manly. So you're ashamed of your own body. Talk about hangups? That's what we have to break through. Honey, I love what's been happening to your body! That's why I've been encouraging it! Down underneath I know you love it too! And exercise isn't what matters, the kind of exercise is what matters. You've been getting a lot at our Yoga sessions, that's why you've been developing a svelte, toned body, why you look more like a ballerina than a body builder! Do you think I haven't been noticing? I have been! And I love it!"
I didn't know what to say. Karen has her enthusiasms, and when she fixes her mind on something, that's that, she doesn't ever let up. And in fact she was half right. I did like ... pretending that I have a woman's body, and I have been pleased that lately it's been seeming ... more so. And I've always loved dressing as a girl, looking like one, ever since I was a teenager. Even doing those jazzercises at the Y with a roomful of housewives, the class peppered with a few gays and a few teenage kids there to stare, I've loved noticing that my figure had gotten more feminine than many of the others. I've been ashamed to see it, but I loved it anyhow, I couldn't help but. I was always a pleased when other women in the class noticed and said something, even though it mostly embarrassed me. I mean, I think girls are great! I admire them, their looks, the way they move, their ... appeal. Everything about them! I do love girly things. That's why I fell in love with Karen to begin with, and that's why I just had to live with her, to care for her, to marry her. Because she is herself so very feminine.
"Honey, give up. Don't deny it. You want to be more of a girl and that's what I want for you too. It'll probably mean a few adjustments when our lives when you get back. Different friends maybe, maybe even a different kind of job, though I've talked with both your bosses, with Cathy and with her boss, that Ms. Carstairs, and neither of them see a problem."
"You told people at work that I'm a crossdresser? You actually ...?" I was shocked. How humiliating! How could I ever hold up my head there ever again? "Karen, that was absolutely ...!"
"Oh, pooh! Stop it! To begin with, you don't need to work -- we have your inheritance and my salary, and that's enough for us. Besides, Honey, I told them a year ago, when we first started you on those hormones and you started blossoming out so beautifully! I've heard lots of comments, and they're all favorable. Did you think women don't notice changes in a man's complexion when it begins looking like a woman's? Or in the line under his chin? Don't notice smudged make-up on days when you couldn't resist and tried some on before leaving the house in the morning, then forgot you were wearing it? That's why I've been preparing you all year for this year's wonderful birthday present, your vacation at this place Dorrie recommends. That's why I've been planning it for so long! So when you emerge you can be completely yourself whenever you wish, all the time if that's what you wish. So you'll never feel ashamed of yourself again! That's guaranteed, the doctors are quite certain of it. Moreover, they guarantee that we'll be as intimate and loving as ever when you come back. Not in all the same ways, but even more so in some. Because we'll be sharing so many more things, and understanding each other's desires so much more completely..
"I see." I didn't know what I saw, but I had to say something. Karen was on a roll and I hadn't yet found a way to slow her down.
"As I say, there may be a few changes in our relationship, depending on how you ... adjust to yourself. If so, then, well, we'll see then what we need to do. We'll deal with it."
We arrived home. I pulled into the driveway, turned off the engine, and now, finally, at last, I was free to turn and face Karen. This was serious. Time to return her to reality. "Karen, listen," I said. "If you think ...."
She didn't listen. Nor pause to think. She just ran right on. "Oh, honey, I just want you to live your dream. Of course you feel ambivalent about it right now, that's part of the problem, isn't it? But when you return you'll find you don't mind what's happened at all, that in fact you love it, that it's wonderful. I guarantee you that. You'll fulfill yourself and come back to me a new man, partly a woman, maybe even completely a woman, a new woman. That'll be entirely up to you. What matters is that you'll be happy and you'll feel that you're completely yourself. And that's all I want. I'll want you and love you and be happy for you any which way."
There was no stopping her. "We'll talk more about this when we're in the house," I said, trying to force a gentle tone into my voice. I sounded gruff anyhow, even severe. But I knew I had better take charge and right now, or this whole thing would run its course like a runaway train. "I appreciate that you have my best interests at heart, Karen, my supposed best interests, but what you.... There are .... I ...."
I couldn't go on. Talk about feeling torn between all sorts of cross-purposes? I sat for a moment, then opened the car door and got out.
And glimpsed shadows moving swiftly, though I couldn't discern what they were. Suddenly I felt myself gripped firmly, half-lifted off the ground. And my sleeve slid up, and a wet chill on my arm, and then a pinprick.
"Ah," someone said. A man's voice. "Lovely! I was afraid we'd gotten here too early, or too late, or something. But here you are, right on time, sitting in the car and waiting for us just as your wife told us we'd find you."
I heard another, a more gentle voice, a woman's voice, tell Karen, "It's best if you don't follow us back to the clinic, ma'am. He'll be fine. She'll be fine soon enough. Trust us. Dr. Matthews will call you in the morning to set up a visitation schedule. I suggest you say goodbye to him now. It may be some time before you next ...."
My mind heard, but I couldn't make myself move. I felt lips press against mine. Soft lips. Karen's. I heard her soft voice, "Goodbye, sweetheart, and hello my new sweetheart! Happy birthday, my sweet love!" Then nothing. I didn't mind, I felt warm. At peace.
II.
The first thing I noticed when I came to consciousness was the smell of flowers everywhere -- no, not of flowers exactly, if they were flowers my old allergies would have been triggered and my nose would have crinkled into a sneeze. It was a pale, sweet, flowery perfume, so seductive, so sumptuously provocative, promising ... what? Coming from where? My eyes were still shut, and as I stretched out I realized I wasn't on a bed but some sort of padded floor. Soft, warm, and satiny, lying against pillows here and there. Firm warm pillows. That I was wrapped, surrounded, plumped up and supported by pillows. Swathed in smooth, soft ... no, satin and nylon never felt this smooth, not even Karen's panties and slips, the undergarments I loved, though her pussy lips did. Everything felt more softly compliant, more yielding and supple, warm, puffy with only a hint of solidity underneath.
It was skin. I was lying against smooth, satiny ... skin. My head rested on someone's soft ... tummy! My mouth was filled with -- my God was it a breast? My tongue flicked it to be sure -- yes, a nipple! A woman's skin and breast and ...! What woman...? Women! My hand rested on what felt, had to be, a smooth, soft, satiny derriere, and another seemed to be snugged into my hip, all warm and comfy, as if it were a part of me. I reached down to be sure and ran my palm over a curve in the body pressed against me. Yes, there it was, that marvelous familiar curve women have from their waists and then up over their hips to their languorous thighs!
No, this wasn't Karen's hip, the curve was longer! Where am I? Karen will kill me if she ever finds me with this other woman! Music? Yes, I hear strings and woodwinds somewhere, new age chords, sounds that seem to go on forever, extending and never developing. Do I? Where am I? How did I get here?
I opened my eyes and saw salmon colored satin wall hangings. A huge vase of flowers a little distance away, near what might be an opening to a corridor. I was in a wide, silken conversation pit, sort of, filled with bodies. There was white and pink flesh everywhere. And breasts, and pussies both hairy and clean as a baby's. And twats and thighs and legs and bellies, red-dotted here and there with toenails and fingernails and lips. And darkened, smudged eyes. One girl's dark eyes looking down on me mildly -- her red lips blew me a reassuring kiss when she saw my eyes open and looking at her. Joanna, my special girlfriend. She was leaning over me, hers was the breast in my mouth. Another breast ripe in my hand, the one near my hip. Soft buttocks pressed were against my back, another girl's. And mouths were nursing on each of my own breasts. My wonderfully opulent breasts. Two long-haired blonde women nursing on me, their faces pressed against me, their hair sprawled everywhere over me, covering my smooth skin like a blanket.
"What the..." But my mouth was filled to overflowing by that breast, no room for my tongue to move. A soft body was lying on me as I lay face up on those others. Smooth, creamed, silky ...
Another girl came into my field of vision and spoke softly to me. Her eyes held mine and never left them. "Sweetheart, Diana, if you don't mind, would you sit up and brush out my hair for me? Then I'll brush out yours."
She thinks I'm ... Is that who ... I'm ... Diana? Isn't 'Diana' a girl's ... I'm her sweetheart? No, she's just being affectionate, it's only a manner of speaking. She's handing me ... a hairbrush. I better sit up.
"Yes, of course, Marnie." Was that flute-like voice mine? Yes, the words had come out of my mouth. I knew her? I knew her name, certainly.
"Afterward if you'll help me with these rollers I'll help you with yours. Your hair does look so much nicer with those highlights in it, Diana. I told you it would and it does. We were so right to insist!"
I felt a surge of pride, of helpless satisfaction. So sweet! "I can't wait to see," my flute voice informed her. "You were such a dear to help me persuade them! I'm so grateful!"
What was this talk? These pleasantries! Who was she? Who am I?
I sat up. The heads nursing at my breasts disappeared, and momentarily I felt their loss. Then Marnie wriggled her way closer -- how did I know her? -- and I began removing large rollers from her hair, my fingertips with their elongated red nails -- red nails? -- deftly undoing the clips and unspooling each roller from her head. I'd done this before, and often. When the last one was gone I smiled at her and turned my back and she undid the rollers in my hair.
I'd told them I wanted to try a bouffant style even though they were no longer fashionable, and that was just what the rollers would confer one on me. For now, anyhow. Call it play time -- tomorrow I'd get a more sensible style, gracefully long and flattering and still quite feminine but more easily cared for. More presentable.
She brushed and brushed and there, at last, a cloud of hair crowned my head! It was ... well, I'd wanted it bouffant back when they were still fashionable, I recalled, when I was still a boy looking enviously at all the girls who had them. But back then I still thought I was masculine, had to be masculine. I even got a crew-cut once back then. Now, no chance of that happening ever, I loved my long, full hair! This was the very last of my heart's desires I'd be granted, that's what they'd told me. My lovely wife Karen was soon coming to take me home with her. I'd slept with all my girlfriends for the last time, and we'd played with each other as girls will for the last time, our fingers and noses and bumps and clits and lips and tongues all into and onto each other's bodies everywhere they could go. We'd given each other pleasure and we'd fingered and caressed each other's orifices for the last time.
It was sort of sad. That dark-eyed girl Joanna and all the other girls I'd been sleeping with, among, on, all around, all the feminine flesh I'd tumbled with in sensuous disarray until I couldn't tell where they ended and I began, we'd all -- well, they'd all move on to help some other disoriented girl find herself at last. They were staff. I was their guest. Special, but only a visitor, and the time had come for me to leave them, to try to live as if I were one of them but with only one other woman, with my beloved wife. The woman who'd sent me here. We all appreciated each other and we were all were fond of each other, but my wife and I, well, we loved each other, and that made us special.
I didn't feel I was any different from any of the other women in the room. We were always naked and eager for sex with each other, to rub against and into each other's folds and wet places. They always made sure I felt like one of them, because I was one of them. For weeks and months we'd tumbled all over each other like puppies, never out of each other's sight or touch and feel. We'd helped each other dress and make up our faces every morning, and then we'd go down together for breakfast giggling and telling each other silly stories.
I'd miss them, my girlfriends, my dear, lovely companions. But I'd always known I was a little bit different from them. My dearest, special, dark-eyed darling Joanna set down her own hair brush and came around in front of me. I looked at her lovingly.
"Diana," she said to me. "Think of the many months you've been here as something you did when you were a little girl. A long pajama party maybe, one that's gone on and on. You needed to know what kind of person you were so they put you in with us, and we've had such good fun, all of us. We've all been wonderfully happy being girls together. We've licked and sucked and pushed into each other everywhere we could with whatever we had, all over, our lips on each other everywhere all the time, until you couldn't begin to imagine you weren't one more of us."
She was right. I was one more of them, it would be silly to think I wasn't!
"So that's what you've become. One of us. Like all of us. And believing that's what you are, you now behave just as if you were. You now look as lovely as any of us, and you keep yourself that way, and you're as graceful and delicate in your motions and thoughts as any of us. You'll be a marvelous lover and friend and helper for your dearly beloved wife Karen. She's coming today to take you home with her so the two of you can resume your marriage, so you can be one flesh with her. But this time you'll know who you are and what you've always known you wanted to be. We all wish you a long, happy life with her."
And she kissed me. Her pearl pink lips pressed against mine. So sweet. And once again as so often before she reached down and clasped my breasts, one in each hand, and cupped them and held them and felt for my nipples with her thumbs and fondled them. And once again I melted into a small puddle and moaned, then swooned. She felt for my cock and without hesitation it grew softly larger. Pump after pump inside her soft fist and I came and came, throbbing over and over into her beautiful hand. Then she lifted that soft palm of hers and fed me the whole puddle of ejaculate. All of it. Yum! So sweetly salty and so creamy yet clear! "You love the flavor now, don't you," she commented as she watched me lick her palm, then my own lips. "The way we all do."
"Oh yes!" I said. Because there was nothing else to say. It was true. Mine and any man's.
"Men taste like that," Joanna'd reminded me. "Other men maybe a little stronger, because it's more cloudy, because there are still lots of teeny sperms swimming around in theirs."
"I know." I did know. Mike and Pete and Kevin had all tasted almost the same, pretty much the same, anyhow, though a little stronger, when they'd put their tubes into my mouth. Their cum had been my reward for sliding my lips up and down them just the right way, the way a girl should. I'd gotten really good at it with whichever of their tubes because I loved the flavor and craved the feel of those sperms in my mouth. The other girls had long ago showed me how to do it.
There was especially that slab of a man who'd spent the whole night with me, oh yes, Burke! God, I'd tasted Burke's tube three different times that night, and then toward morning while I was mostly asleep he'd pushed it all the way up into my bottom and just pumped away into me the same way the girls would push their dildos into me sometimes. He'd left me dripping so much juice I'd had to borrow a tampon from one of the other girls and push that into me too, after everything else! I loved that feeling, so much so that I've used tampons regularly once a month ever since. Like the other girls. I always kept some in my purse, even though I never went anywhere. Until today.
But even though it felt wonderful I shouldn't tell anyone, Burke had told me, because he'd forgotten that I wasn't written up for getting fucked by men. For cocksucking yes, of course, but not for getting fucked. Even so, he'd seen the round globes of my bottom, he'd said, and then he'd been unable to resist sinking himself into them.
I thought he was just trying to make me feel good by saying that. As if his cock in my butt hadn't felt simply terrific all by itself! Better than any of the other girls' dildos.
"You know who you are now, Diana," Joanna was still telling me. "And you'll never know anything else. Enjoy a beautiful life!"
"I will," I whispered. It was so sad, yet so joyous an occasion. "Thank you so much for everything, Joanna! I love you!"
"You love Karen," she reminded me. "Because Karen made all this possible for you. She gave you this because she loves you too!"
"Yes," I said. It was true. I remembered now. We'd talked about it while we were driving back home from that party, why did I prefer being with woman at parties. That was when Karen had told me that my birthday was coming up so she'd arranged this present for me because she wanted me to feel fulfilled and she loves me. I felt so grateful!"
And that explained why I was feeling so good when I woke up this morning, my last morning in this wonderful place. Woke up singing a silly song in my pretty new voice. Or did I only dream I was singing? My voice really did sound like a flute, and I loved hearing it. All the previous days seemed hazy, hundreds of them. Today I seemed especially to be waking up.
I dressed myself in my best Spring dress, a pink organza, and I slipped into moderate pink pastel heels, not an exact match but I'd go shopping later for outfits that did match. That prospect really pleased me. Then I spritzed my nicest perfume on me -- I did so want Karen to like it! Bouffant had been fun, but now I brushed my hair straight back neatly so it barely touched my bare shoulders. This was a flattering style I could easily maintain, they'd told me, and I found it was true.
I was wearing only a simple gold necklace I'd selected to match the thin gold wedding band I'd found on my night stand when I woke up this morning. They'd taken away my broad man's wedding band that first day, so I wouldn't be reminded of my other life. The new one was the very same ring, they assured me, but cut back into a woman's style. Like my life now, and all my desires. It would keep me reminded that I'm a woman, and a married woman at that. Now that I was wearing a wedding band again, I felt as happy as when Karen had first slipped it onto my finger in token of my promises to her. And hers to me. Whatever those had been.
I swallowed my pills as every morning, my mood marvelous, just perfect. And as every morning, feeling both smart and chipper, I left the room.
Usually I'd be wearing only a robe or a peignoir and my favorite fuzzy bedroom slippers as I headed down the hall toward the Fleshpit, that was what we all called the padded sunken room where I spent all my days and many nights, with a half-dozen naked women already lying there, eager to rub their nakedness up against my own, to smooth and soothe away any uneasiness, to reassure me that I was one of them, with them, indistinguishable from them and content to be among them. They might give me as many as three orgasms as we just lay there breathless, woman on woman, and I'd try one more time to reciprocate with my mouth and fingers and tongue.
I ejaculated only clear fluid with no sperm, and not much of that any more, so cleanup was never a problem. Heavy daily doses of hormones had completed my physical transformation by shrinking my testicles to the size of beans. It was wonderful, such a relief, because now my tightest shorts and slacks wrapped my crotch into a naked 'V', with no hint of anything else underneath! Even so, when I orgasmed I could feel ecstatic pulsing squeezes down there nevertheless, beginning at the base of my penis and radiating from there through my whole body, even through to my fingertips. When we'd all had enough, we'd smile and return to various rooms to dress properly, and go down together to breakfast.
I loved those mornings.
This time though I turned the other way down the hall to the left, toward the executive wing, where I'd been asked to sit in on Karen's final chat with Dr. Matthews before we returned home together. I didn't glance back toward at my Fleshpit companions -- we'd already said goodbye with one last round of sliding hugs, wistfully but gratefully pressed against each other, acknowledging the pleasure we'd shared yet recognizing that after all, everyone needs to move on. I was so very much looking forward to my new life with Karen!
Dr., Matthews greeted me delightedly when I entered her office, the way she always did, and I reciprocated with a smile and toss of my head. She praised my shoulder-length bob -- "It's not quite a page boy, is it, Diana? But it's perfect for your face! Just lovely! Very becoming!" That made me feel even more marvelous. Girls love compliments.
Then she motioned me to a deep, wing backed upholstered chair set back a bit from her desk. Karen would enter from behind me and then sit immediately alongside that desk. "She might not even notice you at first," Dr. Matthews explained. "So the sight of you -- you really are stunning, dear, a credit to this place and yourself too -- so your beauty won't distract her from the few things that remain for us to discuss." That was how she explained it. Filled with anticipation, I sat where I'd been told and perched my purse in my lap and waited silently.
A few minutes later Karen entered. I turned to see her and my heart reached out to her. I was overwhelmed -- she was so wonderful to look at. She looked so much like ... home! She'd redone her hair too, I saw -- it was shorter and more -- amine? Mischievous? As instructed I only sat and beamed at her. She glanced at me, apparently didn't recognize me, then moved to sit where Dr. Matthews motioned her.
"But shouldn't you greet your husband first?" Dr. Matthews said to her while her eyes twinkled at me? "He's right here," and she gestured in my direction.
Karen turned and looked at me for a moment with the conspiratorial smile women reserve for other women when they're impressed by their appearance. Then glanced elsewhere to see where her husband might be. She inspected each corner of the room, but there was no one else anyhere. So her eyes returned to me. Then slowly, a wide smile broke out on her face. It became exuberant! She began to look as though she could eat me up!
"Sweetheart!" she exulted. "Oh, my one true love! You are just gorgeous! Aren't you happy that you're now so beautiful?" She glanced down at my hand. "I love your new wededing ring! It's just like mine now! Exactly! Signifying a new relationship between us!"
"Yes, Karen," I told her in my new sweet voice. "My darling Karen. I am happy. I'm so glad you did whatever you did to get me here."
I remembered the actual event, what she'd done, the last I'd seen of her after I'd parked the car in our driveway. Sort of. And mock-pouted. "Even though it was a little underhanded, having me carried off that way. I've thought about it now and then. You were right, it's true, I guess I never would have gone off so blissfully in this direction on my own. I had to learn first how much nicer it is to be what I am than to be what I was, to stop wishing I could become what I now am. If you know what I mean. So I forgive you. These past months have been so incredible! I've loved every minute! In the end you were so right about me!"
I lifted my face to be kissed. She came back toward me immediately and bent over and we pressed our lips together. She tasted so very sweet. We held ourselves together for the longest time. My heart went out and joined with hers. Again.
"Ladies," Dr. Matthew said. "We have things to go over. Then you can spend the rest of your lives kissing and so on, if that's how you decide to spend the rest of your lives."
"Oh, we do, we will," we both said in unison. Then grinned at each other. We sounded as if we'd rehearsed!
Karen smiled lovingly at me, reassuringly for some reason, then turned, went back to her seat, and sat down. While Dr. Matthews was seating herself and arranging her file on me on her desk for easy reference, Karen said in a quiet voice, almost as if I weren't there, "Doctor, I have a few questions I've meant to ask for some time, but there's been so little opportunity. I suppose the biggest one is, do all of your patients ... ahh, I mean guests, do they always choose to commit themselves to their ... feminine side? I mean, Dan here now seems so completely to be, now ... Diana. I was never sure that he'd ... she'd ... is he a woman now?"
"To answer your question briefly, Karen, yes. It's almost in the nature of things. As you know, this treatment is designed to relieve bigendered men of their stress, the guilt and shame they feel when they betray either part of their nature. Their feminine part is the most shameful for them, since as males they've been raised to protect women as the weaker sex. As protected women rather than protecting men they seem to be violating their most solemn duty. They think they're betraying a responsibility every time they pull on a pair of panties or pick up a lipstick. Then too, if they've been reared to repress all physical affection for other men -- and everyone is born to some degree bisexual -- they'll detest their identifiably feminine feelings all the more. So to relieve their guilt and self-contempt we emphasize development of their feminine side. Being a woman is what we try to make seem most desirable, accustomed, pleasurable, and instinctual for them, as normal and natural as breathing and a lot more enjoyable. The fact is, we find that anyone who experiences their femininity this way prefers it. Even men with no tendencies that way whatever, we've found. It's nicer. It's more fun."
Karen heard her out quietly. Then leaned forward and began speaking to Dr. Matthews in a low voice, confidentially. "Dr. Matthews, my dearest friend Dorrie told me that much about this establishment. She told me that was your official explanation, and that it satisfies nearly everyone. But I want to be frank with you. Everything you've said seems credible enough. But you do imply is that feeling feminine is a default condition of our species, that all men would want to be feminine if they weren't deliberately bred to make extra efforts to be masculine and to feel shame at any implication of femininity. You imply that it's human nature to be soft and yielding, and that it's only cultural conditioning that turns half of us into tough, unyielding brutes, supposedly the protectors of the other half. Well, that may be true for many of us, women and men. But there are also many tough women who take care of themselves, and many compliant men who yield utterly to women and each other. Yet I've been told that all men emerge from here with their feminine traits reinforced and no masculinity whatever."
She leaned even further forward, and I could barely hear her. Maybe I wasn't supposed to hear her? "Dorrie told me the official story, but she mentioned that there's more. I've entrusted my husband to you for many months now because she assured me that there was more. I've always thought he'd be happier as a woman, and I wanted him to feel persuaded of that too. Apparently, you've done that. So now, tell me what you do here, really!"
She sat back. Dr., Matthews hesitated a moment, then leaned forward toward Karen and also spoke quietly, also I suspect in a louder voice than she intended.
"Karen, you're right. We are not quite what we seem, and many women know this, including your friend Dorrie. As a marriage counselor, Dorrie has referred many guests to us since we first treated her own husband so successfully. I suspect you've known from the beginning that your husband never really had a choice. Our ... behavior modification procedures require that every one of our male guests emerge as women. There's no element of choice in it for them at all. They're bribed and acculturated into womanhood, conditioned to it, made to want it despite whatever they think they want. We believe they're all the better for it afterward, and they all come to believe that too. None ever complain, and many later send us contributions to support our charitable work. For example, at no charge we take men who beat their wives and then prepare them for marriage to other men, sometimes to other men who beat their wives. And impossible teenage boys, street toughs, they'll often leave here as delightful girls physically well equipped to cope with other such teenage boys and eager to do so."
Karen nodded as if to say she'd suspected so all along, in fact she'd counted on it.
Dr. Matthews leaned back. Her dark secret out, she could relax and expatiate. "You see, my predecessor didn't invent this treatment as a way to relieve stress in transgendered men, though that's how we nowadays advertise ourselves. She didn't intend this place to be a treatment facility at all. It was designed originally as an expensive holding tank for a wealthy husband whose wife was conducting a wild and wonderful affair with her dress designer. She wanted to park him someplace out of the way, where he could be sensuously glutted, mindlessly saturated in sex so completely that he'd become incapable of feeling jealousy or rage, not the least interested in her whereabouts. She asked us to create an erotic daydream for him, in effect to drown him in decadent femininity laced with tranquilizers."
"How nice for him," Karen commented.
"So my predecessor hired skilled professional escorts -- prostitutes and show girls -- to set the scene and create the impression that he was in a harem of sorts, a harem without a Sultan, with only beautiful women indulging themselves with each other and with him, forever. Well, after she tired of her dress designer his wife lost herself in a succession of other ... interests, but eventually she did recall that she'd stashed her husband here. By the time she got here to reclaim him she found that living in a harem for so long, soaking so unrelievedly in its luxuries, had changed him. He'd become what he'd been seeing and feeling. He couldn't discriminate himself from the women who were surrounding and pleasuring him. Everyone seemed to be part of one wallowing flesh, and he thought he was only one more of them. In short, he'd become one more woman." Dr. Matthews smiled. "A woman like all the others, one who loved pole dancing and also sex with men."
I couldn't quite see how Karen was taking this information, but she didn't seem surprised or upset.
"Thereafter his wife had no problem taking control of his fortune and selling his share in the business, and this particular industrial magnate spend his last decades happily serving her fancies and satisfying his own. First as a maid, then as a call girl and stripper, even for a time as a street whore. Loving every minute of it, I should add."
"That's unbelievable, Doctor!" I heard Karen say. "He wasn't hypnotized or anything?"
"No, nothing like that, though nowadays we do keep all our new girls tranquilized heavily when they first arrive, and lightly the whole time they're in residence -- Diana here is coming to full consciousness of herself only now, for the first time since she arrived. No, at first he was simply content to be a man among the girls, though that soon began to bore him. How often can you fuck or suck or be sucked, after all? So he occupied his mind with whatever occupied theirs, with hair styles and nail polish applications, and all the arts of teasing and tempting other men. He took to imagining he was actually one of them, and that began to affect his own sense of identity.
Which amused the other girls of course, so they encouraged him. During the first week, one wicked girl, Tanya I believe was her name, she had marvelously flowing hair I hear, Tanya sucked his cock and rubbed her breasts on him and then lay down on his body and as she fed him his own sperm she slipped in his first hi-test estrogen pill. That got to be fun for all of them. After that he was never without at least three women with soft mouths feeding him hormones and attending to his body. Everywhere he looked or felt there were breasts, mouths, eyes, or hands stroking him and nourishing him, and now and then cocks invited from the neighborhood. Between multiple doses of estrogen and tranquilizers and penises and all those other women's bodies he felt no pain whatever, and began to grow his own woman's body. Also, he came to climax so often he was no longer aware of his own orgasms -- they became his usual state of mind and feeling, and needless to say, that state of mind blots out all others. Which is why he chose to be a street whore until his wife rescued him. Eventually his balls dried out completely -- I've always suspected it was the hormones and not the excessive sex that did that."
"Well, jump ahead twenty years and here we are. That's basically what we still do, but we've refined our techniques to the well-tested procedures just administered to your husband. Who, like everyone else who's ever been through this regimen, now loves being a woman and would want it no other way."
"So there was never really any likelihood that he -- she -- wouldn't emerge as she is? As the lovely woman sitting here?"
"Not really. Don't mistake me, we do relieve transgendered men of various anxieties as claimed, by releasing them from their double identities and settling them into just one, as single women, so to speak. But in the beginning this place was where wives could bring husbands to keep them busy and uncomplaining while they did ... whatever they chose to do. Their conversion to womanhood were an unanticipated side effect that eventually became our main purpose. Nowadays, for that very reason, some women will send us overly macho husbands and ask us to reform them, make them into more ingratiating companions for their leisure moments, someone to occupy them perhaps in between their other men. We're always able and happy to oblige."
Dr. Matthews smiled. "There are problems, but they'll be more yours than ours at this stage I'm afraid. The women who leave here often don't know much about the practical lives women lead. They're often quite helpless. They don't know how to dress for different occasions, how to behave in different social situations, when men hit on them for example, or what to ask from their lives and how to deal with their frustrations when they find they can't have those things because... well, because they're only women. So we don't like to see them leave here without mentors to look after them for a time. As a loving wife -- and it's obvious that's what you are -- you're certainly suitable. But if you don't mind, we like to assure ourselves of that. That's why I've reserved this little talk for now rather than troubled you with it when we first accepted your husband as a suitable candidate for treatment. We've always known what he'd be like when we returned him to you."
"Of course," Karen said. "But I've known too. Dorrie's husband became what I was hoping my husband would become -- I should say what he now seems to be. He can always guide Diana through the appropriate kinds of social behavior, the parts that can be learned. I'm sure Diana will enjoy using her feminine attributes, in varying degrees, just as she'll enjoy learning to flirt. And as far as how to dress goes -- I suppose Diana is a 'she' to the world now, but he'll always be 'Dan' to me, a feminized man -- he always did have a better eye for women's wear than any of my friends. He'll have no problem that way. But Dr. Matthew, there's another issue."
Karen got up and closed the door to Dr. Matthew's outer office, even though it was occupied only by her secretary. Then came back in, glanced at the window to make certain it too was closed, and sat down again.
"My husband's figure and its implications. Well, my 'former' husband's figure, I guess I should be calling it. Before I brought him here his body was well on its way. His face had softened, his breasts had arrived at a B-cup, and his rear end was ... well, scrumptious! Now I see that his waistline is narrower still, that my dear has lost a lot of weight except on his chest and in his rump, where he's even more ... generously endowed. He reminds me of that song from 'A Chorus Line.' What is it they celebrate? 'Tits and ass' I believe.
"Yes," Dr., Matthews replied. "He's gifted in both places. His breasts stabilized as a generous D cup, a bit more full than we'd expected. Fortunately, they're proportional with his shoulders. And quite erogenous by the way-- you'll find that if you stroke them he'll invariably have an orgasm. So of course he'll love you for it, he'll feel grateful to anyone who strokes him, willing to do anything in return for them -- he can't help it." She paused.
"I see," Karen replied. She turned and looked at me. Smiled at me, and I smiled back. Then turned again to Dr. Matthews. "Dr. Matthews, look at that face and figure! He's a man-trap! I'll need to spend my days beating men away from him!"
Dr. Matthews' eyebrows shot way up. "Why bother? It's true, we did thin him way down for the sake of his figure -- we wanted him to have the same hollow tummy and protruding hip bones as our other girls, as all the women he was attempting to emulate because he wanted to be more like them. You can see how his narrowed chest now shows off his breasts as if they were enormous. As with any thin, well-endowed woman, they're features you can't take your eyes off. And his sensitive nipples are a further asset. He's spent so much time here sucking breasts as well as cocks that it's now a need for him, and he'll expect his lovers to feel the same way. Wasn't that your original intention for him?"
"One of them. Are you saying that Dan -- my Diana -- feels the same delicious anticipatory delight real women feel when we're making ourselves attractive to men? That he desires men."
"Of course. Though mainly, he makes himself beautiful the same way he sleeps or feeds or bathes or sucks cock, without strong desire, because that's what one does, scarcely aware that one does these things mainly because one wants to. He's been living without desire because all the pleasures he can imagine have been immediately available. And nothing changes here. It's a silken paradise where nothing grows or fades, appears or disappears, except perhaps an occasional orgasm. And even those can seem pretty similar after a while. In fact he has no idea how long he's been here. Tell him it's been less than a month or over a year and either will sound reasonable."
"I've lost track myself. Let me see, I sent him here for his birthday early last Fall. I'd broken up with Barry by then and had taken up with Scott -- yes, it was Scott who came over the next day to help me get over missing him. Then when the weather turned chilly it was with Scott I spent a week in Acapulco, and it was still Scott when we went skiing in Vail. Then Ben kept me busy most of the rest of the winter -- the poor dear wanted to marry me, and simply couldn't understand that I have no intention of ever getting a divorce from Dan now that he's Diana, even though he's now Diana -- Ben never did understand true love. So we broke up. Came spring there were a few other men, no one man in particular. And now it's getting toward summer again -- and good heavens, I'll be buying Dan a bikini after all, it's the better part of a year since I mentioned to him that his ass would be well-advantaged by one. I assume it's still as delectable. I had no idea his conversion would take this long."
"He has no idea either. Not only don't things change here, but his tranquilizers diminish his sense of time passing by reducing his curiosity about things as they happen. As far as he's concerned, they just happen. He can't tell. Why bother, when everything is always the same hour by hour and day by day?"
Karen sighed, and checked her watch. "We'll need to move on soon, Dr., Matthews. So let me be clear about the one big thing you've been saying. Does he think he's a girl now? That he's no different from any of the other girls he's been with?
"He knows he was once a man, but the idea lacks interest. He knows his clit is a little bigger than the other girls,' but he thinks it's a soft dildo. He knows that girls' use stiff dildos on each other, though they need to enter his particular pussy a little further back. And he knows about men's penises of course. We've provided him with lots of penises to suck on so he wouldn't feel deprived. So he's feel he's as authentic a girl as any. And there are always men attached to those penises of course. So unlike many girls he sucks cock routinely these days, without it seeming to be that big a deal. Oh yes, he's mostly still a virgin as far as real men go. His special friend here Joanna told us that a man named Burke did once take him to bed and fuck him -- he loved it I hear, but he wasn't sure what had happened, and the sperm pouring out of his ass afterward seemed more an inconvenience than a memento. He borrowed a tampon, and he enjoyed inserting it so much that he's used tampons monthly ever since, along with the other girls."
"Has he dated men yet?"
"No. Even though the girls are always talking about men -- loving them, feeling happy when they're with them, the ways they disappoint, the pleasures of controlling them, you know. Diana has seen how now and then a girl will make herself up especially carefully, then leave, and how the next morning she'll look both exhausted and satisfied. He's sat in with the girls when they've chatted and giggled about what happened. But he knows it hasn't happened to him yet."
"Why not?"
"My dear, you never signed the paperwork! Fucking men wasn't one of the feminine skills we contracted to teach him! Burke was carried away by the sight of Diana's ass, understandably enough, but he fucked it on his own! When men like the girls they're with, that sometimes happens! But you didn't leave Dan here with instructions one way or the other!"
"It didn't occur to me. Is otherwise able to have intercourse with men?"
"Oh yes. And he will, before he leaves here, this very morning! But it's far from routine for him. Oh, Karen, I see -- you don't know! My dear, in cases like Diana's, we always try to arrange one definitive experience of penetrative sex as a farewell gift. Always, before we release guests of his kind to the outer world. Our new girls all need to know what to expect, after all -- there are so many horny and importunate men out there. Though we do need your permission to proceed. It may delay your departure today by ... perhaps an hour."
"Not at all, I want him to have that experience before I reclaim him. I mean, as a woman he needs to know how it feels to have a man moving in and out of him. Apart from in and out of his mouth, I mean. So he can fully understand what a woman's undulating movements and soft bodies are really for. How they inspire men to do things for us."
Dr. Matthews made a check mark on a paper before her, then looked up at Karen. "There's another reason too. We like to certify that our guests have become true women. If they still think they're men, men who look and feel like women, then when a man fucks them they'll believe they're having a gay experience, and because it will always be a delightful experience they'll feel it's well worth repeating. Afterward they'll be bisexual or maybe even gay. That can disturb some of the wives who send their men to us, understandably. If on the other hand our guests leave here feeling that they're women, no different from any of the other women they've been with, they'll fuck as women -- as heterosexual women of course, women who prefer men. That's what we think Diana is now, so that's what he'll be. But of course we can't be sure until he's been well-fucked by one of our male attendants and reports back that it was as marvelous as we all know it is."
"What about sex with women? Sex with me for example?"
"Oh my dear, that goes without saying. Giving pleasure to women as a woman and receiving pleasure from one the same way is now ... in a way it's like breathing air for him. It's what he does, his raison d'etre so to speak. From morning until evening, any time! You'll have no problem there at all."
"All right. You should know, I want to deny my darling nothing. I do want him to have the full experience. So he'll be more inclined to seek out men on his own, and not at all likely to object when he finds out that I ... similarly seek out full experiences. He'll understand how wonderful a girl can feel, both before and after sex."
"I understand. Now for our parting gift to Diana, as it were. Would you like to watch while one of our men penetrates your husband, and he learns for the first time the main reason to exult that he's a fully heterosexual woman? The gift you've given him? Sometimes our new women get such marvelous expressions on their faces when their first thick cock slides into them and fills them up, then empties them, then fills them again. Diana vaguely remembers Burke, and of course the girls' dildos, and he knows about tampons, but he hasn't yet enjoyed the way a truly prizewinning cock can feel in his rear pussy. That can be a sight not to be missed!"
"Of course! I'd love to see it! Knowing how he felt, I can better remind him of it when we're planning to do something together, like maybe going out with different guys. Or if he and Dorrie's husband one day plan to troll the bar scene together as two girlfriends."
Dr. Matthews pressed a buzzer on her desk. Her secretary entered.
"Margaret," she said. "Diana here needs to have her last fling before she leaves us. In Diana's case her first fling. With Kevin I think. She's already stretched her mouth on him I understand, and I don't think he's serviced any of our other girls full out this week. So he should be primed and eager I expect.
She then turned to me. "Diana, have you followed what we've been saying?"
I pulled my mind together to provide a reply. "Most of it, Dr. Matthews. But I'm not sure what you mean by 'the full experience.'"
"Oh, then you have a lovely treat in store. You're about to discover that the penises you love to suck on have other uses as well. That they're better than dildos. Hot and slippery inside you all the while the rest of your body is being hugged and desired. Did you know that's what a penis is for really?"
"I've suspected, Doctor. I mean, even before Burke spent the night with me -- I was never exactly sure what he'd done, but it did feel marvelous! Because I've noticed that dildos and penises are shaped the same, with the same veins and coloration, and that they run about the same size. We girls do talk about them, after all." I preened myself a little. "I mean, I'm not altogether dense!"
Now that my mind was clearer, of course I remembered what a cock is for! I remembered how I used to use mine, especially early in my stay here, before it went soft, when it was still able to penetrate the other girls and not just rub on them.
"Well, if you remember Kevin's you won't be altogether surprised by its size. Some girls never do recover from their first sight of it. If you'll just step through that door, Carol and Allie will be there to help prepare you. Then afterward your wife will be taking you directly home. I understand she's arranged a kind of welcome home party in your honor tonight, to get you reacquainted with your different friends and associates, and get them reacquainted with you."
"That's right," Karen piped up. "Your two bosses have been asking me for weeks when they'll be able to view the final product and welcome you back to work. And you remember how, whenever we went partying, you always preferred to stay and chat with the women instead of the men? From now on that won't seem so remarkable, will it?"
As I moved toward the door Dr. Matthews had indicated, I heard her tell Karen, "Now, that wall is really a one-way screen, depending on the lighting. We'll turn the lights down in here, and you'll be well-hidden. Just settle over there on that couch and make yourself comfortable. If you should feel you want anything while you're watching your husband's formal ... initiation, one of Kevin's associates will be available to assist you. Our treat, Chuck is his name I think. I've not tried him yet myself but I understand he can be altogether satisfactory. So don't hesitate -- just press that button there and lie back."
Karen nodded and said, "I think I'll press it right now, so I can match my husband stroke for stroke." She smiled. "Then afterward I can borrow one of his tampons to use during the trip home! He'll be carrying some from now on, I'm sure." Her smile became a delighted grin.
Dr. Matthews replied something, but I was no longer paying attention. I was already through the door, examining a soft, satin-covered bed flanked by Carol and Allie. This was something altogether new and exciting. To feel a man in my bottom in my own right! Joanna must have known something like this was likely, because she'd made sure I had tampons in my purse. "You'll both probably need them," she'd said. I remembered their uses, but I didn't know what she meant by 'both.'.
III.
Karen surprised me. We were driving home from yet another evening reception at the Cartwrights when she suddenly turned to me and asked, "Honey, do you ever imagine that you're still a man?"
"Not really," I replied, glancing at her. I loved her new eye shadow, I'd been admiring it all evening and had resolved to buy that shade for myself. We have the same skin tones, after all, and recently I'd decided to go blonde too, like her. "Not at all. Why do you ask?"
"Because tonight you spent almost all your time chatting with the men. You aren't a man any more, are you?"
"No, of course not. Not any more." I looked at her seriously. "I love being a woman."
"Then why do you spend all that time with the men? I mean, there they are, forever talking about boring matters they somehow find interesting, investments and derivatives, and playoffs, whatever those are. All the while we're in the next room discussing really fascinating stuff, like who's wearing the new projectile bras, and whether Marianne has actually gotten into bed with Darlene's husband or just claims she has. You know. Girl things.
A smile came to my lips spontaneously, and I must say, that didn't happen too often these days. I've found that a woman's smile is valuable currency, that men crave seeing women smile at them, so such smiles should be displayed calculatedly, for maximum advantage. "Why do I spend my time chatting with guys instead of girls?" I wriggled in my seat. I already knew the answer to that question. "Isn't it obvious? Because men wear pants."
She was baffled. "So? Women do too. And skirts."
"Men keep things in their pants. Don't you remember what Willie Sutton said when they asked him why he robs banks?"
"No, I never heard of Willie Sutton."
"His answer's famous. He said, 'Because that's where the money is.'"
Karen was puzzled. "But we don't need money, Diana."
I was amazed that she didn't understand "Karen," I finally replied. "Men have something we don't, and we want it. They keep it in their pants though not in their pants pockets. That's why I spend time with them. After a while they wonder why, what it is I'm looking for, and then I get to tell them and choose which one's and tell him to call me. Often he does."
"Oh," she replied. I pulled the car into our driveway. "I understand, honey. All right. But do remember, any time one of them shows you a cock bought long that pays off often, or one that brings heavy dividends when deeply invested, you let me know. Then if I should hear of a cock recipe well worth trying, I'll tell you."
I assured her I would and I knew she would too. We often exchange such information. We're married, we don't keep secrets like that from each other.
Copyright © 2009 by Vickie Tern. May be archived to free archives only, single-copied for personal use, but not sold.
Vickie [email protected]
"Why are you changing your shirt? We're late as it is! They're expecting us!" My wife, a little exasperated, her eyes snapping.
"Sara!" Me, also a little exasperated, feeling pressured from two directions. "I can't go like this! I'm still wearing my bra! They might see! You're always worried about the neighbors, what will the neighbors think? Well, this is a thin shirt! I'll just be a min...."
"Stop! Larry, don't you unbutton another button! Come on, we're late! You want to wear bras and panties and slips and so on around the house all the time, women's underwear, suit yourself! Sneak around looking like a cutey pie girly all you want! I don't care any more, I've finally gotten used to it. Even to seeing you every night in your study all dressed up with no place to go because you don't dare leave the house! I don't care!"
"But you know that Eva is always prompt, and that she expects everyone else to be prompt, and that we're right next door so we have no excuse not to be prompt! So here, push that shirt back in your pants and put this blazer on to cover those boobs and you'll be presentable enough. It's only the two of us and the two of them. Who'll notice anything?"
So we crossed through the gap in the shrubs into their back yard. As you'd expect, the scene was set for a standard summer back yard barbecue. The grass was fresh cut today, perfectly flat and even, and it still smelled new-mown. Herb was proud of that lawn. I'd heard his mower going all morning while I was behind drawn shades trying on two darling end-of-season-clearance dresses I'd just bought, and a long skirt I thought really elegant. I was trying to think through how I should accessorize them, whether now I needed some new jewelry to set them off.
But it was getting to be a hot day, and with the shades down the house was heating up, and so was I, and the last thing I wanted was perspiration stains on my new dresses. I'd barely begun to enjoy them in my mirror. So I put them away and I wiped off my lipstick. I know, you don't need make-up to try on a dress, but wearing make-up I really do look "cutey-pie girly" as Sara likes to put it. Without make-up my man's face looks strange above my lace-fringed collars and draped bodices. So I wiped off my lipstick and opened the shades and looked out.
By then Herb and his weedwacker were levelling off the last edges of grass along his annual flower bed. He was even more proud of his garden than of his lawn -- it was heavy with color most of the summer, but the annual beds were especially dense now, toward the end of the season. We'd had flowers from that bed on our dinner table and in the living room practically the whole summer. Sara had permission to go over and pick whatever she wanted -- "Many flowers like to be picked," Herb had said. "Then they can branch out and set even more buds. It's a rule of nature." Sara had looked embarrassed when he said that. She didn't like to accept gifts from anyone, but she couldn't refuse that kind of gift.
So a few times each week for the past few months or so she'd gone over and selected flowers from his garden and made bouquets and floral arrangements, and we'd enjoyed them. She'd even started putting vases of fresh-cut flowers in my study, my "boudoir" she called it acidly, where sometimes I did office-work evenings but mostly I dressed up and made myself pretty. As a man I thought flowers in the house were nice enough, but as a girl I was thrilled to be surrounded by them. I loved them, and I especially appreciated having beautiful flowers to pose with in the room when I was all dressed as if to go out, before finally I had to undress and put everything away again. They helped me feel more feminine, more lady-like. I didn't mind at all one day a couple of months ago when I came home and found the room really filled with them, tiers and sprays and billows of color everywhere. "They're Herb's gift just for you this time," was how Sara explained it. "He says the way flowers are, it doesn't cost him anything, and you may as well enjoy them in here when you're doing whatever you do in here."
When we arrived on Herb and Eva's turf, Eva was setting the picnic table for the four of us, using her best china and crystal, as was usual for her. We always use paper plates for cook outs. But "If you've got it, use it," Herb said the first time I commented on their odd custom. "That's what I say and that's what I do!" And I had to admit, it was nice dining in elegant formality on the grass under the trees while the sun was setting slowly behind us, and the birds were twittering in the early gloom up top. It was nice to enjoy nature and civilized sophistication both at once.
I saw that Herb was already in his barbecue action station, a far corner of his garden where the wind wouldn't blow smoke on us. He was laying steaks on the grill.
"Hi, Larry!" he called out, waving a long barbecue fork. "Be with you soon!" I nodded back at him and waved a bottle of Bourbon I was carrying. Sara went over to talk to him.
"Here, Larry," Eva said. "Bring that inside and fix yourself a drink, and fix Sara one too. Then help me carry out some more things. And for goodness sake, take off that jacket and relax! It was 90 degrees at noon today!"
She'd set up a bar in the glass-enclosed sun room facing their rear lawn, where silver chafing dishes were being heated. Talk about dining in style? But it was intolerably hot, what with the afternoon sun still pouring in! I saw that their ice bucket was already half-melted. I burst into a sweat and was almost immediately soaked.
"Here, let me take that blazer off you this minute -- no back talk," Eva said from behind me. I felt her seize my jacket by the collar with both hands and start to pull it off.
I tried to resist -- I was wearing only that thin white shirt over my bra, and the shirt was already wet and clinging, and the bra just underneath was a cascade of flowery lace -- there was no way it could stay hidden. No good! She had it off me!
"What's this?" I heard Eva say. "Are those bra straps? Let me look!"
She came around in front of me and stared at my flowery mounds.
"Sure enough!"
She broke out into a delighted smile. "Well, well, Larry! What a secret! You too! I know so many gay men! And gay women too! In fact tomorrow morning I'm off for four days with Patricia Frye, you know her? The dancer? I'll be doing press and publicity for her, and we always share a hotel room on the road! Hardly any breasts, but what thighs! I could eat her up! I have, too, a few times! You didn't know that about me? Herb doesn't mind. As long as it's not another man, he says."
Eva wasn't just babbling this incredible self-revelation. She was deliberately sharing it with me, so I'd feel a little better that she'd inadvertently exposed what was obviously for me a devastatingly shameful secret. She was watching me closely all the while she spoke, giving me a chance to recover from my paralyzing embarrassment. When she saw me finally take a deep breath she walked over to hang my coat on a peg, still watching me, waiting for me to say something.
"I'm not gay, Eva. I'm a transvestite, I guess. And... and... please don't tell Herb! He's a friend, I'd feel so ashamed! I can't help it! But I just...like it!"
She came back and pushed a damp lock of hair off of my forehead. "I know, baby, I know! You don't have to tell me anything! I work all the time with artists and performers of all kinds, and believe me, they come in all kinds. Don't worry. Maybe you'll want to take that bra off now, if you don't want Herb to see it."
I did just that, feeling better every moment, even though Eva was watching me carefully the whole time. In some ways I was enormously relieved that someone else besides Sara finally knew and wasn't at all bothered. It made me feel more normal. By Eva's lights, I was normal. Not even different!.
She reached for my bra and examined it. "Very pretty, Larry! But only 'A' cups? With your build, you easily need a 'B,' even a 'C' in some models. Don't you have breast forms? Or are you only now starting hormones? I know a wonderful endocrinologist, if you've wanted to try having your own boobs but feel a little shy. Make yourself a drink, please, Larry. And Sara's too, if you know what she likes, now that I see she's coming back from chatting with Herb. "
She folded the bra and tucked it snug into my jacket pocket for me, all without breaking conversational stride.
"Tell me, dear, how do you know you're not gay? Ever tried it? Herb says he could be gay with the right kind of person, under the right circumstances, or so he claims when we get to talking about how I swing both ways. And Herb is all man, and loves women! Trust me, I know what I'm saying! It would be fun sometime, seeing him make it with a man! I wonder if the man would feel the same way about him women usually do. Oh, don't be shocked, Herb loves me, but I know he spreads the wealth around, and that's only fair, seeing as how I do too with women who interest me. Tell me, what does Sara think of all this?"
I started to put ice cubes into glasses with tongs, grateful to have an excuse not to look up. "Eva, I've never tried gay sex. Men just don't attract me. Women do. I love everything feminine, that's my problem. And I'm true to Sara! Though she doesn't think so. She thinks I'm unfaithful to her with some kind of woman inside me, and she resents it." I filled my glass first with ice and then with Bourbon, and then I splashed Sara's glass.
"Really? How very gothic! In love with a succubus who lives inside you and possesses you. Like in a B horror movie. I really must have a talk with her some time! Do you dress up completely, lipstick and everything? Do you go out en femme?" She paused and looked at me the way women look at themselves in mirrors. "I'll bet with the right hair style you'd look gorgeous! I know a wonderful hairdresser...."
"Is that drink for me?"
Sara! I handed her her drink without a word. How much of any of this had she heard? I still couldn't meet anyone's eyes, so I turned to watch the thick smoke pour out of Herb's grill and drift skyward.
"Would you two mind carrying out these chafing dishes? Careful, they're hot. I'll go in and take some things off the stove -- our cookouts are not at all as primitive as Herb likes to pretend. I should judge from all that smoke we're just about ready."
We gathered at the wooden-slatted picnic table, and ate delicious dishes one after another off of Herb's and Eva's delicate bone china, and washed down Herb's burnt but bloody steaks with a very fine Margaux poured into crystal wine glasses, and we made lively conversation about the commerce of art, and tricking flowers into winter bloom, and Eva's upcoming trip, and no one said anything about Eva's bed-companion for her trip, or my brassiere. Then in the dark Sara and I crossed back into our garden.
"I see you're not wearing your bra now," Sara said as soon as we were inside the house. "Did you feel compelled to bare your nipples to Eva, that you had to take it off in front of her?"
"No, she took my jacket and saw it under my shirt, and suggested I remove it before the rest of the world saw it too. Namely Herb. She was trying to save me further humiliation."
"Too bad! I'd hoped she'd see and you'd feel ashamed, so you'd give up this... thing of yours. I'd hoped Herb would see it too, so you'd know what a wimp sissy you are compared with him, and know that he knows it too. It would have served you right. And I heard what you said about not being gay, and what Eva said about not knowing till you've tried it. I've wondered about you that way too!" She suddenly realized she'd gone too far, and lapsed into silence.
I turned to Sara angrily. "You deliberately exposed me in order to humiliate me, when I've told you repeatedly that I am the way I am and didn't choose it and can't change it, only at best suppress it and then live a half a life, and I don't choose to do that! Now how can I ever trust you in anything?"
I'd gone too far with that last too, but I couldn't withdraw it.
"You can't!" Sara shot right back at me.
Then she realized she'd gone way too far. "I'm sorry, Larry," she said much more gently. "I didn't mean that."
"Me neither," I said, trying to match her conciliatory half-lie with mine. Then I went on. "You did hear Eva offer to talk to you about this. She seems to be familiar with people like me. It might help you to hear her out, whatever she means to say."
"Eva and I have already scheduled a luncheon for Friday, when she's back from her trip. We'll talk about lots of things I suspect. I'm really relieved in a way to hear that she sleeps around a lot, and that Herb doesn't mind."
"Only with women," I said. I was so grateful that our sudden summer storm had blown over that I was only half-hearing what she was saying. "I just learned tonight that she screws other women, or whatever women do, and apparently so does Herb, and neither of them minds as long as they're also true to each other in their fashion. Why are you relieved to hear that? Because you thought her infidelities might be endangering their marriage?"
"Something like that," Sara said. "Would you bring the trash out front before we go upstairs? Tomorrow's collection day."
I dressed up every day after work that week, and Sara never said a word about it, glancing at me in my female finery and then chatting with me as if I were wearing blue jeans. All week I felt wonderfully liberated, after years and years of isolation, and unease, and shame, and guilt, and fear, now that someone else knew about my desires and didn't think them peculiar. I thought of joining a local crossdresser support group, but I couldn't risk maybe meeting someone who knew me. My fantasy roamed. I thought about taking hormones, at least to develop breasts more appropriate for my figure, but I knew I'd never do anything about it. I imagined that a good fairy had finally turned me into a real woman, the way Pinocchio became a real boy, and that then Sara loved me even more than before. That was my favorite reverie, and my mind played many variations on it.
On Friday evening I was in my study gorgeously done up in a black dress with black stockings and a pencil-thin skirt and an oversized brocade jacket and high, high heels, really tastefully made up. My hair for once had brushed out from their curlers into a luxuriant coiffure instead of gathering as usual into a crown of bumps and waves. I felt quite beautiful. So instead of preparing figures for the company's third quarter report, I was perched on the couch at my ease, a glamorous woman paging through ads in Vogue magazine, admiring the women in them and wishing I were one of them.
Sara came in and looked at me. "Really lovely, Larry. I mean Laura, that's your femme name? Laura, you're looking quite nice. Were you planning to go out tonight?"
"No, this is just an old house dress," I stammered, trying to cover my pleasure that Sara had actually complimented me, even though she had also teased me and might not have meant the compliment. "Did you have your lunch with Eva today?"
"Yes, I did," she said, sitting down next to me and looking me straight in the eyes. Her eyes were beautiful, almond shaped and deep blue, and her eyeliner and mascara and shadow deepened them until I felt I'd get lost if I kept looking. I loved her! She saw it in my eyes, and she smiled back at me that she loved me too. My heart rose up. I noticed that she was made up as carefully as I was, and was as nicely dressed. Did this mean she expected us to go out this evening as two girls together? I certainly wasn't ready for that! Probably she was still dressed from her luncheon with Eva. I waited to hear what else she was willing to tell me about it.
"She's off again on another trip now," she went on. "Just for the weekend this time."
"She leaves Herb alone a lot," I said to keep the conversation going, especially about the injustices men suffer at the hands of their women.
"Herb's never alone," Sara replied. Then, "It was a real good talk Eva and I had, all about what's good for everybody. She knows a lot about a lot. Even about you, and people like you."
"Oh?"
"Yes, She told me everything you've told me about transvestites, and transsexuals, and the differences, and a lot more. And she told me I was silly for not wanting to enjoy the many more things we share than ordinary men and women do. She got me thinking about sharing all of my feminine pleasures with you. I'm sorry, dear, for all the time I've spent resenting that you're the way you are, when we could have been enjoying ourselves together if I'd approached the problem a little differently.:
"Oh?"
"Yes. Eva and I had a real hen-fest. It was mutual confession time. She told me about all the effeminate men she'd slept with before she decided just to settle in with Herb, a real man's man, and to satisfy her other needs with real women. She said she just might break her rule and sleep with you when you're dressed as a woman, because you seem to be more than effeminate. You understand how women feel about many things that seem trivial to men. Clothes, flowers, feelings, you know. You share their feeling. She says you're genuinely feminine, she's always thought so, even though you're also a man, which can be advantagous in bed when you also like men the way she does."
I sat silent. I had manicured my nails just an hour earlier, and was admiring their long, smooth red ovals, and was just listening. What was her point? Was she inviting me to take up with Eva en femme?
"She told me that from the beginning of their marriage Herb has always had the same freedom she's had to take up with other women, and that there've never been any problems. Until recently. She said though that all through this summer Herb has been involved with some one woman in particular. It was starting to worry her for the first time, because she did deeply love him, and would never want to leave him, and she hoped he still felt the same way."
I listened.
"'That's the same way I deeply love Larry,'" I told her. "'And the same way I would never want to leave Larry no matter what. The same way I hope he feels.'"
I couldn't say anything now. I took her hand and held it in both of my own hands. I was choked up.
"And then I reassured her. I told not to worry, that I was the woman Herb had been sleeping with since last Spring. Exclusively, I was sure, because we were meeting so very often and each session was so ... exhausting for both of us. That her marriage was perfectly safe, so far as I was concerned. That I hoped mine was as safe."
"Eva said she knew, or had suspected as much, but that she'd had to hear it from me. And then she cried, just a little. It was so sweet! Then we talked about you, how to keep you safe for me, even from her, and still keep everyone happy."
I was still holding Sara's hand. I didn't dare look up into her deep blue eyes now, even though I knew they were staring into my face. I didn't dare let myself look anywhere or feel anything, not just yet. I touched one of her fingernails gently. Then I said as quietly as I could,
"You've been sleeping with Herb?"
"No more often than you've been sleeping with yourself, Larry, and for nowhere near as long. Only since last Spring. For years I've seen you sometimes pulling up your skirts and then making nice to yourself in the mirror. So last Spring when Herb came on to me very strong, I mean that man is nearly irresistible when he starts in, I thought to myself, well, if you can take a lover, I can take a lover too!"
"It isn't the same thing!"
"Isn't it? It seemed to me to be the same thing, at the time."
"It's deception! It's cheating on me!"
"Oh, come on Larry! I'm sorry, honey, I mean Laura. Think about it. Don't tell me you didn't know! Or at least suspect! All those fresh flowers in the house all summer? You thought I picked them? Who do you think brought them each time he came over here? And filled my arms with them to take back whenever I went over there?"
It hadn't occurred to me. I should have known. But it had never occurred to me!
"You directly benefitted from his gratitude the day I offered him my virginity. What I had left of it, you know what I mean, my rear opening, my anus, where you wanted to poke into me when we were first married, and then when I wouldn't let you you quit trying. You remember? I'm sure you do. Well, I decided one delirious day that I wanted Herb to take that part of me as a gift, and bury himself in me there! And he did. It was so beautiful an experience for both of us that he told me he wanted to fill your study with flowers in gratitude, since he'd taken something of yours, so you'd feel something of the happiness he felt. I told him to go ahead. You deserved at least that, it seemed to me, since now you'd never have what I'd just given him. I'd felt like a bride in Herb's arms. He took all afternoon making bouquets and floral arrangements and setting them up in here for you."
I had to say something! "He was in this room? He saw my things here?"
"Oh, Larry! I mean Laura! My sweet Laura! He already knew! He didn't need to peek into your closets! You do leave things lying all around. Anyhow, he'd already seen you all dressed up earlier. When I first told him about you, while we were lying in each other's arms and waiting for him to get stiff again, and while he was doing wonderful things to my breasts with his tongue and to my pussy with his fingertips, he told me he'd once seen you prancing around in here in full drag, last Spring when you forgot to draw the shades. He thought at first you were really a woman, until he saw you tuck your hand under your mini and start pulling on yourself. That's how he first figured I might be feeling a little neglected, the way he likes to put it that I might be feeling like a flower that wants to be plucked. If that's the word!"
She smiled to herself.
I didn't know what to say. "You told him about me?" I asked lamely? "When you were fucking him?"
She didn't bother to answer me at first. Instead she detached my hands, stood up, and glanced at the clock on my desk. "Certainly not while we were fucking, no! In between, when he asked me about you."
She looked again at the clock, then squared away to face me directly. "What do you expect? A man gives a woman perhaps the most tremendous fuck of her life, and his cum is still pouring out of her, and he's already beginning to harden up for another go at it, and he asks me about that yellow beaded dress he saw on you that night, how come he's never seen me wear it to the Club or the Gallery or anywhere else we're always running into each other. He told me he thought it would look stunning on me, even better than it did on you! So I had to tell him it was your dress, not mine, that we didn't swap clothes ever. And I told him all the rest of it. Laura, when a man is about to push his penis back into you, and you're all loose and soaked and slick from just before, and you're still breathing hard from before, you just don't feel like holding back any secrets? You feel like pulling him back into you and loving him and kissing him and opening every part of yourself to him. Wouldn't you feel that way, if you were me? You're supposed to be partly a woman! Don't you feel that way sometimes?"
Finally I could speak. "Wouldn't I? Don't I? You know I've never been with a man! What are you talking about?"
I couldn't think straight or see straight. Visions of Herb and my wife slick with each other's perspiration in our bed upstairs, or in his bed! His cock in my wife's anus, sliding in and out, her gift to him, a beautiful experience she called it! His jism pouring out of her, out of her dear pussy, out of her rear end. Maybe even Sara sucking on his cock, though she'd never been willing to suck on mine, not even to kiss it. Herb feeling way superior to me, maybe pitying me, also feeling a little contemptuous that I'm not man enough for my own wife.
She picked up her purse, then set it down again. "We won't need purses tonight, it's just next door. Come on, honey, we're already late! Laura, come on! No, you're dressed fine, just the way you are! Yes, we're going! Yes, you heard me, it's time for Laura to meet Herb. No, stop it! Listen!"
"Even before Eva mentioned it, Herb had already asked me if he could make love to you and me together, then just to you alone, after we've done our own wonderful things with each other of course. You'll see, Herb can get me to do almost anything. But somehow I've never been able to put his penis in my mouth, no more than I could ever do it with yours. Herb is sure that a woman's mouth can bring him up hard, again and again, quicker than anything else. So he wondered if you'd be more willing than I am to to try it. To be my 'designated cock sucker' -- he said you'd know what that means. You could help him satisfy me, and then help him satisfy us. Then, the way you looked in that beaded dress, he wants to be the first man into your rear end too, same as mine. He thinks you're incredibly attractive as a girl. He says I've been mistaken not to encourage you to be more of a girl more often, and to use you more often as a girl."
"And maybe he's right. You really are rather pretty, Laura. You know? I've never wanted to tell you that before, because I've always resented it. I've wanted to think I'd married a man. I did, of course. But you could also be a real doll, once you've been to a proper hairdresser. And you will be a real doll, honey, because I've already made an
appointment for you for tomorrow morning with Eva's hairdresser. Herb wants you to have a style more like Eva's than like mine, and I agree, and so does Eva. It would be just right for your face, very flattering. You'll love it! And I know that after tonight you won't mind looking feminine all the time. That's an effect Herb has on women after he makes love to them. You'll even find that when you make love as a woman you're more passionate than you are as a man -- women do tend to be more emotional you know. Maybe you'll even want to go all the way and live full time as a woman. I wouldn't mind it any more, if that's what you want. I'd even help you!"
"But sweetheart, don't worry, for tonight you look just fine! Your hair is lovely, really. Tonight we're just two attractive girls and one eager guy, three people who intend to enjoy each other all night long. No, don't look confused or angry. That's what we are! Herb said that when you've thought about it a minute, when you think about what's been happening and what could happen, what we already know about each other, what we could any of us do at any time with what we know, especially if other people don't see things the way we see them, what each of us stands to lose, he thinks you'll be glad to join us tonight. In fact he's sure of it."
"Please, Laura? Honey? I'm counting on it too! You don't know yet, but Herb is really very nice! You really can't help loving him, all the things he knows how to do to a girl! Then when Eva gets back, she'll join in if you're a part of it! You're what all three of us want! And this is what you've always wanted too, way down under, isn't it Laura? Isn't it? You know it is! You know Herb is right! Just think about it. I really don't think you have any choice! I'm sure you don't!"
"Then think about this. After tonight, Laura my darling, I'll be happy to share my whole wardrobe with you! And I'll be happy to help you shop for lots more things. And to fix you up with hormones the way Eva offered, if you really want your very own real breasts, the kind any man can adore. And to introduce you to some of the other guys I've slept with during the past few years, ever since I first saw you wearing your cutey pie girly things. After tonight you'll know for sure that we've got the most secure and loving and sharing marriage in the world. So there's really no reason at all for you not to come with me now! You can't not!"
Sara reached out and took my hand again, my pretty manicured hand with the shapely red fingernails, and she tugged gently on it until finally I stood up. I reached down and straightened my skirt. It really was a little tight, that black skirt. It occurred to me that I might need to lose weight before I could wear it again. Eva could advise me -- her figure was perfect, what I'd seen of it so far.
Copyright © 2009 by Vickie Tern
Vickie [email protected]
i.
It seemed to be the darkest day of my life, though now there's no doubt I'm better off for it. Janice, she's my wife, she thinks so, and her friend Melissa thinks so, and they both tell me so often enough. Even my friend Ray thinks so, Melissa's husband, though he always says whatever Melissa tells him, so who knows what he really thinks? I guess it's true. We're all better off now, I'm sure of it.
But it didn't seem so last November. You know November. The trees bare and shivering, and it's gloomy even before you quit work, and it's night by the time you get home. Your neighbor's unraked leaves blow across your lawn. Ahead are months of icy sidewalks on bad days and wet slush on good ones. People hunker down, and everything looks bleak. And some of them decide it's time to change their lives.
This particular day I was a little late getting home from the office. An hour or so late. As usual -- I've got work, I do it. I didn't bother to phone Janice I'd be late -- she'd only get mad and hang up on me, and then I'd never get my work done. When we're OK I hardly ever think about her. But Janice is my life, and when we quarrel I can't think straight until we've made up. She knows I go crazy, and sometimes she pushes me to see how far.
This time, when I got home all I found was a plate in the micro, my dinner, and a note taped to the micro. No Janice. I thought I already knew what the note said, same as all the others, she was furious, she wouldn't put up with my thoughtlessness and insensitivity any longer, and so on. The usual. So I waited to read it till I sat down to my reheated dinner. Then I read it. And then I couldn't eat. Not even swallow.
Because it wasn't the same as the others. Here's what it said:
My dearest Bob, or not my dearest any more,
This is the saddest letter I have ever had to write, but is also the happiest. We've had a good marriage, despite your sometimes taking me for granted. But I won't mention that again. I love you, so I really don't know how to say this. That's why I'm writing it. When you read it I'll already be gone.
I'm leaving you, because I've found someone I love more than I love you. Much more.
I can't begin to tell to you how much more. So wonderful! So gentle, considerate, and caring about things that really matter most to me. Always aware of my feelings, and attentive to my needs and desires. And an incredibly devoted lover -- I'm getting wet right now just thinking about some of the things we do together. Lots of them things you've never wanted to do, and some of them things you just can't do. You're simply not able. I'm sorry, but that's how it is.
I intend to live with her, and I hope I can make her as happy as she's made me.
I know this seems sudden, but I've been thinking about it for a long time now, and there's no other way. You'll get over it, dear. You'll find someone wonderful to love too, sooner than you think, someone who'll make you feel as marvelous as I do right now. I'm sure you will. I'll help if I can.
Still with lots of affection, Janice
I sat there stunned. I reread the letter until the words made no sense. But they'd made no sense in the first place! Janice had run off. My wife had run off. With another ... with a woman? She was doing ... things, with a woman?! Another woman had seduced her to be a lesbian? She preferred being a lesbian to being married to me? We had a good marriage, the two of us! At least I'd thought so. And she'd just said so! I guess somehow I must have overlooked something. I sat there a long time, and it got darker and darker outside. Now it was night. What could I do?
I realized I was about to cry. Get hold of yourself, I told me. You need help, I said to myself. Go talk to Ray and Melissa about this. They'll know how I can get her back!
Ray and Melissa are our closest friends, and our closest neighbors, right next door to us. Married seven years the same as us, no kids yet the same as us. Inseparable, the same as us. Until today. A sob lurched out of me. So I crossed through our back yard into theirs, and knocked on their back door.
Ray answered. He was in the kitchen making something that smelled delicious, and he didn't even pause to take off his apron, one of Melissa's I guess from the frills all over it. He just took one look at my face, and he led me to a chair in their living room, and he sat me down, and he poured me a stiff one. And then one for himself.
I handed him the letter and emptied my glass. He ran his eyes down it and handed it back. I just sat there squeezing my hands, unable to look at anything. Then he got up and poured me another drink and sat down again.
I'd confided in Ray before, though mainly about business. Guys don't usually talk about personal things. But his wife and mine were always talking, on the phone, in and out of each other's houses, planning shopping trips and checking out gallery openings, and arranging lunches, and gossiping about everyone. So I hoped maybe Melissa knew something even if Ray didn't. She had to know something! Something to help me make sense of this craziness! Something to help me get her back! I almost started crying again.
"Bob," Ray said slowly. He avoided looking at me. "I wish I could help you. But women are a mystery to me too. I don't even pretend to know how they're really thinking or feeling. Melissa would be the first to tell you that. Married seven years and I still don't understand why she does things the way she does them. Her way. And insists on her way. I learned long ago, don't question, just do what she says and wait for it to work out. That's how she wants it. And you know, she's amazing. No matter how impossible it looks to me, it always does work out.
I just looked at Ray mournfully. What could I say?
"There's her car pulling into the driveway now. Just sit tight. I'm sure she'll think of something. Want another drink?"
I nodded, and he got me another double. I heard Melissa's car door slam, and a moment later her key was scratching at the latch. Ray leaped to his feet and threw the door open.
"I'm sorry, love," he said. "I was busy with Bob, here. He has a problem."
She came in, both arms loaded high with packages, and glanced in my direction. "I see," she said. Her gray eyes were barely visible.
She looked at me more closely as she set down some packages. Dress shop bags, department store boxes, mostly. Ray does the household shopping, and Melissa buys pretty much whatever she pleases. Ray once told me he isn't crazy about wandering up and down supermarket aisles dodging women who look barely thrown together and are quarreling with their kids. But he does it. His time's been flexible since his company put their production engineers on hold for re-tooling and then closed the plant. He still gets severance pay, and when that runs out he'll get unemployment. So he's in no hurry to find something else. Meanwhile Melissa works long hours, and is much busier than he ever was. She's a lawyer. So he takes care of the house. It makes sense, if you think about it. But he did look odd in that frilly apron -- Ray is all man, tall, handsome face, big shoulders, lean waistline, muscles, works out sometimes, you know. Maybe that's why he didn't even think about the apron.
"Hello, Robert!" Melissa always calls me "Robert" -- it's part of her formality with everyone. Sometimes I call her "Lizzie" in return, to give as good as I get. But not this time. Just a subdued, "Hi, Melissa.". Still, even in my deep misery I couldn't help but notice she looked stunning, a real knockout. Severely cut gray suit nipped way in at the waist, and a white silk blouse with a teeny bright red bow tie, high gray-clad legs under a tight mini skirt, and propped up by high, high heels. Slash of red across her mouth, and her eyes in deep shadow, almost black. Her 'power outfit' she once called it, sexy and formidable.
She had a lot of them, and she always looked stunning. She was a gorgeous woman. I could never figure why she married Ray, a big good- looking guy I guess, but not at all assertive, at least not when she was around. But they were a close couple. I guess because she liked being in complete charge. He always seemed to me completely under her thumb. As Ray once told me, she loved him because he always did whatever she told him to do. "She looks after my needs, and she knows I'll always help her with hers." An odd basis for a marriage, it had always seemed to me. But now, I realized, I should talk!
"How nice to see you here," Melissa went on. "It's been a while, hasn't it? Had dinner yet? Ray, have you asked Robert to stay for dinner?"
"Melissa, Bob's got a problem he thinks maybe you can help him with. I can't. I don't think he's too hungry right now."
Melissa glanced at me over her shoulder again as she set down the rest of her packages and her purse, and this time her bright eyes stared into mine for a second, searching for something, her red mouth impassive. "Obviously I know he has a problem, Ray, and obviously I know what it is. I didn't tell you to check with Janice and ask her too, did I? You should be more attentive. Robert, stay and we'll talk. Ray, if it's ready, please bring dinner to the table and we'll sit down."
Apparently Ray did all the cooking as well as the shopping since he was laid off. He went into the kitchen to get whatever he'd prepared. and I went into the dining room with his wife. She settled herself at the head of the table and gestured for me to sit to her right, where Ray usually sat, the privileged position. Ray brought in an extra place setting for himself and a tureen of hot soup, some kind of spicy chowder, and sat down to her left, opposite me. He poured wine for the three of us.
"Now then," she said. "Let's see it." She held out her hand. I was baffled. "The letter, the letter, of course! My but you look unhappy, Robert!"
"How did you know?" I asked her. Tears started from my eyes, and I started to choke up yet again. I handed her Janice's note. She glanced at it and almost immediately handed it back to me.
"Here," she said. "You'll probably want to keep this as a souvenir. And let me ask the questions, please, if you want my help. I don't usually answer questions like 'How did you know?' It wastes time. But this once I will. Janice saw me today and told me she'd left you, and why. I advised her to take an apartment now, and move in with someone else only gradually. She's done just that. So your news isn't as new as you think. Nor is your situation quite as drastic as this note implies. Not yet."
I swallowed, and just looked at her. What was it Ray had just said? That she was amazing? "The soup is excellent," she told Ray. "That touch of celantro is just perfect, just as I told you it would be." Ray nodded, pleased.
"Now. Your wife has left you for another woman. So what's the problem? Feeling deprived? Humiliated?"
"Some. It's as if I weren't man enough for her."
"No," Melissa said dryly. Her spoon paused just short of her mouth, and she stared penetratingly at me, so as to miss nothing in my reaction. "You seem to have missed the point altogether. It's just the opposite. It's as if you weren't woman enough for her."
I stared back at her, my mouth a little agape, and said nothing. Ray poured me some more wine, and I drank it. She was right. So probably my situation was hopeless.
She set down her spoon. "Let me ask you one more time. What's the problem? Exactly what is it you want?"
"I want her back!" I said, and my voice broke. "I want to live with my wife again! I want things to be the way they were!"
Melissa resumed eating again, casually, now nearly indifferent to the passion in my voice. "Well, obviously, you aren't going to have that ever again. If things were the way they were, she'd leave you again, wouldn't she? And consider. She's left you. So even if she came back you'd always wonder if she was planning to leave you again. That's obvious! What's also obvious is, you felt too secure with her, and now, no matter what, you'll never feel secure enough with her. That's how things are. No, if you're ever to get her back in any real sense, it will be because things are different. Not at all the way they were. Because you're different."
"What do you mean?"
"Your soup is getting cold, Robert. Finish what's in front of you, and then while Ray brings the next course I'll tell you what I mean." She said it slowly, as if I were a child.
I ate in silence. When I finished I set down my spoon, and Ray cleared the plate away. I waited.
"The operational phrase in Janice's letter is obvious. You are too unlike her new lover, 'simply not able' to do the things they do together. Your wife has left you for another woman, and describes the kind of woman. You are not that kind of woman. Not even a woman at all."
I waited. Melissa finished her soup, and turned toward me again. Ray cleared away her plate.
"If you want her back, you are going to have to nurture in yourself all those so-called feminine impulses and desires men always suppress. If you have any. A desire to find fulfillment for yourself by pleasing others. By being more gentle, considerate, sensitive, weren't those her words? You will need to be more of a woman. That's what she wants."
"Now, one simple question. Is that what you want?"
Ray brought in a platter, pasta covered with scallops, portobello mushrooms and slivers of vegetables in a thick herbal sauce. It smelled wonderful, delicate and spicy, strong yet somehow refined. He must have been at it all afternoon.
"How creative! A kind of seafood primavera!" Melissa said. "Very good, Ray! You've earned a treat, and I'll see that you get it, this very evening, in fact even before we leave the table!"
Melissa served me, then gestured toward the salad Ray next brought in, and I took some while she served the pasta to Ray and finally herself. I noticed there were several kinds of lettuce, with a hint of an aromatic vinaigrette, and that Ray had torn each crisp lettuce leaf into small pieces by hand, not sliced them.
"It's taken Ray time to learn to do everything exactly the way I like it." Melissa said. "But now I'm proud of him. Some women in his cooking class were first class chefs,, but he took top honors even so. A matter of motivation."
Ray smiled gratefully at her, and his eyes narrowed like a puppy being stroked and preened.
"What do you mean, is that what I want?" I returned to the question she'd put to me. I was beginning to sound stupid even to me.
"Still asking questions when you already know the answers? I asked you, do you want to become more the kind of woman Janice wants? Now you ask me, what do I mean by that? Robert, you tell me what you think I mean."
I reached out to find something to say. Melissa certainly knew something. She and Janice were well tuned to each other.
"Well, I never cook, in our house, like Ray here."
"I don't either. Never! Ray is the cook here. But I'm not any the less a woman, I think you'll agree. And I don't recall Janice's letter mentioning that her new lover is a cook. You're not eating, again."
"I go to the office and I come home. I watch television. Oh, I see what you mean, I think. I don't much talk to her, share things with her, tell her how I feel about things. Especially how I feel about her. And about things that interest her. Share her enthusiasms. Get excited with her about people we know." I had twirled pasta onto my fork carelessly, and some sauce dripped onto my chin.
"Wipe yourself," she said. "That's right. Yes. There are feelings and opinions women usually want to share while men usually don't. You aren't woman enough even to have noticed. Did Janice ever ask you to share your feelings with her?"
"All the time," I said.
"And did you?"
"I guess not."
"What else didn't you do?"
"Well, it gets kind of personal, I'd rather not say."
"Then I'll say. She's told me. Your sex life with Janice is dullness itself. You screw for your own relief, not to express or create and share pleasurable feelings with her, and you never improvise new variations. She asks for a little kissing and hugging and cuddling now and then, but you're too tired to bother. Am I wrong? She'd like oral sex now and then, to feel in the most intimately physical way that you care for her pleasure regardless of your own, and she's offered you that same kind of pleasure. But you think that giving or getting head is distasteful. Sort of dirty. Am I wrong? Now Janice has gone to enjoy those pleasures with someone who'll provide them, pleasures that really matter to her. You don't. Not any more. Am I wrong?"
This was all terribly embarrassing. Janice had obviously told Melissa everything. Over how many days or months?
I set my knife and fork down and leaned forward. "Melissa, what can I do? I want her back. I'll do whatever it takes to get her back."
"Oh? Are you willing to do whatever I ask you to do to get her back? No matter how bizarre it may seem to you? The way Ray does?"
"Like what?" I asked, a little wary.
"More questions. Robert, I can assure you, you and Janice can share your lives again. Not as before, but together. On her terms. This can be done. I don't doubt it for a moment."
She set down her cutlery, folded her arms, leaned back, and concentrated her gaze on me. "But you have much to learn. For this to happen will require that you completely reconceive who and what you are, and become someone else. You'll need to give unquestioning obedience to my least suggestion for months, perhaps three, perhaps more. You'll need to take a long vacation from your office and concentrate altogether on this project. Or work at home, or quit work altogether. At the end of that time, I will bring you and Janice together again, and help you to re- negotiate a new relationship I'm quite sure you'll both find satisfactory. Even better than you've had. I can promise you that. I have no doubt of it. But it requires unquestioning obedience."
"Now then. You can agree to my terms now or not at all. If you hesitate now, you're not worth my time, and I doubt you'll see your wife ever again."
I just stared at her! What was she proposing?
"I see you're finished eating. No, Ray, wait with the dessert. I'll ask one more time only, Robert, and then you'll have to take your problem somewhere else. Will you submit to learn from me how to be your wife's kind of woman?"
A leap of faith was required. I still didn't understand her. But Ray had said she knew how to accomplish miracles.
"Yes, Melissa, I will."
"You will," she said. Her voice was now lightly sardonic, and she was still eying me steadily. "Perhaps and perhaps not. It won't be that easy. No, Ray, don't get up just yet, not even to clear the table. I want you here."
Ray had started to stand and reach for our dishes. He now sat back down, looking at his wife expectantly, silent, waiting, a bit wary. He knew she was full of surprises.
"All right, Robert. We'll see. Let's test whether you mean what you've just said, that you'll do whatever I ask of you, immediately and unconditionally."
She looked at me steadily. "Robert, I want you to get under the table and give Ray a blow job, right now, before he brings us whatever he's prepared for dessert!"
Did I hear her correctly? I had! I knew it! I looked at her and half rose, more shocked than when I had read Janice's letter. Outraged. I was speechless! I knew this time I'd heard her correctly. Give Ray a blow job?! Was I a faggot?
"Good!" she said. "No indignant outcry this time, stalling for time and hoping for a reprieve. You did hear me! You may be capable of learning after all! I won't repeat myself. I assume you're standing up in order to crawl under the table as I've suggested."
"Notice how this little test respects your natural modesty, though you'll lose it before long if you continue with me. For now, no one will see what you're doing under the table, not even Ray. I'll know because I'll know you wish to obey me without question, and I'll know whether you're doing it well by watching Ray's face. Your private feelings will remain your own, whatever they may be. Until you come to feel that sucking cock whenever I request it brings you such pleasure that you want others to share in it by letting them see."
"Notice also, Robert, that I'm asking you to do no more than any woman does for a man when asked. When Janice hears about it, I'm sure she'll be impressed, especially that you're practicing same-sex oral sex, just as she does. Are you woman enough? We're waiting, Robert."
"Melissa, I need to go to the bathroom first."
Ray was speaking. Trying to get me off the hook, I suspect. I noticed that he spoke quietly, as if merely to excuse himself from the table for a moment, to stall things until I could recover myself and get used to the idea, or could decide Janice wasn't worth it, or until Melissa could change her mind. But I noticed he didn't move. He just looked at her as he spoke. She didn't even glance at him, but continued to gaze at me.
"All the better," she said. "There will be no male-bonded conspiracies against my intentions here, my pet. What I have in mind for Robert will take months even if Robert does everything I ask him immediately and precisely, the way you always do. You two will be together almost constantly, and he'll need to do whatever I ask of him, day or night. This isn't even a beginning."
"Right now I've merely asked your friend to perform without question or delay a common feminine sexual act, something every high school girl learns to do early in her adolescence in order to safeguard her virtue from worse. I don't doubt Janice did it to boys when she was in high school. Any girl who didn't, didn't date boys worth dating. You'll want to help him in this, Ray. Isn't that so?"
Ray nodded.
"And didn't I promise you a treat before dinner ended?"
He nodded again. Was that a gleam in his eye?
"Now, since you say you have to go to the bathroom, Ray, let me suggest that when Robert wraps his lips around your -- what is it you men like to call it, your 'love-joint'? -- let me suggest that you first relieve yourself directly into his mouth. I'm sure Robert will accommodate you. If he won't, he won't, and this little test of his dedication to his wife's return will have ended."
She turned her attention back to me. "Robert, you'll swallow everything Ray's cock offers you, gratefully, and you'll seem to enjoy it. In time you really will enjoy it, the way Ray really enjoys cooking these days. But if you don't want to provide your friend here the relief he needs, the physical pleasure most women provide most men, the loving mouth Janice was once willing to provide you in exchange for yours, the mouth and tongue she now provides her new lover, then you're not worth bothering with. Are you willing? Don't answer me. Just do it or don't!"
She sat back and looked as if she was losing interest in this whole affair. No more speeches. I was still half-risen, half-crouched. I swallowed hard, bent, and without quite knowing how I decided it, I slipped under the table.
It was snug down there. The table formed a low ceiling and the carpet the floor, with the tablecloth draped around like the walls of a Pasha's tent, and the light from the dining room diffused. Close up were sights not ordinarily seen. Melissa's knees close by, her legs curved gracefully down and crossed at the ankles, her high-heeled pumps firm on the carpet. Her skirt half way up her thighs, and those thighs like columns, and her legs clad in smoky nylon, smooth, perfect, authoritative, female. There I was on my knees in front of her, as if worshipful. As I looked she opened her knees, ever so slightly. No doubt in the upper-world she was amusedly watching for Ray's facial expressions to change.
I looked ahead of me and there were Ray's knees and pants legs. His hands were nowhere in sight, maybe to keep things uncomplicated for me. I crept over to him, swallowed, and rested my chin on his knees. He didn't budge. Well, what was I here for? I unzipped his fly, reached in and took out his penis, and held it between the thumbs and fingers of both hands. Slack and soft and smooth, about the same size as mine, also circumsized. The first time in my life I had ever held a penis other than my own. From my unique angle his purple cock head looked like a miniature Grecian war helmet. I tried to think that's what it was, a helmet, though its smooth pink-skinned shank intruded on my fantasy. It was slowly elongating and thickening. He leaned back to give me more room.
I tried to think of myself as a high school girl on a date, crouched on the floor in the back seat of a car. That helped a little. Very little. I needed more practice being a high school girl, plainly. But there was nothing for it. Blotting out any further thoughts I leaned forward and pushed the top of my head into Ray's belly, then lowered my open mouth onto his member. Then I pressed my lips tightly around it, closed my eyes, and waited for whatever would happen.
It was still soft, like a warm, fat snake. After a moment I felt a tangy liquid begin to enter my mouth, then more, and I started swallowing it as fast as I could. On the exhale I could tell that however fresh, it was piss. Though Ray was obviously trying to help by drizzling into my mouth as slowly as possible, a little fluid escaped the corners of my mouth and dribbled down my chin onto his pants. He'd never tell Melissa how sloppy I'd been while obeying her, I knew, but I worried nevertheless. I leaned closer and wriggled my face more tightly into his crotch to make a better seal, and began sucking ever so slightly. I drank and drank, and he pissed and pissed as slowly as he dared, until finally I had drained him.
While he was taking his leak I could breath only through my nose, my mouth was so completely filled with his soft, smooth cock and his salty urine. When he finished, and there was no more to swallow, I could still smell his piss when I breathed out through my nose. The aroma just wouldn't go away. Ray sat there, and my face stayed buried in his pubic hair, his prick still in my mouth. I wondered what his face conveyed to Melissa.
Then I began his blow job. I ran my lips all the way down to the base of his cock and puckered them while licking the fat, soft sausage that still filled my mouth full. Slowly it grew larger and harder, but I noticed that it stayed as smooth as velvet or wet satin. As it stretched out it began to provide me something to run my lips up and down, and I moved my head and mouth onto him and then pulled back, then down again. I kept tonguing and licking and sliding my lips up and down and trying to press them together around the base, but it got more difficult as his cock got harder and longer. My mouth stretched as wide as it could open with my teeth covered by my lips, and my jaw began to ache. But I kept going.
Then at last his hips began to thrust up at me -- finally Ray was excited enough to want to face-fuck me. I tried to raise my head well over his cock to take it into my throat, because that soft helmet kept bumping into the back of my mouth. It slid part way down, but there just wasn't enough head room for me to change the angle and swallow all of his meat. So I sucked and licked and tongued him, and even tried blowing him up like a balloon, once or twice. He got larger, and humped at me even more vigorously.
Then suddenly he raised his hips high off his chair and pressed tight into my face, and his hands came from nowhere to push my head into his lap. Here it comes, I thought. For a moment he held himself high up, crammed into my mouth, tense, utterly unmoving, and my head was also immovable. Then that huge meat in my mouth began to pulse, spurting and squirting out something a little salty, like his piss, but this time slick and creamy, and a little sweet too. It didn't taste at all bad! Four, five, six, seven times he squirted into my mouth, then paused, then a few more times. My mouth filled up and I swallowed, and it filled again. I swallowed all of it. By the time he finished and had fallen back onto his seat I was rolling my tongue round and around the body of his cock and then its head, licking it clean.
When I'd squeezed the last few drops into the little slit on top of his cock head, and then licked them up, I kissed the tip of his prick and then tucked it back in his pants. Then I patted his bulge affectionately, and zipped him up. I don't know why. I suppose I was feeling rather intimate at that moment. Maybe I wanted to assure him it hadn't really been as unpleasant as he might have feared. Or that I was grateful for my first experience as a bona fide cock sucker. Or that I was feeling pleased to have brought him off, even feeling a little smug. Or that I liked feeling sweetly feminine, his worshipful date sucking on his manly cock. It was our little secret, in the dark, no one watching. Am I a faggot, I?asked myself? My next cock would be no problem at all. No, not a faggot. A girl. How did Melissa know?
I crawled out from under and sat down again in my chair. I smoothed back my hair with both hands, and looked over at Melissa. The taste of Ray's semen had completely replaced the taste of his piss, I realized, now that I was breathing air not previously filtered through his dank pubic hair. I licked my lips and waited, worried that I might seem to be smirking.
"Well, Robert," she said, now highly amused. "Obviously you do have talents you've repressed. The woman in you is far more venturesome than the man. I must help you to liberate her. You did something down there at the very end of your session that surprised and pleased Ray even in the afterglow of his orgasm. I won't ask what, because every loving couple should have their own intimate little secrets. This one is yours."
Ray smiled at me affectionately. I felt a little uncomfortable, but I tried to smile back. His cum was slick on my lips. I tried to look at him the way a high school girl might look at her date. Well built, really very handsome in a way. I enjoyed pleasing him. He was still my old poker buddy. But now, well, something else too.
"Yes, I'll train you. Who knows, maybe you'll become a superb lover, and Janice will beg for you to take her on again. Maybe you'll find you're altogether a woman, a heterosexual woman who loves men and can't ever get enough cock into her to satisfy her. We don't know yet, do we?"
I sensed she was mocking me. I wished she wouldn't. She'd just seen how far I'd go to get Janice back.
?Bobbie.? That's your name when you're being girlie-girlie. And that's from now on. I don't expect ever to see 'Robert' again. 'Bob' we'll keep on hold. Maybe Janice will want to use that name if you end up more a 'Bob' than a 'Bobbie'. Bobbie dear, you've just had your dessert. You can go home now."
"Before you go to sleep tonight, I want you to shave off all of your body hair, every last hair below the tops of your ears, and then to sleep in one of Janice's prettiest nightgowns. To be a woman, you will need to feel like one and look like one. Always. I'm sure you can find a sexy nightgown in her drawers. In fact, I'm sure she's left most of her clothes behind. They're all yours now, those that fit you, for the time being. I think you're close to her size. From now on you'll wear only women's clothes, until you've really become the woman Janice seems to want. Tonight you've earned the right."
I hadn't even thought to see if Janice emptied her closets when she left me. But Melissa was too clever to misjudge something like that.
"Come back tomorrow at six-thirty am, ready to live your first full day as a woman. I'll do your nails the first time, bright red, so from tomorrow morning on you won't feel the least bit tempted to leave the house looking male. Come fully dressed and made up, bra, panties, lipstick, hairdo or wig, everything. You'll have lots of housework to do tomorrow, so pick out an ordinary house dress, or a plain skirt and blouse, nothing high drag, and some sensible shoes, no heels just yet. Janice will be charmed I'm sure when she hears that you're trying to win her back by wearing her clothes."
"Probably you'll make a mess of your face until we can get you some adequate training in the use of cosmetics. Don't worry, you have a promising face, and I can see you'll end up looking just lovely. But I do want you to fix your own face from the beginning. I want you to find for yourself your own kind of woman, to create your own look, so you can begin to discover what kind of woman you are. While you're doing it, just think that you're making yourself as feminine and attractive as you can for your man. For Ray. You're going to learn to be gentle, considerate, sensitive, caring, and devoted to him. And sexy."
"He'll help. For part of each day I'll want you two to just cuddle together, and be sweet, and feel tender, and share thoughts about how you feel together. If you're pretty enough, and nice enough, I'm sure Ray will want to kiss you, and kissing will lead to other things, and then you'll feel just wonderful, and that'll be your reward. Won't you, Ray?"
He nodded, entranced. How terrific was that blow job I'd given him? Whatever, Melissa certainly sounded like she knew what she was doing. I could only hope so.
"Now, I leave the house promptly at eight-thirty. I'll want you to learn everything you need to know about housekeeping from your intimate friend here, starting tomorrow, beginning with how to fix a wife's breakfast and present it to her in bed. That happens at seven. Ray knows lots of tricks Janice will want you to know once you start housekeeping for her, if she ever lets you. I'll come home early tomorrow afternoon, and I'll try to keep my daily calendar open for a while, to give you whatever other attention you need. Ray can help you feel like a woman, I'm sure, but he knows very little about being one."
"That's all for now, dear sweet Bobbie. Oh, one more thing. Always wear a dash of perfume. Choose one and stay with it. A personal signature is very feminine. And like red nail polish, it'll help keep you committed to what you wish to become. A lovable woman. That's all, dear."
I stood up. I noticed that Ray wasn't looking me in the eye. Did he now think of me as a faggot his wife had designated to be his girlfriend, and now he was embarrassed he'd once been buddies with me? With a cock sucker? That last kiss on the tip of his prick might have been a bit much. Whatever possessed me?!
"Oh yes!" Melissa added. "Bobbie darling, probably you didn't know it, but your friend Ray is bi-sexual. He's had the hots for you for a long time now. I'm glad that the two of you have finally gotten it together, and that now you're his femme. When he's playing out his own femininity he gets pretty swishy, even for me. But your job will be to make sure he always feels like a real man."
"Remember, no hanky-panky when I'm not here. Kissing and hugging and cuddling, of course. You're now Ray's girl, and the two of you should feel affectionate and loving toward each other. That's part of learning how Janice wants you to feel. In fact, the more affectionate you feel the better. But no fucking up the ass except when I say so, not by either of you." "
"Bobbie dear, Ray's cock will provide your after-dinner dessert every night until further notice. That's if you've been a good girl all day. His cum will be your reward, and sometimes his pee -- that'll be between you two. I know you won't either of you disappoint me. Bobbie, I promise you, when I'm finished with you Janice will be proud you're her girl friend."
With that she smiled at Ray, and Ray beamed back at her, obviously admiring, devoted, and grateful. I suddenly realized he had special reason to feel grateful. Melissa had just provided her husband his own personal toilet slave and cock sucker for the foreseeable future, guaranteed affectionate. His prick was going to become as familiar to me as an after-dinner cigar. Satisfying him sexually, learning to provide him with whatever a man wants from a woman, was going to become my purpose in life. Should I feel grateful? Was I being taken? But how else could I ever hope to get my wife back? Did I have any choice?
I went back across our back yard to my own house, filled with more hope than suspicion, pleased that Melissa had agreed to tutor me, impressed by her judgment, and a little awed by what lay ahead. I did indeed have a lot to learn.
ii.
A month later, I'd learned most of it and was practicing, and after another month I was accustomed to it all and found I preferred some of it to my former ways. I even loved some of it.
I found after some anguished embarrassment that I loved wearing women's clothes. I looked forward to picking out a different outfit to wear each morning, appropriate to whatever we were planning that day, and then picking out matching accessories. In no time I had a sure eye for mixing, matching, and coordinating. Men's clothes seemed so monotonous in comparison! And the clothes always felt sensuous, hugging, clinging, draping, floating over me like feathers, some nubby and some silky smooth. Being a girl could be lots of fun! When I forgot, Ray always reminded me.
I always slept at home. "This is my house and Ray's," Melissa said, "Though you're free to invite Ray to visit with you and to spend the night, any time. That's any grown girl's prerogative with her boy friend. As I've told you, I want you to cuddle and feel intimate with each other as a matter of course. Enjoy each other's bodies. Love your enjoyment of each other. But as I've told Ray, I don't want him tempted by your soft tush until you're ready to make mature choices. So remember, Ray takes your virginity only when I say so and with your consent, and you get into Ray's pants only for blow jobs. From now on think of your own prick as a clit, fit for fondling, not for insertion into anything."
Whether Ray was in bed with me or not, early each morning I rose, showered, depillated if necessary, perfumed myself lightly, and dressed myself in Janice's underwear and clothes, or else my own. Then as the sun rose I crossed the back lawn to Melissa's house, to fix her breakfast and Ray's. I hoped none of the other neighbors noticed. But if they did, I decided, they probably thought I was Janice.
First thing, I brought Melissa her morning coffee and newspaper, on a tray topped by a bright-colored single-stemmed flower. After the first few days I woke Ray too with a tray loaded with bacon and eggs, and toast, and waffles or pancakes, and coffee, also topped with a single bright flower. Or I returned to our house to awaken Ray that way. Within a few weeks we were sleeping together at our house as a matter of course, spooned in with each other. At first his arms around me felt imprisoning, but within a week they felt protective. Hairless myself, I liked tangling my fingers in the hair on his chest.
Melissa told me always to awaken him with a kiss. I felt silly the first few times, but I did it, and after a while it seemed natural, even kind of nice. When he was still asleep or first waking up, his lips were soft, and gently responsive. "I'm the head of this household," she told me. "But Ray is the man of the house. Be glad he's there for you to practice on, so you can learn more about a woman's concerns." I looked forward to a time when I could awaken Melissa the same way, to practice eventually awakening Janice the same way.
One day when it seemed respectful, and not at all an intrusive question, I asked Melissa in a soft voice if I might kiss her awake too. Just for practice on a girl. She glanced up as she unfolded her newspaper. "When the time is right," she said, almost automatically. Then she looked at me a bit more warmly and started to sip her coffee. "You're feeling more affectionate in the morning, aren't you. More girlish. That's nice. Suppose from now on you awaken Ray with a kiss on his cock, whenever you find he's sleeping in a position that allows you access. Then if you're both in the mood, you have my permission to let nature take its course." With that she concentrated her gaze on the paper, and I was dismissed.
My makeup gradually improved, and it began to be fun, doing as instructed on each lesson of the videocassettes Melissa brought home while using the different items of makeup she brought home. Now when I looked at a woman's magazine, it was for ideas how to improve my eye make-up, or hair style, or coordinated matching of blouses and skirts, or finally, of evening gowns and eye-shadows, if ever I would be permitted to attend a formal wearing a formal. Janice had several I tried on sometimes, and a white sequinned one was simply exquisite. I longed for an occasion when I could wear it.
In very little time I understood why generations of women have complained that they have nothing to wear, even though their closets are bulging. The requirements for women's costumes are daunting. Nothing may be worn tastelessly or twice, certainly not for the same kind of occasion, and everything must blend. A woman nicely turned out is a work of art. I learned to become an artist.
It seems silly now, but I felt paralyzed at first when Melissa wanted me to leave the house dressed feminine. I just couldn't. Despite her assurances and my mirror's, I was convinced everyone would know at a glance that I was male, and a peculiarly perverse and degenerate male. I couldn't be persuaded otherwise.
So Melissa cleverly designed a way for me to learn I was passable beyond doubt. As she left for her office one morning, she called over her shoulder, "Bobbie, I'll be sending some legal papers home later today. Be sure to sign for them when they arrive. It's important."
If Melissa said it was important, I had to do it. As she certainly knew I would, I spent the morning in a fever of anxiety. Could I hide behind the door when the messenger came, and just pass my hand around it to receive Melissa's papers? Would I look to him like a woman, or like a man wearing women's things? What kind of voice should I use. Should I smile at him or look aloof? Should I curtsy? The silliest ideas passed through my head. What if he made a pass at me? I decided that I had to be so convincing a woman there'd be no doubt of it, so I took a whole hour on my face, and then fixing and re-fixing my hair. I practiced on a closet door, opening it, leaning slinky against the opening, and saying in a sultry voice, "You have something for me?"
When the front door chimed I had just about decided I was too formally dressed for the morning, in a dark silk, high styled suit. But now there was no time to change again! With my heart in my throat I opened the door and stood to one side.
There stood not a male messenger but a nicely dressed girl in her late teens. "Hi," she said. "I'm Andrea. I work in Melissa's office. She told me to have you sign for these."
She handed me a fat package of papers, then unfolded a receipt and handed it to me with a pen. I leaned the paper on the package and signed.
"Thanks," she said as she took it back. "Love your perfume. And that suit's scrumptious! Going to a wedding, or special luncheon, or something?"
I nodded. I wasn't sure I could say anything.
"Thought so. Well..." she looked at my scrawled signature. "Well, Barbara, you're gonna hate my telling you this, but you have a run in your pantyhose -- I'm afraid you're going to have to change them."
I looked down, but didn't dare bend down to see. Without even thinking, I said, "Oh, dear!" in a natural-sounding, high-pitched voice. "Thank you!" I was so nervous I couldn't not use a high-pitched voice. Then I remembered politeness. "Thank you, Andrea."
"No problem, Ma'am. See you again!"
And she was off. I closed the door, and within a few minutes my heart had slowed to where I could breathe again. Then I smiled, and I smiled all that afternoon. My first encounter with anyone other than Melissa or Ray, and it never occurred to her I wasn't a woman just like her! I could do this thing! Janice might be willing to give me a second chance after all!
It then occurred to me that Andrea might have been a setup in some way, instructed to address me as a lady no matter what my appearance. Melissa was capable of such tricks. But a few days later, the same thing again, only this time unintended and without prior warning. And this time, a uniformed Fed-Ex messenger. I felt comfortable, though I was only wearing a high-necked blouse and skirt-not-quite-to-the-knee, and very little makeup, with my hair pinned up. It was one of those days when I was practicing walking in heels. I knew I had nice legs.
I smiled as I signed the messenger's delivery pad, and he smiled back, holding my gaze longer than necessary, signalling an interest in an invitation for something more. I felt this somehow, and lowered my eyes, and said, "Thank you," and smiled again, and slowly closed the door. At the last moment, he smiled back, and said, "Thank *you*, Ma'am," and tucked his pencil in his cap, and turned away. When Melissa got home and I gave her the package, she looked at it, genuinely surprised. "This should have come to the office, not here," she said. Then she looked at me sideways. "Are you all right? Were there any problems?"
"None," I replied. And I told her about the messenger's extended attempt at eye contact.
"Yes," she said. "Men do that all the time. He must have found you attractive. Well, just remember that you're a married woman. And that you're spoken for."
"That's easy," I replied. "Ray is the most attractive man I've ever known!" It just slipped out!
Melissa smiled broadly. "Yes, isn't he." And mercifully, she left the implications alone. She just said, "You'll soon be ready for a trip to the beauty parlor, and to shop a few boutiques, Bobbie. You are certainly getting there."
An occasion came sooner than either of us realized it would. A few weeks after my training began, Melissa had a period, and mentioned that she was having cramps. She asked Ray to come rub her shoulders and back, and Ray took his arm from around my shoulders, went over to where she sat, and obliged. She did look tired. "When you're finished with her, Ray, I'll be waiting," I said, maybe sounding a little catty. She stared at me and said nothing. They were married, after all.
The next day she came home with a package, and after she had disappeared into the bathroom for twenty minutes she called me to join her. When I arrived she said, "Bobbie, sit on the edge of the tub and just listen for a moment. I want this lesson to be unforgettable."
I sat there and looked up at her. Ray was Melissa's cook, but that day he was teaching me to be Janice's, and I had a roast in the oven, and wanted to get down to baste it, and there were still vegetables to prepare.
"You aren't sympathetic enough that women have periods and feel bloated and cramped, so from now on you'll share mine. Maybe later, Janice's. This is an high colonic enema and a specially valved plug. The plug will restrict discharge of whatever I put into you, so if you feel cramped, you can't eliminate it until permitted. Not even to pass gas, poor dear, until this valve is turned. Now, I'm going to fill your lower intestine with fluid, the way a woman's uterus bloats monthly when it sheds its lining, and you'll retain most of it except at certain intervals tonight and tomorrow, when I'll allow release of some of it. The fluid is a vaginal douche, a mild laxative, some female hormones to create special mood swings as they're absorbed, and some mild soapsuds. Oh yes, and red dye, so your napkins and tampons will remind you what time of the month it is, and accidents will be as embarrassing for you as for any other woman. Bend over."
I hoisted my skirt and dropped my panties, and Melissa inserted the nozzle. Ten minutes later I was cramped and swollen, and had to go the worst way.
"Back to the kitchen, darling," she said. " And finish preparing our dinner. But slip this pad into your panties first, in case there's an accident. Every two hours you can have 30 seconds to discharge your menstrual fluids. Other than that, you'll retain them, or absorb them, or leak them. Next month, the same thing. Or if Janice should take you back and want you to share her monthlies with her, the same thing. Maybe with some shots to give you PMS as well. So don't think of this induced menstrual period as temporary training, or as a punishment. Think of it as a fact of your life monthly from now until your menopause."
I could barely straighten up. Two hours later I was near tears when she released the valve and gave me my thirty seconds to relieve the pressure. And two hours later still, the same. Two hours after that I was in bed with Ray, sobbing. "I hurt," I cried out to him. "I don't deserve this."
Ray was hugging me and trying to console me when Melissa came into our room. "Well, the hormones seem to have melted all that male stoicism," she said. "That's nice, Bobbie dear. I suspect more of them might speed your progress in other ways too. Now you can have a bit more relief, and I'll remove the plug, and you can switch to a tampon. Remember to change it in the morning. You'll have a few more small cramps during the day, leftovers. Then tomorrow evening we'll do it all again. Aren't you glad that Ray's here to console you? Even though men don't really understand, do they? Well, Ray does, because I gave him this treatment a few years ago, just once, and Ray is a dear, so once was enough."
Four days later the ordeal was over. Once or twice I cried from the sheer discomfort, when the cramps wouldn't let up even briefly. Once I had to excuse myself from dinner and go to the guest room to lie down. Once "to cheer me up" Melissa said, she took me to a beauty parlor just after filling me with fluid, and had them give me a permanent, curls my hair had grown long enough to sustain, and I had to act as if I were at peace with the world when in fact I was in agony. I was so concerned not to double over and become a spectacle that I hardly paid attention to where I was, a beauty salon for the first time, and what they were doing to me. I recall sitting in a chair while my hair was being wound up tight, and different plastic bottles were squirting on me, and I was sitting under a dryer hood with my clothes completely covered, so women passing by scarcely bothered to glance at me -- I seemed so much just one of them. I tried to read a copy of Vogue from a table alongside, to distract me from waves of discomfort that swept over me periodically. But I could pay little attention. I remember they did my nails, and it was then that my ear lobes were pierced. All while I was too distracted to feel frightened by these commitments to femininity. Afterward Melissa questioned me how I had felt, and she seemed pleased when I answered, "Like any other woman who goes to the beauty parlor while she's having her period, I suppose. Terrible!"
It was only a day or two later that I realized what I had said. Any "other" woman. My identity was changing. Also, my nipples became sore from the hormones in my menstrual fluid. As my period ended, Melissa handed me some large pills. "Here," she said. "You'll take these daily from now on, like any other woman without her own ovaries."
It all seems perfectly easy now, so it's hard to remember that at the time each teeny step toward femininity seemed a dangerous leap over an enormous gulf. I was frequently terrified as Melissa raised the ante and required more of me. One time, maybe because she had just doubled my hormone intake, I burst out into tears and then couldn't stop crying. No real reason. I just felt overwhelmed suddenly. We were getting ready to go out to dinner, the three of us, and I'd chosen a rather tight, flippy mini to wear, I thought in good taste, and Melissa had sent me back for a calf-length dress. "We're not dining in a whorehouse tonight, dear," she commented. "You really need to control your sluttish tendencies."
I realized she wasn't wrong. I liked feeling provocative. But I came apart. I suppose I'd been trying too hard, going as girly as possible, so no one would dream that I was a man in women's clothes. But when I started sobbing, for once Melissa didn't turn aloof. Instead she hugged me, and kissed me gently, and when I had calmed down a little she quietly reminded me that half the human race had already walked where I feared to tread, and that it was nothing, really. Perhaps I felt anxious about seeming to be a girl because in some way deep in my psyche, I desired it? "Let go being a man," she coaxed me. "Ray does that so much better than you do. Be the woman he'd love you to be, the woman your wife desires! Just a woman in the normal, everyday course of things, because that's what you are and it therefore requires no further thought."
Another time toward the end of my training I was buying panties to replace those that were sometimes stained beyond recovery whenever Ray and I ... well, never mind. I was wearing a nice skirt of course, not even pants, and I know my hair and face were persuasive. But I suppose I forgot to move carefully, to walk with my thighs close together and my shoulders held back, or I forgot to keep my wrists loose, or perhaps some other movement betrayed me, because the saleslady asked with a strange smirk, "Shall I wrap these, sir?" Earlier I would have felt embarrassment wash over me and drown me utterly, and I would have fled from the store confused and ashamed, then and there. Instead I felt indignation. "Well, I'm certainly not going to wear them all now, young woman," I snapped at her in my best high dowager voice, and she completed the transaction rapidly, with her own shoulders sunk down in shame. When I told Melissa about this encounter, she pointed out that its importance wasn't that I had been "read" because of a moment's lapse, but that I instinctively felt insulted to be thought a man. I smiled at that. So I was!
With each step from that first morning, I found, there was no going back. Melissa saw to that. Over the next few months she insisted that I accept body hair removal, painted nails, pierced ears, a feminine hair style, then later beard electrolysis, hormone treatments, and voice training. And she insisted I wear only women's clothing, always wear make-up, and when I appeared on the streets to appear only as a woman, always to seem like one. To persuade myself that I have always been a woman at heart, a woman who mistakenly thought herself a man. My willingness became the way Melissa measured the strength of my commitment to convince my wife to return to me. She reminded me of this whenever I balked. During the third month of this feminizing discipline I became increasingly impatient to show Janice what a dear girlfriend I'd become, how loving we could be when she returned. I practiced on Ray all the time.
iii.
I was glad when my first period ended and I could put away my napkins and tampons for another few weeks. At least mine were predictable, not likely to begin embarrassingly when I was out shopping or at a business meeting, where I'd need to excuse myself, or worry whether I'd stained my skirt or slacks before I'd noticed. But one evening two weeks later Melissa came home with a special gleam in her eye.
"I think tonight we'll try to make you pregnant," she said.
"What!?" I replied, stifling a note of inquiry even as I uttered the word, Melissa did not respond well to questions. "That should be interesting!" I finished lamely, with hollow enthusiasm. What could she have in mind?
"I don't mean you'll get pregnant," Melissa said. "But about now is when you would be ovulating. I think we should try. You need to know how a woman feels when she contains a man, and then can feel his seed deep inside her, and can imagine how at that moment his seed may be bonding with a part of her own body to form a new life."
"Melissa, I don't have a vagina. Or the rest of it."
She looked at me with contempt. "Are you such a virgin you can't even imagine what I'm talking about, Bobbie? I thought you had a feminine imagination! Don't you want to know how women feel about everything women do? Don't you want to understand being a woman?"
I realized what she was proposing, and heard the implied threat, swallowed hard, and said "Yes, Melissa, I do. I want to experience everything." This was going to complete my journey into faggotry for sure. True, it would provide some sense how Janice felt when I fucked her, so some day I could fuck her with greater consideration, the way a woman would I suppose. The way some woman was doing her with a dildo, maybe at this very moment. I swallowed again. "Melissa, I don't want to be a virgin any more," I added.
"Good!" she said. "You'll find a pretty nightgown on the bed in the guest room upstairs. I selected it for you a few days ago, when I realized you're just about ready. Change, make yourself pretty with whatever makeup is in your purse, and wait for me. I'll be a few minutes. Oh yes, you'll find a large box of prepared douches in the bathroom. Give yourself two now, so your insides will be sweet and fresh. Then you may want to douche again later, perhaps. Perhaps not."
I did as she asked. Then I sat on the bed, waiting. This was some kind of watershed moment, I was thinking, but I have to go through it to get to the other side.
When Melissa came in, I was shocked. Her hair was bound back severely, as it sometimes was days when she meant to intimidate opposing attorneys, but for the first time she wasn't impeccably dressed. In fact she was wearing a black chemise that covered her breasts and ended at her navel, and below that, nothing. Well, not quite nothing. She was naked from the waist down, but strapped to her mound, in the appropriate position if she had been a man, was an enormous erect penis. It looked to be maybe nine or ten inches long, and it would have frightened me except that it wasn't that thick. Maybe only an inch. *Only* an inch, I said to myself, when nothing thicker than the enema nozzle or once, Melissa's probing finger, had ever been in there.
"Here you are, Bobbie dear. This will change you from a girl into a woman. Let it know how it feels in your mouth."
She stepped close, and sitting on the edge of the bed, I bent slightly and licked the tip. It was a soft rubber or plastic, but rigid enough. Habit took over, and though it was much thinner and longer than Ray's cock I quickly fell into the same rhythm, licking and sucking and running my lips up and down it, even deep-throating it once of twice. Melissa took my head between her two hands and guided my movement up and down her cock a few times. It was soon slick with saliva.
"Now, sweetie, on your back, spread wide, and pull your knees up as high as they'll go."
I did that. I felt terribly vulnerable. My asshole utterly exposed, about to be invaded.
"Now close your eyes, and keep them closed until I tell you otherwise. Grasp the bars at the head of the bed, and don't let go until I tell you."
I reached over my head behind me, found them, and held on. It felt good, having something to brace myself with.
"There. You're ready. Now, Bobbie, tell me what you want."
"I want you to fuck me, Melissa. Put your prick into me."
"My, how romantic! Ask me again. Beg me. Persuade me you're eager for me, overwhelmed with desire!"
"Please, Melissa," I said. "I'm ready! I want you! Please, please, make love to me! Now, please!" As I said it, I was thinking first, let's get this over with. Then I was thinking, let's make a beginning, so I can see what it's like. How Janice feels when I fuck her. Then I was thinking, I wonder if it will feel as good as Janice sometimes seems to feel when I take my time with her. Maybe I'll learn to love it?
Before I could think further, Melissa touched her cock's head to my puckered anus, thrust it in an inch and stretched me nearly painfully, and paused. I took a deep breath, and held it, feeling a peculiar sensation, a little like passing a turd. The feeling changed from full to snug to comfortable. Then in a single spasmodic thrust of her hips she buried it into me. I felt her loins squeezing tight against my thighs, then she began to slide it out again. Then in, all the way in, but slowly, the nine or ten inches this time making a gradual progress into my ass and deep into my guts. Almost majestic. Then out again."
"Do you love me for doing this to you?"
"Yes, Melissa." I thought I sounded too dutiful. "Oh, yes, oh, yes!" By the second "yes," I was thinking, this is strangely pleasant! Rather wonderful, in a way. Feeling so full of her. Of her dildo, anyway. When she was fully into me yet again, I said, "Yes, I love it!" By then I did!
She did me slowly, in and out, for another few minutes, now and then lubricating herself with something I could feel but not see.
Then she stopped and withdrew all the way. "Just a moment," she said. "I want to change to something thicker. You'll appreciate it more. Eyes tight shut."
I gripped the bars and waited.
Then slowly something warm and fat pushed against my anus and then slid in. Warmer and fatter and smoother. What was she using now? It stretched me to the utmost. But it was all the way in me much sooner, and then just held there while her hip bones pressed against my thighs.
"Wrap your legs around your lover," she said. "Dig your heels into the small of his back."
I did. The prick snuggled into me more tightly, then pulled almost out, then pushed in, and I began to seek it when it wasn't filling me up. I began to lunge down toward it so it could re-enter me sooner. I tightened my legs around his back, and pushed myself at it.
His back. Why did I say that? I realized that the pleasure of feeling a fat cock moving in me had monopolized my other sensations. The waist my legs were embracing wasn't Melissa's, smooth and narrow, but thicker. And a little hairy. I almost opened my eyes to see what was happening, but the body pushing at me suddenly changed rhythm and began a feverish pounding. I winced, closing my eyes even tighter. Then I grabbed the bars behind me hard, and thrust back hard.
"Now, Bobbie, now you can throw your arms around your lover's neck and cover him with kisses, and open your eyes."
I did. I felt the friction of a beard on my lips. I opened my eyes. Of course. It was Ray, eyes shut, frowning in concentration, pounding his meat into me as hard as he could, faster and faster. An erotic sensation began to move through my loins, and I wondered whether his belly was masturbating my cock. No matter. I felt repelled for only a moment. I was being fucked in the ass by a man. But now that was irrelevant. More and more, it felt glorious as he worked his cock through me, in and out. I hugged him as hard as I could with my arms and legs, and we began to move to his rhythm as if we were one body, until he stiffened and pushed himself mightily into my asshole, deep, deep, and I could feel his fat prick spasm. Did I imagine now that I could feel his hot seed spraying deep into my guts? That I was now keeping his precious cum safe inside me? That now, as Melissa said, we were lovers?
I locked my lips to his and kissed him deeply, as he held his body tight against mine in the spasm of cumming, and in spasms of my own I felt myself cum on my belly, and his too. I realized I had been holding my breath! Now as I disengaged my face I began to breath again, deeply, through my mouth. Ray kissed me, and I kissed him back, just a peck this time. He pulled his cock out of my ass, and I felt empty. I didn't want him to go. Reluctantly I unwrapped my legs and just lay there with my eyes closed, savoring the afterglow. So many new feelings down there.
"Now," Melissa's voice said, this time from the bedside chair at the head of the bed. "Now, Bobbie, you're no longer a girl. Are you a woman or a faggot? Do you love Ray's cock in you as a woman would love it, or as a man?"
"I don't know," I said. I honestly didn't. But I realized I had just confessed to her that I loved Ray's cock in me. I considered the matter some more. No way did I feel like a man. "I feel like a woman, I think," I added uncertainly.
"Well, there'll be lots more times for you to find out. From now on. Never mind your douche this time. Now you want to know that your man's semen is inside you, that you're absorbing his essence and making it your own. Here's a tampon, meanwhile. Slip it into you so you don't leak, and get dressed. We're going to celebrate the loss of your virginity by going out to dinner. Nothing fancy, but be sure you look pretty. You have a lovely glow in your cheeks, a well-fucked look, and I'm sure you'll want everyone who looks at you to think, 'there's a woman who looks well-fucked,' not 'that's a man'."
Our excursion to a small local restaurant seemed so anti-climactic after what I had just been through, what I had done, that it didn't occur to me the world might doubt, when they glanced at me, that I was what I seemed. I felt like what I seemed. I wore a skirt and a short blazer open to show a loose purple silk blouse hung with a long gold chain. My hair was a mess, but I primped it here and there with my fingertips until it recovered the curls from the permanent wave I'd gotten during my period, and it passed well enough. I changed my tampon in the ladies' room, and as I walked back to the table I thought to myself, I've just had a man inside me. I'm desirable. His cum is still deep in my body. I felt proud, and very feminine. My hips were swishing as I approached my chair, and Melissa looked at me smiling. She knew why.
Thereafter, Melissa didn't require that I suck Ray's cock nightly before dessert, or instead of dessert. "From now on, you two can go upstairs to the guest room or over to Bobbie's house for an hour or two after dinner," she said. "You can watch TV if you wish, but there are better things for lovers to do. What you do is your affair, not mine. Just be sure that they're the kinds of things that men do with women. Just be sure you're exploring your femininity with Ray, Bobbie. That's what Janice would want, wouldn't she?"
After a while I began to dress and make myself up to look as nice as I could for dinner, because I knew I'd always have a date afterward, and I wanted to look my very best for Ray. Whether I then cock sucked or fucked him, I knew he appreciated my trying to look my prettiest. When Melissa suggested that I take my hormones by injection instead of pills, I agreed, to help speed the process of feeling and looking more feminine, for Ray for now, though of course eventually for Janice.
iv.
A month later it was February, with a hint of Spring in the air. As my appearance changed I realized I'd never be returning to my former self or my old job, so I resigned, and at Melissa's suggestion took a short course in cosmetology. The other girls were mostly teenagers, but I fit in. I loved learning little tricks for looking romantic or mysteriously beautiful, and what those girls told each other about how to control their boy friends was a revelation!
By now I was habituated to feeling like a woman. I dressed in women's clothing all the time, enlarging Janice's collection with many items of my own, less cute, more my style, conservative but with a kicky flair, more like the kind of woman I had become. More me. Sometimes I shopped with Ray and asked his opinion of things, and it was disappointing that he was as uninterested in dress styles and colors as I had once been. I had a regular weekly appointment at the beauty salon for a wash, set, and manicure, and Melissa had me take a few collagen shots to improve my appearance, to give my lips a more pouty expression "more attractive to women as well as men," she pointed out, "because we women enjoy imagining full lips sucking our slits the way men love to imagine them wrapped around their meat. I'm sure Ray will love it."
That reminded me. I was looking and feeling more and more like a woman every day, but I still had no idea how women really make love with each other. I wanted to be as attractive to Janice as I could be, in every way, when she returned to me. I mentioned this to Melissa, and she just said, "You're doing just fine, honey. Just look how Ray can't wait to be with you each day. You're a lovely girl, and you'll be lovelier before we're through. Janice will adore the new you."
She had expected to schedule me for breast implants, but they weren't necessary. I responded very quickly to my accelerated hormone regimen. It smoothed and rounded my body, and my breasts grew to fill a B Cup with my nipples still swollen, still deliciously sensitive, more growth expected. She was pleased to see how gently I cradled Ray whenever he sucked on them. I took voice training, and now whenever I answered the phone, no one ever confused my voice with a man's. All this, I told myself, was to show my commitment to my marriage, so Janice could see how much I cared for her.
But I have to admit it, uppermost in my mind when I was dressing and primping for dinner each evening was looking beautiful for Ray, so he'd feel tempted to nurse on me, or push his beautiful cock into me night after night. That felt so delicious that even the anticipation filled my whole body with longing every afternoon, and when he gently slid into me I'd feel fulfilled almost all at once, then begin building toward more voluptuous tensions, then the exquisite feelings of peak and release I realized were female orgasms.
To know that you're desired! Sometimes it sent me to shops far outside of town, where for example I could buy handcrafted earrings that were just perfect for a new hairdo I was trying out. To feel pretty for my man! Even though he never seems to notice! That certainly is how women feel, I realized! Previously I'd thought it silly. Now I understood.
One night after dinner Melissa disappeared upstairs, and Ray and I went into the living room together, feeling especially affectionate. An hour later I was so filled with his semen, the dear man, so brimming over that I needed to change a tampon yet again, and thought I might even need a pad. No spares in my purse. I went upstairs to borrow something of Melissa's.
"Aaahhhh! Oh! OOOhhh!" Loud moaning came from Melissa's bedroom. I paused outside her door. They weren't really cries of ecstasy or sexual gratification, more like cries of relief, like a parched throat swallowing quarts of water after a long drought. They didn't sound like Melissa, either. I peered in where her door was still open a crack.
I could see Melissa facing the door, slouched back on the bed, leaning back on piles of pillows, her arms draped apart like a mid-eastern potentate, her thighs and knees spread wide, her legs hanging off the bed. What seemed from behind to be another woman was kneeling in front of her with her face buried in Melissa's crotch. She was really working away at it. I'd never seen anyone so hungry -- it was almost like feeding time at the zoo. She was slurping, and sucking, and licking, and writhing as if trying to push her whole head all the way into Melissa's slit, and moaning because she couldn't. As I listened, her outcries sounded more and more like squeals of delight, the kind I'd just been making with Ray.
So Melissa likes being eaten by another woman, I thought! Well! She always did seem a little dykey to me, I thought. I wonder what Ray knows about this.
But as I looked, I couldn't tell if Melissa was enjoying it or not. Her face was calm, impassive. I suddenly realized she wasn't concentrating on her feelings, but was instead looking straight at me through the same crack in the door, straight into my eyes, unruffled and untroubled, as if she were merely nursing an infant, or had momentarily looked up from a book in her lap, not from that frantic head still rutting into her. Then she smiled at me and looked down, where her hand affectionately stroked the other woman's head.
Who was she? Where had she come from? What was happening? When had Melissa taken a lover? How had I never noticed before? Did Ray know? I went back downstairs and was about to tell Ray what I'd seen, but he was uninterested -- he pulled me down on top of him and began trying to paw my bra open again, obviously ready for yet another go. The dear man! So, ten minutes later I was on Melissa's living room couch again, plastered around my darling Ray with my arms tight around his neck and my legs clamped around his waist, and he was creaming me with swift, deep thrusts into my asshole. Oh, God! He was so wonderful!
"Ohhh, uhhh, ahhh, uhh!" I kept calling out. "Uhh, uhh, ohhh! Deeper! Ohh, ahhh, ahhh!" Then again as I felt him spurt deep inside my bowels, I came too!
"Oh, dear, God, your prick is so heavenly," I said, still thrusting toward it as it softened. I couldn't wait for him to climb forward as he always did, and drop it into my open mouth for licking and cleaning. But right now I wanted him to remain in my ass forever.
"Melissa was right," I heard a familiar woman's voice say just over my shoulder. "You do make a wonderful woman. You and Ray are the most passionate couple I've ever seen. Didn't I tell you you'd soon find someone who would help you feel the way I feel about Melissa? And didn't you?"
That voice! Janice! Janice's voice, from the easy chair just beyond my head! My wife's voice! I squirmed, trying to turn around to look! How long had she been there? Had she seen and heard this whole show? Should I feel ashamed? Proud?
Just then Ray disengaged his cock from inside me, crept forward, and straddled my head with his knees so I couldn't move. His balls and prick dangled over my mouth, and he lowered them as he always did, so I could lift my head slightly and choose which I wished to lick clean first. I tried again to look behind me. "Janice?!" I tried to say. Ray's softened prick filled my mouth full. I had to suck and lick the cum off it, and then off his balls, before I could turn to confirm who had spoken. My mouth began licking reflexively. "Thanith?" I asked between slurps.
"Yes, that's who. Melissa thought it was time I saw how happy you are now that you're fully feminized, how much you've changed. So I'd agree to the way she changed our original plan."
"Thanith?"
"Just lick your lover clean, dear. Yes, Janice. Your own dear wife. My! When Melissa and I first hit it off, I guess nearly two years ago now, and we talked about what to do with you, she told me you'd make a marvelous cock sucker, properly motivated. Well, I wanted you to love licking pussy, not sucking cocks. My pussy! Now look at you! A cock sucker is certainly what you've become. And to judge by what I just saw and heard while Ray was reaming you, that isn't the half of it! You seem now to be the most passionate and devoted woman a man could wish for, at both ends!"
I gave Ray a customary last lick on his balls and kiss on the tip of his prick, his signal that we were finished. He then dismounted from my head and knelt beside me, kissing both my eyelids. Even though I was still struggling to turn to look at Janice, I closed my eyes to receive this now familiar post-fuck affection, and without thinking I lifted my mouth and kissed his gratefully, with a soft peck, as I always did.
"That's just beautiful, Bob," Janice said. "Or Bobbie, I suppose, now. Don't let me hurry you! Enjoy your man!"
I felt a sudden, terrible twist of shame. "Janice!" I cried out! "This was for you! I did all this for you! I've became a woman so you'd come back to me! So I'd know how you feel! So you'd want to live with me instead of the woman you'd gone off to live with!"
It struck me like a club! My high, flute like voice got so high that it squeaked. It does that when I'm excited -- Melissa and Ray think it's cute. "Good heavens, Janice! Was Melissa the woman you went off to live with? Melissa? But how?"
"Oh?" Janice said. She ignored my question. "You became a woman for me?" I wished she looked less amused. "And now that you're a woman, do you prefer me to Ray? When Ray was sliding into you just now and you were moaning like a bitch in heat, and when he started pounding you, well, even I had to come see who was making all that noise. You never made those sounds with me, my dear, and certainly you never brought them out of me! For taking pleasure from a man, you're more of a woman than I am!"
I sat up and tried to straighten my clothes. I could feel Ray's cum begin to leak out of me again. I hoped it wouldn't stain my dress, a favorite of mine and also of Ray's, a slightly formal black satin, off- the shoulder and decollete. I tucked in some kleenex and I pulled up my panties and I looked at Janice, bewildered. I had become a woman. What more did she want? There was something wrong.
Janice looked down for a moment, looking for the right way to say something. Then she looked up, and her expression was now more kindly
than amused. She began slowly. "Bobbie -- I guess that's who you are now -- Bobbie dear, I do appreciate your efforts. I can't imagine anything more considerate. You're a dear love. Always have been. But I'm afraid you're the wrong kind of woman."
I listened, my eyes wide on her.
"I take pleasure from women. You know that now. I began in college, in between boy friends. It was nice. Then during the past few years, when you've been working late at the office, or sitting in front of the tube being a bore, and I wanted to get out of the house, and I didn't want to violate our marriage by taking up with some man, I'd go out sometimes to one of the few places a lone woman can go and feel safe. There aren't many such places. Movies, maybe. Then I started stopping in at our local lesbian bar, you know it, "Tops 'n Bottoms"? The one in that shopping plaza just down from the mall? Just to chat? Mostly just to chat, but after a while, sometimes to do other things. And arrange to do other things with other women, in various places, sometimes at their places and sometimes home afternoons and evenings when you were tied up at the office."
"Then one evening a dear friend introduced me to the most wonderful woman she knew, strong-willed, clever, a woman she said could get anyone to do anything. She said she'd change my life, that I just had to meet her, and one night I did. Can you imagine my surprise? Melissa! It was Melissa! Can you imagine Melissa's surprise?"
"Well, the long and the short of it is, Melissa and I have been lovers ever since! Passionate, deeply devoted lovers. Nearly two years, and even with her living right next door I couldn't ever get enough of her! When I'm licking her pussy, or she nuzzles mine, it's just bliss. Sheer bliss! When we caress each other, rapture! When we sip each other's breasts it's utter ecstasy! I can't keep my hands off her. That's why I'm here right now. We arranged for me to stay away for three months, travelling around the country, until she'd finished changing you. But here I am, back a little early. I missed her so. I had to come back!"
"Last summer it was, when we decided finally what to do about you. I thought, finally. It came about like this."
"I told Melissa one day that I wanted to leave you for good and live with her. The same sort of thing I put into my letter to you. But she said no, it wasn't possible. For one thing, she'd put so much work into training Ray, that now he's a perfect housekeeper and cook, and her sexual slave in lots of ways, when she wants one. He does anything she asks, she told me, and he loves and worships her. She couldn't abandon him for me, he'd be devastated. And he couldn't come with us either. It wouldn't be fair to take him away from his friends, because they're all he has most of the time, when she's wrapped up in her lovers. He never has sex with her any more. 'He's already given up too much for me,' she said."
So we worked out another plan. We'd all stay right here. But you'd be changed into a different kind of person. I'd leave you the way I did, and you'd feel distressed the way you did, so you'd do whatever Melissa asked you. Melissa would then make you into a substitute for herself, for when I couldn't be with her. You'd become more like a woman in your lovemaking. More considerate, and sensitive. I didn't mind your remaining a man, but I did mention one day that it would be nice if you were more like a woman whenever you were caressing my nipples, or licking my pussy. If you had a delicate touch. If you had breasts I could kiss."
"Well, Melissa saw no problem with that. 'You go away and enjoy yourself,' she said. 'And when you get back, I assure you your Robert will look and behave like a woman.'"
"And what do I find, now I'm back? My husband looks and behaves like a woman, all right. And he thinks and feels like a woman, apparently. But not my kind of woman. Not a woman's woman. I told Melissa I didn't care whether you finished butch or a femme, I can go either way. But you're neither. You're a man's woman. Dear, you aren't my woman now, you're Ray's woman. Can you deny it? Let's face it, I came home to find that my husband has become a cock-starved slut who loves to fuck other men! At least one other man, anyhow."
"I did tell Melissa I didn't want to come back and find I was married to a faggot, and she assured me I wouldn't. And I guess you're not. You're not a man who likes men. You aren't gay or queer. In your own mind you're straight. In your own mind you're a woman who likes men. Aren't you? Well, that wasn't supposed to happen. I think Melissa may have done this deliberately. She can be so sly, that darling! But you're not who I wanted you to be."
I swallowed hard. I loved being what I was. Should I plead with Melissa to make me over again, this time into a lesbian? The remembered feel of Ray's cock swelling in my mouth silenced me.
"I'm sorry, darling. We can still have some kind of relationship, I'm sure. But as what? Not as husband and wife. For heterosexual loving you prefer Ray to me, now, don't you. And you never were much of a natural lover of women at best. I suppose Melissa's had something in mind all this time, and we'll just have to find out what."
"And you know something else? Even if you were now what I asked for, a lesbian lover for when I'm not with Melissa, I'm not sure I'd want you that way any more. I've been with a lot of women in the last three months. A lot. No men, I've been faithful to you, just as I know you've been faithful to me. But now I know your limitations. You don't have a pussy, that delicious fragrant slit women like Melissa have between their legs. You have nothing for me to lick but that oversized clit, nothing like Melissa's tender little button. I see you do have breasts now, and they look just lovely. But I suspect you grew them for Ray, not for me, and you think of them as attractive to men, not as a means for pleasing other women. Isn't that so? Well, Melissa's breasts are altogether for women like me, and I just love them. And mine are hers."
I could feel my wife slipping away even as she sat there. As if from a distance, I called out "Janice! Please come back!" She just looked at me. She knew I meant something else.
"Janice darling!" Suddenly there was Melissa's voice.
We both looked up. Unnoticed, Melissa had come down. She was now leaning over the back of Janice's chair, listening. She began to caress Janice's hair, and then her hands slipped down past Janice's shoulders and began to tease Janice's nipples through her thin sweater. I noticed that Janice had no bra on underneath, and that she was relaxing into Melissa's hands, surrendering her breasts into them.
All the while Melissa looked steadily into my eyes with a slight superior smile that told me the only way I'd ever live with Janice again would be on Melissa's terms. She'd won. And I didn't even know yet what game she'd been playing.
"Janice honey, come to bed," Melissa said. "Ray, would you take Bobbie over to her own house, and spend the night there with her? She needs some special loving tonight, I'm sure, the poor confused dear. I have some things I need to explain to Janice. Then tomorrow we'll all have cocktails and dinner here, and talk some more, and if Janice and I agree that what I've done is for the best, we'll explain everything to Bobbie, and I'm sure Bobbie will understand everything. And agree to everything. Bobbie honey, I told you that you and your Janice will be together again. Don't worry your pretty little head about it. You will be."
She leaned over Janice and kissed her. Janice lifted her head to kiss her back, and then reached one hand way up to pull Melissa's head closer. Their kiss became grew in intensity, and became almost ferocious. Then she stood up, and without another word to me the two of them made their way upstairs, wrapped up in each other.
Ray came over and sat down next to me. He took my hands and clasped them in his. They were much larger and stronger. "Bobbie, remember how I told you once that my wife does things in strange ways, but they always work out for the best? Tomorrow you'll understand. This isn't what you or Janice expected, exactly. But it's been the only way all along. You'll see."
He leaned over and kissed me, full on the mouth. My cock stirred ever so slightly in my panties, and he reached up to caress my nipples. I started to melt, yet again.
"Lets get over to your place," he said. "We don't need to be wearing all of this clothing any more tonight."
v.
Ray left me soon after breakfast, to begin preparing what he called "our first dinner together as lovers," whatever that meant. I took Melissa her breakfast as usual, and took up a second identical tray for Janice, not knowing how I'd feel when I saw them together, or even if they were sharing the same bed. They were. They were sitting up chatting animatedly, and I interrupted them with my knock. As I came forward to set the trays down and arrange them on each of their bed-tables, Melissa watched me with the same superior smile as last night. This time Janice had some of the same. "Oh, lovely, Bobbie," she said. "How very sweet. Just set it here, and we'll call you when it's time to take it away. Love your hair. And I didn't tell you yesterday, your figure looks so much nicer now."
"Thank you, Ma'am," I replied without thinking, as I straightened the flower on her tray. My own wife! 'Ma'am' I called her! The two women resumed their private conversation as if I were no longer in the room. I turned and left.
I spent the morning house cleaning -- now that Janice was back, and somehow might be living in this house with me again, everything had to be spotless. I separated out our dresses and lingerie in our drawers and closets, in case she wanted to reclaim hers. I now had plenty of my own. At midday I shaved off the few fine hairs that were to be found on my body -- hormones and electrolysis had seen to the rest -- and then I soaked in a perfumed bubble bath until my skin felt like satin all over.
Then I spent three hours in the beauty parlor getting a makeover with all the trimmings. I wanted to be stunning, ravishing. For whom wasn't clear -- Janice would drift into my mind's eye, admiring my new femininity, perhaps taking me into her arms, and then Ray's face would smile at me. And sometimes my own face, pleased that I was looking my very best. I must say, I emerged from my beauty treatment absolutely gorgeous! This is what I should have been doing all along, I decided! I studied my face a moment, then took my purse, tipped the operators, and tripped out feeling more self-assured than ever before in my life. As a man, it was already clear, I had been cruelly tricked into gender confusion and what I once would have thought were perverse practices with Ray. But I was no longer a man. As a woman, I had Ray as my lover and some further relationship, yet to emerge and be explained, with my wife. So as the woman I now looked like, the woman I felt myself to be, I couldn't lose!
Needless to day, I dressed carefully in my most stunning outfit, a constructed purple cocktail dress, beaded, with a form fit bodice and a darling flared skirt, and I came over to Melissa's at about 5:30, the cocktail hour. Ray was in the kitchen putting sprigs of parsley on a dish of canapes. His eyes sparkled when he saw me, and he reached over to grasp my breasts with both hands. I allowed him a moment, then slapped his hand away gently and smiled, and told him not to be vulgar, and asked how I could help. He nipped briefly at my neck, handed me the dish, and told me to carry it in to "the other girls" in the living room, and he'd be along with the drinks in just a moment.
There they were, seated together on the couch and looking just beautiful -- each had also had her hair done, and had put on her best dress, and made up carefully. They were in the middle of an animated conversation, with lots of giggling. Whatever the misunderstanding over me, obviously they had made it up. I wondered what they'd decided.
"Bobbie dear, there you are," said Janice, looking up at me with a radiant smile. "Just set those down for now, until Ray comes along with our drinks. We were just talking about George Fontana, Joanie's ex, you remember Joanie? She divorced him and later married that lovely ship's captain, the one who's away from home months at a time, and she doesn't seem to mind? Well, George was always propositioning other women, promising them anything, getting into their panties, and then on to the next conquest. At the office, at home, at parties, anywhere. He must have hit on you too, one time or another. No, of course not, not then. But did you know him?"
I knew him. We'd been nodding and drinking companions at the golf club. But you couldn't carry on a conversation with him. He'd break off whenever any woman came into the room, so he could put his moves on her. No one ever accused him of sincerity.
"Well, George tried getting each of us into bed with him, of course, but of course we weren't either of us interested. We each love the man we're married to, for better or for worse, past, present, and future. And we love each other too, of course." Janice paused and looked me over more closely, appraisingly, as if for the first time. "Why, you know, Bobbie, you really are just lovely now! The hormones softened your face just a bit, didn't they, and your lips look good enough to eat, Your hair worn up is so flattering! And fuschia is your color, no question of it. George would have loved to meet you looking the way you do now!"
She smiled slightly and added, "You might have loved to meet him too, you know why? It seems that George's success with the ladies' can be attributed to charm, but also to a huge cock, over ten inches I've been told by someone who has reason to know, and unbelievably thick. That explains why he thought he was God's gift to women. Because obviously, he was! But once he was in and out of a woman, he never looked back."
I set the canapes down, and settled carefully alongside the other women. Ray came in with a tray of drinks, and handed each of us what he knew we'd want. "You ladies gossiping about old Meat-on-the-Hoof?" he inquired. "Old George? Who's he done now?"
Melissa replied, "Be a good boy and go back to the kitchen, dear. This is girl talk." He did.
"Now wait till you hear this!" Janice leaned toward me and put her hand on my knee confidentially. Then she looked up, again distracted. "That's Nuit d'Amour you're wearing, isn't it, Bobbie? It's very nice. I've often wondered if it would do for really formal occasions, you know, evening gown affairs? Is it heavy enough? And would it hold up through hours of dancing, and who knows what else?"
"It's fine," I answered. "It goes on a little musky, so it should be just right for making a grand entrance, and then it stays deliciously flowery all evening. Through all kinds of activities, I've found. All kinds!"
She slapped my knee lightly and said, "Naughty!" and then continued. "Well, George remarried, a rich woman out West it seems, who tried out his cock and wanted it all for herself. She believed his promises, and didn't know that George's thing was always on loan elsewhere. Well, she was busy running the cattle ranch she'd inherited, so it was a while before she found out. She used up three private detective firms, and they finally implicated half the women in the county."
"So one night George was coming out of a shower, when she came up on him from behind and reached for his equipment. Of course he let her. But she'd hidden in her hand a remarkable instrument. A rubber ring with little steel razors inside, and spring loaded clamps. They'd just invented it for castrating bulls any time with no fuss, just slip it on, and when the bull has wandered somewhere else and has his mind elsewhere, on some heifer maybe, trigger it. No fuss, no bleeding, and remove it a few days later when the wound has closed and begun to heal. She had this one modified to trigger with a remote."
"Before he even knew, she'd fastened it around his things, you know, just where they hung down below that cock of his, and locked it on. So now any time she wanted, even while he was sleeping, she could click on the remote and unman him without the least mess. Convert him into a steer, she told him, for bulls to use when they ran out of cows."
I wondered if this story had a point. Were they thinking of fixing me?
Janice noticed my expression. "Oh my poor dear," she said. "Bobbie precious! Don't worry one bit! What's yours is yours, and we all of us love you just the way you are. You are the most faithful husband imaginable! Just look at you! No, this is about a man who didn't keep his promises at all. Just listen!"
"So there's George, with this band around his balls, and no way to get it off without tripping the spring and then 'Zip!'. His wife told him he'd wear it one full year, and during that year he'd have to fuck whoever and whatever she told him to fuck, when she told him, or else. Naturally, he agreed. It didn't sound like too bad a deal."
"Well, then she took him out to the barn where her horses are stabled, and she told him, 'Back East they say you're hung like a horse. Well, they don't know horses back East. Tonight you'll service those mares over there, all eight of them. We'll see if they even notice. Cum into each of them, or it doesn't count. Then when you get the hang of it, do the stallions. They won't mind getting laid by a queer. All six of them.'"
"'From now on you fuck all fourteen horses at least once each week. More often if you feel like it. Then in between, you'll work on the nine hundred head of cattle we keep in the corral and in the next valley. During the next year I want you to work your way through the whole herd. Figure out how many a day that is, besides the horses, and pace yourself.'"
"'I don't think you're going to have much time or energy or hankering left for any of our local ladies. But if you do, you let me know, and I'll get you some more mares to service.'"
"She set two men to watching him, guarding him really, to make sure he did what he was told, what he'd agreed to do. They were told to use the remote if he rebelled, or fell too far behind, or tried to escape. So that's what our George has been doing all year now. Ploughing his way through the ranch. Cows and horses, five or six a day I guess, with that huge dong of his, all so he can keep the parts that hang down below it. Melissa says she hears he's gotten to like it. They say he gets a hard on now whenever he passes a Burger King! And you know what? Tell Bobbie, Melissa."
Ray came through with refills, and smiled at me when he handed me mine. My heart warmed immediately, and I beamed back at him, so very pleased! Melissa glanced at me, sipped at her drink, and leaned back.
"Well, there isn't much left to tell. Last week a number of women in town got an engraved invitation to a week-long celebration at that ranch, dances, barbecues, white water rafting nearby, helicopter skiing nearby. It seems that George's new wife promised him a horse of his own when his year was up, a stallion that's been fixed, to remind him of his own year under the gun so to speak, so he'll behave in the future. And his year's about up. Most of his former girlfriends from around here plan to attend. They want to find out what the invitation really means. You see, it reads 'You are cordially invited to help us celebrate George Fontana's gelding, the reward he richly deserves after his year of caring for all the animals on our ranch the same way he cared for their predecessors. He will receive it on the first day of the week's festivities.'"
"It does seem she means to remove the instrument as she'd promised, but not the way George expects. A woman after my own heart. I should think the incidence of adultery in that county as well as this town has dropped by 90% since those invitations went out."
"Poor George," Janice said. "He'll still be able to perform, I hear, but his wife will call the shots, so to speak, since that's what he'll need to remain interested in sex. I wonder if she means to have her stallions return the favor to him through next year."
"Oh, Janice," said Melissa. "What an imagination! Let's go to dinner."
It seemed to me the story was saying that men who offend their women are at grave risk. Ray certainly took no chances, but even so, he would have felt uneasy to hear the three of us giggling about George's prospects. I found I could be just as amused at poor George's situation as the two other women, who resented a libertine however well-endowed, and themselves had no testicles to feel threatened by the very thought of anyone losing them. Could it be mine no longer mattered to me, that I'd found something better to cherish?. Someone else's?
Ray's dinner was superb. We sat in our customary places, with Janice opposite Melissa at either end of the table as the hosts in charge, as it were, and Ray and I seated opposite each other on either side as usual. I wondered if Melissa would ask me to drink Ray before dessert, as so frequently during the past few months, to show Janice how well she had trained me. But instead we sat over coffee and cognac, and talked.
"Melissa," Janice said. "Lets review what I'd expected from you, and what you did, and then you can tell us your reasons, so we'll all four of us know."
"I wanted to live with you full time, but you weren't ready for a commitment. You wanted to see other women too. And our husbands, whom we each love, made for complications. So I decided to settle for second best, a husband who'd do with me the things I do with you. I went away to provide him with a reason to want to change, and to give you time to change him."
"You were supposed to teach him selfless devotion to my pleasure. So he'd lick my pussy for hours, and fuck me for hours the way your dildo does, without climaxing himself until I'd finished using him. So he'd caress me the way a woman does, slowly, languishingly, deliciously, perhaps even believing himself to be a woman while doing it. In brief, to do everything I do with you, and love it the way I love doing it with you."
"Now what happened instead? You didn't train him to be my lesbian lover. You trained him to be your husband's cunt. Now he sucks on your husband's cock for hours, I hear, and your husband fucks him for his own pleasure, though I don't deny Bobbie loves it. I don't think he's been near a woman since I left him, much less learned anything about how to satisfy a woman. Except for some of his anatomy, he's become a woman himself. A heterosexual woman. Maybe he doesn't care at all for real women any more, not even for me. That's not what we agreed would happen."
Janice was finished. She sipped her cognac and waited,
"Janice dear," Melissa said. She got up and moved behind Janice's chair, and bent over. They began to take soft kisses from each other's mouths, one after another, and again Melissa began rotating her fingertips across each of Janice's nipples. Again Janice began to yearn and melt toward Melissa even before Melissa spoke.
"My lovely Janice, the moment you went away I realized our plan was deeply flawed. I'd been wrong about my feelings. I love you and want you. I didn't want your husband ever to fill in for me. Or ever to desire you sexually. I didn't want to share you with anyone."
"But we are each of us bound to our husbands. We couldn't either of us abandon them. Loyal, faithful men who love us and serve us, yours now if not then. Ray long ago gave me his absolute trust. I own him. I could never desert him. I thought in fact that I should be rewarding him!"
"Then again, for me to turn Bob into your second best lover after me might be to create my own potential competitor. Suppose some day you wanted to break off with me for his sake? I wanted to arrange so you'd remain with me for his sake, if it came to that."
"So I trained Bobbie to be the ideal girl for Ray that you are for me. I'm not sure he loves Ray the way you love me, but now he's willing to do whatever pleasures Ray, and to take his pleasure from Ray, and to do it for as long as Ray wants, the way you do such things for me. The way we do such things for each other. That sounds to me like love. And it's a wonderful bond between all of us."
"I should say, "she's" willing to do whatever pleasures Ray. As you've seen for yourself, Bobbie is now for all purposes a woman. She's one of us. At each stage I asked your husband to choose, and at each stage he chose to be a woman. Now she is a woman. Ray's woman, as you point out. And Ray is her man."
But look what you now have. Your husband is now your dearest girlfriend, or sister, or whoever you wish her to be. From now on the two of you will have so much in common as women you'll never run out of things you're eager to talk about together. You can tell each other anything, even about the things you each do to please Ray or me, or that the two of us do to please you two. And you'll each understand each other and feel delighted, and that will double your pleasure. And ours."
"Just think of all the things you can now do together you'd never do as husband and wife. The two of you can go shopping any time and both love everything about it. For yourselves or for each other, or for Ray and me, enjoying yourselves as women do. Bobbie will appreciate whatever lovely things you buy because now she has the same fine eye for women's clothing."
"You can even use the same hairdressers, and compare notes on styles. You already share the same wardrobe. I don't think any marriage anywhere is more solidly bound up by common concerns and understandings and affections than yours and Bobbie's. You each even have loving same-sex relationships you can talk about with each other. They just don't happen to be with the same sex."
"Because of what I did, the four of us are now beautifully bound together, in honest mutual affection. This is a much better arrangement. We can each trust that each of us will want us all together always, and know that we will never alienate each others' affections. Even if you two were to sleep together, which doesn't seem probable, even if you were to make love, Ray and I would know it's to understand more profoundly what you each do with each of us, to learn to be better lovers to us. In effect, you two are now the intermediaries of my marriage to Ray. Because you each make love to each of us, we don't need to with each other. And we're the intermediaries of your marriage. Bobbie will wish to do with Ray whatever I may wish to do with you, or you with me. It's a four-way relationship in which we each remain perfectly faithful to our spouses, and to our lovers, and neither couple ever cheats on the other."
"Of course we'll live together. That's what I promised Bobbie, and that's what will happen. We'll live together, but we won't usually sleep together. We'll sleep with our lovers. From now on I'll sleep with Janice and Ray will sleep with Bobbie. Our husbands will wife- swap, that is, they'll swap their wives for each other. Each will be the loving partner of each other's loving partner. And all will seem respectable to the outer world -- not even our closest friends will ever notice. Our marriages will grow closer and happier than ever!"
By now Janice was in a musing trance, her head lolling back and her lips parted, her eyes closed, while Melissa continued to fondle her nipples. Then Melissa lifted her eyes toward me. "You see, Bobbie. Its just as I said. Things aren't as they were. Now that you're a woman, your wife is willing to share your life again. We'll all four of us visit each other often, across the back yard, and share recipes as well as spouses, and shop the same dress sales together. You have your wife again, as the dearest of girlfriends. And meanwhile, you know that Ray loves you. There's no question of that. He's giving me that look again even now, asking me to finish talking so you two can go home together, and get to bed and enjoy each other. The way Janice and I have enjoyed each other for years now."
"I always felt sorry for Ray, whenever I was with Janice and he was banished to the front room, or I had to send him over to your house to play Gin Rummy with you. This more than makes up for those nights now, doesn't it, Ray?"
"Now, Bobbie, you and Ray will keep house for the two of us, unless you're yourselves working. It's only fair. I know you had to leave your job so we could arrive together at this lovely moment, and that you can't return to it now as your old self. So do come work for me. I need a secretary who's pretty, well groomed, and can do intricate database processing when necessary. You'll blend right in. And you can still serve Janice and me our breakfasts. I look forward to years of them."
Now Melissa's speech was over too, and she kissed Janice once more, then sat down.
I'm sure Janice was no longer paying attention. She was looking at Melissa with adoration. This arrangement was so very much more desirable than any she'd ever imagined! Without a word she suddenly stood, then crouched and slipped under the table. Melissa moved her pelvis to the edge of her chair and smiled, then spread her legs. A moment later Melissa closed her eyes, and her smile ascended to heaven as Janice's face apparently found her crotch.
She did first glance at Ray, and my eyes followed hers. Ray was just sitting there looking at me, also smiling. His pelvis also seemed to tilt toward me. I too slipped off my chair and sank to my knees, and crept over to him, and threw my arms around his thighs. Tears were streaming down my cheeks as I buried my face in his crotch. I glanced over and saw that Janice had pulled Melissa's panties way to one side, and was nursing hungrily on Melissa's clit. I unzipped Ray to take him in hand for the hundredth time, then to put him in my mouth.
I knew that for the rest of my life there was no way Janice would ever want to leave me again. We were bound together by our common submission, devotion and love. We four friends are closer than ever, I thought as I carefully lifted Ray's cock out of his pants. I loved it, that Janice loved it that Ray and I loved each other, and that Melissa loved it too. Then as I started to suck on Ray's cock, for the first time I loved it that Janice and Melissa loved each other.
Copyright © 1996,1998,2000,2009 by Vickie Tern. May be archived and single-copied, not sold.
Vickie [email protected]
"It's getting near to 4:00 o'clock, Allie honey! Shouldn't you be changing?"
"Sure, Mom, I just wanna finish this Battlestar's ...."
"I think you'd better put that computer game away until tomorrow, sweetheart. That's enough alien-zapping for one day. Jane's coming over soon to see your new dresses, the ones Aunt Beth bought for you. Don't you want to show them to her?"
"Yes, of course Mom, I'd love for her to see them. She always has such good ideas about actses...ack...."
"'Accessorizing.' It's an important word, honey, for a girl who wants to look nice."
"Yes. 'Ac-cess-or-izing.' How to make whatever I'm wearing look better by adding belts and scarves and things."
"Exactly. Well, do you want Jane to see you in pants? She won't like being reminded you're a boy, you know. She still remembers what you were like when your father lived here. I don't need to remind you of that now, do I?"
"No, Mom."
"Then let's call your boy time over for today. You'd better get on upstairs and change. Remember to take your girl time pills."
"OK, sure. Uh, Mom?"
"Yes, honey?"
"Those new girl time pills Dr. Diana gave me a couple of weeks ago? The big purple ones and the little white ones?"
"Mmmm?"
The purple ones make me feel a little nauseous right after I take them. And the little white ones always make me feel strange, sometimes all the way through into the next day."
"How strange?"
"You know. Kind of mellow. So I smile a lot when there's nothing funny happening. And I sort of forget things. Like the other night, when Jim and I went to the movies? We were talking about football, and I couldn't even remember how far away you have to be to kick for the extra point."
"That's because girls don't need to know things like that, honey. They need to know other things, like how to style their hair. I notice that some mornings when it's boy time and you're getting ready to go to school you scarcely remember that you own a comb. Do other boys really wear their long hair so ratty-looking in school these days?"
"Yes. It's what's cool."
"You look so much more attractive when it's set in soft waves."
"That's how girls wear their hair, Mom. I do that when I'm in girl time. When Jim and I go somewhere I do it that way. He likes me like that."
"Well, maybe you should try to look like that more often."
"Mom, I can't. Not when I'm being a boy. The kids razz me enough now as it is! I mean, like last week when I wore lipstick and eye shadow to school? I almost got beat up, except for some girls who came along and made them stop! All this year, everywhere I go someone is always calling me a faggot or a sissy!"
"Of course, dear. Because you are a sissy! That's how it is when you aren't a real girl. You could have checked in the mirror that morning, and scrubbed your face better, you know. If you didn't, could it be because you like the way you look when you're wearing lipstick and eye shadow? If so that's just fine! I do too!"
"I do like the way they look, Mom. But not when I'm in boy time. I just plain forgot they were there. Like I say, I'm forgetting lots of things these days, not just football. When we were sitting in the movies last weekend and Jim wanted me to reach into his fly and jerk him off, I even forgot that boys' panties have slots in them so they can reach in when they pee. I tried to find his dingle by feeling for it from above his waist band, like with my own."
"Well, that's understandable, Allie. You've been wearing girls' panties for quite a while now, ever since you agreed they're prettier and feel nicer than your old underpants. And memory is selective. When you're being a girl with a handsome boy like Jim you tend to think and feel like a girl, so you remember like a girl. That's how people are. I'll bet when you're being a boy you don't remember which of your skirts button on the side and which in back. Or what shade of lipstick you wore when you were last out with Jim. Or how it felt to kiss him. I'll bet not even what his cum tastes like."
"Oh no, I remember those things, Mom, sort of. They're important! But I've only sucked Jim off once, so I can't be sure if he always tastes like that."
"Only once? What in the world do you do, all that time you spend together? Did you like it that once?"
"Yes. I took another of those new white pills like you suggested, and it made me feel sort of happy woozy, sliding my mouth up and down his dingle, and licking and sucking it until it squirted. It was really nice! Especially when I got all his cum swallowed down snug in my tummy. And it was fun, too! He got so excited!"
"You see? That's why Dr. Diana prescribed those little white ones. They help your disposition. Dr. Diana said they'd help you overcome any edginess you might still feel about pleasing boys. That they'd make you feel more compliant, less naturally feisty the way boys are with each other, less competitive. The way a girl should feel with boys if she wants to be popular."
"Well, the white ones aren't too bad I guess. It's the big purple ones that make me feel really sick for hours. Can't I go back to the little purple ones?"
"I'm afraid not, honey. Dr. Diana mentioned that they might upset your system at first. Wait it out. They are triple strength, after all. None of the girls in your class have anything like that concentration of hormones in their blood streams. I'm sure you've noticed that they're all blossoming and plumping out and softening too, the same as you are. Well, they're lucky, they make their own hormones. They're becoming women from inside themselves, without pills. Boys need pills to become women."
"Heather and Florrie are already getting real smooth like that. We cuddle sometimes during our sleepovers. They're already softer than I am."
"Yes. You're a little underdeveloped for your age. That's why we've started you on the big pills. If you don't take the big purple pills starting now you'll grow hair on your chest instead of boobies, maybe even on your face too. That would look very odd when it's your girl time and you're wearing a low- necked blouse. You need boobies! You are a teenager now, after all. From now on blouses and dresses suitable for your age group won't fit you properly if you don't have boobies. You do want to look pretty, don't you?"
"Yes, Mom, of course I do. But not when I'm being a boy. When it's boy time, shouldn't I look like a boy? Boys don't have boobies!"
"Well, honey, you can't have it both ways. You're a boy with small boobies who'll have big ones pretty soon now. You should have thought all that through a few years ago when your father and I first separated. You did tell the judge that you'd rather live with me, didn't you? And I set certain conditions, and the judge approved them, and you agreed to them?"
"I guess I did."
"Well, the issue then was perfectly clear. You were being bullied in school because you're a frail boy, and your father was bullying you into fighting back, into becoming a bully yourself. So you were getting quite raucous and mean-spirited around the house. Disrespectful to me and your aunts, because we were 'only girls,' that's what you said once, remember? And you struck a little girl on the next block 'to teach her a lesson,' you said? Which was why I sent you to school wearing pink nail polish, to teach you to keep your hands to yourself?"
"I remember, Mom. Some of the bigger boys really started to punch me that day, when they realized I didn't want to take my hands out of my pockets. Then when I finally took them out to protect my face there was no stopping them!"
"Your father told the court I was turning you into a sissy instead of a man. He said it was just to spite him, because I'd always wanted a girl, not a boy, and I couldn't have a girl because I'd already ... arranged my body not to have any more children. So I could feel free to ... do other things he also didn't like. Anyhow, he told the judge that what you needed was discipline and he was going to send you to a military school where they'd make a man of you. And that frightened you, and you started to cry, and you told the judge you wanted to live with me and go to an ordinary school even though everyone teases you for being a cry baby."
"I was afraid the boys in a military school would kill me."
"I know. They might have, too. So I promised the judge I'd teach you how to cope with schoolyard bullies, and he was pleased with that, so he agreed to let me teach you other ways to deal with problems too, gentler ways. How to feel empathy for people, and especially to understand how girls feel when boys bully them. How girls feel about lots of things. Because girls don't find it necessary to beat up on each other the way boys do. They relate differently! And I don't want you to grow up mean, the way your father could be sometimes."
"Mom, you never taught me how to cope. You replaced my lunch money whenever big guys took it from me, sure, because you said I shouldn't resist them, I'd only get hurt. All you told me to do was scream and run away whenever they threatened me, or hide behind groups of girls. And always to tattle on whoever's being nasty, and always to tell them that's what I'm going to do. Because that's what girls do when boys bother them. But mom, when boys do those things it only makes matters worse. Then they really are out to get you!"
"I've been evenhanded I think, Allie. Your Aunt Jane and Aunt Beth and I worked it out so you got equal time for each. Boy time and girl time, time to cope with your boy problems at school and time to understand how girls cope. Twelve hours each day for each, learning how to survive as a boy in a boy's world, and then as girls do it. And the judge did approve!"
"It's never been equal time, Mom! I'm a boy from four in the morning until four in the afternoon. So the first hours I'm asleep and the restof the time I'm in school, where the boys lean on me because I'm not like them, and the girls mock me. And that's no fun at all! Then after school when you want me to behave like a girl, it's always the free time and fun time part of the day the way you scheduled it, so all I ever learn about how girls feel is how girls have fun. I mean, you got me those Barbie dolls, and I did finally learn to enjoy collecting them and dressing them. And I love sleepovers with Heather and Florrie, and the other girls from across town who think I'm really a girl. We talk girl talk all night, and we help each other with all sorts of things! It was wonderful when Heather introduced me to her big brother Jim and right off Jim asked me out. I adore being with him! I get the nicest feeling that he can protect me from anything! I always feel sort of tingly whenever he talks to me or touches me. Even without those white pills. Isn't that odd?"
"No, it's natural at your age, sweetheart. Jim is perfect for you at this stage, Allie, the way other boys will be afterward. But what is it you're telling me? That being a girl is too much fun, and being a boy isn't?"
"No, Mom, of course not! Just that it isn't fifty fifty, what you arranged for me. I mean even in boy time I'm always wearing panties, and no one at school will ever forget that they saw me wearing pink nail polish. Even the little kids call me names! And now you want me to wear boobies during my boy time. And I'm always a girl when we visit Aunt Jane and Aunt Beth on weekends. From Friday afternoons clear through to Monday mornings!"
"We promised the judge you'd learn how to cope with being a boy during school hours. We said nothing at all about weekends, Allie. And you know perfectly well that Aunt Jane and Aunt Beth won't have boys in their houses. Boys are too rough. That's why they want to help you enjoy being a girl every way they can. The same way I do! You should thank them!"
"I know."
"And Allie, you are starting your adolescence, after all. It's time for you to start thinking about love, and romance, and things. There are big advantages to being a girl. You did say you liked sucking on Jim's dingle, didn't you? Well, would he let a boy do that?"
"No way, Mom!"
"Would he let you do that if he knew that sometimes you're a boy? No, I thought not. On the other hand, does he ever do anything to you as a girl that makes you feel good too? Aha, I see you're smiling! Out with it!"
"Oh, yes! Mom, you know those lumps behind my nipples, that make them stick out in front a little?"
"Yes, they're why I got you that starter bra."
"He likes to take them into his mouth and suck them and lick my nipples. First one, then the other."
"And you like to let him?"
"Oh, yes! Oh, yes! Mom, it feels just wonderful! Heavenly! I can hardly breathe when he's sucking on my nipples! We do it for hours. I feel so...warm toward him then. I hold his head in my arms and I feel so...wonderful!"
"Now, that's just my point, sweetheart. I'm so glad for you! Could you do that with Jim if you were a boy?"
"No, there's nothing I'd want him to do with me if I were a boy. Except maybe throw me a football."
"And which do you prefer? Which would he rather do, do you think? Nurse on your breasts or throw you a football?"
"Oh, Maaaa! C'mon! You know!"
"Yes, sweetheart, I certainly do know. Boys never do get over their hunger for the breast. Allie, maybe we should talk more seriously. About your mausea, Dr. Diana did mention that if it became debilitating she could reduce the estrogen and progesterone component of your hormonal dosages, but she'd do that only if you were willing to undergo a corresponding reduction in the testosterone your body produces."
"Mom, I didn't understand anything you just said."
"She'll prescribe you less girl juice if your body stops making so much boy juice."
"She can do that? How can I do that?"
"Well, you know that little bag of skin between your legs that hides behind your dingle?"
"Under my clit. You told me always to call mine a clit."
"Yes, sweetheart. Did you ever wonder what that bag was for?"
"Not really. I know Aunt Jane and Aunt Beth don't have one. Just puffy edges along that long crack where their clits hide out, where they like me to kiss them goodbye sometimes when I'm leaving after a visit. 'So I'll respect womanhood,' they always say. Jim has a little sack like mine, but his has little eggs in it. He likes me to stroke them if I can be gentle. If I'm not, the least little bump and he's rolling on the ground, hurting. Mine don't really ever hurt. They're just sort of teeny blobs in there."
"Well, for that you can be thankful. You'd have eggs like Jim's if I hadn't started you on your little purple pills a few years ago when your father left us. Then they'd hurt too when the boys in school hit you there. But those little blobs can still do you a lot of damage, sweetheart. They can make you all hairy, and square off your pretty face and make it too big, and turn those thin, willowy arms of yours into ugly muscles, and make your shoulders and your waistline too big, not at all slender and dainty like now, and make your skin rough instead of soft, and make that charming, delicate voice of yours all deep and hoarse. They can make you bald, like your father. They can make you mean and belligerent, quarrelsome, like your father when he'd disagree with me. The big purple pills are needed to stop all that from happening. But they do make for a kind of war going on in your body, and that's what makes you feel nauseous when you take them."
"Mom, you know, that's what's happening to lots of boys in my class right now! Some of them are starting to shave. And Bill and Kevin, the two boys who used to be my friends, they're now very nasty to me. They pick on me a lot, and they call me a sissy, and even when I say 'So what, that's what I am' the way you told me to say, they hit me. They want to score points with their friends, I figure."
"Probably. But honey, we can fix that! Dr. Diana can fix it."
"How?"
By making you more of a girl. The best way for someone like you to cope with being a sissy is not to be a boy at all, but to be a girl. Dr. Diana can shrink those blobs inside your scrotum with medicine or x- rays, or she can make a teensy incision and remove them, so they can't do you any more harm. Then the smaller purple pills will be enough to do what needs doing.
"Mom, I ... I don't know. I mean, when Dad left us, all that was supposed to happen was that I learn to understand girls better. Not to be one. Not right away. Not yet."
"Why not, sweetie? Do you enjoy being a boy?"
"No. I told you! It's awful!"
"What do you think Jim might do if he found out you're a boy."
"He wouldn't want to put his dingle in my bottom any more. He loves me when I let him do that! He calls me 'sweet cheeks' and he's so nice to me when I let him! And he says he just can't help it, once he puts it deep into me it feels so good he just has to squirt. Every time!"
"Oh? He's been in your bottom? How does it feel?"
"Full. Good. Especially when he moves it in and out. Then after he squirts I leak, sometimes, but that's kind of nice too, because it reminds me where he's been. He says boys do the same thing to other boys sometimes, but they're faggots, queers, and he wants no part of that! With girls it's OK, he says, because girls have slits too. He doesn't use my slit because I'm under age."
"I see. You wouldn't want him to find out you don't have a slit, would you?"
"No Ma'am!"
"So let's see where we are. It seems there's no advantage for you to keep being a boy, except maybe that you play that computer game -- what do you call it -- 'Battle Cruiser'-- when you're in boy time. Do you think that if you were a girl you could still play 'Battle Cruiser'?"
"I guess so. I don't think I'd want to though. There are too many other interesting things girls do."
"Allie, let me tell you something. Once those nasty blobs are out of the way I'm sure the judge would agree that we should finish the job. We could always testify that you were a born hermaphrodite. Or that you lost them through a high fever, or from getting mumps. Even in a bicycle accident! It happens. Especially if you yourself asked him to let your doctors finish the job."
"Really? What job?"
"Well, you remember you mentioned those slits Aunt Jane and Aunt Beth have between their legs? The kind Jim doesn't know you don't have? Wouldn't you like to have one after all, a slit of your very own?"
"Mom, I don't know. What are they for?"
"Mainly they're another place for men to stick their dingles. And when there's a dingle inside it, it feels especially nice. Very very nice. Better than a dingle in your bottom. Better even than your nipples. Believe me, it's true!"
"Really? How do you know?"
"I've got one, just like Aunt Jane and Aunt Beth. All girls do. Every now and then I'll go out and find a nice man to put his dingle into me there, and it's wonderful. I love it! Or I'll borrow a long plastic dingle from one of your aunts -- they don't like men any more than they like boys, so they use artificial dingles on each other. It feels sort of the way Jim makes you feel when he's sucking on your tits, only much better! It's heavenly. You wait, you'll see!"
"Do you think Jim would want to put his dingle into mine if I had one?"
"I'm sure of it. In fact I'm equally sure that when he finds out you don't have one, he'll start looking for another girlfriend. Boys do prefer girls with breasts and slits both."
"Mom! Don't joke! I want Jim to keep on liking me! He's the only boy who ever liked me for being girly! All the other boys tease me for it, or punch me!"
"Yes, honey, I understand. But that's because he thinks you are a girl. I must tell you in all honesty, sooner or later Jim is going to find out you aren't a complete girl, and then he's going to be very mad. Maybe even violent. You'll be lucky if all he does then is stop seeing you."
"Mom! Mommy! Oh, mom! I don't want Jim to stop seeing me!"
"Then stop crying and listen to me, sweetheart. This is serious! Jim may be your first crush, but he certainly won't be your last. If you get a slit, and I'm sure you will, you shouldn't get it merely to keep Jim interested. You should get it for yourself! For your own satisfaction! There are lots of Jims in your future if you want them. Lots for any girl who has breasts and a slit! Trust me, I know."
"You mean men like the ones you dated before you married Daddy?"
"And also the ones I dated after I married Daddy. Before your Daddy found out where I was going night after night and filed for a divorce and sole custody of his son, claiming I was an unfit mother. The idea! He was so selfish! He wanted me only for himself! That was what made your aunts and me decide he should get nothing at all as far as you're concerned. And that's what he's got, honey, even though he doesn't know it yet. It's just a matter of your accepting the fact. He has no son now. He has an unhappy sissy half the time, and a sweet girl the other half. It hasn't been easy for you, I appreciate that. But I'm sure that in the long run you'll be much better off when you're all girl, Allie. In fact you know you will be! You just said it yourself. As a boy everyone is cruel to you and as a girl you're loved. Which do you want to be full time? You can't ask for an easier choice than that, can you?"
"No, Mom. I guess not."
"But take your time deciding, anyhow. Hurry on upstairs now. There's Jane's car in the driveway, and we do want her to see how lovely you look in those new dresses. Hurry and put on the one you mean to wear for your date with Jim this coming Saturday. And don't forget to take those pills! We'll talk more about them later. Maybe a bigger white one will solve your problem with the big purple ones for the time being. I'm sure a bigger white one will help make you more popular with more boys as your body takes shape. Boys like girls who smile and feel good about everything, and don't remember too well. And you'll want to meet other boys besides Jim to feel good with, now that you're sexually active. I'll talk to your aunts and to Dr. Diana about that too! I really do care about you, sweetheart! I do so want you to be happy! I love you!"
"Oh, Mom! I love you too, you know that!"
"I know, darling. Oooh, what a lovely hug! Upstairs now! Why not try on that tan print dress first? I'll bet even now you have exactly the right figure for it!"
Copyright © 1999,2009 by Vickie Tern. May be archived and single-copied, not sold.
Vickie [email protected]
Henry agrees to attend his wife's Girls' Night Out birthday party appropriately dressed, not knowing she has her own special reasons for wanting him there dressed that way. This story is the origin of another much longer one, "The Birthday Present."
Copyright 1996,1998,2000 by Vickie Tern
Girls' Night Out
by Vickie Tern
1.
"So, I see she did talk you into it! My God, look at you! You're
gorgeous!"
There at the door was Pearl, my wife's best friend, looking at me as I
figured she would when she saw me, amused but also contemptuous. She
stepped back and gave me that same relentless look of appraisal women
use on themselves when they look into mirrors. Then she said, "Not bad!
Not too bad! But how in the world did she get you to do it?"
I was embarrassed, but tried to hide it. So I looked Pearl over equally
deliberately. What I saw was the usual bright and brassy middle aged
woman, dressed up for a big night out on the town. Packed into a green
silk dress much too short for her, I thought. Matching strappy high
heels and a clutch purse. Lacy black stockings. Pinned somewhere back
of her blonde curls was some kind of small felt hat with a wisp of black
veil. So she was green and black and lacy and sassy, and busy making me
feel uncomfortable.
"C'mon in, Pearl," I said. "Bea's almost ready. You look good too, you
really do!"
I was sincere -- for Pearl, she looked terrific. But especially I
wanted to steer our conversation into compliments right away. I
couldn't take her usual mockery, her sardonic put-downs. Not dressed
the way I was when I came to the door. I was trying not to be too self-
conscious about it. I wanted to be a good sport for this one night, to
play it straight. To be a proper lady, one of the girls, the way I'd
promised Bea. But with Pearl nothing ever comes easy.
She overreacted like a Disney cartoon character. Her eyes flicked over
my coiffure and then down my dress, Bea's choice for me for the evening,
a little basic black with satin trim, and a cute peplum to hide my lack
of hips, and a wide satin-trimmed collar to cover my now-noticeable
breasts. Then she eyeballed my legs -- in plain sheer black stockings,
nothing fancy -- and my high heeled black pumps. "Wow!" she said, wiping
an imaginary haze from in front of her eyes. Her skirt flipped and she
wriggled her hips, then planted her hands on them. "Hoo boy!" she said.
"Aren't you something!" She squared her body and then gave me her
ultimate once-over. I'd seen it before. Insolent and amused.
Absolutely intimidating. In that posture she looked like a tart naming
her price, take it or leave it, but managed to imply that I was the
tart. "Henry, I don't know what to say. You're such a stunner! You'll
knock 'em dead! How can you stand yourself?"
Her irony was too heavy, and I began to wilt. But Pearl sensed it and
immediately reversed field. She said, "No, really, I mean it! I'm
impressed! That makeover is fabulous! You're really convincing! They
must have spent the whole day working on you!"
"Thanks," I said, "If that was a compliment. Come in and sit down."
She stepped into the hallway like a dainty horse imprinting the ground,
glanced at me again, and then let her high heels throw her hips into a
seductive swish as she proceeded ahead of me into the living room. I
got her message. I had to admit it, I couldn't have looked more swishy.
"Yes," she said, "It was a compliment. A pretty girl should learn to
accept compliments graciously. Just dimple, and curtsy, and say 'Thank
you.' You know, when a girl spends hours or days getting ready for a
big date, she should appreciate it when her efforts are noticed."
"Bea told me you'd agreed to be one of the girls tonight, but I just
didn't believe her." Pearl went on. She sat down, and carefully
arranged her legs on our living room couch, skirt smooth, arms draped
possessively across the back cushions, at her ease. "Frankly, Henry, I
didn't think you had the guts. No offense. But how many men do you
know would do this for their wives?"
I followed Pearl into the living room, rocking a bit on my own high
heels, and stood looking down at her. She arched her neck up and said,
"Get me a drink, would you, Honey? I'd better start calling you 'Honey'
I think, not 'Henry.' A 'Henry' who looks the way you do will start
people talking, and I'm not sure you'd want to hear what they were
saying."
"Or am I looking at 'Henrietta,' Henry's longtime girly other self? Have
I at last found out your guilty secret? Have you always liked dressing
up in frilly things? Do you really want to be a girl? Have a stiff
drink yourself, hon. You're going to need it before tonight's through!"
I took her advice, belted down a quick one, poured Pearl her usual
whiskey on rocks and myself another, handed it to her, then sat down
across from her. I clasped my drink in my lap with both hands, and
crossed my ankles primly, just as Bea had shown me. Shoulders back,
bust out, chin high, shake my curls to get her attention, then speak in
a high but sweet voice, if I could manage it.
"Don't, Pearl," I said. There was just a touch of pleading in my voice,
for Pearl usually a signal to lunge in for the kill. I had better be
more aggressive. "You know perfectly well that Bea has been getting me
ready for tonight for months. In fact, what with her planning and
shopping and rehearsing me, she's had very little else on her mind for
some time. I've never seen her like this, not in all our twenty years
of marriage. She's been so happy and busy. So don't mock me, because
when you do, you're mocking Bea. And that's not friendly." My voice
quavered just a little. Maybe it was pitched too high.
"All right, Honey," Pearl said, her voice softened but not subdued.
"I'll be gentle. You're one of the girls tonight, and that's that.
Don't cry, you'll ruin your beautiful eyes." This time she looked at my
face seriously. "They really are beautiful, in a way. Who would have
thought it?"
I felt a little mollified. "Well, Bea always did. Even before I was
involved in this."
Pearl's look was unwavering. "All right, Bea thinks you're beautiful.
But tell me, my Honey, my lamb led to the slaughter. Whatever possessed
you? Why are you involved, as you see it? I know, but I'm curious what
you know. Tell me what you think is going on."
Pearl didn't seem to be taking this night seriously enough, so I opened
up. It was a chance for me to practice my voice some more, anyhow.
"You know full well how come I'm involved. Bea's had her heart set on
tonight since last year. You know that. In fact, it was your own idea
originally. You remember, Bea's thirty-ninth birthday? How it hit her?
Like a house collapsing on her? All that weeping, she was getting old
and ugly, life was passing her by. Every day more depressed, popping
more pills, then feeling even more miserable. Some days she didn't even
bother to get dressed, and I was really worried. Then when I'd try to
talk to her, to cheer her up, she'd just look at me and withdraw even
further, run into the bedroom or the bathroom and then cry her heart
out."
"I remember that time," Pearl said, looking me levelly in the eyes. "It
was exactly a year ago."
"So I offered to organize a big party for her to help her celebrate her
fortieth when it came around. Invite everyone we knew. Well, that was
certainly a mistake! She absolutely forbade it! She ran into the
bedroom and slammed the door, and then she really started wailing! I
mean loud, agonized, despairing, just terrible! I felt awful! I still
don't understand it."
"I know about that time too," Pearl said, still looking at me steadily,
and taking little sips from her glass. I remembered to do the same --
sips, not swallows, it's much more ladylike, Bea had told me. It felt
more delicate. I wondered if my lipstick was smeared. "You missed the
point, Honey dear!," Pearl went on. "A forty year old woman doesn't
feel like celebrating. It isn't like a man turning forty."
She set her glass down. "Look! A forty year old man is just coming
into his prime, even if he isn't quite the stud he was at twenty. He
still believes that 'You aren't getting older, just better' crap. Well,
if he's any good at business he's starting to get into heavy money just
about then. All those years of hard work begin to pay off. His kids are
gone, or they don't need him, so he's free of his family. But his wife
is no longer a bombshell, if she ever was one. So when a man turns
forty he often decides he deserves better from life. And for once he
can afford it. So he begins screwing around. Or, he dumps his wife of
twenty years in order to award himself a trophy wife. Isn't that
right?"
In fact, that's just what Pearl's husband had done. He'd left her well-
fixed enough, payment for their years of struggle together, and had gone
off to do the Palm Beach and Palm Springs circuits with a new slim long-
haired Princess of a wife, calling his broker now and then to ask how
fast the money was coming in.
I was forty last year, and I have to admit it now, I was thinking about
doing the same thing. Life with Bea had gotten really dull. The sex
was as predictable and boring as her cooking, and she seemed to approach
both the same way. We shared lots of interests, but there was nothing
new to explore. Evenings, she read her romantic novels and I watched
television. But I still cared for her, in a way, and I didn't want to
hurt her, so I never said anything about it. I wondered if Bea had
sensed something anyhow, and had mentioned it to Pearl.
"Well," Pearl went on, "With a woman turning forty it's different. She's
nearly past it. Her kids are gone or don't need her. Raising kids has
been her life, and now it's over. She finds it's harder to stay in
shape, and she lets herself go a little. Her dresses don't fit her any
more, so she spends more of her husband's money to buy more of them, and
they still don't fit just right. She logs more time at the beauty
parlor. Her husband logs more time at the office, and less with her.
There're still things she hasn't yet done with her life, and she knows
time is running out, and she knows she's beginning to forget what those
things were. That's why Bea didn't want your party. I'm sure she told
you that right off when you proposed it to her. There's nothing to
celebrate when a woman turns forty."
"She did say that," I said. "I thought she was just depressed."
Pearl looked steadily at me again, and then took another sip.
I went on. "But I really am grateful to you and Kay. When the two of
you cooked up these plans for tonight, her mood changed. Almost
immediately! It was miraculous! I still don't understand it. My idea
for a birthday bash depressed her, but yours gave her a new lease on
life! I'd never have guessed it, that what she really wanted was an
intimate night out on the town with just her two dearest friends. A
fabulous girls' night out. Something she'd never done before. But that
was what she wanted! Immediately she started humming around the house,
telephoning and planning and talking and preparing. Weeks spent
shopping for the very outfit she's putting on right now. All of today
spent in the beauty parlor, sitting next to me the whole time, getting
her hair and face and hands and nails and body worked over by any number
of the women there."
"Anyhow, for months she's been so excited! I'm not sure why. What does
she expect? Dinner, a show, some drinks afterward, and talk, lots of
hot gossip she's never heard, she says. Do things she hasn't done for
years, she says, maybe never done. Bea said that you planned to stay up
till morning, the three of you, making girl talk, telling each other
racy stories, doing girl things, away from husbands or other such
depressing people. If she liked the way it worked out, she said, then
she'd do the same things with you girls more often. They'd become her
things too. And that's what cheered her up! I suppose, for Bea it's a
change. We don't go out much together any more, hardly at all. Not for
years. I'm pretty much satisfied to watch television."
"So I've heard," Pearl said. "Well, you've got the drift of it. Turning
forty is a serious thing for a woman. Bea wanted to know how we've
handled it, me and Kay. What we've really been doing since the big four
oh. You're right. A year ago she was way down, and you weren't the
only person worried about her. So we told her that on her fortieth
birthday, tonight, we'd show her that life begins at forty. We'd tell
her all our secrets."
"I'm forty-two now, you know. That rat of a husband of mine left me
four years ago. Well, for a year I mourned like a schoolgirl, which is
what I still was despite everything, I suppose. Then for another year I
thought about the rest of my life, how to take charge of it. Well,
since then I've been doing OK. Got me a job to keep busy, started to
meet new people -- you don't know the half of it. So I've got lots of
good advice to give Bea. I've given her lots already."
"Kay too. Kay told her some things right off that surprised even me,
about that husband she still lives with. That Tomcat stud, what's his
name, Steve. I've known for years that he's been sticking his prick
into anything in skirts the way other people shake hands. But I didn't
know he went for anything in pants too. He swings both ways. Did you
know that? The man is an animal."
I didn't know that. I'd never met him, but he was a legend around town.
I'd heard about his women. We were all maybe a little jealous. That may
be why wives and ex-wives always seemed to be so protective of Kay,
always inviting her to parties and dinners and sleepovers when her
husband was out of town. But he was bisexual? That I hadn't known!
"Why does Kay stay with him?" I asked. "She's a doctor. She's got her
own practice. She's been our family doctor for years, and she's a good
one. Bea trusts her. Kay doesn't need Steve."
"You really are an innocent!" Pearl said. "Because Kay's got her own
men too. And her own women. They swing together. They're swingers.
That's how they first met, at some swingers' convention, from what I
hear." Pearl leaned forward. "But Honeybuns, you haven't told me yet
how Bea talked you into joining us for this fabulous night. To do
whatever we do. Especially looking the way you do, like one of the ...
uh... girls. What happened? Does Bea have something on you? Did she
catch you slipping into her little silky nothings, and then shame you
into wearing more of them? Do you have your own panty collection? Are
you also a secret swinger?" Pearl lifted her face toward me, waiting for
some dishy confessions.
"Well..." I began. But Pearl was on a roll!
"And how'd she get you into that beauty salon? Marge did a fabulous
job, really, Honey! Those are long fingernails, longer than mine! And
that is a perm they gave you, isn't it? I suppose it really took guts!
Or was it blackmail, or a bribe? Though I must say, you do look
terrific. You look ...well, feminine. I don't think there's any doubt
you'll pass."
"You know, don't you, that this night has cost you your manhood, as far
as I'm concerned, and probably Kay. Maybe even Bea. I don't know how
feminized you are inside, but you are certainly emasculated up front. In
my eyes certainly. That's quite a sacrifice! You must have known that
would happen. So why did you do it? We are never again going to be
able to think of you as Bea's dullard husband! You're just too cute-
looking! Now we'll spend all our time thinking about fixing you up with
cute guys! Maybe even other cute guys in skirts! How in the world did
Bea ever get you to agree to this?"
Finally, Pearl leaned back, looking at me cooly. She'd spoken her
piece. She handed me her empty glass, and gestured toward mine, and
pointed to the bar. I stood up.
"Pearl, the way Bea did it was, she asked me, and that's all there was
to it," I said, a little too grandly. Pearl had finallly gotten to me.
And then Bea's voice came from the doorway. "That's right, I asked
him!" Suddenly, there was Bea. "I decided early on that I wanted Henry
with me tonight, but not as Henry. And that's why he's here. I have my
own reasons, Pearl."
We both turned to look at her. Bea had really gotten herself ready for
this special girls' night out, there was no doubt about it! She looked
awesome! My God, what a costume! Short tight black leather miniskirt,
and thigh-high boots with incredibly long, thin spike heels. A short
stretch of exposed thigh, between her boot tops and her skirt, encased
in black nylon. Those thighs looked like dark tubes, inviolable, strong
enough to crush any man who dared put his head between them. A black
silk blouse thrust forward by bare, jutting nipples, apparently she wore
no bra, and then it flowed down and over her arms to be gathered at her
wrists, and to billow down to her waist. A collar of red necklaces
surrounding her neck like chain mail, and large red drop earrings
dangling under her black hair, which was teased way up around her head
as big as I could ever imagine it. Eyes outlined in black, and a slash
of red across her mouth. Absolutely sensational!
I swallowed hard, and almost sat down again. Next to Bea I was a sweet,
shy wallflower, in my pretty black cocktail dress. If there were any
feelings of manhood left in me, that I was a guy wearing a skirt because
his wife had asked him to, they were gone. There could be no men in the
vicinity of Bea's outfit. Only varying kinds of submissives, until she
gave one of them permission to try to service her like a man, if he
could. I suddenly felt utterly helpless. I tried to compliment Bea,
but my hands only waved in the air, and nothing came out of my throat
but some high-pitched squeals. She saw at once what she had done to me,
and smiled delighted. Her eyes sparkled.
"My God, Bea," said Pearl. "Talk about taking charge of your own life
starting tonight!"
"That's what I'm doing, Pearl."
Then she turned to me, still standing and staring anxiously at her.
"Don't worry, dear, this isn't for you. It's partly for me, and partly
to help me keep some other people in line tonight, maybe. You'll do
only what you want to do, no matter what I may ask you to do. I
wouldn't want it any other way. Did I tell you upstairs that you look
just lovely? Really, that dress is adorable! I knew that satin collar
would be flattering once your breasts were large enough to hold it away
from your body a teeny bit."
And Bea came over to me, and we held each other's arms gently for a
moment, and we pressed our cheeks together, so as not to smudge our
makeup or wrinkle our dresses, and then we looked at each other silently
for another moment. It was a kiss, woman to woman. I don't know why,
but it felt heavenly. I felt a sudden surge of love for her! And at the
same time, I felt serene, so wonderfully at peace with myself.
"Whatever you do tonight," she said to me in a low voice, "Is for me. I
want you to know that. I want you to know I want it that way. And I
love you for it." I looked at her gratefully, if a little confused.
"Dear, would you get me a drink," she asked me. "And take care of yours
and Pearl's too." I flounced over to the liquor cabinet -- those first
drinks were beginning to have their effect -- and I poured us each a
double. Pearl looked at hers and set it aside for the moment. I handed
Bea hers, and she sipped it, carefully, than set it aside and straddled
the back of a chair like a pirate, legs spread on either side. For some
weird reason I felt a surge of pride that I was part of her life.
"Here's how it happened, Pearl. A month after you told me your plans,
Kay called to tell me she couldn't join us tonight, that she was had to
be out of town, some medical convention or other. Well, I was crushed.
Henry couldn't cheer me up at all. I told him how terribly disappointed
I was. But I didn't need to. He already knew how much this night out
with the girls meant to me. He could see the gleam going out of my eye.
He felt terribly sorry for me, and he thought about it some. Didn't
you, dear?"
I looked at her gratefully again, but I still couldn't talk. There was
this enormous lump in my throat.
"When Kay had to beg off, that left just the two of us, you and me. It
didn't seem...well...festive enough. Then the more I thought it
through, the more it seemed right that Henry should help us make up our
original threesome. In fact, the more I thought about it, the better I
liked the idea. Henry must certainly know what some of the men in town
do with some of the women in town, so he could tell us some real hot
stories too, I was sure, things he's been too proper to tell me, once we
got into the right gossipy mood. It might be fun."
"So the next night I asked him if he'd take Kay's place, so I could
still be with my dearest friends, the way we'd planned it. Then I
wouldn't have to think about him sitting at home while we were all out
together having fun. I told him this would be his gift of love to me,
my fortieth birthday gift, a gift I wanted from him more than anything
else in the whole world. Well, he told me he'd do it. He didn't think
he knew any gossip, but it was enough that I wanted him by my side. So
he agreed."
Pearl leaned back into the sofa. "Let me get this straight, if that's
the word for it," she said. "And maybe you'd better keep working on
your drink, Honey. I think maybe you'll want to begin this evening a
little tizzled. Let's see, Bea told you that Kay would be out of town
tonight, and that she wanted you to fill in? And you agreed?" She
looked me up and down again, and picked up her own drink. She took a
swallow. "Dressed and made up the way you are? A real foxy lady, just
like Kay?"
I was a little bewildered that Pearl had a problem with this. "Well,
not right away," I began. "I didn't realize at first that she wanted me
to go all out as one of you girls, to become one of the girls myself, so
to speak. To fill in for Kay in every respect. I thought she just
wanted me to come along as her husband. But a few days later I realized
she meant more than that, when she took me shopping and bought me some
brassieres and things. By then I couldn't disappoint her. Pearl, I
just couldn't! So I decided I had to go along with it. And that's what
I've done."
"Wait a minute," Pearl said, glancing at Bea, who got some kind of
message and remained silent. They'd known each other a long time. "You
say 'brassieres'. Plural. How many brassieres did you buy that day?"
"Well, actually, seven or eight" I replied, wondering why she should
ask. "A training bra and some A, B, and C cups, and then a few more C
cups, different kinds of lacy patterns and colors. Underwire," I added,
thinking maybe that information would solve whatever was Pearl's
problem. Bea smiled reassuringly at me.
"I see," Pearl said, glancing again at Bea. "And you're wearing one of
your C cups tonight?"
"Yes," I said. "After a month or so wearing each of the smaller sizes,
they no longer fit me. I kept spilling over."
"I see," Pearl said again. One of her odd grins was forming on her face
again, and I didn't understand why. "Bea, by any chance have you been
taking Honey here -- I'm calling him Honey now, because I'm getting the
message that Henry is not long for this world -- have you been taking
Honey here to see Kay, for vitamin supplements or something?"
"Why of course, Pearl," my wife answered quietly. She glanced at me.
"Honey had to ask Kay lots of questions about filling in for her. And
while they were chatting she wrote him some prescriptions for various of
his problems. Not that he has any. But just to be on the safe side."
"I see," Pearl said once more. "Ummm, Honey, how many new dresses do
you have upstairs, besides the one you're wearing?"
"Only three others," I replied. "But one of them is pretty much worn
out, because we've used it as a practice dress for months, smoothing it
when I sat down, and straightening it whenever I got up from sitting on
the toilet to pee, and so on. I wore it all the time, put it on as soon
as I came home, and most weekends. My other things, my skirts and
blouses and heels and flats and so on, are all still pretty much new. I
have a whole closet full, so I don't have to wear any one of them very
often. Bea thought it might be useful for me to have them, just to fill
out my wardrobe. To get used to wearing what women wear. So I wouldn't
feel self-conscious when I was learning how to move the way women move,
and how to hold myself, and everything. Why do you ask?"
"No reason," said Pearl. "Another question. A long shot. My idle
curiosity, no more than that. This one's going to sound very odd, but I
don't think Bea will mind my asking. Did Bea ask you to clean out your
bottom today? Just before you started to dress? Or to do anything else
down there, anything exceptional?"
I got annoyed. "Pearl, that's rather personal! But since you ask, no,
nothing exceptional at all. Months ago Bea asked me to take an enema
daily before I put in the suppositories Kay gave me, and that's what
I've done. For cleanliness. And today she asked me to put in a tampon
when I'd finished flushing myself out, so I'd stay clean all evening no
matter what, and not leak accidentally onto my new dress. So that's
what I've done. Any more questions?"
By now Pearl was grinning broadly at Bea, and Bea was looking back at
her mildly. Somehow they both looked very satisfied with themselves.
Women, I thought. Who will ever understand them.
"Well, just one last question. Isn't it time for us to go to dinner?"
2.
Dinner turned out to be the least of it. It was Bea's big night, but it
was mine too, the first time I ever left the house looking like a woman.
Despite my months of practice I was rather nervous. But we linked arms
walking to Pearl's car, and we giggled about something, and some kids
walked by without even glancing at us. So I felt better about it.
Walking on my heels was no problem after all those months of practice.
When we reached the car, Bea reminded me to fluff my hair with my finger
tips now and then. "It's a very attractive gesture, dear."
Pearl drove us. When we got to the restaurant's Valet Parking a boy
opened the door for me and stood watching, and I was grateful for Bea's
lessons how to get out of a car in a skirt -- twist, swing my legs out,
straighten my skirt, stand up. The Ma^itre D' led us to a corner table,
and we settled our purses on the floor by our chairs, and read the
menus. Bea ordered for me -- clear soup, and a small warm salad. She
cautioned me against nibbling on the bread and butter. "Your figure,
dear," she said. "Later you're going to feel stuffed, I'm sure, so you
don't want to eat too much now." Pearl let out a guffaw, but didn't look
up from her menu. She ordered a bottle of Chardonnay, and we finished
it, feeling even more tiddly than at the house. Things went very well.
I ate teeny bites, and patted my lips now and then. It was just like
all those practice dinners at home. Even Pearl began looking at me with
admiration.
"You're very good, Honey," she said. "It's as if you were born to it.
Do you think you were? Are you a woman in a man's body?"
"Pearl, cut it out!" I said.
Bea interrupted. "No, Honey. Say, 'Pearl, do stop teasing me, or I'll
start to cry.'"
I tried again. "Pearl, please, don't!" I said. I really felt hurt. Bea
looked satisfied, and Pearl eased off.
"No, tell me. I'd like to know. This is the night for confessions,
remember! I asked you earlier if you'd ever done this before, dressed
up like a girl, maybe secretly, and you never answered."
"You never gave me a chance, Pearl. Did I try on my mommy's panties
when I was little? Yes, I suppose every boy does. Out of curiosity.
Did I feel some special charge or satisfaction while doing it? No,
nothing, so I did it only that one time."
Pearl leaned back. If she hadn't recently quit smoking, she would have
lit a cigarette. I could tell she was about to say something she
actually meant! "Honey, it's no secret that I didn't think you'd do
this. You're not a gung ho macho man, like that asshole I married, but
you are a straight arrow, and not a very sharp one. If you'll pardon my
words, you have always seemed to me to be an unimaginative lunkhead,
someone who was repressing Bea's natural high spirits without even
knowing it. I have often thought that a divorce from you would be a
good thing for Bea. But she wouldn't hear of it. Not ever. And now
look at you. Never would I have conceived it, that you'd be sitting
here tonight in a dress nibbling on a small salad. Looking very much
like a lady. I feel like comparing menstrual symptoms with you, you
look so believable. And you even sit down every time you go to the
bathroom, is that what you said earlier?"
"Yes, that's right. It was Bea's idea, for the practice. It seemed to
please her, so I do it all the time now. It did solve all those
problems married people have, about leaving toilet seats up or down. So
now that's my gift to her too. I sit down for everything."
"Yes," said Pearl thoughtfully. "You may soon have no choice. But tell
me, dear, if you weren't born with...er...transvestite tendencies, how
do you feel about wearing women's clothes now?. How long is it since
Bea bought you those first brassieres? When you wear them, do you
feel...ah...different? Is it...nice? And you've been retraining your
whole body to be more ladylike. Does that feel...nice? Confession time,
now."
"I guess it's like you to ask those questions, Pearl," I said. "Because
the answers are a little embarrassing." I glanced at Bea, and saw her
nod, almost imperceptively. "OK. At first I just felt silly, a man
putting on his training bra every morning. Bea's fortieth was nine or
ten months away, and it made no sense. But Bea said that learning to
act like a woman is like learning to play the piano, an art that
expresses feelings, and that I needed the feelings as well as the
techniques, and that it takes a while to develop them. I spent a lot of
time imagining how women feel, about themselves, about each other, and
about men, which at first was a total mystery to me. Then as my nipples
got hard lumps behind them and my breasts started to grow, Bea helped me
with my own feelings. Every night Bea would caress my nipples, or tweak
them gently, until they got hard. Like Bea's now." I looked at those
finger-thick nipples poking Bea's blouse, a mature woman's nubs outlined
in black satin, and again felt proud to be married to Bea. Also,
inexplicably, a little jealous. "Every night when Bea caressed me it
felt more and more marvelous. So soft, and feminine, and delicious, and
attractive, ...well...never mind. I got so I couldn't wait for my skin
to get smoother, and my breasts to swell up more, grow into bigger
globes that needed bigger bra cups. When I went to the office, wearing
my bra, maybe covered by a slip or a Teddy, I was so happy with them I'd
often push out my chest, and they'd swell through my shirt on either
side of my tie, and my suit jackets would fall back and frame them, so
anyone could see who'd bother to look. Just the way women's suit jackets
do when they're unbuttoned. I began to feel delighted with my figure,
almost as much as Bea. I guess I didn't care who noticed. No one did,
that I know of. That disappointed me, sometimes."
"I told Bea, and she said that was my feminine side beginning to express
itself, and that I should give it more freedom. So I began turning most
of my office work over to my partner, and doing more business by phone.
I took to wearing panties, or pantihose, all the time, and women's
blouses and shirts, and women's jeans and slacks whenever I went out,
and of course when I was home, skirts, and my practice dress. And I
took to moving the way women walk, naturally but with a grace I've
always loved in women. You know. Bea has it. Even you have it, when
you want to. I like pretending I'm graceful and pretty in my own way,
and Bea says I really am. And more and more, I've been feeling the way
I imagine women feel all the time about things, little enthusiasms and
sorrows rising up all the time in my heart. Bea was so pleased, the
first time I cried for joy at some silly television drama. We cried
together, and it was such good fun."
One by one Bea put away my men's things, and bought me more women's
things, and taught me how to wear them, and how to combine them with
each other. Now I love them. Even my mens' clothes now are really
women's clothes, man-tailored. They feel just...well...right. I feel
... complete in them. And waking up every day and choosing my wardrobe
is a whole new adventure for me. I love waking up each day!"
Pearl seemed to be overwhelmed by what I had said. "So for months now,"
she said, almost disbelieving, "you've been wearing women's clothes at
home full time, practicing walking in high heels, and fixing your
lipstick, and letting your wrists hang free, and things like that,
because you like it? Because it feels good?"
"Yes. At first mainly because I didn't want to disgrace Bea. For fear
that when the big moment came tonight, I would give myself away as a
man, and be ridiculed by whoever saw me. But you're right. It does
feel good. Nowadays, all I have to do is put on a bra with my breasts
gathered up in each cup, and my nipples protruding way forward, and I
get the same delicious feminine feelings Bea brought out by caressing
me. Then I want to do more things that girls do. Bea and I cuddle a
lot together. And today in the beauty salon was such a treat! I love
the way my hair came out! You shouldn't mock me about these things,
Pearl. That's the way I am, now. And it's how Bea wants me."
"You're right, Honey," Pearl said. She set her fork down and looked at
me, and said softly. "I'm sorry. I had no idea things had proceeded
this far. I guess I thought Bea had duped you, not that she'd converted
you, or discovered you. Maybe you always were a transvestite, or a
transsexual, but never knew it." Then Pearl suddenly straightened up,
and said in a sprightly way, "But now you're one of the girls, just in
time for tonight. That's just fine! Tell me, dear, these feminine
feelings, do they include feminine feelings about men?"
Bea interrupted, her voice a trifle sharp. "Let me set the pace here,
Pearl. Henry is married to me, and while Honey lives inside Henry she
will be as true to me as Henry has been. Henry has never cheated on me,
he says, and I believe him. I've never cheated on Henry either. That's
why it's important that whatever we do tonight, we do it together.
Especially tonight. If Henry decides tonight to let Honey be herself, I
don't say that Honey shouldn't feel free to find her own way in the
world, and to make her own commitments. My obligations are to Henry,
the way Henry's are to me. Do you follow me? That's why I'm so
delighted that tonight, it's Honey we're out with, that she's one of the
girls, not Henry. She'll do whatever she feels like doing, tonight.
The way we all will."
I was lost. I didn't understand a word of what Bea had just said, but
Pearl nodded slowly. She was obviously impressed.
Bea and I then went together to the Ladies' Room together, my very first
visit to any Ladies' room anywhere, and my dear companion my very own
wife, while Pearl stayed behind to pay the check. We primped and fussed
and chatted, and I combed my hair out a bit, and only when we were
leaving did I realize that I had gone into a booth to pee, and sat down
to pee, and wiped myself, and risen to adjust my dress, all without
thinking about it at all. It was now second nature to me. Maybe even
first.
3.
Next we went to a concert, a string quartet playing Mozart and Schubert,
Bea's favorites. The pieces they played were all gentle, and beautiful,
and some of them terribly sad. At one moment when the music was
especially unhappy, Bea leaned over and kissed me on the cheek, very
sweetly. I looked over and saw she had tears in her eyes. I took her
hand and held it tightly. "What's that for?" I asked in a small voice.
"Nothing," she replied. "You'll see." Then she said, "Oh, I do hope
everything works out the way I've planned it. I do hope so!" I couldn't
ask her what she meant by that, but I noticed that she held my hand
tightly in both her hands through the rest of the concert. I remember
how satisfying it was, each time I looked down into my lap, to see our
newly manicured red fingernails all tangled and coiled together, looking
so elegant.
Afterward we went to a night club, one with hot but also dreamy dancing
alternating very loudly in one section, near the bar, and stretching for
what must have been a city block, rooms and cubicles one after another
for drinking and for noisy or quiet conversation. As we settled down in
a booth, and our drinks came, and we started sipping them, I glimpsed
someone familiar coming toward us. I got the shock of my life!
It was Kay! I half rose in surprise, but then I remembered I was a
lady, and settled back down. She came straight over to our table, and
Pearl and Bea moved to make room for her. They both were delighted to
see her. Neither looked especially amazed. "Kay!" I said. "I thought
you had to be somewhere else tonight! Why are you here? I mean, it's
wonderful that you're here, because now you can help us with Bea's
birthday. But weren't you supposed to be somewhere else? Isn't that
why I'm here?"
"Yes, I was supposed to be elsewhere," she said. "But I changed my
mind. I figured I'd be more useful here tonight. Hello, Henry. You
are Henry, aren't you?" She peered more closely at me. "My heavens,
look at you! It's amazing! Those treatments really did their work,
didn't they? You look absolutely ravishing, Henry! I love it! You
look good enough to eat!"
"Tonight, Henry is Honey, Kay," Bea said. "The way we discussed it.
That's the way it should be, and that's the way Honey wants it to be."
"Of course. Honey! You are a real stunner, Honey! I'd invite you home
with me, if I didn't know you have other plans. Sorry, girls, I've been
drinking, waiting for you to show up. Well, anyhow, I'm here, and now
we're all here, all of the girls, including our newest girl." She smiled
at me charmingly. I smiled back. "Let's start the proceedings. Aren't
we all supposed to tell Bea something about the first time we had sex
with someone we weren't married to? After we were already married, I
mean? Those stories are usually the juiciest. Honey, you go first.
Tell us your favorite infidelity."
"Honey hasn't had any infidelities yet, Kay," Pearl said. "She's too
new. She's still a virgin. And Bea just told me that Henry hasn't had
any infidelities either. I don't think he's a virgin, though there's
some question whether he's ever done anything memorable. Anyhow,
Henry's not here tonight. He isn't one of the girls."
"All right, I'll go first, then Pearl," Kay said. "Order us some more
drinks. Bea looks too quiet, and Honey needs another, I'm sure."
"Well, I had sex with quite a few people right after I was married,
within a few hours in fact. But I don't think I was unfaithful. Steve
and I had been swinging singles for a long time, and one day when I had
his dick in my mouth and my finger in some local housewife's ass we
decided that we would make a great team. We should get married. We
could offer ourselves together, and be more selective. You know what
Bernard Shaw said, that marriage is popular because it offers a maximum
of temptation and a maximum of opportunity. Well, it's sort of true,
but not the way he meant. Any two people can live together without
being married, and any two people can fuck. But marriage is a
partnership. It's popular because it assures established partners that
they can link up with other established partners, and form new his and
her couples, or his and his, or hers and his and hers, or whatever other
combinations anyone likes, and at least some of the partners will always
be compatible. But if you do that, you have to trust each other. You
have to tell each other everything. That's keeping faith with each
other. That's fidelity. That's why we got married. That's why we're
still married. We're still popular, with couples and with individuals.
We're both good at what we do, and we enjoy it. Sometimes we even do it
together. But we always tell each other everything. We trust each
other, that we'll tell each other everything."
"Anyhow, mine is a short story. After the wedding Steve's best man
wanted a blow job, and no one was available. The bridesmaids had all
gone off with different wedding guests, or with each other. One of the
bridesmaids was a transsexual like you, Honey, if that's what you are
now, but there weren't any unattached men around for her, or any women
either, and she was feeling a little lonely. Weddings do that to people
sometimes. So anyhow, I suggested she take care of Steve's best man.
But it turned out she was was a lesbian, and didn't like oral sex with
men. Lots of men who are women are lesbians, it's the way their mothers
make them even before they're born, poor babies, but they usually don't
mind once they get used to the idea. So I volunteered to take care of
Steve's best man instead -- that wasn't being unfaithful to my new vows,
exactly, I thought, unless I were to put his cock into my vagina, and I
never wanted to do that. He was a creep, and Steve had invited him only
because he owed him money. I still owed a lot of money from Medical
School, and we didn't need more debt. So I blew him, and he cancelled
whatever Steve owed him.
To keep things even, I asked Steve to take care of the transsexual
bridesmaid, to fuck her pussy, if she'd have him. Her vagina was
constructed in another State where they recognize that sex change
operations change a person's sex, so it was a proper vagina as far as
she was concerned. But in this redneck, cracker State where we had just
gotten married it took more than that to become a woman. If you weren't
born one, then God himself had to come down during the operation, and
take over the surgery. So it wasn't a vagina in this State, just a
slit, so here she couldn't be a lesbian officially, just a guy who likes
girls. So Steve could fuck her vagina good and proper, and still not be
unfaithful to me, as long as they didn't cross State lines to do it. So
that's what Steve did. My bridesmaid transsexual friend was willing to
go along with it. She appreciated the gesture. And we'd been old
friends a long time. We'd even slept together in college. You know, I
don't remember which sex she was then, or even which gender."
"OK so far. But this creep I had just blown told Steve that I had
spread for him, can you imagine it? On my wedding night? And Steve
believed him. He couldn't see why I hadn't -- we didn't put any of that
"forsaking all others" and "husband and wife are one flesh" stuff into
our wedding vows anyhow. I don't say I wouldn't have fucked him if he
weren't a creep, but he was, and I didn't, OK? Anyhow, Steve didn't
believe me. Now there was a violation, right off. When you get
married, you plight your troth, which is old fashioned language for you
are true to each other, which is middle fashioned language for you don't
lie to each other, which is modern language that means what it says, and
is the proper basis for any marriage as I see it. You trust that each
one of you is telling the truth, even about the length of the stranger's
dick that reamed you silly the previous night. You don't lie. You have
to trust each other."
"Well, Steve didn't believe me. So I got mad, and phoned all of Steve's
ushers, and told them to get over to the hotel where we were married, we
had to do it again because there was a page missing from the marriage
manual, or something. And when they came, I pulled a train with them.
Told them they could all gang shag me as long as we all held out. Well,
whatever they were up to with the bridesmaids and the wedding guests,
most of them still had a couple of shots still left in them. So I wore
them all out. God! I was squishy for days after that. Anyhow, later
on that night, on our nuptual bed, Steve noticed that I was pretty wet
down there. In fact, standing, sitting, or lying down, I was pouring
cum like a half-open faucet. I told him the truth.
And he forgave me, and apologized for doubting me about the creep. He
then told me that my bridesmaid, the one he had screwed, the sexually
re-assigned lesbian except in this State, would rather have been with me
than him, because she felt like a lesbian even in this State. I felt
terrible about that. So I went to her hotel room, and that's where I
spent the rest of my wedding night. Steve looked pretty happy the next
day, but I thought enough was enough, so I never asked him where he'd
spent the rest of that night. He would have told me, I know it. And
ever since then, we've tried to tell each other everything. And we
believe each other. We never lie, or exaggerate. We trust each other.
We are as true to one another as we can be.
But it remains a fact. The first people I screwed after I got married
were a majority of the bridal party, even before I screwed my husband.
And the first person he screwed, even before he screwed his new wife,
was a transsexual girl I then screwed that same night. We all have so
many holes and bulges, and they fit so many others, it's no wonder we
can't keep track. But a married couple should try. That's what we
promise each other. To try."
We were all silent after Kay stopped talking. Then Pearl asked, "Kay,
how much of that story is true?"
And Kay answered, "Which parts are giving you trouble?"
Bea said, "I understand what you're telling me, Kay. Thank you. I
think we all need more to drink. Call the waiter over."
More drinks came. I was beginning to feel a bottomless place under me,
and that I was teetering on the edge of falling into it. So I didn't
notice, until Pearl pointed it out, that the next round of drinks came
from three interesting looking men sitting together not far away. They
were a bit gray in the temples, two of them, and one had a well-shorn
black beard. All were nicely dressed, and rather handsome in fact.
Probably professional men. It seems Pearl knew one of them, and she
went over to thank them and to chat. She came back.
"They were wondering if we cared to dance, any of us. I told them
certainly, but that we wanted a little more time to talk together. Just
us girls. I've told them our plans for tonight, Bea, and they've
offered to help out in any way they can. I told them we'd see."
"Sounds good to me, Pearl," said Kay. "Your turn."
Pearl sat down and thought a moment. "Let's see," she said. "My first
fuck out of wedlock, after my marriage. Yes. That was Tim, three years
into it. A wonderful man. It was a brief affair, only two weeks, while
my ex was away on a business trip. I wish I'd known then that my ex was
going to be my ex, or I would have made him my ex a lot sooner. Maybe
married Tim then and there. But I was doomed to be married for
seventeen more years before that bastard ran off with that slut whore,
and I called it quits.
But Tim is another matter. I still love him, very dearly, and we write
each other sometimes, even though he's married now himself, and I
wouldn't come between him and his wife for the world. But I know he
loves me too."
"We went to the same college, and he was dating one of my sorority
sisters, who was of course two-timing him. He thought they were sort of
engaged. He was one of those kind, decent, gentle guys who write
poetry, and edit the literary magazine, and sit up all night listening
to girls with shit boyfriends who resent being shit on, girls who come
to him to tell him how they feel. While they talk, they feel their own
self-respect flow back, because of his sympathy and understanding. Every
college has one. My Tim was a wonderful man. Still a boy, then,
really."
"Well, his fiancee's other boyfriend got jealous of him, and started
spreading the word that he was a faggot. A ponce. A fairy cocksucker.
And all of the shit boyfriends on campus picked up the tune, and one day
before a big costume dance they all got together to plan their revenge.
They didn't know what he had done during those all night sessions with
their girlfriends. But some of the girls had mustered enough courage to
break off after one or another of those nights, and their boyfriends
found this inexplicable and unforgiveable.
Tim's fiancee delivered him into their hands that night. She talked him
into going to the ball with her as Romeo and Juliet, with herself as
Romeo, and got him a flouncy dress and a blond wig, and dancing
slippers, and put makeup on his face, and then told him they'd been
invited to a cocktail party at one of the fraternities, they'd just stop
there for a drink first on their way to the Gym. Well, you know guys,
those kinds of guys. You know what happened next. She led him into a
room, pitch black, and then disappeared."
"Two hours later she was still dancing away with her other boyfriend and
his friends, in her green tights and little feathered cap, and pretty
swirling cape, having a delightful time. By then Tim was lying out on
the quad unconscious, his asshole a bloody mess, his face and his dress
and his legs soaked with piss and cum and blood. He had been raped
maybe thirty times, probably more -- he didn't know. What he told me
afterward was, he was standing in the dark. Then the lights went on
suddenly, and there he was, Juliet, standing in his dress and his
lipstick and his dancing slippers in the middle of a room with a bare
floor and one mattress on the floor, and all around him against the wall
maybe two dozen muscle men, maybe more, football players, wrestlers,
weight lifters, who knows? They were all masked, and naked except for
black jock strops, and their bodies were all oiled and gleaming, and
they all stood with their legs apart and their arms folded as if in some
kind of final judgement. Tim saw what was up quickly enough, and tried
to make a break for it. But his fiancee had led him in the dark into an
inside room, soundproofed, with no doors, where the fraternity conducts
its secret rituals. It turned out she was led in the dark through
different passageways by someone who knew the way, and then when she had
delivered Tim she was led out, back to the fraternity quad, and given a
corsage in thanks. Then she went off to the dance. Tim didn't have a
chance."
"The rest is rather vague even in his mind. They read some kind of
hokey charges, and two men held him down. A third raped him with a
broomstick, then he thinks with a baseball bat. The pain was
unbearable, he said, and he's sure he fainted a few times. Then they
all lined up and one by one they used his body, his mouth and his ass
and his hands, a few at a time, over and over, insisting that he jerk
every one of them off until there were no more pricks left to clutch,
and that he suck everyone off and swallow all of their cum, until they
had no more juice left, and that he receive gratefully every prick they
could lunge into his ass and every load of cum they could dump inside
him, and say 'Thank you!' every time. If he didn't thank them loud
enough, they'd pull his head way back by the hair until he couldn't
breath. He says when he finally passed out his skirt was still
relatively clean, flung up over his back and his head so the muscle men
could have clear access to his anus, but that when he found himself on
the lawn a couple of hours later, unable to move for the pain, his skirt
was stiff with what seemed to be quarts of cum, and drenched in piss.
So he figures that long after he had lost consciousness they kept at it,
to "teach the fucker a lesson" as they said."
"I know that's what they said because my ex-husband was one of them. Tim
spent a few weeks in the hospital, then left town, and never came back.
That was the end of his college career. The whole thing was hushed over
and forgotten, except by a few girls Tim had helped once, one of them
me, and of course by the rapists. Well, a few years after I was married
I was in the mall buying a pair of shoes, and there was this salesman
kneeling in front of me trying to fit me with a pair I had insisted
would fit. I was vain, and stubborn. They were already pinching. I
cried out, "Ouch, you stupid fool!" And he looked up at me with such
sorrow in his eyes! There was Tim!
He didn't know me, of course, but his eyes started to brim, and he said,
"I don't want to hurt you, ma'am, really I don't. I don't want to hurt
anyone! Please forgive me! Please!" And he looked about to come apart.
I leaned over, and took his head in both my hands, and held it, and then
I leaned way over and looked into his eyes, just looked, our noses
almost touching. More powerful feelings welled up in me than I have
ever felt in my life before or since. I said, "Tim?" And he was baffled
and frightened for just a moment. Then he suddenly said, "Pearl?" And I
broke down and started to bawl. I just dissolved. I collapsed into
little pieces. I started crying, "Tim! Tim! Tim!" over and over, and
I still don't know what I meant by that. Maybe I was mourning for all
the decent people I'd ever known that had gotten shit on. Maybe for the
decency in me that I buried after I got married, then tried to forget
altogether, because what good is it? I don't know. He had to help me
into the manager's office, I was sobbing so uncontrollably. And there
he sat with me, just as in the old days, waiting quietly until I could
get a grip on myself."
"Then we went for coffee, and he told me how things were with him. He
said that lying in the hospital, he couldn't handle the rage, and the
self-contempt, and the loathing. When they released him he was still
taking a dozen showers a day. He went crazy, he said, and he still
couldn't sleep without terrible nightmares. Any large man still
terrifies him, he said. He thought it was somehow his fault, exactly
what he had told any number of girls they should never believe about
themselves. He felt polluted, inside and out. He tried to remember,
relive the horror of it one person at a time, to exorcize it from his
mind. But no use. That only made it worse, he said."
"For a time he went on the streets and sold himself, he felt so
worthless. He couldn't concentrate, or hold a job. He tried to kill
himself, twice, he said, but he failed even there. Worst of all, he
couldn't confide in anyone, or trust anyone. He had this terrible fear
of betrayal, after what his fiancee had done to him. When I tried to
touch him reassuringly after I got his phone number and gave him mine,
he trembled so hard he couldn't get his coat on."
"I was still hopeful about my marriage. In fact it was going to last
another seventeen years, though I didn't know it, and I didn't know it
was going to cost me a large part of me, my enthusiasm, my trust in
other people, any instincts for kindness I might have had. I was
already getting arrogant, getting to be the kind of woman who feels free
to talk bitchy to any shoe clerk who's only trying to do what he's asked
to do. I got worse, as the years went by. You know that now I'm a
tough broad, hard to live with, sarcastic, suspicious of any kindness
anyone shows me, much too cynical. That's what life with my husband did
to me. But you tolerate it because you know there's more to me. We both
know when I'm putting on my masks. You know I'm a wiseass mainly for my
own amusement, and for self-protection. And you know that when all my
acting has played itself out, I do care! I care a lot! I know you know
this, or you couldn't stand me for a minute. Neither could I."
"Well, I was more trusting in those days. That night I mentioned to my
partner in life that I had met Tim, the fragile young man who had helped
me and so many of my friends when we were in college, who had been
brutalized by some bastard jocks, and had left school. He only
commented, 'Oh, yeah, the pansy who used to talk my brothers'
girlfriends into fucking other guys. Well, we fucked him that night,
but good. The piece of shit! He really looked like shit when we dumped
him on the quad, after we taught him to mind his own business. He hasn't
forgotten that lesson yet, I'll bet!'"
"At that time I knew that my partner in life, my very own piece of shit,
was already fucking other women. Only three years into our marriage!
But I couldn't figure out what to do about it. Should I call him down,
and let him know I knew? Should I ignore it, and hope that it would
pass? Was it my fault? When he said that about Tim, he made up my mind
for me. "
"The next day he was going on a sales trip to the midwest, for two
weeks. So the next day I called Tim, and asked him to have dinner with
me in a quiet little restaurant after his store closed. We had two cars
in the garage, but I told him my husband took our car, so if he didn't
mind, I'd like him to take me home afterward. We needed to talk, I
said. I needed to talk. He agreed."
"We ate, and we talked. It was just like the old days. I found I was
telling him all about my marriage, and what it seemed to be doing to me.
He listened. By the way he listened, I could tell when I was striking
poses, or pretending, or overdramatizing myself, and I could tell when I
was talking to him from my heart. He was that kind of a guy. I heard
myself speak truths, and I heard myself kidding myself. I knew he could
tell the difference, so I heard myself with his ears, and for the first
time since my marriage, maybe even before then, I was absolutely honest
with myself. Tim just listened."
"We took a taxi home, and I asked him in for a nightcap, just a quick
one. He was uncertain, but I took his elbow, and he was through the
door and into the living room before he could say No. Then we talked
for another hour. He sat on the sofa, looking at our fire in the
fireplace, and I sat on the rug in front of him, also looking into the
fire. We both relaxed a little more. We even got cozy. After a while
I snuggled between his knees, and leaned my head back onto him, and
rested my arms on his thighs, and we both looked at the fire, and I
poured a little more wine, and we both felt mild and easy. We talked
some more. I told him the worst of my fears about my life with my
husband. He wanted to comfort me, I could tell, but his hand wouldn't
quite bring itself to stroke my hair. As soon as I dared, when I felt
his hand resting on my head, and trembling a little less, I preened
myself against it. I was really afraid to move, for fear he would start
to shake again, and his ghosts would return, and he would rush out of
the house without even letting me call him a taxi."
"But at a particularly magical moment, I knew I had to act. I said,
'Tim?' and he said, 'Pearl?' as if he already knew what I was going to
ask him. So I didn't ask him. I twisted around between his knees, and
laid my cheek against his crotch where his balls had to be, and I kissed
his jeans where his cock had to be. Then I said, 'Please hold me.'
Thank God, he put both hands on my head, and gently pressed my face into
his crotch. I hugged his thighs, and then sat up a little, and unzipped
his pants, and ever so gently took out his cock, and held it in both my
hands. What a treasure! But it looked so shy. I kissed it. I kissed
it again. I asked him to kiss me, and he touched his lips to me. Then
I took his prick firmly in one hand, and I sat up, and settled onto the
couch next to him, and snuggled against him, and then worked my hand
slowly up and down on his prick. I asked him to kiss me again. He did,
on my lips this time. I sighed, without even realizing it."
"Then for the next half-hour we were like high school kids. We kissed
each other. I kissed him everywhere I could reach, his face, his mouth,
his eyes, his neck, and he kissed me, especially on my neck. Little by
little he grew warmer, more sure of himself. And all the while I was
moving my hand gently up and down on his tool, being careful never to
seem casual or absent-minded. I wanted him to feel pleasure there too,
every minute we were also kissing and hugging."
"Then I went down on him. It was exquisite. I bent over, and put my
head in his lap, and put the head of his cock in my mouth, and I made
love to it. It grew. I licked it, and I kissed it. And it grew
larger. He lifted himself to put it deeper into my mouth, and that was
the first move he had made toward me without my asking. The very first.
I almost began to cry. I slipped my head down on his meat, and he
lifted himself up, and then again, and finally there we were. We were
making love together, in rhythm, delicately responsive to each other. I
think I was the first girl to make him feel desired since his fiancee
had abandoned him in the dark."
"So I took a very big chance. All of a sudden I stood up, and said,
'Tim, we are going to make love tonight. Don't say No. Don't. Please
don't. If you can't make love to me, then just let me make love to you.
I need you. Oh, how I need you. I want you to kiss me. I need you to
kiss me. All over. We need to take our clothes off. We need to go to
bed. Come to bed, Tim. Please. For me.' And oddly enough, it was for
me. It had to be for me. He'd have known if I was faking it. He'd
have known if it was only gratitude, or some misplaced charitable
instinct, or if I was using him to get even with my husband. It had to
be real caring, and he had to care for me too."
"Tim said, 'All right, Pearl. I want to kiss you too. All over. For
me. I know what you're doing. You are the most wonderful girl I have
ever known.'"
"So we went to bed. The rest is what people do together, men and women,
boys and girls. We took off our clothes and lay together side by side
upstairs, in the big bed I shared with my husband. And in the warm
yellow glow of our night light, we looked at each others' bodies. And we
touched each other. We touched each others' faces, and shoulders, and
arms -- each touch seemed a miracle. And we caressed each other. He
stroked the steep curve over my hip down to my waist, again and again,
and told me it was a marvel he couldn't believe was real. Almost right
off I found a place on his neck that started him moaning. We found each
others' nipples, and when our four hands weren't enough we moved our
mouths onto each others' bodies, and began to kiss and lick each other,
everywhere. I mean everywhere. The first time I came that night, he
came too, his lips gently pulsing on my clit and his tongue sweeping my
slit, and my mouth filled with his cock and then with his cum. So very
delicious. Then ever so gently I licked him erect again, and I turned
around and smiled and sat down on his prick, and he lifted himself into
me. Then we moved into each other and we rocked back and forth
together, faster and faster, and I held his shoulders, and when he came
again so did I. It was so wonderful. It was the only orgasm I have ever
had that I would call peaceable, all warmth and serenity and quiet joy,
a feeling of love that spread through my entire body, and then seemed to
pass through me into him."
"We made love again that night, always attentive to each others' needs,
and exploring others. The last time was passionate. Yes, passionate!
By morning he had finally lost all of his inhibitions. We trusted each
other absolutely, and we owned each other, and we took possession of
each other in whatever ways our whims dictated. Over and over. He
built up in me the most frenzied delight I have ever known.
"This went on for the whole two weeks my ex was away. Tim came and went
at will, never mind what the neighbors might think. His self-confidence
came rebounding back. By the end of the first week we were joking with
each other while making love, and I discovered that what people do with
each other's pricks and breasts and cunts can be enormous fun! Other
times it was like religion, beautiful, devoted, rapt, so very spiritual,
though always with a perfect communion of his cock and my pussy at the
heart of our worship. At the end of the second week he kissed me, and
told me he had found a job in California near a college where he
intended to complete his degree, and that I had saved his life, and that
he loved me dearly. I told him I loved him, too, and always would love
him. And it was true. I still do love him. More than anyone I have
ever known. There was a perfect truth between us, nothing wishful, no
bullshit, no pretense. And perfect caring for each other. I know he
knows today how I still feel about him. And I know he feels that way
too about me. But we no longer need each other the way we did then,
when we were trying to lose ourselves in each other, and instead we
found ourselves."
Pearl stopped, and took a hefty swallow at her drink. No one said
anything.
"Where are those three guys?" she asked. "Weren't they due around now?"
"You know, Pearl," said Kay, obviously impressed. "That doesn't sound
like you at all."
"Thank you, Pearl," my wife said. "I hear you." Her eyes were bright,
and I thought she was being sentimental. Later I found out she was
thinking about me the whole time.
4.
Things got a little blurry after that, then a lot more blurry. The
three guys came over, and we had a few more rounds of drinks. Kay told
them what we'd been talking about, and they each of them told their own
stories of one night stands on business trips, hot sex with willing
partners, with every anatomical detail described. They each referred to
their own pricks as heavy, or huge, or frightening to their ladies at
first. Pearl questioned this, and they said they were willing to bet
her they were all three exceptionally well-endowed, put up or shut up,
her choice. Pearl just smiled to herself, and took one of the men by
the hand and led him off to the dance floor. I didn't see her again
that night.
Then my wife Bea spoke to the nicest of them, I thought, the quiet,
confident, gray-haired man called Bob. I was a little looped, but I
noticed that her voice with him was different from her voice with me.
She commanded him, almost. She said, "Well Bob, if you know how to
dance, ask me to dance." Bob looked at her, surprised, but he didn't say
anything. Then Bea stood up on her spike-heeled boots with her legs
spread apart, and she twisted her pelvis slightly, and she put her hands
on her hips, and she leaned forward. Her breasts pushed out into her
black silk blouse, inches from his face, and the tips of her nipples
were practically in his mouth, which fell wide open.
"Didn't you hear me, Bob?" she asked him.
Bob leaped to his feet, "Yes Ma'am!"
"Then what do you say?"
"Uh, would you like to dance, please, mmm...ah..mmm....?" He couldn't
finish.
Bea smiled. She seemed to know why he couldn't finish. "'Ma'am' will
do quite well for now," she said. "Later I'll expect you to follow your
instincts when you address me!" And off they went to the dance floor.
I lost sight of them for a few minutes, but when I next looked they
seemed awfully close. Bea had thrust herself up against him, and was
looking up into his face with an imperious smile. He seemed to be in a
daze, and I noticed that one of his hands was pressed between their
bodies. She said something, and he actually took hold of one of her
breasts! Her pelvis seemed to be stroking his. She said something
else, and he leaned forward and buried his face in her neck.
I turned to tell Kay what I thought I had seen, a little disturbed. But
Kay had something to say to me first. "Here's someone who wants to meet
you, Honey," she said. "Treat him well and he'll treat you well. Here,
let me freshen your drink." A rather tall, thin man with blonde hair
across his forehead sat down next to me. He looked at me for a moment,
then gazed into my face and said, "I've been wanting to meet you all
evening, Honey," he said. "You are absolutely lovely." He was very
personable, the kind of man that women find attractive at first sight,
I'm sure. He had an odd appeal even I could sense. He took my hand,
and I looked down at my hand in his, and I was happy that Marge had made
my nails so beautiful. I hoped he wouldn't realize what I really was.
I wondered what would happen if he did.
"Thank you," I said. If I had been standing, I'm sure I would have
tried to curtsy. Instead, I bobbed my head at him and smiled, and hoped
I looked appreciative. This was the first pass anyone had ever made
toward me, and the first compliment I had ever received from a stranger.
My heart welled up. I knew that given who I was, what I was, really, I
should keep him at bay. My purpose tonight was to keep my wife company.
That was my purpose. But she was off dancing with another man right
now. It would be fun to flirt with this man, I thought.
"Here you are, Honey. Bottoms up!" Kay handed me a glass filled with a
straw colored beverage and a few ice cubes. I drank it down in four
swallows, before I realized that her advice was not good advice. "I
should sip, Kay," I said, feeling further distanced from myself than I
knew myself to be. "That's what Bea told me."
"You should always do what Bea tells you, Honey," Kay said. Then she
and her own gentleman, the dark bearded one, disappeared.
My new blonde friend hadn't moved from my side, nor had he let go my
hand. "I'll get you another drink, Honey, one you can sip," he said. He
snapped his fingers in the air. There was another drink in front of me.
I sipped it. He said something I couldn't quite hear, and when he
repeated it, he came very close to me, and I felt his breath and his
lips on my ear. I blushed, and tried to push him away, but teasingly,
because he was really such a lovely man. But I almost fell off my
chair. Then he was sitting on the other side of me, and I was resting
my head on his shoulder, and he was telling me something, and I was
listening, and smiling, and nodding. I felt very content. No idea why.
I closed my eyes.
Then I don't know. He was dancing me backward, and I was in his arms,
following his steps, looking into his eyes and smiling. I thought we
passed Bea and her gray haired friend, but I couldn't be sure. There
were billowing black sleeves around some man's neck, and a glimpse of
her big hair maybe. But their faces were absorbed in each other. Were
they kissing? I couldn't see, with my eyes closed. My blonde man
kissed my closed eyes, tenderly, and I responded! I kissed his face. I
could feel a man's bristles on my lips. He was such a lovely man! I
put my arms around his neck and I kissed his mouth. Just like Bea. I
felt a lot like Bea. If it was Bea I had seen, her black sleeves. But
my arms were bare, and smooth. Bea had insisted I use lotions all over
my body. I felt bare, and smooth. I pulled him closer. His tongue
kissed my mouth. We danced with his tongue in my mouth, or mine in his,
and I put my lips softly on his lips. He tasted so sweet! Had I said
aloud what I thought I had seen? Bea kissing? He kissed me again. To
the table, another whiskey. A slow romantic dance, and I was plastered
against him, I was part of him, so we could dance together. His hands
felt my breasts, fondling my little nipples, cupping me and lifting me.
They are real breasts I thought. Bea made them for me. They feel very
nice. His hands feel very nice. My eyes were closed now. We danced
around the table, and his penis pressed into mine and I was feeling
strangely excited, as if I were melting into him. My heart melted into
him. More music from somewhere, but my eyes were closed. I felt very
good. I held him tightly around his neck. Such a very lovely man!
"They're gone," my man said. Who? "I'd better take you home," he said.
"I know where you live, don't worry, dear." All right. We'll go home.
I picked up my purse. There were no other purses near the table any
more. As he steered me out the door, I heard a voice, was it Kay's? A
woman's voice. Bea's? Not my woman's voice. I heard "Don't forget to
take out your tampon, Honey dear. Have fun!" My first fun. Where am I?
A parking lot. No, I am home in my bed, and it's my bridal night, and I
am kissing someone passionately, and I am wrapping my legs around him,
and I am moaning in delight, and he is wrapped around me. He is sucking
on my tits. I am suckling him. I fold his head in my arms. My love!
Oh, my love! He is entering me, and I open my whole body wide to
welcome him in.
5.
I came to consciousness of early morning light in the windows. Dawn. I
was lying on our big king sized bed, in our bedroom, Bea's and mine,
only my head was turned to the foot of the bed, and tucked in snug. My
arms were wrapped around bony buttocks, not Bea's round, soft pillows.
Someone's boneless finger was deep in my mouth, and I was nursing on it.
Deep inside my crotch I felt a yearning for something hot and wet and
snug and soft, and I pushed into more wet velvety softness. The finger
in my mouth began to rub on the slick insides of my lips, and I could
feel it was growing bigger. I sucked on it and opened my eyes.
I saw my nose was buried in a leathery sack, soft and hairy. Someone's
balls. That my mouth was wrapped around someone's prick, half-engorged.
That I was pulling my face into someone's crotch by hugging his hips
with all my strength, and not letting go. That my own prick was growing
into more wet, warm, comfy velvet. I moaned and hugged the pillows even
tighter. His buttocks. They rolled a little. I was a comma inside a
comma, and a luscious feeling grew deeper between my legs. My mouth
slipped up and down on some man's dimpled prick, with its royal purple
head, like a gladiator's helmet, his lovely, lovely cock. I licked and
sucked it while it grew larger, and mine craved to be buried deep in his
mouth.
"Oooohoooooh!" I heard a woman's throat vibrate richly, luxuriantly,
purring, and I realized that the throat was mine. I thrust my nose deep
down, and I pulled his cock deeper into my face. He did too, sucking on
my meat, holding my rump firm, lovingly. Rumpled sheets.
I woke up completely. I was in bed with some man, and we were in a
sixty-nine embrace with each other, probably because we had slept that
way much of the night. Yes. I could smell cum in his pubic hair,
someone's, mine or his, and still taste it salty in my mouth, though his
sweet cock was still growing in my mouth, and mine in his, and I was
sucking vigorously on his. Finally I got up on my elbows and devoted
full attention to lapping and kissing his beautiful smooth tower while a
sweet tension grew deep behind mine, and I pumped his face. I fucked
him, down his throat, which clung to my cock, until I cried out "Ahhh,
ahhh, ahhh, nnng" and I came into him pulsing. The most delectable
feelings flooded me inside his face. I could feel him swallowing me.
I am on my bed, I thought, and a man has just given me a great blow job,
and I am giving him the best I know how. Why am I here? I noticed that
my bra and my slip were rumpled around my shoulders, the bra unfastened
but the straps wrapped on me. He was licking me off, sucking on me
still, until I was small, and clean, and wet. A boneless finger.
"Wait, Honey!"
His voice was soft, musical, gentle. I took his tower into my hand, to
assure that it would be there when I turned my mouth back toward it, and
I saw my lovely slender red fingernails wrapping around it. Then I
lifted my head and looked back along his legs up to his chest and face.
My body was smooth and soft, hairless, I could see. I remembered how
Bea had showered me with a pungent cream before I went off to the beauty
parlor, and had rinsed it away to reveal my soft, woman's body. It
occurred to me that my hair must be a mess, and my face. But I didn't
dare touch them. His body as I looked along his legs was hairy, my
white skin lying against his.
Between my legs, there I saw my friend from last night, with his short,
blond, tousled hair, resting on one of my thighs, still caressing my
balls and my own softening prick with his tongue, still licking up my
own cum. We weren't dancing together any more. He smiled at me.
"It's daylight. One more for the road," he said. I didn't know what he
meant. He wriggled out from under me, and turned, and gently straddled
my legs. I felt deprived of him. Where was that beautiful velvet penis
now? I felt a prodding between my buttocks, and without thinking I
humped my hips high into the air to receive it. The soft tip of his
rigid cock pressed on my anus, my cunt. He'd been there before, I
realized. My body was welcoming him into me again without giving it a
second thought, and I was already slick and wet, slippery between my
cheeks. Cum from an earlier fucking? No doubt of it, though I couldn't
remember. How many times fucked? No knowing. A few, at least. I
realized that my cunthole was well-stretched out, that my ass would have
no problem taking him in. And in fact his prick, now fully extended,
slid into me like an old friend settling into bed.
"Oooooh!" I said in deep satisfaction, and I wiggled my ass into him to
sink his prick even deeper. I wanted him to plunge all the way into me.
"Ooooh, lovely! Fuck me, you sweet man. Oh, darling, please, fuck me!"
Was that me, saying such things? It was! I must have been saying such
things for half of last night, they came so easily out of my mouth. I
felt so feminine, so ripe, so complete, so fulfilled inside me,
so...just.... well... just...lovely. Just lovely, once his meat was
deep inside me. His hands came around and grasped my breasts, my
beautiful soft mounds, and he cupped them with the palms of his hands,
and his fingers touched my dainty tips. My beautiful nipples. My whole
body felt such divine longing! I felt so happy that his hands were
full. That I could fill his hands. Bea had been so loving when she had
trained my breasts out until they hung down from my chest, into the cups
of my bigger bras, into his hands where hers had been, where hers were
playing with my engorged nipples so deliciously. As always, I felt so
feminine, so loved. It felt just...so...wonderful! I loved the
feeling. I loved that he was holding me in both his hands, my pussy
wrapped around his cock.
I embraced his tower with my buttocks, and we began to move. Faster and
faster we probed and thrust into each other, over and over. His hands
and his body possessed me! All of me! I was near fainting with the
pleasure of it. Then I felt him swell up into me, and deep inside I
could feel his hot jism pumping into my bowels. It was so incredible!
I squealed again, even louder! As I came down to earth, I realized I
had cum again too, that my prick was now sticky wet, pressed into the
mattress, having spurted without even getting hard!
He pulled out of me, and kissed the back of my neck, and got off the
bed, and started to get dressed. I just lay there dreamily, and looked
at him. He was thin as well as blond, with a rangy build, well-
proportioned, no sagging anywhere, and he smiled at me as he stepped
into his pants. What was his name?
"Will I see you again?" I asked him, still euphoric. What a question! I
felt like a one night stand picked up in a singles bar, But that's what
I was! It felt so good! I was a deeply satisfied woman, and that is
what a satisfied woman asks when her man leaves her bed! I loved that
the words had come out of me so naturally. Like his cum now oozing out
of my ass, I could tell by the slippery feel when I squeezed my buns
together, as if his prick were still somewhere safe there inside me.
"That depends on your wife, Honey," he said gently, with a wry little
smile. "Tell her 'Hi!' for me when you see her. And tell her thanks
for the use of her husband." He slipped on his undershirt and his
loafers, and picked up his shirt and tie and jacket, and headed for the
door. "Time to leave," he said. He paused at the door. "You're just
great, honeybuns! You have lots of passion down under there, waiting
for someone to bring it out. And you have lots of talent for making
love, when you're aroused. But be careful! Fucking and sucking the way
you do it can be habit-forming."
He reflected a moment. "It was a real privilege to take your cherry
last night," he said. "I wasn't sure you even knew, though you were
certainly responsive enough, and grateful enough afterward. Each time!
Anyhow, you sure knew what we were doing just now! Welcome to the club!
Honey, you are something very special!" He kissed the tips of his
fingers at me, and went out the door.
I got off the bed, and my rumpled slip fell down over my rump where it
belonged. I felt like such a slut, and now my ass began to ooze cum
down my legs. Who knew what my face and hair looked like now? But I
didn't even know his name! I followed him out the door.
When I got to the top of the landing, I saw Bea just coming in. She
still looked sensational, though I noticed she was walking carefully
down the front hall toward the stairway as if limping on both legs.
She'd been out all night! Where had she been? Doing what? My own
wife! With another man? My blond lover nodded to her as they passed,
and she nodded back, not even bothering to turn around.
"G'morning, Steve."
"Morning Bea. Is Kay home yet?"
"I wouldn't know, Steve. I don't think so, though. When I left our
motel there was still moaning and shrieking coming from her room. I
don't know how she can keep that up all night!"
"Oh, there are ways." Steve grinned at her, and cast a glance back at
me. "G'Night, Honey. It was really beautiful. You're really
beautiful. Any time at all!" He let himself out the front door.
Bea paused on her painful voyage up the stairs, and leaned on the
bannister below me. "Well, Henry, are you Henry again, or are you Honey
now, now that you know the joys of being Honey? Is there anything you
want to say to me, or shall we get to bed!"
I was utterly addled. "No, Bea, for God's sake, I...we... it was..."
"Yes, it certainly looks that way. Well, Henry, let me relieve your
mind, right now, before you have a stroke. You've just had a lovely
time with Steve, I'm sure. Pearl and Kay and I have just had delightful
times with our guys. Mine was just scrumptious. When we left you with
Steve we went back to their motel rooms, just the way Pearl and Kay
arranged for us. And we've been with them ever since. All night.
Fucking their brains out. And vice versa. My special birthday treat!
Bob was my special birthday treat! The girls brought him in from out of
town, can you imagine? A marvelous stallion, plunging into me, and I
rode him bareback. By God, huge, and such powerful thighs. And yet so
sweetly submissive when I ordered him around. I could make him do
anything! Anything at all! Even when I tied him up! Well, later we'll
compare notes. I'm too tired now. And too sore. I need a night's
sleep, and that's where I'm headed."
I just stood there in my rumpled slip, my unhooked bra still hanging
from me, speechless. She kissed me as she stepped past me, then paused
again and looked back with a wicked smile, but it was affectionate too.
"Henry, or Honey, my very own husband, my sweet dearest girlfriend, you
look as well-fucked as I feel! I'm glad. And you look as if you could
do with some sleep too, dear. Are you also a little sore? Does your
little pussy hurt? I'll bet it does."
"Now we both have some wonderful tales to tell each other, and to tell
the other girls. Later today, tea time, I've arranged for all of us to
gather here together for a lovely hen fest. But first, sleep."
She paused again. I think she realized that there was more to be said,
because I was still standing there with my mouth open. I had tried
several times to say something, anything. But nothing came out. I
guess she decided that now was as good a time as any to relieve my mind
of its confusion. She leaned on the railing, and then turned toward me,
while I was still staring at her.
"I think you finally understand now, dear. This is what I wanted for my
big fortieth year celebration. This is exactly what I wanted. This is
what the girls have been arranging for me."
"But it's what I arranged for you, too. The more we girls talked about
it, the more certain I was that this is what we both needed. I love
you, and I love being married to you. I didn't want to lose you, the
way Pearl lost her husband. So there was always risk in what Pearl and
Kay were planning for me. If I really went out on the town the way they
wanted, and you found out what I'd done, you'd divorce me! Even if you
never found out, then what we're going to do from now on would need to
be hidden. There'd be too much sneaking around. Too much dishonesty.
I wanted some real adventures, to meet some new guys, to get intimate
with them in new ways. And if I liked it I wanted to keep doing it, the
way Pearl and Kay do. But not at cost to us, lover. I cherish us!"
She straightened a little, and smiled at me sweetly. "So my problem
was, how could I renew my life and enjoy other men without you getting
all macho and pompous about it, and declaring that our marriage was at
an end. Or without you worrying yourself to a frazzle that you had
somehow driven me away by your own inadequacies. Men all think that any
one of them should be enough for any one woman! They're so silly! So
they blame themselves when their wives go astray, the decent ones do.
Or their wives blame them. I didn't want you to feel guilty. This isn't
your fault. I just wanted to know before I got too old what it would be
like to be with another man. With other men. Maybe with lots of other
men. To get well laid, in lots of different ways. That's all. But I
didn't want you to suffer while I was doing it. I wanted you to know
that we are still the same couple we've always been, if you know what I
mean. Still together. That we are perfectly safe with each other
whatever we may do with other people. That we are truly married."
"So the girls and I arranged this lovely, lovely night, exactly the way
it worked out. You had to become one of us, truly one of the girls, and
do everything we were doing, and enjoy it just as much. I've been
preparing you for nearly a year."
"Pearl never thought you'd do it, become Honey, an attractive girl out
to enjoy herself. And even if you did become Honey, Pearl didn't think
you'd go through with the rest of it. "A woman isn't a real woman until
some man has screwed her, one way or another, maybe both ways," she'd
say. "And he'll never agree to that. He'll wimp out!" So she wasn't
much help. But Kay helped out, giving you female hormones all year so
you'd look more like a woman, and feel more like one, and maybe enjoy
sex more like one. And I guess that's what happened! I'm so glad!"
"When Steve showed up last night, that was Kay's signal to give you a
really heavy dose of tranquillizers, so you wouldn't get anxious about
me, or about yourself, and then also one more whopping overdose of
female hormones, so you'd feel especially sensitive in your intimate
places! You'd never have tolerated my taking up with Bob the way I did,
I'm sure, unless you were already stoned out of your mind, and already
pretty horny yourself. And I'm sure you'd never have gone to bed with
Steve on your own, even as Honey, even as drunk as you were. It took a
little more."
"In fact, when we left you, I wasn't sure you were still conscious! But
you were, in a way. Enough, anyhow. You did seem to be enjoying
yourself, dancing with your head thrown back, and your eyes closed, a
huge smile on your face, Steve's hands roaming all over you, and you
rubbing your tits all over him. Kay said we could trust you with him.
So we left with our guys. Bob and I had already started, even while we
were still sitting next to you at the table. I mean, not a foot away
from you, there I was sitting in his lap french kissing him, and there
he was with his fingers somewhere inside my pussy, doing such marvelous
things! Not a foot away! But you were so wrapped up in your own man
you never even noticed!"
Bea paused, and then spoke very slowly. "You have given me the most
precious birthday present I have ever had, love. Thank you. It was
very thoughtful of you. As far as you thought about it, that is. And
it couldn't have been more generous. I'm so very happy!
I still couldn't think of anything to say. "Bea," I began. Then I was
silent again.
She came over to me on impulse, and kissed me again. On the lips. I
just looked at her. Maybe those tranquillizers still had me a little
zonked.
"In a way this been my present to you too. We'll talk about it when I
wake up. When I went off with Bob, did you get nice and hard thinking
about what we might be doing? And all last night here with Steve, did
you feel nice and soft and yielding when he was pumping into you? The
way I felt with Bob? Were you the teensiest bit turned on? More than
just a teensy bit? Did you have any really grand orgasms, huge rolling
ones, the kind Bob gave me? Oh, I do hope so. But don't worry about it
if you didn't, lover. You will. Now that you're not afraid to be
Honey, you won't need tranquillizers any more. We'll see to it. It'll
just take the right man."
"I must say, Honey lamb, thinking about Steve plowing your ass while Bob
was plowing mine was the most wonderful turn-on for me! Bob was
everything I'd hoped for! He barely fit into me! The first times we
fucked, I just came and came, over and over. But then afterward,
whatever we did, I came again every time I imagined you and Steve doing
the same things. Bob couldn't understand it when I told him. 'That
lady was your husband?' he kept saying. 'Do you go out together often?
Why don't you make it with each other? Are you both lesbians?' The poor
man was baffled."
"And Honey, there's more. I wasn't going to tell you until tea time
later today, when we all tell each other what we did with our fellas.
But you might want to sleep on it now. Next weekend we're all going
away for the whole weekend to a resort hotel in the mountains. A
fabulous place, Pearl says, for singles of all ages to meet and have
fun. Tennis, swimming, golf, new friends and companions, all four of us
enjoying ourselves. We'll see what action we can arrange. Doesn't that
sound wonderful?
"Or all three of us, Henry dear, if you'd rather stay home and watch
television. But I think you'd have more fun with us. You are one of
us, now, you know. And if you come, we can share everything. A whole
weekend! Here I am, forty years old, and I'm looking forward to a whole
weekend, the start of a whole new life!"
"But I don't want to force you, Honey. You think about it, and let me
know. Even as late as next Wednesday. That's when we'll need to phone
in all of our room reservations. Don't worry about a thing! I'll help
you shop for everything. You'll need lots more pretty lingerie,
certainly, and tennis outfits, and some swim suits. You do know you
can't go swimming topless any more ever, don't you? And you'll need to
wear a really good brassiere all the time from now on, or those titties
of yours will start to sag down to your stomach. Oh, and certainly
you'll need to buy a sheer dress or two for your little romantic
candlelight dinners. To wear when we're back here in town, too. It's
going to be such fun!"
Bea came closer, and now she put both her hands on my shoulders, and
looked me straight in the eyes. I glanced down at her boots, and at her
thighs, and at her nipples poking through her silk blouse so close to
mine, but so much bigger than mine, and then I looked up into those
dark-streaked eyes of hers, and I couldn't look away. They held me. Her
voice enchanted me. "Honey," she said, "Please come with us. Please,
sweetheart. You'll love it! Do it for me! I won't enjoy myself at all
as much, if I don't know that you're also enjoying yourself. I'm sure
Pearl can fix you up with another guy you'd love to be with. Maybe even
Steve again, if he's not busy. Didn't you enjoy Steve? Wasn't he just
right for you?"
"We have such wonderful years ahead of us, sharing our new lives, you as
my sweetest, dearest girlfriend as well as my loving, adorable husband.
Now there's no need for us ever to separate, or get divorced, or for you
to feel you need to hunt up some trophy wife, the way Pearl's husband
did, to renew your life. Last year, I knew you were headed that way,
toward taking on some younger woman who would help you feel younger. I
could tell. And I was so depressed that I might lose you, and I felt so
helpless to do anything about it. You remember! It seemed only a
matter of time. Only last year! But now, no trophy wife would want
you. Not after what I've done to you. And I don't know that you'd want
one of them either, now that you know how good it is to be a woman in
bed with a man. Now you're really and truly one of us. And you're
mine."
"Oh, Honey, there are so many new places we'll visit, and so many new
men to get to know. It's a whole new beginning. Say you'll come with
us. Do, please, say Yes. Do sleep on it, and then say, Yes"
"But I'm terribly sleepy now. Come, love, take off that slip, and slip
into a nightie, and let's just go to bed and hug each other. Just the
two of us. I do so want you to lick me to sleep. I'm still wet with
Bob, and I know you'll love the way he tastes. Oh, everything's going
to be so beautiful from now on. You'll see."
End
My wife Tracy's voice calling me from downstairs. Tired, but trying to take charge nevertheless.
She was home from work late again, after a wearying day. As she explained it, she was responsible for lots of special projects, she didn't want to talk about them, and the company had downsized too far, and her job was to see that whatever had to be done got done nevertheless, by whatever means necessary. Her Boss rode her hard, she said, so she had to stay on top and ride everyone else hard. That meant long days to avoid late nights and weekends, but late nights and weekends anyhow. When she mentioned quitting to her boss at my urging, he raised her salary -- doubled it in fact -- and promoted her. "We can't afford to lose you," is what he told her. He even gave her a new title and a department of her own. "It's called 'Personnel Services'," she said to me, pronouncing it as if spelled "personal." "I'm the head, but there's no body yet. Nobody to help do the work, apart from my secretary." I asked when she'd be able to hire at least an assistant. She looked at me and said "The position's cleared. When I can find the right person. I'm working on it, believe you me, honey." And she sighed.
Today was especially rough. I could tell by the long silence after our heavy front door latched shut. I pictured Tracy leaning against it with the weight of her whole body. Soon she'd gather energy enough to find the living room and flop face down on the couch, and eventually to stagger upstairs. But first she had to call out to me, to know what was happening. I suppose she'd heard the running water upstairs. "Hon?" she called again.
"Just rinsing out some undies, dear," I called down. I wished she could just let her mind go blank when she got home. My work wasn't that demanding, so I was getting home as early as I could and then doing everything I could to ease her through this stressful time. Running the household in effect. Even so, she heard sounds and had to ask, couldn't let anything get by her. I suppose that's what made her so good at her work, why she'd been promoted when others were being let go, and why she was coming home exhausted.
"Yours or mine?"
"Ours," I answered. It was true enough. When I'd gotten home I'd found our lingerie hamper stuffed to overflowing again. Heaps of panties, pantyhose, stockings, garter belts, bras, slips, and teddies, hers and mine all tangled and crammed in and tamped down in a mass of hot pinks and ochres and beiges and blacks, tricots and satins and lace nets. All crumpled, many stained, some there for weeks.
"That's good," was all she could reply.
Eventually she'd come upstairs, remove her dress or suit and hang it up, and then limp into the bathroom. She'd pull down her panties from her beautifully turned rump, lift her slip over hair she'd piled high on her head, unclasp her bra from the curves of her breasts, let them all fall to the floor, and when I nodded, sink into the hot tub I'd just run for her. I'd drop her intimate things into the hamper for her, and then go fix dinner while she soaked in the suds and bath oils and gradually recovered herself.
Until she began to come home so bushed, my panties and bra would often follow hers into the hamper, and I'd follow her into the tub. We wore pretty much the same kinds and sizes. Tracy liked pastels and I preferred darker shades, so we could always separate them out again. But our after-work baths were always a special joy for both of us, even before we got married. We'd undress together, smile at each other, then slip into the tub and then, soaking in warm water, make love.
Often at work I'd daydream about those moments. The feel of her slick, soaked pussy under water as I massage soap and bath oils into her tender slit. The uplifted curve of the underside of her breasts where it rises to meet her perky nipples, often jutting out stiff even before my finger tips can reach them. The way her breasts feel pressing softly against mine as I hug her. Her languorous stretching out and her soft ecstatic groans when I begin to caress her most private areas. Then, the feel of her warm, wet, oiled pussy on what is by then my bone-hard cock, when finally she mounts me and I sink into her, and she wraps her legs around my waist, and we rock back and forth, the water swaying and splashing, and gently pump into each other. So very sweet!
I soon found my skin was as soft as hers from all the bath oils, and my whole body more tender, more erotically aroused, especially around my nipples and cock. When I mentioned this to her she just smiled and said, "I'd hoped so." Our part-time office manager Connie had obligations that often took her elsewhere, but when she was with us and checking on the staff in her charge she never missed anything. She'd noticed Tracy's bath scent lingering on me almost immediately. "Nuit d'Amour isn't it?" she'd asked. "Your wife's? That's her scent, isn't it." I nodded, a little concerned about what she might say next, but she added only -- "I thought so. It's very nice. You two must feel very close. Most men would never dare use a perfume that feminine as an after shave."
I didn't correct her. Nor could she guess that the scent was partly from the sachet in my underwear drawer, that under my proper suit, shirt, and tie I was wearing the same perfumed, wickedly provocative panties, bras, slips, teddies, girdles, bras, or whatever else my wife was also wearing that day. This was another intimate bond between us. Tracy had thought it would be nice for me to wear them, and though it seemed silly, finally I had agreed.
Why? Because it seemed to mean so much to her, mainly, and at first I myself didn't much care one way or another. She'd suggested it the first week after we moved to this town as newlyweds, and knew no one. It seemed at first a casual request, almost a whim. We'd each of us started our jobs and arranged the furniture, and begun settling into our new lives together. In fact she proposed it the same day she'd persuaded me to shave my body and to keep it that way, all velvety smooth for her to caress and cuddle. Now that my skin was so smooth, she said this time, it would give her even greater pleasure to think of me working at my desk in the same kinds of smooth, silky underwear she was wearing.
At first I thought she was joking, or teasing me. Her job required that she look stunning all day "to impress the locals" she said, and her underthings were extremely seductive and romantic because, as she said, "It gives me confidence for my job -- I like to feel feminine from the skin on out." She'd been amused to ask me to put on one or another item now and then even before we were married, to see how I looked -- I'd say "Silly!" and she'd say with a half-smile, "Nooo, not at all! Sexy!" But now, she was persistent. Every day she kept urging me to try on her things, always when we were caressing each other in the bath tub, my cock clasped snug inside her pussy under water and my senses utterly enraptured. After a week or two I said "Sure, why not?." The next day my boxer shorts and T-shirts were gone. She'd gone shopping and replaced them all with delicate little lace-frothed nothings, the same kinds she wore. So that was that.
I felt a little queer at first, dressed like a woman under my clothes. I worried that my pantyhose might show above my shoes for example, and expose me as a sissy. But when I mentioned this to Tracy, she only shrugged and said, "So what! Because you like the way women dress? That's why we dress that way, so men will like it! If that makes you a sissy, be proud and enjoy it!". No one did notice I think, and after a few days I began to find wearing even the pantyhose or panties and garter belt enjoyable. They didn't bind, and really did feel tantalizingly silky, clinging to my skin while other clothes slipped around on them. Now I wouldn't wear anything else. It wouldn't be proper.
I did balk at wearing a bra at first. It made no sense -- I had no tits to contain and support and shape, the way she did. I told her that. She just said, "No. But I can tell from the way you behave around mine that you'd love to have a pair of your very own, wouldn't you? You adore breasts! C'mon, confess it!"
Certainly I adored hers, though her logic from then on was a little twisted. Yet, the moment she hooked one of my new brassieres onto my chest, I could feel immediately why she wanted me to wear it. "See, it gathers you up in front and shapes you, doesn't it? And your nipples feel a little more sensitive protruding that way, don't they, a little more feminine, more sexy? It feels really nice, don't deny it. Think of the band as me hugging you, and the cups as my palms holding your breasts up and molding them, massaging them gently as you move. Think of this bra as my love surrounding you and containing you."
A little far-fetched, but I could feel some of that. It was kind of sexy. In fact it was a lot sexy -- even as she spoke my nipples engorged. She did agree that I didn't need to stuff anything into the bra except myself. "All I want," she said, "is to know that close to your heart you're dressed as my dearest friend, my very own secret girlfriend, as well as my especially darling husband. That you're dressed like me and only I know it. I do so love you for it. Oh, I do!" She was fastening the clasp on the bra and still standing behind me when she said that, and she reached around to hug and grasp and mold my breasts with both hands, and to tweak those aroused nipples. What could I say after that?
Anyhow, that's how come I started wearing bras and hosiery and the other fripperies of women's underwear. We all take pleasure satisfying our wives' harmless kinks, I suppose, and it really did feel nice! Mine liked playing Barbi doll with me I guess. Then too, Tracy had a severe streak of jealousy in her. She'd been uneasy when she first heard that in my office I was a lone male surrounded by a dozen females, even though the reverse was true in her office -- she was a lone female among dozens of males and it didn't bother me at all. In fact she'd tried at first to get me employed at her place, so she could be close by, but there were no openings. I figured privately that my undies were her way to stake a claim on me in her absence. Why? To keep me faithful to her? All the girls at my office already knew I was married. Maybe to remind them, if I should start to stray, that I was taken? Or to suggest I was too queer to bother with? Or to remind me to stay straight? To help me feel myself a part of her, and her a part of me? Well, I had no intention to stray, and I did want to feel that we were part of each other. I still do. I love Tracy, and she loves me. Though not the same way, now.
I suppose I didn't need my own lingerie -- except for cup sizes we could have shared all our underthings, and that would have been a bond too. But she'd shared all her clothing with her sister when she was a girl, and as she said, now she wanted her own things kept exclusively her own, and she wanted me to feel possessive about mine too. Except for emergency borrowing, as can happen. "We can be like college roommates and borrow from each other now and then," she'd said. "Like when one of us has a special date and wants to look especially nice for later on, when he wants to get intimate." I looked startled, but she took my hand and looked into my eyes. "Girlfriend, no matter how many guys there are in the world, you are always my special date." Then she kissed me. And that's what she called me from then on when she was feeling especially affectionate. Standing there in a brand-new gift bra and panties set as I was, I could scarcely object.
I was happy I'd pleased her, and she was happy I'd made her this little concession and gotten to enjoy it. Sometimes we did behave like roommates when deciding what we'd wear each morning, giggling whether Tracy should look especially daring on days when she had to report to one of the company VPs. Wouldn't they be surprised to know she was wearing crotchless panties for example, or thongs that left her delectable ass cheeks fully exposed. Or how would they feel when they saw she'd gone really leggy in black net stockings with seams? Those days I might suggest she go all out, and then I'd dress rather daring too, though of course my undergarments were covered with pants, and Tracy's were barely covered at all by one of her equally daring all-out micro-minis. I'd be amused to think how her appearance affected her work associates -- not an approving eye among any women, I'd bet, and not a limp prick among the men. And especially I'd smile at what my own associates didn't know about me. I began to love the look as well as the feel of really sexy lingerie on both of us.
Her work was demanding almost from the first day, though nothing like recently. Often she was too tired to rinse her things out, so I'd do it along with mine. "Take care of these," she'd said when she'd first gotten them for me. "Hand-wash them only, to keep them pretty. A machine can stretch out dainty lace work, and ruin bras and stockings altogether. I'll always want to know all day long, no matter what how stressed out I may be, that underneath you're still sweet and fresh and feminine. You have no idea how cheering it is for me to see when you strip down that my hubby is still my cute, sexy girlfriend." She reached for my cock, now tucked between my legs by the panty girdle I happened to have on, and squeezed it. "Even when you're not undressing to make love, even when all you mean to do is put on a housecoat, and maybe freshen your makeup a little before we sit down to dinner."
I reminded her that I don't wear makeup, that her imagination was running away with itself.
She didn't miss a beat. "Oh, lover, you really should! It goes with all your lovely things. And that's how I like to think of you anyhow, really beautiful, your face as attractive as mine. I like to imagine that at quitting time you're in the Ladies' painting and primping with the other girls, getting ready to come home. So they tend to think you're one of them, and it never occurs to any of them to come on to you, or even try to flirt. But of course you'd never do that, would you? Paint and primp and make yourself beautiful for me, I mean?"
I just looked at her.
"You would? I wish you would! Please, at least when you're home? From now on? Please? For me? You'll look gorgeous I know, so much more like me, and it would be so reassuring for me to know we share that too. It would be one more bond, one more intimate thing we know about each other. Please?"
I thought about it. This new notion seemed a little extreme, but I suppose it was no worse than wearing women's underwear. And again it didn't matter that much to me, but it did to Tracy in some odd way. She wanted to safeguard me from other women even at home? It didn't make sense! I reassured her again about that, but she just repeated, her beautiful eyes looking into mine, "Please?"
So each day when I got home I'd put on makeup, lightly at first, then elaborately as I got more expert and learned more by reading the women's magazines. Don't get me wrong, only at home. Once a stray streak of eye liner or a smudge of mascara or something must have raised speculation among the secretaries, because a bottle of makeup remover appeared mysteriously on my desk one morning, and then disappeared a few hours later after I'd used it. And it was a few days before I realized that lip-liner doesn't rub off like lipstick, and some of the girls at the office must certainly have noticed my mouth outlined in scarlet. But Tracy didn't care, she was rapturous. She even bought me some negligees to wear so I'd look really beautiful when she got home, and a perfectly gorgeous peignoir I just loved! Now and then I'd greet her wearing one of them.
At first I felt foolish, putting pretty colors on my face, but I soon got expert enough. It's nothing much, really, and it can be great fun, like painting or water coloring when you're a kid, only it's you that looks good afterward. Just a few strokes of lipstick -- choosing which shade is the hardest part -- and maybe lip liner first, and eye liner of course and mascara, and a few shades of eye shadow spread with the tip of your finger, and some blush whisked over the foundation cremes I needed to cover my beard. That's all.
That is, foundation cremes I once needed. Tracy urged me to spend two weeks of my vacation in Dallas, where they do fast electrolysis, getting my facial hairs zapped away. When I returned my cheeks and jaw were as smooth as hers. My reward for all that pin-pricking and inflammation came the first time I went down on her. She was absolutely ecstatic! "Your new face feels like a woman's, I mean the way a woman's would feel!" she told me, beside herself with joy. "As silky as your cock! Only, a cock with bones and bulges and a tongue and other delicious things squeezing into my pussy from all around! Oh, my!" So I couldn't complain. Having no beard saved me the time and trouble of shaving, and it saved my collars a lot of beige makeup stains.
I know all this sounds peculiar, this getting me to play being her pretty hubby, her girlfriend, and all that. But not to me, not as I got used to it. It was what my wife wanted, and I love her dearly, and it all seemed harmless enough.
I wasn't really surprised by it. Even before we decided to get married I knew she liked me looking a little androgynous. She bought me wide-legged slacks to wear on dates, with no fly in front at all, tight in the crotch and buttoned on the side, and it was some time before I realized they were women's slacks, not some mod style of menswear. She got me tailored shirts that buttoned the wrong way, cut a little generous in front, with tiny, pale flowers printed on them, and rounded collars. Occasionally I'd wear one to the office when my regular shirts weren't back from the laundry, and give the secretaries even more reason to curl their lips mischievously when they saw me, then to just shake their heads silently when I asked them why.
And when other girls were urging their boyfriends to get short brush hair cuts, Tracy wanted mine long. On weekends and other times too she'd experiment with rolling and curling and styling it. Once after we were married she asked me if I'd mind getting a perm, there were so many more things she could do with my hair if it were permed. I drew the line, though she persisted. "Not even a body perm, then? It'd hardly show!" Eventually she let it drop.
So only a year or two after our marriage, well-settled into our home and our work, I'd pretty much become my wife's secret girlfriend as she wished. It didn't threaten my masculinity any. I was a man when we went out as young couples do, or we had friends over, or went to concerts and sporting events, and so on. But at home it was fun pretending I was a girl like her, one of the softer, gentler sex. At odd times I'd practice using feminine hand gestures, or imitating the ways girls toss their heads. Tracy always noticed, and always appreciated that I was trying.
It was just as well. During one of the rare times at my office when everyone had to work late, the office manager and I found ourselves heading together toward the corner coffee shop for a bite before beginning a long evening. We sat and ordered. Connie looked at me with an amused smile. "You know, it isn't necessary to smooth your skirt under you before you sit down when you're wearing pants.
I looked at her as if not comprehending.
"I can pretty well guess what's happening," she added. "Better than you think. I may even know more than you know. Your wife and I are from the same town originally -- I bet you didn't know that. We knew each other in high school. Dated some of the same boys."
"Really?" I said, leaning forward, genuinely surprised. I was about to ask Connie what Tracy was like then, but she continued,
"Yes, and some of the same girls, too."
That stopped me. I stared at her.
"You didn't know? Really? You are an innocent! Haven't you wondered why I don't join the other girls in their endless chatter about boy friends and stroking male egos and cocks, and how to get a boy to perform properly in bed?"
"Because you're the office manager and shouldn't mingle?" I asked. "Because you're a little older than they are?" I was about to say "Because you're a bit of a prude?" when I noticed for the first time, really, that Connie was no such thing. Her draped blouse was open almost to her belt. No bra? She always dressed smart and a little provocative, I realized. She was extremely attractive. Then it struck me. "Because the man you're living with doesn't want you to talk about it?"
"Almost right, my dear. The girl I'm living with doesn't want me to kiss and tell. She's in the closet to her folks, who think I'm only her roommate. So I have to keep quiet about me too, or people will add up one and one and decide she's also a lesbian."
Our sandwiches arrived. I just stared at her some more. "I never would have thought it, Connie," I said after swallowing hard. "You're so...."
She laughed. She liked me I knew, and knew that I liked her. We'd always gotten on well. But this well? These confessions?
"Normal? I don't look like a Dyke? No, honey, I'm not butch, or femme, or a Dyke, or any of your stereotypes. Just your average red-blooded American girl who has never felt attracted to boys but feels very strongly drawn to her own sex. To Tracy too once, when we were mid-teenagers."
"Oh?"
"Yes, 'oh!' We were quite an item for a while. I wouldn't be kissing and telling on her even now, but I thought you already knew. You must certainly know that Tracy is sexually... venturesome, sometimes. She was one of us for a year or two, maybe more. We called our little group 'Loving Friends,' and we taught each other all kinds of ... things. Then she found there were two things about boys she liked after all, their ready-to-wear, pre-installed, preheated cocks, the bigger the better, and that they were easy to manage. So she drifted back to them."
These were astonishing revelations to me, but Connie just kept chatting, her eyes never once leaving my face. "Not altogether I guess. When you started turning up at the office wearing perfume and makeup, or trying not to, with bra straps and bra cup wrinkles visible through your shirt, I figured that with you Tracy was returning to my side of the aisle but trying to keep the best of both worlds. I phoned her to suggest she either tone it down or go all the way, the girls in the office were speculating about you instead of working, and we chatted a while about her new pretty hubby." She smiled at me, and evidently decided not to say anything more. "But it was none of my business. It still isn't."
"Connie, I don't know what to say!" I was blushing bright red, I could feel it.
"Then don't," Connie replied. "Maybe you know what you're doing, and maybe you're in over your head. It's between you two. If you'd ever like to talk more, you know where I am. Meanwhile, do you think you'll have the Callahan invoices ready for faxing by the time we quit tonight? I've got other several places I need to be yet tonight, I almost always do. And would you pass the mustard, please?"
So now I knew what I should have suspected. Among other things my wife has a suppressed lesbian streak in her, or she's at least bisexual. I decided that the more I respected this impulse in her, and gratified it, the happier she'd be, and the more secure our marriage. This seemed confirmed when she proposed that now and then and maybe for a while we make love like women, like "loving friends" she called it maybe for old times' sake. No penises. I agreed that whenever she wanted to, we'd use only our mouths and hands on each other, the way I guess lesbian women do, and that I'd even try to restrain my erections.
Mouths and hands can be very sensuous. On "loving friends" days she'd tickle my "clit" with her tongue while I did hers, and then though I'd have loved to push my boner down her throat, she'd only give it little nibbles after I'd begun to nibble hers. As we heated up, our heads drove further and further between each others' legs, pursuing a peculiarly elusive urge, a sensation of desire that grew slowly, until the craving was intense and we both felt blown away, and scarcely noticed that our faces and thighs were drenched in each other's juices. That craving spread, until finally our legs were clamped so tight around each other's ears and our mouths were so buried in each other's crotches that we could no longer scream as powerfully convulsive waves washed over us. I'd had no idea mouths and hands could do all that!
Then too, there was much mutual caressing and touching and sucking and kissing of our breasts. I loved fondling hers. And one of our "loving friends" sessions got me incredibly worked up, with her lips and tongue pulsing on my nipples while her hands molded my bosom and our bodies writhed on each other. My prick was still soft, when all of a sudden a sublime passion mounted in me, and crested, and I came spontaneously. I lay blissed out while Tracy continued to make love to me, my penis now soft, spasmed and drained. The feeling was different from anything I'd ever felt before. It was as if my whole body had begun to coil up tight and squeeze itself into a delicious reaching, then started to throb with incredible intensity until finally, it eased back and stretched itself out voluptuously. Utter Heaven! I felt so marvelously luxurious afterward, lounging back in my negligee trying to catch my breath, while Tracy beamed down and kissed my mouth and my breasts ever so tenderly.
She knew what had just happened, and was delighted for me. I'd just had her kind of orgasm, a woman's orgasm, felt through my whole body, not just located in my crotch. She'd wanted that for me, she said. In fact, she told me there'd be others, because she was arranging for others. When I asked her how she only lapsed into silence. "You'd only say 'No!'" she said. "Like with your perm. I could give you such a lovely hairdo if you had a perm! So I won't tell you. It'll be a surprise. There'll be more of them. You'll see." Then she added with a smile, "A lot is going to happen slowly, but it'll happen!"
I had no idea what she was talking about.
Soon after that she proposed we enhance our "loving friends" sessions by using dildoes on each other. She meant each of us use fake penises to pleasure each other, the way women do when they make love, me tucking my real penis between my legs and strapping on a much bigger rubber cock to fuck her with instead, and Tracy doing the same thing to me, but pumping into my ass.
I'd said "No!" right off, fairly forcefully! If my own prick was out of bounds, I said, why should I agree to let some other cock fuck her, even if I was doing the actual fucking, especially when I couldn't feel any of it myself? And anyhow, I said, my ass is strictly a one way street, strictly mine!
She'd replied that I was being selfish. She reminded me that even though the dildoes wouldn't feel anything, when I used one on her the rest of me would feel her whole body respond lovingly, rising and pressing close against mine. I'd always know how much pleasure I was giving her. And she'd enjoy the different ways different kinds of cocks felt inside her, compared to mine. Did this make me feel jealous? How silly and insecure was I, to be feel jealous of a dildo of all things? She argued that this was one way she could get to feel a variety of cocks tucked into her, all the while it was me making love, her lawful husband, the man she loved above all others being the girlfriend she preferred. "You know how I love feeling stuffed by a really stiff cock," she added. "It drives me wild! You've had plenty of reason to know that! And sometimes when I want it more than a few times you can't provide it. This way at least there'll never need to be a problem."
Was there an implicit threat there that she might turn elsewhere for loving if I couldn't meet her needs? I didn't think so. Was she worried that some day I might become impotent? Lately my hard-ons had been less than rock-hard, and sometimes less than that, but then, I was no longer a teenager, and besides, she'd been asking me to restrain my erections as best I could during our "loving friends" lovemaking. So I wasn't worried. But I really was a little jealous of some of the heroic cocks she brought home from some sex store downtown. What would she think of me after she'd gotten accustomed to them? "Why should that matter, sweetheart? They'll all be you! It'll be your face I'll be kissing when you fill me full of them!"
It was true enough that for all her lesbian games, for all her desire to adopt me as her girlfriend, for all of our "loving friends" sessions, as Connie had observed there was no question that Tracy also loved cock! She loved getting fucked! Passionately, ferociously!
I remember one Saturday night soon after we were married, when I was feeling exceptionally horny, and was somehow able to ram her repeatedly for hours with a gigantic boner that wouldn't quit. She'd given as good as she'd gotten, ready to take anything I could push into her. She had orgasm after orgasm, over and over, for as long as I could hold out. Then when finally I came and amazingly, still stayed hard, she started yet again and had more, gasping through clenched teeth with her lips spread wide apart like some vampire tasting first blood, her eyes open but seeing nothing, her legs spread apart wide enough it seemed to welcome a truck, anything that could be driven in or crammed in. Later as I kept going she'd clamped her legs so tightly around my waist that I couldn't breathe. And all the while she'd shrieked and screamed, carrying herself by the sheer force of her voice from peak to peak. and across valleys to the next peak, her head flinging from side to side back and forth, mindlessly. For hour after hour I literally screwed her brains out, and I'm sure she fainted once or twice. The next day she hadn't recovered. She looked dazed all day, her mouth smiling faintly, her eyes unfocused, and barely able to walk. She loved cock all right.
Whether my cock exclusively or some artificial cocks also, that was the issue between us. No one else's cock was under discussion, not yet, but I began to worry that it might be. I took a while before deciding to go along with her. At first I tried to negotiate.
"I'll fuck you with any dildoes you choose," I told her. "But my asshole is mine!"
"No it isn't," she said. "Fair is fair. Equal rights. Sometimes I'll want to use you the way you use me. Have you forgotten what happens sometimes when you're about to cum, and I tuck my finger into that virginal little rosebud of yours, and stroke in and out. You think that's an accident? Always, lover, when I do that you explode and then you cum in torrents, and my finger can feel that pussy of yours just throbbing and throbbing away with each spurt! Just like my pussy throbbing on your cock when I cum! Just think how you'd feel if someone were to push a really long, thick cock into you there, and slide it in and out. Can you imagine? I bet you'd get blown into another world!"
So I agreed, but only a little dildo for now, I added. I wasn't sure she heard. "You're on your way, darling," she said. "It's going to happen! More and more. Real orgasms like mine! And getting fucked by the most gorgeous, shapely pricks your pussy can take in! You're going to share with me the most wonderful feelings a woman can feel!"
"Only a little dildo for now," I repeated, worried by what she might want to push into my ass, but also worried that she'd notice I wasn't as enthusiastic as she was. Because I wasn't, not at all. I told her that. "You will be," she said, hugging me. "You won't be able to help it!"
That night we made some of the most passionate love of our marriage, and in the midst of it she came up with an idea I first found shocking, then wonderful.
"I want to fuck your ass," she said huskily. "And I will fuck your ass! But first you should fuck mine! Now!"
I'd never thought of entering her there, and she'd never proposed it. But given what we'd agreed, it made perfect sense. She hauled out a lubricant she kept in her bedside table and she turned onto her stomach, and she pushed her bottom high up into the air, and then she hissed "Now!" I plunged all the way into her in one exquisite stroke -- she wasn't at all as tight as I'd expected. It felt like bathing my dick in warm honey. Then I felt the round melons of her beautiful, full, smooth ass pressing against my thighs, cushioning my pubic bone and tucked into my abdomen, and I felt my cock clenched and unclenched by muscles she squeezed and unsqueezed in her anal opening. Without seeming to move, I found myself rising and falling on a huge, hot, plump, undulating pillow, my pleasure rising higher and higher and spreading through my loins and my cock until finally I shouted for sheer joy, and began to spurt over and over into her ass, as if once my prick had started squirting it couldn't stop. Eventually it did though, and softened, and plopped out.
"Wow!" was all I could say.
"I thought you might like doing me that way, love," Tracy said demurely. "I know I loved it! I wish I could have seen your face when you began to shriek like woman in heat just now! But there'll be other times, and positions, and other feelings to explore. Lots of them, now that we're sharing our lovemaking as equals. You'll push into my bottom with my legs on your shoulders or maybe while I'm squirming on your lap like a wicked little girl, and then I'll fuck you the same ways and you'll be the wicked little girl! We can both be girls now, or boys, sometimes at the same time and sometimes not. Oh, I just can't wait!"
Our loving took on enormous variety. I used different cocks on her on different nights, only one of them mine, and as I plunged into her she'd pretend different things, one of them true enough, that she was an unfaithful wife imagining herself bedded down with a different lover every night, all of them her husband. Her passion varied with the different dildoes I used on her. Or maybe my techniques varied as I discovered what each dildo could do most effectively. One invited long, slow, mellow strokes that had her desperate for my re-entry after a dignified withdrawal Another allowed at best only short quick stabs. One was even shaped like a dog's, with an inflatable knob at the base. She smiled when she brought it home, and said that she was eager to see how it felt, but even more eager to fuck me with it. She did.
When she wanted to be the lesbian Dyke lover of a delicate bed partner, she'd fuck me with all kinds of large, fat, dildoes -- she insisted I must always seem insatiable, always starved for more cock no matter how stretched or sore I felt. I never was, but pretended because it made her so very happy to gratify my supposed hungers. Some dildoes vibrated, and some were heated.
One in particular was huge, with a noble purple helmet for a head nearly the size of a teacup, and with incredibly thick veins on its underside, and with large hairy balls hanging down from its base, as if for real. This one she reserved for my ass only, not her cunt. "If you knew that my pussy was shaped to receive a magnificent cock like this," Tracy said when I suggested I try it on her, "It would shrivel you, with your silly jealousies. You'd worry how I could ever be satisfied with you ever again. And with reason! No, this is my cock to use on you, and you're the girl who will learn to love it and settle for no less. If you're also a little bit afraid of it, my pretty hubby, better still!"
We called it "the Emperor." When she strapped it on and finally managed to push it into me -- it took a week of asshole stretching with other dildoes and butt plugs before that finally happened -- I could feel every vein rub against my anal opening as she worked it deeper, and when its balls were slapping on my buttocks I could feel its bulk snugged up tight against my prostate. Routinely, before she'd insert it she had me lick it, to lubricate it with kisses and with deep sucking, and it always amused her, when it was strapped on and she was straddling my face, to have me lick its balls the same way she'd licked mine so many times in the past.
I could take any length cock up the rear it seemed, over a foot if it pleased her, and it sometimes did. Tracy's depth seemed to be less, nine or ten inches like the Emperor before I'd hit an obstruction, probably her cervix. On the other hand, she could take any width into her capacious pussy, fatter than the fat end of a baseball bat, fatter than a fist, whereas the really thick dildos, especially "the Emperor," stretched me out so far that the next day I'd leak helplessly into my panties, and then have to wear a tampon to work as women do, and change it a few times in the course of the day. She once asked me if I felt feminine enough to want to use the women's bathroom to change my tampon, so I'd feel more like other women having their periods. I didn't know what to say, and let it go.
But she used "the Emperor" on me the next few nights nevertheless, so for the next few days as I passed the Ladies' Room I wondered about it. Once when I was short and had to run out to buy more tampons, Tracy commented that if I were using the Ladies' Room the way I should be, I'd know they always keep some there. Exasperated, I told her I just couldn't, I was a man, they'd arrest me! She said, "We'll see about that!" and looked at me sweetly. The next day I needed another and was standing in front of the Ladies' wondering if there was anyone inside, whether I could dash in and grab just one, when Connie came by. "I see from the way you're walking that something's sore," she said, her face impassive. "Is there anything I can do to help?" I shook my head and fled.
Our gentle "loving friends" sessions changed when she brought in the dildoes. Now that Tracy always had a cock when she wanted one, some nights she wanted me to play out different women's roles, often a helplessly languishing, lovely young girl, sometimes a temptress. She bought me some exquisite nightgowns, really romantic, and from that point on I always slept with her en femme. She told me I felt especially wonderful as she stroked my satiny waist and kissed me where the decolete shamelessly displayed what should have been my breasts. Certainly I felt more sumptuously enticing. On certain nights when she especially wanted me to be her girl, she'd call me from work and ask for a date. I knew then to meet her at the door in my prettiest undies and my most provocative negligee both, my makeup done in an extreme style I called "bitch in heat" and my "pussy" as she now called it well lubricated. To please her, each time she made a date with me en femme I tried to surprise her with some new feminine accomplishment, by speaking in a higher and softer voice for example, or by walking delicately with my elbows close to my sides. She saw I was really trying to be her girlfriend, and she'd kiss me gratefully afterward.
Two
After a few months more her birthday rolled around, and I really surprised her. When she came home that night she found me for the first time fully dressed as a woman, in a beautiful dress and stilleto heels, and she was beside herself with joy.
I'd always been wary of dressing all the way as a woman, because I just knew that when she saw me she'd want me to go out with her dressed that way, and that would change everything. Then it wouldn't be "our" personal and private intimacy with each other but "the" way I related to the world, or one of the ways. Then I really would be more her girlfriend than her husband. I knew I'd soon take on a feminine social identity whether I wanted one or not. and then I really would begin to think of myself as feminine.
I dressed to the nines anyhow. I'd gone out that day to buy her a really stunning cocktail dress for her birthday, and found one that was absolutely scrumptious, elongated and thin to fit her figure, black, and beaded, with cap sleeves, slit to the hip. Considering how to present it, I realized that the perfect way would be for me to model it myself. My better brassieres were filling me out generously, and my hips were as narrow as a fashion model's. So I knew the dress would look attractive on me. In a strange way I wanted to see for myself.
I also knew that Tracy would be overjoyed to see me for the first time fully dressed up without being urged or coaxed, and that too would be my present to her. She'd been pointing me toward this for years, I realized. And it was all to the good. I'd recently learned from Tracy's sister yet one more possible reason why Tracy felt more comfortable with me as her girlfriend than as a male husband. Her sister mentioned that Tracy had once had an unfortunate experience with men in a bad part of town, and while a psychologist was trying to help her deal with it she'd had another unfortunate experience with an uncle. Exactly what these experiences were I never found out, and her sister wouldn't say. Afterward, she said, "Tracy went crazy for a while," which I interpreted as a familiar post-rape syndrome -- feeling worthless, she had been for a time turned slut, available to anyone. "It's what I want to do," she'd said just before going out with two boys of unsavory reputation, "I can't get enough!" She stayed out all night with them, her sister told me. All that ended when her therapy took hold, and when she went off to college she was once again a proper young lady.
I hadn't known any of this. Yet, I thought, it may be that in some subconscious way Tracy now feels safe only with women. I had to smile as my mind added the words 'especially women with huge dildos.' That period when she was one of Connie's set might have been around then. Maybe really masculine men still left her feeling soiled or used? Until now I'd gone along with her desires in order to please her, and for the variety it brought both of us, not because I thought she needed to be with women, or because I myself enjoyed feminine sex. But I did enjoy it. I was feeling more and more feminine myself. Just as I wanted Tracy to feel snug and safe in my arms, I was beginning to want to feel snug in hers. My own masculinity was faded, a little. For Tracy's sake, perhaps it was just as well.
A few days before her birthday Tracy had seemed to suffer a kind of pang of conscience. Or perhaps she was testing me. She told me that she knew that I was becoming less and less manly, and more and more womanly, to please her, because I loved her. She was grateful for it. But now she had to know if I wanted it for myself too, that it pleased me to explore my own femininity and to make it a part of who I was. That I delighted in it, maybe even preferred it. She had to know, or she'd feel terrible about what she'd been asking me to do. I should let her know by the time her birthday came, she said, because if I wasn't as happy as she was that I was now so wonderfully feminine, if I wasn't now her unabashed sissy girlfriend, we'd have to re-evaluate everything.
Needless to say I gave it a lot of thought. Femininity, especially submissive femininity I'd found, was a wonderful game. I had learned most of its rules and many of its skills, and had realized that I should be trying to enjoy it more, and I was enjoying it. Some things I found marvelous, such as the ways I felt when we made "loving friends" and I was the passive partner. My orgasms were glorious, especially when my darling pushed "the Emperor" into me while nursing on my nipples -- that drove me wild! And I'd noticed that my penis was smaller, less rigid lately when I reached climax, and was sometimes quite soft. But my nipples and areola had grown larger as if to compensate, and to accommodate the greater pleasure we both took in them. These days they actually stuck out!
Some things I knew I liked because they were feminine, without my doing them to please her. I enjoyed looking smooth and sophisticated, suave and beautiful when fully made up, and sometimes I regretted I couldn't look like that all day, even at the office. I realized that I really wanted to try on this birthday dress for myself, to see why it had so charmed me out of hundreds of others that I just had to have it for Tracy, had to see how I felt wearing it, to see how beautiful it was on me. Had I bought it for Tracy or for me?
She wanted me to look like a complete woman I knew, but she also wanted me to feel like a complete woman, quite another thing, and above all she wanted me to *want* to feel like a complete woman, yet something more still. Before, I hadn't especially gone along with her. But this dress urged me to want to, to please her, to surprise her, to look nice, to feel as elegantly feminine as I could. I really wanted to yield to the urge. I realized that now, if I were somehow forbidden my undies and gowns and cosmetics and darling gestures, forbidden to practice all of the womanly arts I'd learned, I would feel quite desolated, deprived and separated from a central part of myself. Life would lose much color and joy. I realized that I really did feel feminine now, in part, and I loved Tracy all the more for leading me into such exquisite new ways of feeling.
Tonight, for her birthday, Tracy would see me become all the woman I wanted to be, for my own sake as well as hers.
I knew Tracy would understand immediately when she saw me. And she did. When she came through the front door and saw me standing in the hallway waiting for her, stately, poised, radiant, made up as faultlessly as I knew how, my hair piled high and held up by a sapphire clip, the cocktail gown's black beads and sequins scintillating from its choker neckline past my rounded breasts, along my hip bones, down to well below my knees, and my ankles turned pertly by black four-inch-heeled strappy sandals I'd found in her closet, she just stood there and studied me quietly for a moment. And took a step forward.
And then leaped at me elated, threw her arms around me, and quite ruined my carefully made-up face by kissing me over and over and over, saying "Oh, my sweet, dear, darling, my love, my love, you're just gorgeous!" over and over. She clung to my neck and began to cry, inconsolably. "Oh!" she sobbed over and over. "Oh, darling, I've wanted this, but I've been so afraid to ask you. I really don't want you to meet my needs, unless they're also yours. I know so much more about what we're doing. And you've been such a dear, going along with everything!" The effect was everything I could have hoped for. I began to cry too.
Then when we went into our bedroom to change, me back into an especially sexy negligee and Tracy into her new dress, she did exactly what I'd anticipated and feared. "Here," she said, handing me one of her nicest cocktail gowns, deep blue, chiffon, with a deep scoop neck, one I'd often admired on her. "Put that negligee away. This is the happiest day of my life, and I won't have my darling girlfriend looking any less beautiful than I feel. Put this on, so we can both be beautiful together." I looked at her surprised, surprised to find that I was delighted -- the blue chiffon was really wonderful, it would be a joy to try on. "This is only a loan, girlfriend, not a gift," she said. "It's just for tonight, so be careful with it. After tonight you'll have to buy your own dresses." I heard. There was no turning back now, I thought to myself. She smiled happily at the thought, and we dressed together. It was all I could do to keep from hugging her and burying my cock or a dildo in her, or asking her to bury a strapped-on part of herself in me. I wanted to make love. But that could wait.
Then over cocktails in the living room she suggested the inevitable in a very quiet voice, as I knew she would. "Honey," she said. "Do you think we could go out together for dinner, instead of eating what I'm sure is the fabulous birthday dinner I know you've prepared for me? Just two lovely women enjoying each other's company? We both do look smashing! We shouldn't waste it!"
I told her very gently why I felt reluctant. Up until this moment, I told her, our gender play had been like our sex play, a private thing we shared, just between us, known to no one else (though I knew the secretaries at my office speculated why with such a lovely wife I seemed to be going gay, with my perfume, and eye liner, and lip liner, and the chest bulges my better bras were making for me these days, maybe even the tweezed eyebrows that went with making up my face properly). I was now a man who enjoyed looking like a woman, to please my beloved wife and as I now knew, to please myself. Apart from a nod or two at propriety, I no longer cared what the secretaries thought.
When I said that, Tracy's eyes gleamed with an "I told you so" kind of triumphant expression, obviously proud of me.
But if we took my transformation out among total strangers, I said, it would become a very different thing. If other people thought I was a woman even at a glance, because I looked like one, and I knew it, I might really begin to look at myself the same way. My self-image might actually change. "Women are very attractive," I said. "I might find being a woman very attractive. I might begin to believe that's what I am, a little, maybe a lot, not just a man who enjoys being feminine."
"Well what's wrong with that?" she asked me, puzzled. "I know you're a man, but I know you're a woman in my eyes right now, and you know that I know. You know that's how I prefer you. Why do you think you looked so utterly ravishing standing there, yourself the best birthday present I have ever received? Because you knew I was seeing you as a complete woman, a beautiful woman, and that made you that kind of woman in your own eyes, and you positively glowed! You loved it! And I was so proud of you and of myself at that moment I couldn't stand it!" She put her hand over her eyes. I wondered if she was starting to cry again, but from sorrow this time, on this happiest day of her life. I folded.
"I fixed you a lovely dinner, sweetheart. No chef has ever planned more carefully, nor made such delicate sauces. I poured my soul into it, and all my love. You'll see. But the dessert is only a bakery birthday cake. How about we go out for dessert and coffee to "Sweets to the Sweet," that new place that's just opened downtown? Just the two of us. It's upscale enough for the way we're dressed, and we're not likely to meet anyone we know there. I hope. But if we do, then we do, and they'll recognize me with you or not, and think whatever they may think, because tonight I am what I appear to be. Your best girlfriend. Tonight is your night."
Tracy brightened immediately. "You are a pet," she said. "That's just lovely! Oh, I do so love you. When we get back here, I want to tell you how much I love you. I want to tell you a secret I've been keeping from you. I didn't think you'd take it in the right spirit when you heard it. But I think you're ready now. I think you'll love it. I do hope so. I can't keep it back any longer."
I was amazed! "You're pregnant? We're going to have a baby?" I began.
She quickly interrupted me. "Oh, no, darling. Not unless you are, and haven't yet told me!" We both smiled at the thought of me inseminated by a dildo. "It'll happen some day, but you know neither of us is ready for babies just yet. No, just wait and see. When we get back, I know you'll like it."
So after dinner, still tiddly and giggly from a whole bottle of Chateau Lafite sipped with my grand entree, a Beef Wellington, we went out. I was very self conscious about my appearance at first. I knew I passed, but I felt as if I were enacting myself as a well-dressed woman, not just being one. I drove, and I had to adjust to my high heels on the foot pedals, and I tried to drive like a lady, hesitating before left turns instead of turning ruthlessly in the face of oncoming cars. When I pulled into the Valet Parking I readied myself to turn to swing both legs out of the car before standing up, as I'd so often seen other women do.
"Ladies," the parking attendant said as he opened Tracy's door and then raced around to open mine, handing me a chit for the car as I stood up alongside him. "Let me know if there's anything I can do for you." He seemed to be standing very close. He was. As I stood up our faces almost touched, the car pressing against my back. He didn't step back.
"You can be sure we will," I said in my high, breathy, strained femme voice. "Don't park too far away, We're here for only dessert and coffee."
"At your service," the attendant said. I looked over his shoulder, and saw Tracy mouthing the word "Smile!" repeatedly. So I did. Only then did the attendant back away, turn, leap into the car, and drive it a short distance away.
"That's all men really want," Tracy said. "They're all so insecure. But one smile from a pretty woman, especially women as well-dressed as we are, and they're fine!"
"Well, I'm a well-dressed woman feeling pretty insecure right now," I told her.
"Don't be," she smiled at me, looking coy and amused. "He was coming on to you. Haven't you played that trick on women, forcing intimacy by somehow occupying space they've got to occupy themselves? He thinks you're attractive. So do I, you know." Immediately I began to feel better. She was right. "We'll enjoy our dessert, and then later this evening, who knows, maybe you'll get lucky! If not with me, maybe with that parking lot attendant. Meanwhile, how do you feel, now that a man has been smitten by your appearance. More like a beautiful woman than before?"
"As a matter of fact, yes," I said. "I do. And it's a very nice feeling. Women are nice people. Being one is nice. I'm happy to join the club. At least right now I am."
We went in and were seated, and nibbled at a plate of Sinful Surprise confections, and sipped Cappucinos, and I paid the bill, smiled appreciatively at the attendant when he brought up the car and gazed into my face, and drove home. My womanliness had registered in several other sets of eyes too. The Maitre d' was courtly. The waiter was gently attentive, as never before in my experience as a man. Two men at a table near us tried to catch our eyes, one of them rather handsome, but we ignored them. One woman eyed my dress closely, narrow-eyed, as if suspicious of something. I began to quail inside, and Tracy felt it. "Smile again!," she whispered to me. "She's admiring what you're wearing!" I did, and she smiled back at me, and again I felt warm inside. Another acknowledgement from another member of the club. I really did feel privileged to belong.
"Now," I said when we were back inside the house, and had both kicked off our heels, and were together on the couch. I sat on one end while Tracy stretched herself out on it, her head in my lap, looking up at me while I looked fondly down at her. "What's this secret you couldn't tell your husband, but you're happy to share with your new graduate girlfriend?"
"Sweetheart, you're not to get mad at me. This is still my birthday, right? And you've made me very happy today so far, right?"
"Right," I replied. I bent over and kissed her.
"Well, darling," she began. "You're more a member of the club than you think." Tracy's face was impassive, her eyes staring unwavering into mine. I knew she was watching for the faintest shadow of a reaction, for sorrow or anger or something else to appear there, so she could modify the way she said whatever she was about to say. Even, I suspected, say something else altogether, something harmless, if disaster seemed to threaten.
I put on my most affectionate poker face. "Oh?"
"You remember some time ago, after you refused to have your hair permed, about the time I suggested that we'd both enjoy playing with dildoes, those lovely boy toys that give girls like us so much pleasure?"
"I do. And yes, they do." I had to confess it.
"Well, you hadn't agreed even to the dildoes then, and I knew I was right about them, just as I'm right about the perm too!" She glared at me adamantly, knowing I'd find her determination absolutely adorable. I did. I kissed her again. She continued.
"Remember, I told you I'd had another really great idea, but wouldn't tell you what it was because you'd only have said 'No!' in your fuddy duddy way, so I'd gone ahead and done it, and you'd find out later what it was."
"I don't remember that you said exactly that. I guess I thought you were still talking about fake pricks. That gave me a hard time you remember. A man isn't overjoyed to learn that his wife wants more than one kind of prick in her, when he's only got one kind."
She tried to raise her head to kiss me, and couldn't reach quite that far. "For a pretty lady you're much too concerned to measure your prick against all others. A pretty lady can have all the pricks she wants if she plays her cards right. Bend toward me!" She strained her head up toward mine and kissed me, and yet again. "Now you can straighten up. I'm done with you for the moment. I just mussed your lipstick, incidentally."
I looked down on her, absolutely in her thrall! I was the luckiest man in the world, and probably the luckiest woman too.
"Well," she went on, snuggling into my crotch, and pretending not to notice the growing bulge there. "Well, it was then that you had that orgasm just from what I was doing with your breasts, remember, and you nearly passed out from it, and I told you then that something was happening, and more was going to happen. I am here to report now that it did."
"Am I supposed to understand what you've just said?"
She turned sideways to inspect my bulge. Suddenly she lifted her shoulders, swept my dress up past my crotch, said "Lift up!" and when I raised my rear end, tugged my panties down until my cock sprang free. Then she settled back down again with her cheek on my bare thighs, my penis alongside, my slip and shirred blue chiffon hemline just above. "There!" she said definitively. Then she kissed the tip of my exposed penis a few times, tentatively took the whole head into her mouth, and then pushed it out again with her tongue. "You like the way that feels?" she asked.
I thanked God it wasn't rigid, so that even though lying in my lap, she could bend it and take it altogether into her mouth. But not just yet. "Tracy, you are the worst cock tease in prick history! What in the world are you talking about? What was happening?"
"Sweetheart, enjoy your erections while you've got them. There'll be fewer, You're already softening, see? Isn't it lovely? -- already I can hold all of you in my mouth without even lifting my head from your lap, the same way you can lick and suck on my clit. Soon the only way you'll be able to penetrate me at all will be with a dildo, and then you'll see how right I was to give you lots of practice satisfying me with them."
I was a little alarmed, Had I heard her right? "Tracy!?" I said, and she heard the anxiety in my voice.
She settled back from the teasing tone she'd adopted, and her voice became more serious. She spoke comfortably, but her eyes never left mine. "It's like this, love. I wanted to help you fill out the creases in those brassieres of yours. I knew you were wearing them only because I asked you to. But I wanted you to wear them because you wanted to, because it would make you more like me, because it would satisfy you to wear them, because it turned you on to wear them. Because breasts feel wonderful and do wonderful things. Like that new kind of orgasm you had that night, with your whole body instead of just your limp dick. The best you've ever had, you told me."
"I remember. It was unforgettable. And you've given me more of them since then." "
"That was a genuine woman's orgasm, my sweet new club member. Authentic. Because for some months before then, and ever since then, even tonight during dinner, I've been feeding you hormones to enhance your pleasure and your figure. Women's hormones. Heavy doses of them. So you could feel what a woman feels in your body and your mind. What I feel. To make your moods softer, happier, nicer. You've been swallowing girly pills with your coffee, with your vitamins, with your beef wellington, lots of ways. Several kinds. Some kinds to counteract your male hormones so you'd be less aggressive in your lovemaking, more considerate, and they've been working just fine." She smiled to herself. "You're a gentle lover now, darling." She paused, while I thought about how wonderful it felt to be her beloved, loved, the passive recipient of her passion, making "loving friends" with her, feeling her longest dildo take excruciatingly forever to swoop into my bowels and then back out again, my anus quivering in anticipation of the next swoop. She kissed the tip of my penis again and then looked back up at me. "I can read your eyes perfectly," she said. "You like those hormones, don't you? You like the way they make you feel."
Reluctantly, I had to nod. "But some of them are to speed you through the process that made me what I am. So you'd do what I did when I was a teenager. Become more of a woman. Smooth out your skin. Giggle more, and have fun more, and talk about how attracted you are to boys, in your case dildoes, and giving pleasure to boys, in your case giving hand jobs to dildoes and thinking about giving blow jobs, and taking an interest in looking beautiful, and in makeup. And to wonder how pretty or elegant you might look in a really nice dress. Like tonight. To feel pleased that you can attract a man's attentions. Like tonight. You liked getting dressed up tonight, and going out, and being admired. You were afraid to be thought a woman, but now that you think you are one, at least partly, you like the idea, don't you?"
I nodded.
"And darling, some your teenage girlhood is just like mine in another way. You're growing tits, and they're increasing in erotic sensitivity, and youre getting more of a really feminine figure. The hormones are changing your whole body. You think it's your new bras, but the fact is, you're a full cup size larger than you were, But now I think, and you're likely to be a C cup before we're through. I've seen pictures of your mother, and she's huge, and the way it goes is, like mother like son."
She pursed her lips and blew me a reassuring kiss, and then added quickly, "Just one little thing though. Your penis. Your clit. That's what it's getting to be. Very soon it'll stop getting hard altogether, and you won't be able to fuck me with it any more. You'll have to use your dildoes on me instead. See how silly you were, resenting them? But the less you think about what you've lost, the more you'll appreciate what you've gained."
I stared at her and felt a touch of indignation begin to rise in my innards! Tracy had been changing my body without telling me? Giving me tits? Breasts? Changing me from a man into a dickless giggling schoolgirl? Then into an elegant lady? And I loved it? I did love it! What had she done to me?! I'm a man!
"Yes, you're a man my darling." How did she know that's what I was thinking? "You're my man. And I love you. I'd never harm you, never! But just remember again that orgasm just from my kissing your nipples, and the others, the way they aren't centered in your cock but begin far back inside you, and grow until finally they take over your whole body? And overwhelm you? And only then begin to subside."
"Yes."
'Well, wasn't that better than any of those wham, bam, thank ye ma'am squirt climaxes you've had as a man? More utterly fulfilling? That's what those hormones do for you. Your tits feel good, and look good. They're going to get bigger, sweetheart, and feel better! There's no stopping them now. You'll have a really luscious figure before too much longer, and you'll love it the way I do. You're still a man, sweetheart, my man, but you're my sweet sissy girl man now. My darling sissy. My dearest girlfriend. Part of your body is already a woman's, and the nicest part of your mind too, I think. Welcome to the club, sweetheart, really. I know you'll love it. Not just for my sake, but for your own as well! And there's more coming too! Lots more! I want to share everything with you! Everything! You are loved by a very determined woman. You'll see!"
I started to question her about this last, but she suddenly turned and began to suck on my cock like a starved baby on a mother's breast, and my brain went blank. This time nothing tentative, the way she had nibbled and tongued my "clit." This wasn't "loving friends"! This was full scale girl meets boy cock sucking! She lifted herself and turned to face my lap fully. Finally my prick rose fully to her impassioned sucking, her lips sliding over the head and down the shank greedily. It was iron hard this time, and full length as not for many weeks! Then to my amazement she deep throated me in a single thrust. My whole cock, gone down her throat! She then swallowed, and the most incredible sensation rose out of my loins. She swallowed again, and I groaned aloud as another wave of joyous sensation overtook the first! A third time, and I realized that with each swallow an undulation was moving along her throat and milking me so deliciously that I was near cumming! Then she pulled back and my wet cock re-emerged, slick and shiny.
She then took my pink cock head in her mouth again, but this time sipped it gently, as if it were the tip of a straw. I almost died. She licked me along the underside some more, and finally, wrapped her throat around my cock again, and swallowed again. This time I came, throbbing, in buckets. Like never before! I saw the outside of her throat stretch and throb with each spurt as my cum went directly into her stomach -- she didn't even need to swallow! I was transported into paradise, so overwhelmed that I could only make small mewing sounds, over and over. When my pulsating died down and with great gasps I began to breathe again, she disgorged me.
I couldn't even speak. Tracy had never sucked my cock that way, not even early in our engagement when I had asked her to. "No, there has to be a special reason," she'd said then, leaving me to wonder what reason would ever be special enough. Now there was one. Two, really. One was to distract me from anger that she had grown tits on me without even asking if I wanted them. I tried again to feel injured, and I was, a little, but I still felt that wonderful afterglow in my crotch. Of course I wanted breasts, I guess, now that I had them! As beautiful as hers! The other special reason I guess was, it was a kind of farewell to my cock. Any further deep-throated blow jobs weren't going to happen, because I wasn't going to be long or hard enough to be swallowed like that, not for much longer. But where had Tracy learned to do that?!
"Where did you learn to do that?!"
She smiled up at me. "You liked it? I thought you might. I can see you did. I told you, a teenage girl flooded with hormones learns lots of things, and thinks she needs to know even more of them. I knew lots of things before I met you, and I've learned more since. You're going through your teenage girlhood right now, honey. I want to teach you lots of things I know."
"Like how to deep throat a dildo like that? What for?"
She let a wicked look pass over her face. "There are lots of things a girl need to know about how to handle men. How to please them with no great effort. Even if a girl doesn't ever use what she knows, sweetheart, it's great for her self-confidence. You'll want to know you can suck a cock like that as easily as your ass already swallows a man sized prick. Tonight I wanted you to know how it feels, so you'd know when you learn to do it yourself."
She paused, then decided to go ahead. "You remember 'the Emperor,' that huge dildo I use on you sometimes, with the big heavy veins and the hairy balls, the one I ask you to wet down with your mouth before I fuck you with it. I thought so. Well, I'll want you to practice with that dildo as if it were part of a real man. It'll help you feel more like a woman. And as a woman you'll enjoy it. It's so much bigger than own your cock there's no comparison, so you won't feel the least bit threatened by it. Really, making love to it is a privilege!"
"And I've just had it re-mounted as a double dildo, so the back part pushes deep into my vagina and the shank rubs on my clit when it's mounted or its balls swing. So when you manage to swallow the head and push that monster down your esophagus, it'll feel to me as if it were my very own cock you were sluicing down. It's possible for you to give me an orgasm by cock sucking it. And it can cum too! It'll squirt whenever I think it's ready, so you can have a warm reward delivered directly into your tummy, as all good cock suckers should. Then if you're a dear and do well, I'll fuck you with it too, and squirt into you, and believe me, we'll both feel we're in heaven."
"But Tracy, why?"
I tried to ask it, but only a whisper came out. Why was she doing this to me? She heard me and knew I knew the answers, and she just snuggled in against me contentedly. Because she loves me and wants to share everything with me. Because the more feminine I become, the less reason she has to feel jealous when I associate with other women. Because she loves making love to women, though she also loves cock. Because she had once been molested, so she feels more secure with her girlfriend than with an all-male husband. Because she knows I love her and want what she wants, and won't let myself get outraged or upset no matter how outrageous her requests. Because part of me now enjoys being a woman anyhow -- desiring women, I'd like to be what I desire. Because if I'm a woman, Tracy thinks, I would enjoy sucking on a cock to make my man feel good. Even if I have no man.
Were the hormones softening my brain? Instead of feeling betrayed, I wanted to kiss my darling. So I did. My thoughts were, she really cares for me, as best she knows how. She loves me! And I love her! My prick was still in the afterglow of cumming deep in her throat. And my breasts were growing, just like hers, with deep and powerful orgasms to come, and life was full! I felt so well cared for! Not at all angry. I tried again, but I couldn't muster it. Had she fed me a tranquilizer with tonight's hormones and confessions? If so I didn't care. She read all of this in my eyes impassively, and was satisfied with what she saw. "You know?" she said, her head still in my lap, looking steadily at me. "I think it's time we got you that perm. Your hair isn't really as manageable as it should be. And you need to have your nails done too. Nothing radical, nothing for those secretaries at your office to whisper about too loudly, not right away. Clear polish for now, we'll save the pinks and reds for another time. Oh don't object, sweetheart, you'll be more of a woman very soon, with nail polish the least of your concerns. I need you that way. And you'll want to be -- I'll see to that."
She smiled up at me, busy with her plans. "But for now we'll just get you a cut and curl, maybe, and presentable hands. Your cuticles are in terrible shape. Incidentally, you'll need to practice how to sit and move more daintily if you want to look really lovely in my dresses. Not that you aren't adorable now, my pretty husband! I'm very pleased with you."
Then she looked up at me appraisingly, almost as if I were a business proposition, or a roast in the oven. "Yes," she said tenderly as if to herself. "You're coming along nicely!"
Three
The next day I took off from work and went with Tracy to her beauty parlor, where she ordered up a deluxe makeover. She had me dress in a simple blouse and skirt for this first excursion out in daylight, and a loose cardigan sweater with a large flower pattern. I objected, and she just looked at me, and I acquiesced. Of course I had to dress like a woman. A man can't walk into a beauty parlor and walk out looking pretty! I was very lightly made up, not much more than mascara and lipstick, because it was all coming off anyhow. So I wasn't in deep disguise.
Within a minute one of the women under a hair dryer glanced up, looked at me attentively, and broke into a smile. It was our across-the-street neighbor Beth! She knew me! She put down her magazine. "Hi, Tracy," she said affably, "I see your girlfriend is finally out in the open."
"Yes," Tracy said. "Time enough. Say 'Hi' to Beth, sweetheart."
'Hi!" I said obediently, my mind whirling. No place to hide! Then I had to ask. "Beth, what do you mean 'finally'? You've known about me?"
"Of course, dear girl! For a long time now we've seen you in your pretty lingerie and hairdo and makeup getting ready to greet Tracy when she gets home, and then the two of you enjoying a social hour in your living room, sometimes being much more than merely sociable." She smiled radiantly at me. "Our living rooms each have huge picture windows facing each other, remember? And you never pull the drapes. When I called Tracy months ago to suggest it, she just told me to enjoy the show with my husband, and even to invite our friends. She thought it would help you get over feeling ashamed, at least later on when you found out. Everybody knows about you, honey! Do enjoy your journey toward your true gender! The neighborhood association has already decided to send you flowers when you have your final operation." She smiled again at me, then returned to her magazine.
I turned to Tracy, shocked! "The whole neighborhood knows? And they think I'm one of those women in men's bodies, who want to have women's bodies? For how long have they been thinking this?"
Tracy replied in quiet, level tones. "Honey, lower your voice. They admire you for your courage. And they've all known for months. And aren't you going to have a woman's body? Don't you already, the way your bra has filled out? And by what you were saying so timidly just yesterday, aren't you right now more of a woman even in your own mind, now that you know the whole neighborhood thinks that's what you are? But here's Marge -- she's the beauty operator who'll see that you leave here looking absolutely gorgeous!"
A few hours later came my second shock. It was quite disturbing, what they'd done. The perm, cut, and curl they gave me wasn't even androgynous. It made me look cute and a little helpless, a darling layered style Tracy called it. It surrounded my head so my face looked much smaller, even petite, and I had to say, a little mischievous. It was almost shoulder-length in back, and they finished it turned up to almost cover each ear. I had to agree that the effect was feminine and even a little flirtatious, yet very smart. They pierced my ears, and when I objected they advised me that the studs wouldn't be especially noticeable if I kept my hair styled exactly as it was. And they did my nails, with clear polish, true, but they gave them such a beautiful oval shape and such a high gloss there could be no question they were a woman's. not a neat man's.
The studs in my ears prevented me from brushing my hairdo into some semblance of a male style at work as I'd hoped, and finally forced my transformation into the open for the first time, at least at work. I went in to work the next day braced to ignore whatever the secretaries' reactions. Some gawked, and some smirked. "Love your new hairdo," one said to me with a broad smile. "It really changes your whole look! No time this morning to put on your makeup?" I didn't ask what she meant, because I knew. I was very uncomfortable.
That afternoon Connie, as office manager technically my supervisor, came into my office, closed the door, sat down, and explained how they all felt. "It's a good thing your wife called us this morning before you got in to warn us that you've transitioned, that you intend to look like a woman from now on," she said.
"She did what?" I asked, startled.
She ignored my question. "Obviously this is your business, and Tracy's, whatever you two have worked out with each other. But you're disturbing office routine, because the girls need to get something settled."
I waited.
"None of us can respect a man who isn't a man, or who is pretending to be a woman just for the novelty of it. It's insulting to all women."
I started to insist that we all owe our colleagues due respect, and that I meant no disrespect, but she held up a beautifully manicured hand.
"I know," she said. "Whether colleagues are men or women or a little of each. As sort of their boss, you've had the girls' respect, and I know I have yours. But not if you're playing at being a woman for kicks. Any woman can resent that!"
I began to look grave, and again she held up her hand. "No, hear me out. On the other hand we can feel great affection for any man who is really trying to be a woman, a woman born into the wrong body and transitioning for example, because it's difficult, and deeply touching, and also I must say, it reaffirms our sex's importance when an almighty man wants to be one of us. It's flattering. So if I may ask, which are you?"
I was silent for a moment. Then I realized what the answer had to be, tried to smile at her, and nervously fluffed up my new hairdo with both hands. Avoiding her eyes, I said, "My wife has wanted me to be a kind of woman all along, it seems, and she's recently made that quite clear. I try to want what she wants. Recently I've made lots of concessions. I want to be her dearest girlfriend at home and I'm trying very hard to be just that. Now I guess it's spilled over into the workday. Is that a good enough answer?"
She thought about it. "Yes," she said. "It's sweet, and loving, and really very romantic. In a way I envy Tracy. Maybe I'll tell her that!"
Then she stood up and held out her hand "Welcome to the club, honey. I really do love your hairdo. Let us help you any way we can. I think to show your good faith you should go the rest of the way with us, and really become one of the girls. Tracy told me you use makeup all the time at home now. Why not here too, now that we all know about you? And do feel free to use the Ladies' Room. In fact looking the way you do, I don't think you have any choice any more."
What she was saying was logical, but I did feel a little pressured. Was I really ready to be an all-out full time woman at work as well as home? Since I was already known in the neighborhood, that meant to be full time all the time. No more pretending I was a man anywhere. How far did I want to go to satisfy Tracy? Or to fit in here at the office?.
Suddenly Connie pressed her cheek to mine affectionately, and I realized I had to respond. "Thank you, dear." I said. "This means a great deal to me." Tears actually came to my eyes as I said these words, and she noticed them I'm sure. I struggled to find more to say, something typically woman to woman, to set our new relationship on the right road. "And I really love your nails, Connie. Who does them?"
"Helene," she replied. "Right here in this building. Let me call her for you!" She picked up the phone, and that night when I came home my nails were as red as the lipstick I also wore home, borrowed from one of the girls in the Ladies' who thought I looked a little undressed without it. Tracy saw and smiled and said nothing.
A few days later I borrowed another of Tracy's dresses, went out with her to buy more outfits, and then went out shopping on my own. That was how I began wearing women's clothes all the time, everywhere, and to avoid looking foolish used my feminine gestures and movements all the time, sometimes amusing Tracy by exaggerating my limp wrists and waggling way of walking.
Outside of working hours Tracy and I were together constantly. Each night we bathed together, and she mounted me and I entered her under water. It became increasingly obvious that the regimen of hormones was making my penis softer. Even when fully erect, it was now barely able to penetrate her when called on to try. On the other hand my breasts now bulged out noticeably, and my nipples and areola were now cone-shaped, sagging toward hers as I leaned forward to be caressed by her exquisite fingertips until, blissfully, I felt the flood tide of an orgasm overwhelm me.
True to her promise, she taught me to worship "the Emperor." At first I felt foolish and uneasy as she pushed my head down onto her massive cock and said, "Lick me, honey! Suck on me! Swallow me!" I did what I could. A few days later I successfully slid it down my throat and swallowed, and Tracy squealed, so I swallowed again and she squealed again. Now no question, I was one of the girls!
"Doesn't it feel good you can do this?" she asked. "Doesn't it make you feel important? From now on I'm going to leave it strapped to that little padded chair over there in the corner, so each evening when you get home you can get on your knees and deep throat it all by yourself. Get lots of practice. Imagine it's whatever your heart desires. Maybe for fifteen minutes each day. Long enough to get a man to cum. Then a few times each week sit down on it and get used to feeling it way up inside you. Try to learn to live especially for those moments."
So that too became part of my coming-home routine. Mostly I imagined it was Tracy's cock, or tried to imagine it was some other woman's. But it was so obviously masculine, with its veins and hairy balls, that now and then it would cross my mind that it was a man's, and I'd feel a little ashamed. When I told Tracy that, she said, "Ashamed to be a woman? Concentrate more on who you are and what you're doing." So I did. I still didn't like it whenever it crossed my mind it was definitely a man's penis, not a woman's. But I got used to it. And Tracy loved sucking me off too, taking my frequently limp cock into her mouth and tonguing it, or deep throating whatever dildo I was wearing to fuck her.
Then came Tracy's hard time. The company let all of her associates go and asked her to carry their burdens, before she'd managed to hire and train an assistant. Her work took long, wearying hours, and sometimes when she got home she could barely stand. She had little or no time for her new girlfriend. One night I told her to quit, it wasn't worth it, we didn't need the money that badly. She just looked at me and said, "I can't, honey. It's what I do, and I'm proud that I do it well. I'll have help before too much longer, and then it'll get easier." Then she went straight to bed without even eating.
So I took over the household, did all the shopping and cooking. I gossiped with a few women at the supermarket as if I were one of them, introduced by a neighbor had seen me coming and going and somehow assumed I was Tracy's cousin, staying with Tracy while her husband was away somewhere. Beth joined us one morning and set everyone straight. After that some of the women grinned mockingly or else turned away tense when I came near, but others showed me real affection, happy to have me for a sister. I looked for ways to take over Tracy's chores, and discovered the neglected lingerie hamper. There were so many tangled items that day that hand washing simply wasn't practical. So despite her warnings I put them in the machine.
That's why when Tracy came into the house barely able to move, yet had to ask whose undies I was washing, I could truthfully answer "Ours." I was now her girlfriend husband, and accustomed to it. There was nothing odd in the reply. "Ours," she repeated, as if the concept were slow to sink in. Whose undies were being processed back to cleanliness and godliness? Ours. Today must have been an especially rough one for her. "That's good," she responded finally, despite hearing those delicate things being swirled in a machine. Then, "Start a bath for me, would you Hon? I'll be up in a minute. I just have to gather myself together here first."
"Sure," I said. "Would you like me to join you in the tub? I'd be happy to!"
"Just me this time, love," she said. "Tonight above all I need a good long soak in those perfumed bubbles and that bath oil. Please don't mind that we won't slide around on each other tonight. I just need to feel pampered."
I did as she requested, and when she'd worked her way upstairs and into the bathroom she seemed crippled.
"You've got to quit your job!" I said to her sternly, a little frightened in fact. "No job is worth your coming home like this. Just look at you! That's terrible!"
"That's sweet!" she said, throwing me a wan smile of appreciation. "You care! " She unbuttoned her dress and peeled it off and set it aside, then shrugged her teddy off onto the floor, then her panties, and then she stepped into the tub. I picked up the teddy and panties for her as I always did and tossed them into the now empty hamper. They were both damp, as if she'd had to rinse them out at the office before beginning the trip home. An accident with a period just now getting under way? One of those long meetings you can't leave even when you must?
No bra either. I supposed that when she'd opened her underwear drawer this morning she'd found that the cupboard was already bare of bras, so she'd gone to work without one. Well, I thought, that's OK. Her tits are firm, and that tight tweed suit jacket probably contained any bobble. If she kept it on. She might have asked to borrow one of my bras, I supposed.
"Ahhhhhhhhhhh!" she said as she sank down under the bubbles. "Just wonderful, sweetheart, you have no idea!" I was feeling firm, more manly than in months, and decided it was time to play the man of the house. I stood there in the print dress I'd worn today to work and planted my feet, in three inch heeled pumps, because the dress's flare hadn't looked right this morning floating over my two inch business shoes. Then I carefully avoided looking at my cute, neatly made-up face in the mirror, and said, "Tracy. This has gone on long enough. You should quit! I'm serious!"
She looked at me carefully. Then suddenly she said in an unexpectedly businesslike voice, "You know, honey? I think we should talk. It's time. Slip into the tub with me, and let's!"
She leaned back while I stripped off everything and climbed in, wondering if I should have wiped off my makeup. Then as in the old days she straddled me and wrapped her legs around my hips, and we held each other's waists and kissed softly. My cock stirred under her pussy, and I wondered if it was still possible....I hoped so...but no. It snuggled soft and snug against her pussy's crease, like a kitten against a radiator. We continued to kiss, and I reached for her breasts to soap them down and caress their ripe round globes. She reached for mine. They had grown heavy by now, each a handful to lift. She wriggled her bottom on my lap, and pressed her vulva against me. I remained limp despite the temptation. But it was obvious that her mind was somewhere else, working out a tactful way to tell me something.
Then, while we were still wrapped around each other, and soaping each other in the slick warm water, Tracy said in a drifting, mellow voice, as if daydreaming it, "You know my boss, the man who got me my promotion, who keeps me so busy, and has been coming on to me since day one, way back?"
I was entranced as her soapy fingers found my nipples and she began running her soapy thumbs over them while lifting the tips of my breasts from underneath.
"Has he?" I asked, a little short of breath. My breasts felt sooo exquisite! "I thought we dealt with that back then. You mentioned a harassment suit, and he quit."
"No. I mentioned a harassment suit, but he didn't quit."
I clamped my mouth shut, anger starting to rise up in me. Tracy was now silent, though her thumbs were so excruciatingly sweet! My groin rose up to press into Tracy's, her thighs pressing against my hips.
"So? What about him?"
Her eyes never left mine. "Today, honey, he succeeded. He fucked me."
I didn't register it at first, she said it so quietly. Then I replayed her voice in my head, and heard the words. "He fucked me." I struggled to think what they might mean. There was nothing else. My heart dived into my stomach.
"What?!" I was starting to think, I'll kill him! Taking advantage of my darling that way!
As if not hearing me, she hefted my newly rounded tits with her fingers -- they were pendulous now, and they reached out to be held when I leaned forward again without thinking. Then she began again to caress my nipples with her thumbs. She said nothing. She was giving me time to absorb this terrible revelation, and trying to feel whatever I felt. Baffled, angry, jealous, bewildered, devastated, furious. Yet also, under her fingers, delectable. A feeling of delicate femininity spread through me.
"What, love?" I said more calmly. I wanted her to go on, but I didn't want to hear her confirm what she'd just said. How could I desire so intensely to melt into her fingertips and yet want to rise up and explode in fury?
She said, "He fucked me." Quite calmly, then added as if an afterthought, "And I fucked him back."
Without moving, her thumbs continued to devastate me, and without uttering a word or moving a muscle, I went berserk inside! Crazed! Outraged! Blinded!
She looked away and then again straight into my eyes, still fingering the tips of my breasts, and said quietly, informatively, "While I was leaning over his desk, looking at some figures he had there, he came up behind me and lifted my skirt, the beige tweed, you know, the one with the matching jacket, and he just plunged his thing all the way into me all at once. We both went crotchless today, love, remember? He was in me and pumping away before I even felt him lift my skirt."
I couldn't bear it! I'll kill him! I was thinking. I was trying to ask "And what did you do?" without seeming morbidly curious or enraged, but my throat was too tight to say anything. She looked away as if trying to remember exactly what happened, then added, "And I feel terrible saying this, but it felt so good once he was in me that I didn't want him to stop! So he didn't. He fucked me until he came. I pushed back onto him, and rolled around on him, until I came too."
I was indignant, and felt my head about to burst. Yet above all I wanted her to keep caressing my tits! I swallowed. "How long was that?" I then managed to ask. And then felt so ashamed! Why did I need to know? Was I handicapping my wife's rapist for speed?
Tracy didn't think my question was at all foolish, She answered it seriously. "Maybe ten minutes, I suppose. After the first few thrusts it felt so good I wanted it to go on and on. Badly. It's been a while since you've been able to put anything real into me like that, and he's more of a man down there than you ever were. Much more."
I should have quailed at that, especially because a slight smile crossed her face as she said it, but she continued to lift my tits gingerly with one hand, and to rub my nipple. I couldn't breathe! Her other hand went down between her legs, where my limp prick was squeezed under her pussy, and took it gently in hand, and began to pull on it gently while rubbing on her own clit. My hips tilted upward to press against her.
I considered what else I might ask. Did you like it? Obviously she did. Would you do it again? No, that question would betray my terrible vulnerability, my fear that she's found another lover she wants to fuck more than she wants me. She may leave me! I must do something! I was in her arms, but I felt paralyzed!
Still quite calm, still looking directly into my face, but now clasping her hands behind my neck, and rotating her clit against my flaccid penis as if revolving on an inserted cock, she went on. "Then he turned and went over to the couch he keeps in the conference area of his office, and he lay down and gestured me over. I was still pretty hot, still dripping his jism and probably my own too, and I felt a little like his whore, which was exciting, you know? And he'd already done his the worst. So I went over and sat on his crotch the way he wanted and let him play with my tits. Then I took off my bra and bent over his face so he could suck them. His mouth felt warm. The way your pussy feels on my finger. Like this."
She bent over and lifted one of my small tits into her mouth, into the warm, soft, wet cavern of her mouth, and pulled me in further with a slight suction, then flicked her tongue on my suddenly engorged and distended nipple. I almost came! I almost fainted! Then she let me go and resumed fingering me, looking up into my eyes with a pixieish grin.
"You liked that, didn't you? Well, so did I. Then when his cock stiffened again he put it back into me, and we went at it again for quite a while. A long while. Maybe an hour? I came maybe two or three more times, and finally he reared up that huge thing of his and crammed it into me as deep as he could and with an enormous bellow he dumped another whole load of cum into me. Then we were finished. I went back to my office and filed a few reports, and then came home. I must have left my bra alongside his couch. At least I wasn't wearing it just now when I undressed. Oh yes! That second time we finished with his cock up my rear, not in my vagina. So I have his sperm in both holes now, and that's why this bath feels so good on my bottom. You've been there too, sweetheart. Remember? I loved it!"
She loved it. I couldn't bear to ask which prick in her ass she meant. I was making strange bleating squeals, enraged whining, not really human.
She pulled my head close to hers, and we leaned foreheads against each other, and she said, "Now, sweetheart, what should we do about this?"
I burst into tears. I started to sob once or twice, and then I couldn't stop. Was she going to leave me? After everything I'd done to make her happy? I'd given her my manhood, and now another man had given her the benefit of his, and she'd enjoyed it. I felt furious, but also helpless! Impotent! She just held me for a while, then when I began to quiet down, she said again, "What should we do? If we do nothing it'll happen again."
I took some deep breaths and cried out from the bottom of my heart, "Oh, Tracy!" It was relief and a lament, both. She didn't want it to happen again!
"Do you hate me?" she asked. "Knowing that another man's spunk is inside me even now? That I loved feeling myself filled with his cock?"
That started the tears again, and I struggled to control them. "No, darling, I love you, you know how much I love you. Just look at me -- this is all for you, to please you I became your girlfriend, I'm still your girlfriend, I want to be everything you want me to be, not just your husband! I'd do anything for you!" I felt desperate, helpless. I was trying to tell her everything at once. But how could I compete with a man with a huge cock? I had none at all now to speak of!
And I also felt ill-used, angry. But not toward Tracy. I glanced down at my nipples, still cone shaped and growing, and at Tracy's beautiful, pert ones poking prettily from the tips of her breasts. I may not be the man her boss is, I thought, but I'm getting to be the woman she is. How can he do this to us?
"What should we do?" Tracy asked me again. "I can't have him thinking about fucking me again all hours of the day!"
An idea began to form, born out of my despair. I began to talk rapidly, nearly tonelessly.
"There's no case for rape here," I said. "No threat that we'll bring charges. There's no evidence of struggle, and he gave you no opportunity to say 'No!', and you...acquiesced soon after he entered you anyhow. Probably there's not enough semen in your vagina for evidence any more either now that we're bathing" -- I paused -- "or in your asshole either."
"No," Tracy said, still watching me closely. "There's probably as much in your asshole by now. How does it feel?"
She was teasing me. That's good, I thought. I'm still her darling girlfriend at least. Still sharing. My idea gathered shape. I took her by the shoulders, so she'd get serious. "Could we make a case for sexual harassment?"
"No, honey," she said. "He didn't threaten me or offer inducements. He didn't use his position to intimidate me, or to extort favors. He just saw an opportunity to fuck me and he did it. And then I was so confused and demoralized and horny I let him do it again, nothing promised or gained. A quick office fuck between consenting adults. We can't build a case on that."
Now I began to see a plan, and blurted out my indignation. "He took advantage of you! Of your position under him!" I didn't mean to put it that way. "That's harassment. Couldn't you say so? Or tell him you'll say so, threaten to bring charges against him if he tries it again? That would stop him!"
"No, honey. There's a videotape, everything in his office is always videotaped for security reasons. The videotape shows two people fucking repeatedly without uttering a word to each other, enjoying each other like old lovers. And he has the videotape now. He's taken it home by now, I'm sure. He told me once he loves the instant replay button on his video at home, and he leered, so I never asked him what he meant."
"Could we trap him into doing it again? But this time get clear evidence of it ourselves -- pictures, recordings, sure evidence of behavior that's plainly harassment?"
"With me? Not alone. Not with what he could show has already happened between us. I'm what's called a 'tainted' witness. He could claim anything we did was consensual, because we'd done it before, Even that I seduced him." I gloomily imagined him saying just that. It might even be true. I'd taken Tracy while she was leaning over a desk in her dormitory once, in our early horny first flush of love, when her ass had seemed to call out to me, to beg me to enter her cunt, by giving me a slight irresistible wiggle.
Tracy's eyes suddenly opened wide, and a huge grin brightened her face. "But it would work with someone else!" she said.
"What?" I asked.
"If he were to harass someone else first, then try me again, that would show a pattern! A kind of 'before' and 'after'. We could show how he extorts sexual favors first, say, from a job applicant, and then expects his employees to keep providing them. Then that tape he's got would be evidence in our favor. Yes! A job applicant. A girl at her most vulnerable being interviewed, when she's trying to be as pleasing as she can be. The inducement of employment, whether or not it's offered. That's sex for favors, a violation of FEPC rules, and of equal rights rules, and rules against harassment, and even laws against extortion! We'd have him! We wouldn't have to bring suit -- just the threat would make him behave! And he'd want to have the whole thing videotaped anyhow for afterward! He's a voyeur. So there's no problem recording the evidence!"
Tracy bounced up and down on my lap. "It would work!" she cried out. She looked at me and smiled her most seductive smile, while her hands drifted down and began to play with my breasts again. "And I know just the job applicant, too!"
"Who?" I asked.
She lowered her head and kissed each nipple, then kissed me on the mouth. Her tongue came between my teeth. Her lips still against mine, she said, "You!"
"Meeeee?" I said, ending the word with a little squeal, because all that tit play had induced in me a sweet visceral yearning, distant thunder suggesting orgasmic storm clouds coming closer.
"Yes, honey. You! You're perfect!"
Tracy now straightened up and pushed out her lower lip and looked determined. "I can get you through the preliminaries and directly to the interview. And I can make sure it's private, though I'd attend as an observer the way I often do. If anything he'll think of me as an ally now, because we've already..." she paused, then went on, "done it, and he knows I'm happily married, that I have a vested interest in keeping it secret and helping him find someone else to satisfy his lusts. So he'd pay no attention to me until we had him on tape propositioning you." She grinned almost mischievously. "And I could watch him take advantage of my darling girlfriend, maybe even watch him fuck you with the same cock he used on me." She broke into a broad smile. "It would be another close bond between us." She took my penis between her thumb and forefinger and glanced up slyly. "You might even like it, sweetheart! I did!"
She was still teasing and goading me. "Oh, don't be so prim!," she said, looking at the expression on my face. "We could stop him any time you wanted. You don't have to prove penetration to prove harassment. Only duress, and that's easy in an employment interview."
The bath water had cooled down some, and I began to feel chilly as well as nervous. This was not how I'd wanted to see this problem solved.
"But Tracy, honey bun, how could I get him to try to seduce me. I'm not that pretty, and I don't have much of a figure yet, and...."
"Leave that to me!" Tracy now looked so determined she was utterly adorable. "I'll make you so attractive all the dogs on the block will howl when you come tripping by." She smiled. "You only need a little more experience with men, a little flirting, a little more flaunting of those tits and your sweet innocence, that's all. No, this plan is perfect. Even if we can't make a case for harassment, we can always embarrass him afterward that he's fucked a man, if he does, that he's a faggot, and then ask him who should see the videotapes of it. That would at least slow him down!"
She dismissed the whole issue with a toss of her head. "Now, my femme fatale, don't think! I'll do what thinking we need. Just be the Bimbo I love, and you wrap your legs around my waist and snuggle up. I want to push my finger into your pussy. Just to see what happens." She gave me a devastatingly wicked glance. "I don't think you'll mind if I push some of my boss's semen into you along with my finger. A temptress needs to get used to feeling a man drip back out of her." And she embraced and kissed me passionately.
Her finger felt glorious. I began to yearn for one of her dildoes.
When we got out of the tub we went straight into our bedroom and made love until nearly dawn. I wanted to re-establish my claim on her openings, and I actually managed to get my cock erect enough to enter her vagina for a few strokes before it collapsed and had to be replaced with a dildo. "That was very sweet!" she said when she felt me recede. "Surely you can see why you have no reason at all to feel jealous of any other man's bigger cock. I'm not. No woman is. You don't have any now either, to speak of, so you're not in the running either. In fact we should all feel grateful that some men are big league players, and think more about how we can use them to our own advantage."
We were "loving friends" all night. It never for a moment occurred to me to think of myself as an injured party, a cuckold, a pathetic object of ridicule, that my wife had balled her boss and gotten off on it a few times, and now wanted my help cooling him out. Instead, Tracy persuaded me that I was a chivalric hero, a knight in girl's armor preparing to confront a dragon cocksman in order to rescue a distressed damsel. She told me how proud she was that I had come up with just the right idea we needed to control her boss's libido and get even. By morning I was convinced it was all my idea. Toward morning Tracy hauled out "the Emperor" and I deep throated it repeatedly. Usually she filled its cum tank mostly with warm Gatorade and gelatin, "so my pretty lady can have a nice reward in her tummy that tastes just like cum, sweet, and salty, and slick." But this time she used chocolate sauce for a surprise, and we both giggled when I passed it from my mouth to hers. Last of all, she had me bend over our bed the way she had bent over her Boss's desk, and then she pushed the Emperor into me and fucked me but good! I couldn't walk the next day any more than she could, and we grinned as we saw how we were each waddling around. It was one more thing we shared.
Four
I would need to attract sexual attention when Tracy's boss interviewed me, so all through the next week at the office I tried to behave sexy. The girls noticed that I was getting increasing provocative, even sluttish. "Whoa," Connie said to me. "If that's the kind of girl you are, maybe you won't fit in here much longer. We're nice girls. You know, you really should stop and chat with us more. We trade makeup tips with each other all the time, and some of the girls really want to help you improve your appearance." She looked back at me and added as she left, "But none of them will tell you how to go this far overboard!"
I was acting like a slut because Tracy was teaching me how, each night when she got home, for long hours. I'd had no idea she knew that much about how to excite men. She showed me gestures, postures, how to put on lipstick so a man seeing me do it will come in his pants, and how to use my eyes to look inviting and sex-starved, especially how to glance sideways from the corners of my eyes.
We ran different interview scenarios, with Tracy always the boss. In some he was insinuatingly suggestive, and I learned how to register distaste to the camera and no offense taken to him, and uncertainty, and finally duress, before I went down on my knees and sucked hungrily on "the Emperor" as it stood up like a mountain peak from between my wife's legs. In some the boss was attentive and considerate and I was doubtful and worried, and I managed a small, plaintive "Do I have to?" before "he" turned me around and laid me face forward on the desk in our study, and then reamed me for almost a half-hour. I walked with a limp for two days after that session.
And the next night Tracy again came home weary, also walking with a limp. "Did he do it again?" I asked, knowing the answer and afraid to hear it.
Tracy just nodded.
This time I could ask. "Did you like it?"
Tracy looked at me. "What do you think?" My face registered that I didn't know what to think, so she told me, in an uncommonly hard voice, "Yes, I loved it. His cock is hot, and when I'm flying on it I'm somewhere in another world, and it's glorious to feel cum boil and pulse out of it and splash all over my insides -- against the top of my cunt, into my guts, whatever part of me he's fucking. You remember, you used to do that kind of thing to me while you were still a man. But you wanted to be a woman."
"Tracy!" I said, deeply hurt. "That was for you! It's all been for you! What are you saying?"
My face began to break up.
Tracy relented. "Yes. And so is this. For you. Don't be offended darling. I'm being tough on you now because obviously you're still envious of another man, and you resent that he's fucked me. That's more macho competitiveness again. You'll never be a convincing sexually-harassed woman if you're being a jealous man the whole time. He'll sense something's wrong, something antagonistic in you, and he'll get wary and back off."
She took my hand and spoke earnestly, pleadingly. "Try not to care. If you're not a man, why should you care? You're my husband and my whole life, but more than that, you're my girlfriend, and when your girlfriend tells you she's having a good time getting laid, tell her, 'Good for you!'
"Now try it! I'll say it again, and it's all true. My boss really did stick it to me today, honey, twice in the cunt and again in my ass with that big prick of his. We spent the whole afternoon in each others' arms, doing everything we could think of to make each other feel wonderful! My tits are as sore as my pussy and my asshole. And I'm all stretched out. I can't begin to remember how many orgasms I've had!'"
I was bewildered. But I said it. "Good for you!"
Tracy came close and kissed me on the lips. "Thank you, sweetheart. You're learning. I did enjoy it of course, what woman wouldn't? But I'm doing my job, and you've got to do yours. Now, tonight I mean to force you to my will, to rape you in fact, and I want you to resist but be worried the whole time that if you don't give in just a little you won't be hired. I want to use force. Then we'll talk about your performance afterward, how to improve it."
And she did. She even tied me up and blindfolded me. I got so I'd accept any indignity in any of my orifices. I still don't know what some of the things were she fed into me.
The second week, Tracy shifted the scenarios. "Now you know about being a victim," she said. "He may not come on to you at all, so this week I want you to be a seductress, really let him know you're easy and available, so maybe we can catch him trafficking in sexual favors, trading a job for a fuck. That would get him fired quickly enough I expect. Nothing obvious, but make sure he knows that if you get what you want, he'll get what he wants. Negotiate salaries and job specs as if you had your mouth on his cock or he had his cock in your pussy."
So all through that week I learned feminine wiles. I teased, I wheedled, I absent-mindedly stroked or sucked on my finger as if it were a penis, I looked deep into "his" eyes all the while "he" was talking, never looking away, I licked my lips, I repeated everything he said in a sultry voice, and I leaned forward so he could look down my cleft -- I was beginning to get one, and a push-up bra provided what I hadn't yet grown.
"The Emperor" spent so much time down my throat that it stayed sore, and my voice was reduced to a whisper. Tracy got me some special soothing lozenges that brought my voice back up, but to a high-pitched Bimbo squeal. So in that voice I explained over and over that I'd love to have "his" cock up my cunt, but because of my period I wanted him instead up my ass, or I moaned seductively that pussies were for ordinary men, while "he" deserved my extraordinary still-tight opening and I wanted him to have it! I let him know what fringe benefits came with my job. I learned to flip up my skirt to show my frilliest panties or my bare ass so enticingly that "he" would lunge at me without hesitating.
In bed together each night afterward, we went over what had happened and looked for ways to improve my performance. Tracy was right. If as a man I felt the least distaste for my "man," or felt the least bit competitive or jealous, it ruined my presentation as a sweet young thing, or as a seducer. Whatever the kinds of girls and women and seductresses I was enacting, I had to convince myself that I was Tracy's girlfriend, nothing but her girlfriend, not her husband, not previously male or still male, but a woman in all things, with a woman's desires and concerns.
So while we were both separately at work, Tracy urged me to become completely one of the girls in my office, to spend as much time as I could with them, to chat with them and learn to sympathize with their problems with parents and husbands and boyfriends, to share my own concerns, and to swap information about nail polishes and hemlines, and male sexual stamina, and masturbation with vibrating dildoes, whatever was of interest. The secretaries talked about all of these things. So every day I went to lunch with the other girls, and we giggled and laughed and whispered conspiratorially. And talked about guys. As different men went by our tables, we'd issue shorthand judgments, whether fat and bald, or tall and lean, whether heavy-muscled boors or genteel hunks.
Like the other girls, I had to be able to say what appealed to me or not in a man, and to allow myself to feel attracted when one or another walked by, so I'd know. I opened myself up a little. I realized that the right man, not a hunk, a little soft even, preferably blond, preferably with a casually self-assured manner, and certainly gentle, could get past some of my defenses. I might even like being with one. The girls knew I was married, but I pretended I'd stepped out of line with my wife's cousin last summer because he was just that kind of man, and my wife had never forgiuven me. They assumed that Tracy was getting laid all over the city, I noticed, now that I was a woman and much more interested in men than in her. When they claimed to know men who claimed to have fucked her or gotten blown by her, I told them my attitude was simply, "If so, good for them, and good for her!"
Sometimes after work we'd stop at a local bar or cocktail lounge, and actually flirt with different men who came up to try their luck with our tableful of unattended good looking women. I tried some of my little girl lines, and my victim techniques, and my sultry seductress mannerisms, to the vast amusement of the other girls, who wanted to know where I had learned to do and say such things. I started to explain with some pride "From my wife," but I was trying to persuade myself I had no wife. So I just said, "My girlfriend's been around, and she tries these things on a lot of guys, and thinks I should too." True enough, I thought gloomily. I'd noticed that Tracy wasn't wearing panties at all now when she went to work. "Why bother?" she said. "They're off ten minutes after I arrive at the office, and then they stay off all day to provide him access all day. They'd only get drenched in cum. The man's a goat. Not that the sex isn't great...." She looked at me and waited.
"Good for you," I said to my wife. "You're lucky to have found a man like that, sweetheart. What's his cock like?"
She looked at me, unable to tell if I was asking out of girlish curiosity or bitter jealousy. "You'll find out soon enough," was all she replied.
The third week, Tracy told me, I would have to be a free-lance full-time woman in every sense of the word, because the interview was scheduled for the Monday immediately following. She was setting up a series of tests I'd have to pass before she'd feel I was qualified for what I had to do. She wouldn't tell me what they'd be. I told her meanwhile that there should be no "loving friends" sessions between us that third week -- she would have to be a man with me in every sense that I was a lady. She was delighted that I'd thought of this on my own. So each night when she got home -- she was back to long hours again -- she changed to pants or a sweatshirt and then tried different pickup or seduction techniques on me. I'd yield quickly so we could get to bed, where still in character, Tracy would make gentle or rough love to me, depending on who she was.
"What does this have to do with being a harassment victim," I asked her one day, when the answer eluded me? "I don't feel harassed. I feel like an inexperienced girl on a date, or an experienced woman trying to encourage some shy man into greater intimacies, and sometimes you get me feeling like a whore with her John."
"That's right," said Tracy. "That's the key. You're all of those. You're a girl trying to impress or encourage a man, which is what every girl learns to do before she's out of her teens. You do that and all the rest will follow. We're going out for a few nights this week, to give you some experience with real men. You still don't know what it feels like for a beard to be scratching on your mouth while you're sucking on some guy's tongue. I can't be a man past a certain point. We're at that point."
So for the rest of the week we dressed in mini skirts, net stockings, high, high heels, no bras, and bright colored satin blouses, and went to different discos or bars. Within a few minutes there were guys sitting with us, and we jested and joked and bantered with them while they bought us drinks and from time to time asked one of us to dance. Tracy was astonishing. She could be ingratiating, open, sincere, tough, vulnerable, sweet, bold, sprightly, coy, whatever the situation called for, that was what she was. Mostly she promised greater intimacy by looking her partners unwaveringly in the eyes. They'd look back while the air thickened between them, and when it seemed unendurable, and neither of them could breathe, Tracy would say suddenly, "Let's dance!" They'd dance plastered to each other, and I noticed that Tracy's partners usually came back with huge wet areas in the crotches of their pants -- Tracy had brought them off by rubbing up against them. When we went to the Ladies together I commented on it.
Tracy shrugged. "I learned to do that when I was still in my teens," she said. Get them started, and they never pull back. Then when they blow their wads they're less keen for you to do other things with them -- they're not sure they can get it up again so soon. You do know, don't you, that when you accepted that muscle man's drink, Toby's his name?, and then let him drape his hand over your shoulder and onto your tit, you guaranteed him a French kiss, a hand job, or a blow job, whichever he'd settle for?" I hadn't known. "Well, my bar-pickups get to cum in their pants if I accept their favors, so later I owe them nothing they're able to collect. You'd better tend to Toby pretty soon -- bar pickups can get nasty."
So for the first time in my life, I unzipped a man's fly and took his cock in my hand, and then slowly jerked him off under the table, all the while listening to some man opposite me telling some kind of story. Toby's cock was stiff, yet softer and warmer than any of the dildoes I'd gotten used to. I held tight to it and moved my hand, and the outer skin slipped back and forth on the inner like a smooth loose pelt, until he stiffened and I could feel it throb. He shot his cum onto the pants of the man sitting opposite, who suddenly stopped telling his story and got a puzzled expression on his face.
I told the girls at work all about it the next day, and we laughed and giggled about it all through lunch. We felt so superior! The next night I jerked off another guy while he French kissed me standing together in an alcove near the bar, and then like Tracy, I made two more cum in their pants while we danced. It got to be fun! Men were so easy!
Getting ready to go out Friday night, Tracy said some odd things to me. "Honey, we're going out tonight with some of the people I work with. They all know me, and we're easily familiar with each other, so don't be shocked if one of them pats me on the rump, or another one rubs himself on my tits while we're dancing. If one of them should put the make on me, and for the sake of tonight's scenario I encourage him, what will your response be, girlfriend?"
"Good for you."
And what will my response be if one of them comes on to you?"
"The same."
"That's right. Remember that! Tonight, we're two girls who've put in a hard week at our offices, and are now looking for a little fun. We both know what guys are like and how to enjoy them. So lets. Give them what they want, and get what you want. But be sure to stay in control. That's the most important thing of all."
So made up in our "seductress" modes, we took a cab -- Tracy pointed out that we'd both be drinking -- to one of the town's better supper clubs, for dinner and dancing. There were six or eight people in our group, and it was remarkable how naturally vivacious and flirtatious Tracy became as she joined them. She was a Queen Bee who immediately seized everyone's attention, laughing and teasing and telling anecdotes with amused excitement. I could see why she came home exhausted, if this was the manner and pace she maintained all day. I began to sit down between two of the women, rather quiet wives it turned out, but before I could pull out the chair and smile at them and introduce myself a blond man about my age swept up to me, seized my hand by the wrist, and deftly twirled me away from the table and toward the dance floor.
"At last!" he said. "Tracy's famous secret girlfriend, much talked about and never seen! It's wonderful she persuaded you to come tonight! We must talk! Never mind these other people, they're all slow and dull. Let's go to the bar and get some drinks, and leave them to bore each other."
We did. I remembered to keep a sweet smile on my face and to sip, and nibble, and draw him out. His name was Ken, and he was English, some kind of process specialist with Tracy's firm, with a bantering, easy attitude toward everything.
I commented that he never seemed to take anything seriously, and he replied, "Oh, don't be deceived, my dear one, it's the serious things that especially require a light touch. 'Light' doesn't mean superficial, just skilled and effortless. Delicate, like when you make love -- would you rather sleep with a man who grunts and paws you, or with a man who seems to dance over you. And in you of course."
I actually blushed at that, and he was charmed. "You're the first woman I've seen blushing in the four years I've been in this country. How did your maidenly modesty survive your little girl discovery of what little boys are really good for. Good heavens, don't tell me that you haven't...!"
I nodded, and blushed deeper.
His manner changed. Subtly, he became more attentive, less frivolous, more sincere. He began to behave as if I were a fragile flower. When he led me to the dance floor I felt clumsy, but he moved with such relaxed grace I felt like a decorative doll floating in his arms. When he led me back to our cocktail table, I was delightedly looking into his eyes -- hazel they were -- while he continued to chat, then to talk. The main table where Tracy held sway was full, as was another table for four, so at his suggestion we settled into a table for two, ordered, and ate while our tete a tete continued.
I'd been feminizing myself for Tracy, mainly to please her. And I'd learned to play a variety of feminine roles, just as Tracy was playing a scintillating great lady right now not twenty feet away from us. But with Ken I was, simply, pleased to be feminine because of the pleasure I felt that I could attract and hold this wonderful man's attention. By dessert I was doting on him while he continued to talk hopefully and yet comfortably about his future expectations, and amusedly about his blunders in the past. When we danced between courses, I let him hold me close, and pressed my cheek against his. His was indeed scratchy.
We were laughing delightedly together over some silliness a friend had committed when Tracy suddenly appeared at our table with a tall, rather burly man in tow. He had straight black hair on his head and curly black hair on his wrists, and he grinned an easy, confident smile as we were introduced. He nodded to Ken as they sat down, and glanced at me now and then while Tracy chatted animatedly with him about this and that, posturing as she'd shown me to do, patting up stray hairs on the back of her head, making little smiling moues at him, dipping her head and looking up at him through long-lashed eyes so attractive I wanted to seize and kiss her myself. I imagined myself posturing seductively to the dark-haired man, and then imagined it with Ken. With Ken it came naturally. I wondered what kissing Ken would be like.
I was feeling very good. An attractive man was attracted to me. For tonight Tracy had chosen for me a long, figure-clinging dark-red sequinned gown that flowed over my slim hips. Weeks of enforced salads and little else for dinner had given me a small waist, laced in still further, and my breasts were finally showing a generous swelling curvature above my ribs. I held my own in the conversation, teasing, seemingly vulnerable, sometimes wittily amused, now and then again blushing at some overly-intimate comment, but always in control. I was quite a girl, if I do say so. I was in fact so delighted with myself that I didn't register it at first when the altogether unexpected happened.
Tracy came back from dancing with her large, black-haired man and picked up her purse. "Ta ta, darling," she said to me. "I'm off with Roger here to spend the weekend at his shore estate, for the swimming and boating and the other pleasures he's promised me."
She glanced at this Roger from the corners of her eyes and let a smile linger, exactly as she'd taught me to do when I wanted to say discreetly to a man in front of everyone, "And I'm going to love getting fucked royally the whole time." Roger got the message and grinned back at her.
"Have fun dears," she continued. Then again to me. "Whatever you do, sweetie, remember to be home early Monday morning. We're both off from work, but there's the Beauty Salon appointment at 10:00 -- we've ordered up your Innocent Vamp look -- and then there's our appointment -- remember it? -- at two. There'll be no time for lunch, so your girlish figure will stay girlish enough I'm sure."
She paused to look at me. "But it doesn't have to stay virginal. Get in all the last minute womanly experiences you can! I mean to." And she was gone.
"She's wonderful, Tracy is!" I looked up. It was Ken speaking, leaning toward me almost as if offering consolation. "How long have you known her?"
"I don't know," I replied truthfully, shocked, near tears. "I'd thought about six years. Maybe not at all!"
Suddenly I couldn't take it! I turned toward this wonderful man I'd just met, and now had to trust. "Ken, please take me home!" My voice broke, ever so slightly.
"Of course!"
He did. But to his home, and there followed the most marvelous weekend of my life.
I was at first so distracted by that last image of my wife superbly, breezily, with tantalizing poise, sweeping away on the arm of another man, that I didn't notice that we were getting out of the car at the wrong house. Then Ken invited me in for a drink, and I went in with him. We settled on the couch, and he held my hand, and he looked out of his long-lashed hazel eyes into my eyes. In a low, gentle voice, he then told me that he knew the truth about me, everyone at Tracy's office did, and that he loved that truth about me because the truth about him was that he was gay. He said that he had wanted to make love to me from the moment he first saw me.
I actually took cheer from his confession. "You did?" I asked in a small, surprised voice.
In reply he kissed me, softly, gently, sweetly. Then again. I closed my eyes and sighed, and my arms folded around his neck, and I kissed him. His tongue entered into my mouth, soft and moist, and playfully wriggly. I loved it, I kissed it, I worshipped it with my own tongue, with my lips, and with all my heart.
An hour later we were blissfully in bed together, and he was inside me and wrapped all around me, and I felt complete. Safe. Then I felt like many things all through that night, like a blazing fireplace, like perfume in a breeze, like honey flowing over soft skin and being licked, like tender spring grass nibbled by fawns. I felt loved as no man has ever been loved. It went on and on. Early Monday morning he woke me with a tender kiss and I kissed him back as sweetly as I could. We had passed the whole weekend in bed being as intimate with each other as two people can be, as if we were one loving being, not two, each of us fountains of joy pouring and splashing down on each other. Yet I felt wonderfully refreshed. Not stretched, not sore, not used up. Rather, newborn, liberated, myself completely for the first time. I drifted into my clothes, and with a long, loving farewell kiss, went directly to my beauty parlor appointment.
Five
There I found Tracy waiting for me. "Well, pretty hubby," she said. "I see you haven't been home since Friday night. That sequinned dress is lovely, but do you think it's suitable for a Monday morning? Did you have a good time?" She looked at me with a slight smile, and I saw that her last question was neither casual nor frivolous.
"Yes, I did," I said, still feeling a little dreamy. I hesitated a moment, then decided to tell her the truth. "Tracy, it was like a honeymoon. It was perfect. In some ways better than ours, I think."
"Oh, sweetheart, that's wonderful! You've finally found yourself where I'd hoped you'd be! Good for you!" I heard no irony in her voice, and when I looked closely at her, I saw she was genuinely happy for me. Maybe my lapse in marital fidelity had made the burden of hers lighter? Maybe she just felt happy that I felt happy? Maybe somehow, all of my new experiences with men assured the success of our mission to trap her boss in the act of taking unfair advantage of a woman? Maybe all of these things?
Three hours later I left the salon painted up with my "innocent vamp" look, and a half-hour after that I was off with Tracy for my interview wearing a cute business suit with a flared jacket and pencil-thin skirt and a low-cut white silk blouse. No panties -- I saw Tracy wasn't wearing any, so I saw no reason why I should. I was still feeling blissful, the same cute minx, the same lovely girl I'd been in Ken's arms all weekend. As we left the house Tracy told me she was very proud, that I seemed to be fully ready. When we arrived at her boss's office I was still clutching my purse and chatting animatedly with Tracy, and we swept past his secretary scarcely noticing.
Then came my first shock. There was Roger behind her boss's desk! Tall and dark and formidable. The man she'd breezed off with to spend the weekend with was the same man who'd sexually harassed her? or intimidated her into being unfaithful to me? or dishonored her? My mind whirled in confusion!
With a magisterial wave of his hand he motioned me to a chair near his and finished reading some papers. Then he set them down and gave me his full attention, and grinned reassuringly as I sat down very primly, knees close together and purse in my lap, staring wide-eyed at him, bewildered. I noticed that Tracy had settled herself on the couch, and that she glanced once at a TV camera over the door aimed at his desk area.
What came next was not expected either, not in any of the scripts Tracy had worked out for me.
"Well, my dear," he said in a hearty, welcoming voice, "When I saw you last Friday evening it was so hard to believe you were once a man that this morning I had to review all the reports we have on you for myself." He gestured at the thick folder in front of him. "Your wife's done wonders with you! By the way, you don't mind if I call her Tracy, do you? We've been...intimate associates longer than you've been married. I interviewed her just before your wedding, in fact, and when we were finished, I offered her the job and she accepted it. You hadn't been in her rear then yet, had you? It was the tightest, sweetest hole I've ever fucked. Well, I'm sure I made it easier for you when you did get there. I'm one of the half-dozen executives Tracy services daily, so I know her as well as anyone here."
He paused. I nodded as if I understood, still wide-eyed, but unable to move. What was I hearing?
"Tracy tells me that you're now at ease sexually with lesbians, and gay men too, and safely incapable of intercourse with straight women but otherwise skilled at satisfying them. I've already seen for myself that you're lively, attractive, poised, and comfortable in difficult social settings. I must say, you're remarkably self-controlled under stress. I'd wanted simply to slip away with your wife for the weekend, but Tracy insisted that you'd hear out what we meant to do without any jealousy, without causing a scene, and you did. That was really impressive. That's exactly the kind of person we've been looking for! No confusion of business obligations with personal needs."
He leaned forward, reassuringly. "Now, I'm sure you'll appreciate that I need to know certain things for certain before we proceed. First, would you mind pulling up your skirt to show me that your penis is now in fact too small to matter? I don't like to embarrass you, but Tracy's told me that neither of you would be wearing underpants today, so just a glimpse will serve. I'm sorry if it distresses your modesty, but it can't be helped."
Well, here was a kind of requested sexual intimacy of sorts, the kind we'd rehearsed. But this interview wasn't at all what we'd predicted! I glanced at Tracy, who glanced in turn at the TV camera over the door and then smiled reassuringly at me. So, I slowly pulled up my skirt until my cock was just barely visible. Tracy had taken to calling it my "teeny weeny" as the hormones reduced it in size.
"Thank you, dear. Tracy is right, you are certainly no stud. But we have plenty of people who are, so it doesn't matter. You'll meet them soon enough. It'll make a nice clit when you get yourself fully qualified. But let me tell you what we have in mind."
He leaned forward and folded his hands on the desk in front of him. Was that thick file there really mine? What's been going on!?
"What we've needed is a personnel service specialist like Tracy here, to be brought in whenever deals need closing, or people feel injured and need to feel appreciated, whenever lots of things." He pronounced the word the way Tracy did, "personal". "This person needs to be attractive of course, and comfortable with gay or bisexual men, an area where Tracy has no natural expertise. Also, impotence is an advantage, so women can get their cunts serviced without feeling threatened, and without feeling tempted afterward to extort money from us by crying 'Rape!' Yet this person will also need to service straight men like me when Tracy's unavailable."
"I must say, you came through our preliminary tests this week very well. And as for your ability to satisfy gay men, Ken reports that you are absolutely top drawer, satisfying in every respect, though he adds" -- Roger picked up a paper from near the top of the pile -- "he adds that you'll need to seem better satisfied by whoever you're with -- it seems that no matter what he did, you always wanted more of it!" He grinned reassuringly at me, to let me know that this was no defect at all.
I was baffled! My mouth hung open as he continued to talk! What was this? Had I been set up somehow? Ken had kissed and told? I looked over to Tracy again in my confusion, but she just looked back at me and smiled. She dipped her head a moment as if in sympathy.
"One more test now, and I'll be glad to welcome you aboard! I need to know two things. The first is that from the moment we hire you, you'll have the good of the company in mind at all times, that management's needs will always dominate your personal feelings."
"Tracy certainly feels that way. She saw the need for someone like you years ago, when she first arrived. All this time she could have had a much easier time of it, especially since we've been understaffed, if we'd simply taken on Temps, hired whatever prostitutes and call girls or escorts we've needed. But she wanted you for her assistant and no one else, and she didn't want to jeopardize the slot reserved for you."
"It seems she's been training you for this job for the whole of your marriage, practically. Making a perfectly decent husband I must say, from my early reports here, into a highly skilled transgendered sex partner of men, women, or gay men. I hear that this past week you've managed to persuade yourself to remain a woman, that you now have a real woman's desires. That you've now had sex with men and love it. Well, I need to know that too for certain.
"So now, would you come here" -- he indicated a space on the floor between his spread knees -- "and show me this fabulous deep throat technique Tracy says is the equal of hers? I'll be the best judge of that!" He looked straight into my eyes, confident, dominating, self-assured, head cocked slightly back, and waited.
This was what Tracy and I had trained for together. But something wasn't right in this interview! Something in fact was all wrong! I couldn't think, so I went with the closest scenario at hand. I put on a sultry smile, said "Of course I will, if you think it's part of my job," dipped forward out of my chair. hiked up my skirt, and knelt before his crotch as if preparing to pray to some phallic god. My stockings seemed safe enough on the soft carpet. "Now?" I asked him, trying to sound as if a six course gourmet dinner awaited me behind his zipper?"
"Whenever you're ready," he said. So I reached for his fly with my now bright red, elongated, delicate, highly polished fingertips, and unzipped him. Immediately the largest cock I have ever seen rose through the space in his pants like a genie emerging from a bottle, then hovered huge over his crotch.
It looked familiar. It was familiar! My mouth and my ass immediately recognized every curve, every vein, and my ass began to quiver. There in the flesh, swollen up before my own eyes, was "the Emperor" itself!
It was the Emperor all right, from the familiar pink and purple shading of its immense crown, past the pock marks and veins buttressing its towering shank, down to the huge hairy balls I could see still half-hidden inside his pants! I was shocked! I looked again at Tracy in amazement! Unperturbed, again she smiled, but this time her face registered the special pleasure of a mother who has just watched her child unwrap a wondrous Christmas present. Awed and a bit frightened now, I looked back up into Roger's face. He put his hand on my cheek.
"Yes dear, I know it's huge," he said. "Women often seem unsure of themselves when they first see it. And after all those training sessions with the facsimile, you must be feeling especially privileged now to be in the presence of the real thing. All the more reason for you to do what a woman should do when she meets a cock like this one face to face, or rather, head to head."
He leaned back and waited. I closed my eyes and leaned forward as if kneeling before that rubber dildo Tracy had strapped to the chair in our bedroom. I kissed the tip, and wet the whole prick down with well-accustomed skill, opened my mouth so wide my jaw felt unhinged, and then in one lunge I took that huge tube into my mouth and down into my throat, and bobbed my head.
Roger groaned.
I swallowed, and he groaned again. I swallowed yet again. It was just as Tracy had said, I was in charge, and he was helpless at that moment. I tantalized him a few times with small head movements, then settled into sliding it in and out, in and out, swallowing on the extreme edge of each down stroke, until I heard him deliver a deep, gutteral 'Yip" sound, and I felt it stiffen and then pump gout after gout of semen down into me somewhere.
I waited until his thrusting and pumping ceased, then raised my head. He was leaning far back on his chair, almost helpless, eyes tight shut, trying to catch his breath. As the tip slipped out of my face I took note that his semen was a lot sweeter than Gatorade, but not as creamy in my mouth as Ken's. I thought of Ken for a moment. Why did I feel sad now, thinking about Ken?
"Wonderful!" Roger said, still recovering his breath. "Tracy, he's even better than you are I think! More practice lately I suppose." He turned back toward me. "I'd love to fuck you too, but I'm afraid I can only cum one more time this afternoon after this past weekend with Tracy -- she's a tiger when she gets going! -- and I still need to test your potential for company loyalty. I already know anyhow from these reports that you're a good lay, devoted to your lovers' pleasure, and that your ass is now as well stretched as Tracy's. Remember the time you first fucked her in her ass, just before she began converting yours into a pussy? She told me you slid right in so fast she could barely feel you. Some men here do prefer Tracy's rear end to her vagina, I suppose that's why. I can't blame her for not letting you use my model cock on her -- enough was already enough. I'll take her word that you have a usable pussy. Ken agrees enthusiastically enough! You might want to get a real one soon, anyhow, now that your penis is useless. Tracy thinks you'll need one to do your job well, and she should know."
"So only one other test. Please, just stay where you are between my legs, and begin sucking on me until I've recovered my erection, then we'll begin. It shouldn't be long."
It was a magnificent cock, and I tried to feel honored to be worshipping it, just as Tracy had urged. I did feel privileged, a little. But mainly uneasy. Was it jealousy? I didn't think so, there was something else. Annoyance? Male competitiveness? But I kissed the tip avidly, and licked and sucked it until it had reached its full fat dimensions again.
"Good! Now just stay where you are please. Tracy, would you come over here to help me complete this interview? Your husband is doing as well as you did when you first came to work for us. Of course you're a natural woman, and he's had to be trained first. "She" I suppose I should say now."
Tracy smiled once again at me, and came over and stood next to us. Then without a word she hiked up her skirt to her waist and tucked it in, then lifted and swung her leg wide over my head to stand on her high heels straddling Roger's lap, facing him, her naked ass not six inches from my upraised face. He looked up at her almost worshipfully and she looked down at him well-pleased, with superior satisfaction. She was doing what he wanted, and he was doing what she wanted. She waited a moment. His hands reached toward her breasts and caressed them gently, and he began to feel for their tips. Then slowly, slowly, Tracy lowered herself onto Carl's cock. I saw the pink tip of that monster cock, that royal head nearly the size of a teacup, topped by a pearl drop of pre-cum, touch, kiss, and enter my darling's pink inner lips, then disappear into the velvety softness within.
Her sweet pussy must be enormous to take that thing that easily, I thought. I hadn't been in it for a long time. Inadvertently I moaned aloud, on my knees before the two of them. But that was only the beginning. Majestically, Tracy lowered herself further, more and more, until her knees were fully flexed and she was sitting on his lap, and the Emperor was entirely buried somewhere inside her. Then she began to rise. The edges of her vulva clung to the skin on its shank as she slowly withdrew, in a long, excruciating journey up from his lap. She clasped her arms around his head gently, with great tenderness, his face buried in her breasts, when his cock was almost altogether out of her, wet and glistening with her rich, slick secretions, only a few inches from my nose. I could smell the musk. Then she began to sink down again.
"This may be difficult for you to grasp," Roger said to me with a gasp as Tracy again reached the bottom of her descent, and gave her ass the faintest wiggle before rising up yet again. He waited. Long pauses and groans then interrupted the rest of his speech, but I had nothing to do but kneel and listen and watch, so I did.
He continued, "You many not know this, but your wife does this better than any other woman I know. That's why I promoted her, and why she's in such great demand among us. Why some days we've worn her out. (Aaahhh!) She was a little worried about this moment, you actually seeing her at work for the first time. (Gaaahhhd, Tracy!) But show her you love her despite what she's doing, won't you? Because she's doing it? (Oh! Oh!) Because she's doing it for the company? (Oh, you sweeeeeeeet thing!) Without rising from your knees?"
I understood him. Still dazed, I bent forward, and when Tracy was all the way down and had just given her rear that cute little wiggle to seat his cock firmly into her, I kissed her ass cheek. When she felt my lips she gave another wriggle, and Roger squealed again somewhere above us. I looked up at her. She looked back down at me graciously, her neck curved like a maternal swan, and smiled silently down at me, concentrating with her eyes half-closed on her own obviously glorious sensations with that cock crammed in her. I kissed her other cheek. I couldn't help it. She seemed to be a goddess! I worshipped her! I wanted her happy! I wanted to fling my arms around her waist and bury my face in her buttocks and just keep kissing her! Her face seemed to understand and appreciate my impulsive feeling for her. She smiled once more, then turned back to Roger.
Faster and faster she rose and fell, and faster Roger rose to meet her on the down stroke, then hold himself in her as long as possible on the stroke, until they were pistoning in and out of each other too rapidly for me to see. Roger was overwhelmed, now going "Ahh! Ahh! Ahh! Ahh!" mindlessly as he lunged up into her and she snuggled back down onto him. Suddenly his whole groin rose up, and the Emperor disappeared so far into her I thought his balls had gone into her also.
"AaaaaARGGHHHHHHH! arggggghhhh! aaaaaAAAARGHHGHGHGH!" Then in a voice that must have shaken the whole building, "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAArrrghhhh!"
As her twat rose up I could see that the Emperor was pulsing along its whole length, even high up inside her. Then as she sank down dense fluid squeezed out around the sides of Roger's thick cock and began leaking in gouts down Tracy's inner and outer lips, then down her leg. Then she threw her arms around his head and ears ferociously and issued her own rhythmic high pitched shrieks, so familiar to me from the early days of our courtship, when we fucked each other like rabbits. Her ululating died down. Then they both took a moment to recover their breaths, faces flushed, their chests heaving.
"Now, my dear, we've been neglecting you," Roger resumed to me when he could. "If you'll just lift your face to the ceiling? Tracy, if you'll step back just a pace, your husband wants to help make you dainty again, I'm sure."
"My girlfriend," Tracy said, still herself short of breath. She just sat there a moment in his lap, while Roger's prick plopped out of her. "I have no husband now. The husband I once had is now a willing cock sucker, and dickless, a pathetic cuckold. Would any real husband kneel to watch his wife fuck a man he's just sucked off? Would you? No, this woman here is my dearest girlfriend, but no more than that. I'm a lesbian at home nowadays, remember? It's in those reports on your desk. I told you when you promoted me that I close too many business deals with too many men all day long, and adjudicate too many disputes, and reward too many executives for exceptional achievement, and entertain too many clients ever to want to have sex with any man on my own time. Especially with a husband. I had to change him to tolerate him at all. Except for our training sessions, my pretty hubby hasn't had sex with me for months. But we are loving friends. She is my beloved girlfriend, happy to see you fucking me so thoroughly. We enjoy each other's pleasures."
Tracy then stood up off of Roger's softened cock and took a step backward until her crotch was directly over my upturned face. Then she settled her soft, wet, salty pussy down onto my mouth. She braced her thighs on my shoulders and reached down to touch my tits and start to play with them, as she loved to do. They were hers, after all. She had made them. I reached into her vagina with my lips and tongue and started to slurp up her divine juices all mixed in with Roger's cum, swallowing as fast as I could as gobs of jism released themselves and fell dripping like thick syrup into my mouth. Waiting for more to drain out, I kissed her pussy lips over and over, and licked her clit when the cum stopped dripping so profusely. Lord how I worshipped that sweet slit! Meanwhile she played with my lovely titties until I felt something warm and sticky and delicious happen to me down in my pelvic region. It was so very nice.
Tracy continued speaking to Roger as if my mouth and tongue working away in her pussy were no more than a Kotex pad, to be worn without further thought. "There! See? That's what she wants. My happiness. You see how she puts the company's good ahead of her own. Now I want to decide for myself exactly how we'll define her duties and her managerial grade, whether she'll be my executive assistant or merely my associate. She already has a full list of clients waiting for her services, and certainly she's persuaded you by now that she's well qualified for the lesser job."
I felt Tracy wriggle her pussy on my face the same way she'd wriggled on Roger's cock. I gave her lips one last kiss. Then she stepped off me, glanced at me perfunctorily, and began to arrange her clothing.
"That's the deal, Tracy," Roger said. "I've already agreed to it. She's qualified now for fucking and sucking. If she stays in that grade she'll need to trade in that useless penis soon for another fuckable opening, so she can carry her full load. But I'm sure you can persuade her of that, and of course we'll pay the full costs. I'll leave it to you to determine whether she has real executive potential, and can actually do all of your job, not just the fucking and sucking. Set up a tough challenge for her."
He stood up and left the room, to clean himself up and to get my contract from his secretary I suppose. Still on my knees, I asked Tracy if we now had enough evidence for the harassment case, and if we should take this opportunity to steal the monitoring tape from over the door.
"What, honey?" She was still absorbed in her erotic afterglow, and maybe in what he'd just said. "Oh, the harassment? No, this was a trial run for a job he already meant to offer you, and everything he asked of you is in the printed job specs. He conducted himself properly I'm afraid. On the other hand, if you were to show a tape of today's interview to some sex discrimination commission, what kind of credibility would you have as a witness? The tapes show a transvestite with a shrunken penis who eagerly sucks the cock of a man who then fucks his wife while he kisses her ass as asked. You'd be laughed at. If you're still a man anywhere inside you, my darling, you're now just that, a cock sucking transvestite. I still love you of course. But you'd better just settle in as my girlfriend and forget all the rest, especially that you were once my husband. Let's go home, and we'll talk more, and then we'll decide what's best."
Six
Later that evening when we came in from dinner the contract lay on the coffee table in front of us. We settled across the living room from each other in our housecoats, for once wearing light makeup or none at all. I glanced out the picture window and across the street. If Beth and her husband were watching, they'd see nothing out of the ordinary this time. Two women talking.
I then told Tracy that I didn't intend to sign. The contract made me a company whore like her, nothing more. And she hadn't once been honest with me the whole time we'd been married, not once. I couldn't trust her. I didn't see how I could work with her. I loved and worshipped her, now more than ever in some odd perverse way, but there was no reason for us to remain married. I said these harsh things to her in a calm voice, because I meant them.
Tracy's face fell, and her voice trembled as she began her reply. Suddenly all her work seemed to be for nothing, I realized. And having sacrificed her husband to her own desires and schemes and not confided in him, she'd now lose her dearest girlfriend too. Well Tracy, I thought, it's what you deserve. Good for you.
"Sweetheart," she began. "First, I'll be absolutely honest with you now. I want you, but I don't need you. You're right. Any 'whore' as you so tactfully put it could be hired for this job. And you're already a whore. You've proved it for months, certainly this afternoon with Roger. You can be tricked into fucking or sucking anyone or anything. It's only a matter of incentive, and you're so trusting you don't even know that real whores are shrewd businesswomen who always insist on payment up front in advance. To be really useful to me you'll need to prove you have greater managerial savvy. None of us know that yet. You've never had to manipulate other people the way I do, the way I suppose all women must. You just trust them, the way men do who think their authority is unquestioned."
"But that's what's at stake now. If you sign on, it'll have to be either as a shrewd executive or as a trusting whore."
She paused, then began again. "I did want desperately to tell you everything, but there was no way. Look how long it took for that male ego of yours to die, before you were willing to agree that looking like a woman, doing what women do, being a woman in the company of women makes you much happier. You know that now in your heart of hearts, don't you?"
She waited, and took my silence to mean I didn't disagree.
"This moment is what I wanted for you practically from the day we were married, darling. To share everything with me, and that means to share everything as women. That's what true marriage is. I wanted all this for your sake, for our sake, not just for the sake of some job. Look what happened just today. We both had sex with the same terrific man, as women, and we're happy for each other because of it, not at all jealous. Our fidelity to each other is now far more spiritual than that old sense of "fidelity" demands, each person claiming exclusive rights to the other's skin. What we have here is real sharing and caring! I wanted you to have it all, everything I have."
This time she waited for me to disagree. I couldn't. It was true, in a way, from her point of view. From the beginning of our marriage Tracy had been plotting our mutual happiness as she saw it. She could see it only if I became her girlfriend, and also her kind of girl working for the same company. She knew I would not easily be persuaded. She was wonderfully devious, my Tracy, but certainly well-intentioned!
Tracy read my grudging admiration in my face, and took hope. "Now, she said. "if I'm a company whore, at least I'm now the head company whore at the head office of a very large corporation. And I want you to be with me in this. I want to share this too."
"But we're not 'whores'. That's such a harsh word. Think about it, darling. There are many ways to please people so they'll agree to do things you want them to do: buy, sell, cooperate, sacrifice, whatever you want. You can take them to a concert or a Broadway play, or to a ball game, or a great dinner. You can pay them, salaries or bonuses or bribes or praise. You can send their wives flowers on their birthdays. And you can invite them to share and be grateful for experiences they find intensely pleasurable. That's my department."
"When one of our salesmen is entertaining a client, we can help them feel close by giving them an opportunity to fuck the same woman, or to share blow jobs from her. To feel good the same way. The contracts those clients agree to afterward are always more lucrative for us. That's our job in Personnel Services, to cultivate other people's good will toward the company, and also to reward exceptional achievement and maintain high morale. If more negotiations are also required, that's what we do. If theater tickets are required, that's what we provide. If what's required is to blow or fuck or lick a key man or woman or a whole roomful of consultants, then we blow, fuck, or lick them. The same is true when top executives disagree over policy, or our own engineers can't make common cause over a major recommendation. We expedite their decisions. Ours is a skilled profession, like many others, and when we intervene, things do happen."
"That's why the work is so high paying. I was overworked because I've been adapting a much older piecework profession to an industrial corporate setting, and doing the work at the same time, and exploring its potential, and persuading top management of its value, and writing endless reports about it, all at once. You now know the techniques I used. I persuaded them the way you saw me persuading Roger of your value, the way I persuaded you earlier to explore your femininity unashamed. It takes time, persuading people one on one. It takes tact and strategy. If you sign on, you can do some of the work immediately, perhaps as only a woman can do it. But can you do more? We don't know yet, do we?.
"But now we need to know because I'm about to become the newly created Vice President of Personnel Services, charged to set up similar service units in every branch office across the country, and to set up all the appropriate training programs. Our work has a future. Soon I'll be traveling much of the time to lots of places, and when I'm elsewhere I would want you to do all of my work here, including the persuading and the calculating, if you're up to it."
I was suddenly frightened. I looked down at my now bulging breasts, and then back up at her. Was I woman enough?
"If you can't do that kind of work," she went on, "You'll 'whore' for me as you put it at a lower level, but I still won't leave you. I want you. It's taken me years to make you over into what I want, dearest girlfriend."
"My girlfriend, not my husband. You couldn't see it, darling, because you were behind us when Roger and I were fucking, and you couldn't see anything but my ass -- you were so sweet, lover, kissing my cheeks that way, you made me feel so precious, so richly endowed, practically like a goddess being worshipped. You couldn't see or hear us, but while I was sliding up and down on Roger's pole and he was talking so pompously to you, he was also proposing marriage to me. He offered me a huge engagement ring for when you and I dissolve our own marriage. And I accepted him. Don't you see? You're now everything I want in a girlfriend. And Roger is everything I want in a man."
I blurted out in a kind of despair, "Tracy, what can Roger offer you that I can't?" I felt lost.
She just stared at me affectionately. "Sweetheart! Who says size doesn't matter? Undersized men and their disappointed women. What Roger has above all else is hot meat, the Emperor, a cock like a Renaissance bell tower visible for miles and chiming across the countryside every Sunday morning. You know that -- which dildo of all we own would you most want to feel working its way up your ass? It's wonderful that you no longer feel jealous of Roger, that your last shred of competitive male pride is gone, that as a woman you'll be happy that I have first call on such a cock, and that you may be asked to cleanse it afterward sometimes. Mostly I suspect though that I'm woman enough for him, just as he's man enough for me, all the man I ever wanted. And now you're all the girlfriend I ever wanted."
"We can be so happy together, the three of us! We mean to set aside a guest room for you, but you won't ever really be a guest in our house, my darling. You'll be my first love and later my second in command I hope, ready to do whatever's necessary when I'm out of town travelling. Even anything with Roger."
She stopped speaking. We sat a long while in silence. Then I said, "If I took this job, Tracy, I'd need an assistant too. Maybe two. I'd never want to be as overworked as you were. I don't have your zest for the job."
Tracy just looked at me. She hadn't thought of that. "I suppose so, sweetheart. I needed help for years until I found you, or made you into what I needed to find. If you can find someone adaptable enough, I can clear you to hire such a person. Even two such people."
"I'll let you know," I said. And that was that.
When we went to bed, it was as equals. We were loving friends until early dawn. But much of it was just going through the motions. In the morning, we selected our undies together as always, but the fun was gone. Tracy told me that Roger would be coming home with her from now on, now that I knew all about them, until their new residence was built. I was welcome to use the guest room.
I went back to my old office to give notice, and I sent for Connie. When she arrived I was cleaning out desk drawers.
"What a pretty blouse," she said. "Did you have a lovely time all this time you've been out? I can see that something happened! You have a certain glow of...certainty about you that wasn't there before. And I see you've had a makeover, and that you've no more nervous concern whatever for that manhood you thought you'd preserved somewhere down under. You're all girl now, huh? What does Tracy think of you?"
"Tracy has left me," I replied. "We'll keep living together for the time being, but she's marrying her old boss, Roger. It turns out that you were right, she did want the best of both worlds. What she was doing with me was preparing me to replace her at work, and to be replaced at home by a really big prick. But she didn't want to take on new responsibilities without leaving behind someone well-trained in her own...hospitable business practices. Not as a mere man, but as a woman like herself, her girlfriend."
"Which you now are"
"Yes. Yes, I am. Not altogether physically yet, but yes, I am."
"That's nice," said Connie. She started to get up. "Then I suppose that's it. I've already welcomed you to the club, and you must know you'll always be an honorary member of our Ladies' Room gossip group, welcome any time. So goodbye, honey. Enjoy your new life!"
"No, Connie, that's not it at all." I deliberately waited a moment, then began. "I want you to come work for me."
Connie sat down again, and looked level-eyed across at me. "Why?"
"For much more money. So every day you can do all the things you do best, run my office and take care of whatever problems may arise with other women employees and clients. So you and Tracy can see each other more often I suppose, if you wish. So I can see you occasionally, if you're willing."
Now Connie was surprised. "You never gave me a clue, honey. Not a clue."
"Until yesterday I was a married man and Tracy's exclusively for life. Now I'm a single woman, and pretty sure I'm a lesbian like you, not even bisexual like Tracy. I can do the things I need to do with men, though my heart's never really in it. I'm very much attracted to women. I still love Tracy, despite everything. And I'm attracted to you too, Connie. I was thinking last night while I was a being a woman with Tracy that you've been a woman with Tracy too, and my mind wandered, and I saw that you're a very attractive woman, so much like me, or like what I want to be, and I wondered what it would be like, being a woman with you."
Connie's voice softened. "Honey, I never wanted to go poaching Tracy's game. But I can see the rules have changed, and it's now every girl for herself. Certainly Tracy's been for herself all along. I am available. It happens I'm only on loan to my roommate, and she knows that."
"And you do make an attractive woman. I thought you'd make one when I first saw you. I told Tracy that way back then. The day you two were married I stopped by your wedding reception to wish Tracy well. She confided that she was just fresh back from her job interview with Roger early that morning. She'd just accepted the most marvelous job in the world, she thought, hard work, but deeply satisfying, with a great future. She described it. But during the interview it seems Roger checked out her potential thoroughly, with a huge cock, and balls that produce cum in buckets. She was worried you'd notice when you began your honeymoon that her cunt was still stretched out and swollen and soaked."
"Well, I told her that sloppy seconds wasn't her problem. Her real problem was going to be afterward, how to keep you from feeling angry or jealous or cheated when you found out what your wife does, that she sleeps with a half-dozen or more men every day, and some women. That all of her holes and skills are available for whatever corporate purposes, and that she enjoys her work enormously. I told her what I thought of your potential, and we agreed that feminizing you was the only sure way to secure her marriage. She said she'd begin your conversion right away, and prepare you to do her work, so later you could scarcely complain when you learned what she did. And that's what she did. Even now I notice you're not complaining that she's a salaried call girl about to marry someone else, only that she tricked you into becoming one too. Or nearly. But all that to one side, why should I want to work with you two now?"
I looked levelly back into her eyes, and answered, "Because it opens out all kinds of possibilities for all of us, for you, me, and even Tracy if she can find the time between servicing Roger's cock and setting up her branch office whorehouses. But most of all, because I think we might one day become very good friends, Connie. Maybe even loving friends."
Connie softened even more, and her voice was low as she continued to stare at me. "I think that could be very nice, honey," she said. "A girl needs friends. But what about this Roger? You'll still have certain...obligations to him and his big cock. I myself don't believe in big cocks, or in friends who want the best of both worlds either. I may have to do with men from time to time, the same way you do, but in my heart I'm a one world woman, a woman's woman. Are you, now?"
"Yes," I said. "I think I am."
"Then what about Roger, and all those vice-presidents and corporate directors, and ace salesmen, when Tracy's away?"
"I've thought about that. There's a gay man in the office now, named Ken. A lovely man. An absolutely gorgeous man. Gentle, charming, with a profound understanding of women, and of what it's like for someone to become a woman. I know. I mean to ask him to work with us too, he's a specialist where we're not. Then I think I can show him that it's advantageous for a gay man to become ...more feminine. He'd gain enormously in his access to men, for one thing. Roger would love him I'll bet. For someone like Ken, someone with Roger's endowments could be quite an additional incentive. And if he became a complete woman he'd no longer be gay, he'd be straight, with a whole world full of men to choose from. So I don't think I'll need to think about Roger for too much longer. I have other plans for Roger. Moreover, Ken already knows what kind of work Tracy and I do, and he enjoys it, and he's very good at it. He seems to have free-lanced it with me last weekend. And he very nearly won me over."
Connie stood up. "Well, listen. I won't quit work here right now, but I will work for you as a part-time consultant paid by the assignment, if you're agreeable. And help you bring in other capable people as you need them. That's the way I like to do things like this. I value my independence."
We shook hands. Then we kissed. And then hugged each other and ruined each other's makeup. Then joked about it, and Connie left.
That evening when I got home there was a message on the telephone answering machine in Tracy's work area. Connie's voice.
She said, "Tracy, it worked! You set it up, but he arrived at a workable plan all by himself. I'm sure he'll tell you, but it's this. He'll work for you and I'll work for him doing piece work, and Ken will too I'm sure. When you're too busy, I'll do the women and Ken will do the men, and he'll get more staff and fill in only as necessary. He thinks only with women, though from what you've told me it's bound to be Ken too, and other gay men too when Ken gets too swish to be his lover."
"So he's passed your test, I think, and you can hire him on as an executive, not just use him for routine hands-on sex the way you first planned. He really is beginning to think like a woman. Now, if he wants, he can sit behind a desk doing his nails and fixing his face and planning all day long how to get other people's cocks and mouths and twats and assholes in and around each other, the way you do, and he'll never have to fuck anyone himself unless he wants to. And now he's no threat to your new marriage despite the way you say Roger dotes on that deep-throating he demonstrated."
"Oh, he wants to be my loving friend too, and I just might let him. He's woman enough for me now I think. We might even want to let him join our weekly get-togethers and try a threesome now and then. Of course if we do, I'd want double my fee for it, up front and in advance as usual. He'd never need to know. Given all those times we've made it together since you first married him, you know I'm worth it."
I rewound the tape, and fixed my lipstick, and waited for Tracy to get home with Roger. So it was true, when men trust, women scheme. These women had schemed, certainly.
Which may be why, while I prepared dinner for the three of us, I wondered what Roger's shore estate looks like. I considered how soon I could get him to enjoy wearing my peignoir at home while I was at the office sitting behind his former desk, letting Helene do my nails in that bright red shade I just love. Less time than it took Tracy to transform me, I was pretty sure. Shaved and gussied up, he'd be ridiculously ugly, easily ostracised and humiliated, easily broken, and for that reason easily manageable. I wondered whether I would let him keep "the Emperor," or whether -- to test his loyalty to the company as well as Tracy's -- I would ask him to have it cut it off, the company paying all medical costs of course. I began to imagine Ken in an occasional foursome with Connie and Tracy and me, all four girls mixed and matched with each other. Though in the main Connie was right, I 'd rather keep Ken for my own after hours use.
I also began planning how to help Tracy work out her travel schedule so we can be loving friends together whenever I send her husband out of town, and also so that, if she ever schemes to deceive her dearest girlfriend again, I'll know where she's been and however unhappily, I'll be able to tell her where to go.
Copyright © 1997 by Vickie Tern. Permission freely granted to archive this story, make it available, and copy it for personal use, but it is not for sale, no way, no how.
Vickie [email protected]
i.
Sometimes you're set up to act out a role in your own life, and you don't even know what the script is.
For instance, Bill and Stacy live next door, and they've always been decent neighbors, nice people. He travels a lot and works an irregular schedule, a systems analyst of some sort, and she's an artist, mostly home painting big canvasses or gluing odd combinations of things together. The same thing with us, only in reverse -- Cindy's the last to leave her law office most days, and she's often away elsewhere taking depositions and the like, while I'm home this summer trying finally to finish my novel. Otherwise I'm home a lot anyhow -- I teach writing in our local Community College.
It's a pretty good arrangement. Cindy's tough-minded, and likes to see other people hop to her tune, and they do because she brings in most of the firm's and the family's money. I listen to students and strays in my classes and try to help them help themselves. I didn't mind at all when Cindy got real busy and I took over more and more of the housekeeping -- shop and cook, make the beds, do the laundry. I soak my socks, grungy because I don't put my shoes on lots of days, and I soak and hand wash Cindy's unmentionables -- her panties get pretty stained sometimes, some woman thing. I do it all. During the semester I'll prepare classes and write all over whatever the students are writing. And otherwise stare at my computer screen, unhappy with what I read there, and stare at the ceiling and try to imagine better. During the summer that's all I do.
So I didn't mind at all when Stacy asked us both over for pot luck a few days ago -- only a few days ago? -- and when I told her Cindy was away on a case she said "Well, come by yourself!" I showed up around five for drinks, and when she announced dinner two hours and a lot of booze later she mentioned that Bill was also away for a couple of days. That made me a little uneasy, alone in a big house with an absolutely gorgeous married woman and all that. Stacy really is a stunner -- tall, with a steeply curved body she covers in a loose sweat shirt and not much else, black hair piled high who knows how, and eyes that seem secretly amused when they look at you. But by the second bottle of wine -- a really great wine, Bill could afford to indulge himself that way -- I'd forgotten it was just the two of us.
She asked me how the novel was coming, and I told her about this woman character who wouldn't come clear in my mind, a movie actress with a two-timing boyfriend. I don't know anything about actresses, I said. And Cindy and I don't two-time, or even flirt. So I couldn't imagine how she'd feel, her man getting it on with another woman. Or what she'd want to do about it.
Stacy told me she'd done performance art, and happenings, where you arrange so other people act out scenarios and don't even know it, but she didn't know much about actresses. She could help me if the character were an artist, she said, and we were now splashing after- dinner Cognac, so I said, "OK, she's an artist."
Next thing I knew we were in Stacy's studio looking at art supplies, odds and ends to mention to give things "verisimilitude" as I tell students. So the story seems real. Then we looked at her most recent paintings, all of them huge lush nudes of herself. Some were of her in heat, offering herself to the viewer. God! Next thing I knew we were in Stacy's bed with our clothes all over elsewhere, humping up a storm, and I wasn't being true to Cindy any more, and I didn't care. We went at each other in a frenzy, all night. Stacy was a shrieker when her orgasms hit, and by morning she'd lost most of her voice.
I'd gotten used to sex with Cindy, first some caressing, then a prick inside a pussy, and some affectionate kissing afterward, Cindy always in control. Cindy didn't want my mouth down there ever, she said. "It can get pretty messy when I get all excited," she'd tell me, sharing her secret smile with me, and I'd smile back. She wouldn't take me in her mouth either -- in fact once she told me that pricks are ugly, and deserve to be kept where men always want to put them, in dark places.
But Stacy wanted it all, all at once. Well, nearly all. She didn't suck cock either, she said, something about a small mouth and jaw. But almost right away she spread her legs wide open to me, and I got my nose and tongue in there, and almost right away she started trickling and squeezing fluids into my mouth, and arching her back, and going into spasms with her whole body, and screaming from the back of her throat. God it was great! There again was that delicious fermy pussy smell, that sweetly salty flavor I remembered from college! I couldn't get enough of her.
When I first began to kiss her bush and improvise little rhythms and sequences of worshipful lovemaking with my lips and tongue, Stacy got up for a moment, stroked my head and said "Don't move," put on some music, lay down again, and again offered her crotch to my face. A classical piece, and I found myself diddling, licking, or swirling her clit, nuzzling, rubbing, or lapping her slit, or pressing, poking, and penetrating deep into her pussy along with different instruments, melodies, chords, and musical notations and structures. She held her breath through an entire tongue and nose fugue, absolutely rapt, unmoving, and later as a cadenza swept through her to climax she was shrieking her joy so hysterically I was afraid she'd lose consciousness. But she gestured, gasping, that no way should I lower my baton.
I then pushed it deep between her legs, and then again repeatedly. It went on and on. She'd just barely roll her hips around it, and my craving would build until I couldn't tell who was pushing into who. When I'd squeezed myself out, down went my face into her pussy again, and she'd cry out her delight just anticipating how I'd feel snugged in there again. Hours went by before I'd recovered my cock and could go again, but she didn't care. As long as my lips and tongue could reach into her groin, she'd keep pushing that wonderful slit into my face, and we were both happy. "You're a virtuoso," she murmered at one point. "We'll preserve this much of you at all costs!"
Then because I was so incredible with my head between her legs, she said, I should have a reward. As a special treat she wanted me to feel my prick tucked up inside her ass! Well, that was something! It was the softest, tightest little place I've ever been anywhere! Incredible! Then once I was inside there was the strangest rippling sensation! She could make her anal muscles feel like an oiled hand pulling and squeezing on my cock, and so much sweetly agonizing pressure built up in my loins that finally -- it seemed -- I came in buckets! It felt like a faucet at the base of my prick opened wide, and some gigantic hand pulling my hips into her. When I spurted I was utterly spent.
It hardly mattered that she then made me lap and suck it all back out of her asshole again -- she said she likes a guy who appreciates her no matter what. It wasn't really different from when she wrapped that delicious pussy around my cock and rocked up and down on me, and I spewed and spewed and couldn't stop, and then licked and sucked our juices out from between her legs. She always seemed to be soaked anyhow!
I ended up spending the night and most of the next day with my prick deep in her grasping asshole or else her dripping pussy, when it wasn't lying alongside her drying out and gasping for air while I mopped up with my mouth. Usually, once my face was inside her crotch she wouldn't let me out until she'd come herself two, three times at least, and once she went into a rolling seizure that I thought would never quit. I could scarcely breathe. She had thigh muscles you wouldn't believe, and when I was positioned she'd lock my head in place until she chose to release me, and I could have nothing to say about it anyhow. She'd done a lot of horseback riding, she told me. Riding my face was relaxation for her.
By late afternoon the next day her voice was gone, and she could only croak her ecstatic outcries, and my cock was a flap of soft skin too drained and sore to stand for any kind of provocation. Finally my face was red and irritated and my lips were puffy, and my tongue hurt, and I needed a breather. The cocktail hour had come round again, so we sat naked and sipped Bill's terrific wine.
"You're a real discovery," she said, looking my face over closely. "We want to take care of that mouth. At least get it insured, the way concert artists insure their hands. You're one of the all-time greats!"
That pleased me. You like to feel you're good at what you do. So we got back to the novel I was writing, and talked about how the character with the two-timing boy friend, an artist now, might react when she heard about it, about how some women feel helpless but others want revenge. A woman goes to all that trouble to be attractive for her man, Stacy said, to look sexy, and then her man cheats on her. If I were such a woman, she asked me, how would I feel?
I had no idea. I didn't even know how much trouble it was for a woman to look sexy. It seemed to me that Cindy wore suits to the office and jeans at home, and only enough make-up to look respectable, and hardly ever even looked at the one or two provocative dresses she bought only at my urging. "There's no need to attract men if you've already enough to provide what you want," she'd tell me, and I'd take it as a compliment. And she'd joke about how clothes only seem to be in the way anyhow when you're eager, the way we were before we were married. Afterward, our lovemaking got tidy and under the sheets, with our clothing first put away where it belonged.
"You don't know how a women sets about seducing a man?" Stacy asked me, a little shocked. "How a woman feels when she's sending out signals and getting responses? We have lots of secrets. Hair, make-up, the way we carry ourselves, how we move. How we dress. The different ways we dress for different purposes, revealing and concealing, always promising more. You don't know how it feels to have that kind of power over a man's desires, to tease him along until he'll do anything for you? You don't know? And you're a writer?"
That was a challenge. We were finishing our third bottle of Bill's best Moselle, and feeling increasingly mellow. I could even feel a certain stiffness beginning again down below. "Show me!" I said.
She looked at me. "I already have," she said. "Now I'll do better than that. I'll fix it so you know how it feels from the inside out, the way a writer should." She was thoughtful for a moment. "You need something on that face of yours anyhow, where it's all irritated. Though your puffy lips do look kissable just as is -- models pay good money for collagen injections to get that wrap-around-the-cock look! Let's go back to the bedroom."
Once back there she made me stand straight and perfectly still. She looked me over and especially checked my pecker -- no longer a wilted worm, but no way engorging. "It'll be a while yet, I see," she said. "We've got time. C'mon!" She suddenly grabbed me by that same pecker and began pulling me toward the bathroom, and I shuffled to keep up with her. She practically threw me into the tub.
A half-hour later I was in deep trouble. My skin was perfumed and softened from the bubble bath she'd used, but that wasn't it -- that much would shower off. The problem was, I was hairless. Between shaving my whole body and Nair my skin was as ivory smooth as hers. She'd left a little triangular patch around my cock, like hers around her pussy, pointing down between my legs, but she'd sheared the sides to make a "bikini cut" as she called it. "Think how a high-legged bathing suit can give a guy a hard on," she advised me. ""Or lacy, high-legged panties. I'm going to give you a pair to wear."
Well and good, but how could Cindy fail to notice? What could I tell her? I might not be able to show myself naked or sleep with her for a week or two. And what could I say to explain that?
Then it got worse. Stacy sat me down and tugged away with tweezers above my eyes, relentlessly, then showed me what she'd done with a hand mirror. No eyebrows! Or hardly any! A thin, high, delicate line tapering to nothing! "Now they're shaped," she said. "Well-groomed. With a little eyebrow pencil they'll be beautiful." She saw my expression. "Don't worry," she said. "I'm sure Cindy will have other things on her mind than worrying about your eyebrows." Cindy often said "I'm sure" too, without any basis for feeling sure. Some things are never sure things. But it was too late, now.
"I guess that poor dear face of yours is next," she said. "We have to protect it. The way you tuck that nose into a girl, some day it may be declared a national treasure!" Creams on and off, foundation, a powder puff, a sponge of blush, a thin line of liquid eye-liner, a pencil where I once had eyebrows, a wand of mascara on my eyelashes, and then again more mascara. A lip liner pencil, then lipstick that went smoothly onto my swollen lips, and instantly felt better. Then she asked me to close my eyes, and she sprayed my face several times over with something she said would set all that makeup and protect it, so it wouldn't rub off or run easily. I mentioned that all of these emollients and cremes on my irritated face felt soothing, and she said "That's nice. This is for both of us. I love how your lips feel on my lips, the ones down below. And on your face now they're irresistible."
As she started to put my hair up in rollers she reached for my cock, which was starting to swell a little, but not yet stiffen. "All in due time," she said. "Wearing women's make-up turns on some men. I've wondered about you. You do leave your hair a little long for a man. Did you ever want to be a girl? You're about to get your wish." She finished setting rollers onto each hair-spray soaked strand, then a few minutes later unrolled them and touched my head here and there with a brush. "There now," she said. "See for yourself what it's like to look sexy. See how it feels." She stood me up and guided me over to the large mirror alongside her bedroom door.
I was a little shocked when I saw myself. My body was utterly bare, and my face was now a girl's face. There was scarcely anything visible of the rumpled man who'd come to dinner the previous day. What I saw was what she had said about my new eyebrows. My face was well groomed, neat, suave. Perfect. My reflection looked back at me, a sweet-mouthed girl wide-eyed in her innocence. It seemed wrong that I didn't have breasts. Unaccountably, my cock rose to full attention and then stood there. I turned me on!
"That's how a sexy woman feels," Stacy said. "C'mon. Let's enjoy it!"
We did. She lay back on the bed, and I dipped my aroused cock into her slick, honeyed pussy again, until we were twisting our groins against each other. She grasped my head with both hands, fingers twined into my curls, and held my face over hers, gently. "Oh, yes!" she whispered, "Yes! You're just lovely!" I picked up the pace and lunged my tongue into her mouth with greater and greater ferocity. "Yes!" she said when she could.
She shuddered uncontrollably, then a few minutes later again, before I finally reached my climax and squirted deep into her, and finally we caught our breaths and I dismounted.
"You didn't scream this time," I said.
"No," she replied. "I'm saving my voice. I'll need it later. But it was just beautiful. You're a doll!"
Then she scurried her rear off the edge of the bed, her pussy clear of the sheets, her legs spread wide and her feet braced on the carpet. She leaned back on her elbows and looked at me. "Now eat me, lover!" she almost hissed. "Eat me, you doll-faced beauty! You sweetheart!"
"Won't it ruin my make-up?" I asked almost without thinking. Then I realized what I had said and grinned. How thoroughly feminine!
"We'll fix it, precious girl!" Stacy said. "Just eat me! Please!"
So I knelt between her thighs and did, once again, looking up the whole time into her sleek eyes with what I knew was my own teenage, round- eyed, girlish innocence. She looked down into mine, her mouth set in its mysterious half-smile. My mouth was invisible to her, buried in her snatch, and my tongue was far inside her. Now and then she reached down to smooth one of my curls, or to twist it onto a finger.
I sucked my own cum from deep inside her as usual, and it flowed into my mouth almost immediately, and I swallowed it, but she kept me mouthing her clit and tonguing her pussy for a while longer, and her body tensed and shuddered twice more as I slurped and lapped at her, before finally she opened her thighs and released me.
She then made my face perfect again, as doll-faced as before. "You beautiful thing," she said. "How can anyone resist you? Don't you feel pretty?" I had to admit I felt pretty good.
Stacy then rummaged through an upper drawer in her bureau, tossing lingerie out and muttering "Now where did I put them, that day I found them in our bed. Oh yes, here!" She hauled out a pale blue bra and handed it to me. "This one doesn't fit me. Have you ever tried to wear one of these?" she said.
"No way!" I said. "Stacy, that's enough now! What are you doing?"
She paused just a moment, dangling from one finger a matching pair of pale blue panties, also of some shiny satiny material, and she said with great deliberation, "We were talking about how a woman feels when she knows she's attractive but her man goes roaming anyhow. You're writing about a sexy woman artist who's been betrayed by her boy friend, and you haven't a clue. You asked me to show you. No more complaints now, or this little lesson ends, and you'll never get your book written!"
She glanced down to my lap, where my cock was again still recovering. I realized she was prepared to send me home, and I wasn't finished with this wonderful woman's sweet body. She did have things yet to teach me. "How does this thing work?" I asked her, holding up the brassiere.
At first it felt like an elastic band clamped around my chest, but after a few minutes it was more like two hands, each fastened to a breast, each grasping the skin around each nipple and pulling it up into what I saw was a small mound. "Not bad," Stacy said. "It's a beginning, anyhow. Touch the nipples." They hardened, and Stacy smiled, and said nothing. Then the matching hi-leg panties slid slick against my skin and framed the edge of my pubic hair.
"Get used to both of them," she told me. "They're a woman's heavy artillery."
This was not a moment to tell her I didn't want to. I glanced again in the mirror. Under the inquiring innocence of my face, my body was now challenging, even seductive in that shiny satin bra and those lacy panties. I should reduce my waistline, I thought idly. And she wasn't finished with me yet!
"Now lets go to your place. I have no dresses here that fit you, but you're just about Cindy's size I'm pretty sure, so we'll look in her closet!" I started in under the bed and among the tumbled bedclothes, trying to find the pants and shirt and sneakers I'd put on to attend her pot-luck dinner yesterday, and then taken off I couldn't remember where. Nothing visible anywhere.
"Never mind," she said. "Wear this." She handed me a velour men's bathrobe, Bill's I guess, to cover my body in its bra and panties when we crossed through our two front yards.
I put on the bathrobe and tied it. She shrugged a dress onto her shoulders and tied it around her waist, and suddenly it draped into place on her figure and looked elegant. Then she barely paused to step into a pair of high heels on her way out the door. Once outside, I was very much aware that the face above my men's bathrobe was a girl's face. As long as no one could tell it's me, I thought to myself. "I'd lend you a negligee, but mine wouldn't fit you, I'm afraid," Stacy said, "And anyhow you might get arrested wearing one on the sidewalk."
In our house she headed straight upstairs, and when I brought up a pitcher of Margaritas and salt-edged glasses I saw that she had been busy in our bedroom. She'd laid out on the bed a wisp of lace and froth I saw was one of Cindy's slips, and one of Cindy's most fetching cocktail dresses, black silk, cut low in the bodice, long and slinky. Now she was rummaging in our closet for matching heels.
"I knew you were about Cindy's size," she said. "There you go, lover. Take off that bathrobe and put these on. We're going out for dinner. We're going to celebrate your new feelings, and maybe some men'll hit on us tonight and we'll both get lucky. You'll need to know how that feels, how married girls are tempted by other men, and how it feels when your own man is tempted! Which reminds me, is that limp thing of yours ready for another dip,, or should we just go?"
Out!? In public!? Where men would think I'm a woman? Or worse, would realize I wasn't? My heart leaped up and pounded against my ribs! I was suddenly terrified, and I began to tremble! What is this woman doing?! If my face weren't so heavily covered by make-up, I knew I'd be stricken pale.
"Stacy, I can't possibly go out and meet men yet," I said in a tiny voice, trying not to sound helpless. "I'm not pretty enough!" When I realized what I had really just said, a huge rush of blood came to my cheeks, and like any schoolgirl I started blushing!
"Your voice is perfect! Keep it that way!" she replied. Then, "That's sweet! You're blushing! It's wonderful for your complexion. I heard you! You do want to feel attractive! Isn't it a wonderful feeling? Let's just freshen you up a bit more!"
She leaned over me with more mascara, and while I looked up at her wide- eyed she slathered more on my lashes. Now that we were in my house, mine and Cindy's, I began to feel edgy again. "Not too much," I said. "Cindy'll may figure that something's been going on."
"Don't worry about Cindy. Just make a mouth." I opened wide and stretched my lips as instructed, and Stacy stroked fresh creamy red onto my upper lip. "There," she said. "That's one of Cindy's 'kissable' lipsticks. The color won't come off for days, they say. That's what we want. Now press!" I pressed my lips together the way she'd shown me earlier. "Pretty!" she said. "We do want you to feel especially pretty tonight. You just said so yourself. And now you are! Shall we finish that pitcher of Margaritas?"
ii.
A half-hour later I was frightened to death, but standing very still next to Stacy as the Maitre d' greeted her by name. We were in one of the best restaurants in town, one with pale purple tablecloths and napkins to match, and waiters in wing collars. It was crowded with well-dressed men and elegant women, and all of the women seemed to have long, tapering, graceful fingers tipped in red. I realized mine were no way feminine, and Stacy was amused to see me repeatedly stroke my silken hips, feeling for pockets to hide them in. I clutched tightly the empty purse she had handed me as a prop as we left the house. "My treat, lover" she said. "All my treat!" The Maitre d' found a name on a reservations list. "The private dining room," he said. "Will M'Sieur join you soon?"
"No Andre," Stacy replied. "Mine is a different reservation in my own name. I'm here tonight with my friend."
"I see," he said, his expression suddenly impassive. He turned and led us to an excellent table in the middle of the main dining room.
"Swish, dear," Stacy said to me as we followed him between the tables. "And flap your wrists a lot. Small steps. Push out your breasts as far as they'll go. You're just lovely. Feel lovely. I'll order for us." Those were her only instructions to me in the art of femininity. But I was certainly beginning to know how it felt. Men at different tables eyed my body as I went by them, not once pausing in their conversations. I worried how a woman fends one of them off. Then I smiled to myself. Plenty had fended me off before I'd met Cindy.
I nibbled. I was much too nervous to eat anything. I kept glancing sideways in every direction, looking to see if anyone was staring, fearful that someone might recognize me under my lacquered face and curled hair, seeing with incredulity that there was Cindy's husband gussied up in one of her dresses, out on the town with another woman. Once I thought I saw Bill's back rounding the bar and heading for the men's room, and I felt a pang in my vitals. Here I was dining with his wife and pretending to be a woman! He'd have to suspect something. I'd never survive the humiliation! When I looked at Stacy, I saw her looking toward the bar too, with a gleam in her eye. But half the people there looked like half the people I know, and none of them were. I hoped.
Once a man Stacy knew paused and stood at our table and made brief small talk, and glanced at me, then left. Then as I thankfully watched him go, another suddenly sat down next to me with his arm over the back of my chair, and leaned toward Stacy to tell her Bill had called him about a big score this trip, and that he was heading home. "I'd heard," was all Stacy replied. The man then looked appreciatively at me, and I looked down modestly from under my crusted mascara eyelashes. I was trembling again!
Stacy introduced me as her sister, saying to me, "Sissy, this is Tim, a client of Bill's."
"I'm happy to meet any of Stacy's sisters," he said, and he leaned in to kiss me on the cheek. He prolonged the pressure of his shaved cheek against mine, and enclosed one of my hands in both of his. I tried to tug away, but couldn't. His after-shave lingered. "You're as beautiful as she is. Will you be in town long, Sissy? I'd love to show you around."
Stacy rescued me when I didn't dare reply. Maybe she rescued me. "Of course, Tim," she said. "Sissy loves seeing all kinds of things. But you should know that she's taken."
"Well, I'm taken with Sissy," Tim said as he stood up and leaned down, and in a single smooth movement placed one hand gently behind my neck so I couldn't back off and kissed me full on the lips as if he'd aimed for a cheek and missed. He pressed his tongue in on me, licking and feeling for an opening. In my shock I raised both hands to try to fend him off, and was horrified to find he'd placed his crotch just where the back of one hand stroked it and then couldn't move away. He was quite hard! He pressed in on that trapped hand, and then finally released me.
"I'm delighted, Sissy," he said with a smile that was almost a smirk. "I'll call very soon." And he weaved away among the other tables.
I had held my breath the whole time he was seated, and was now breathless. Stacy seemed to be delighted. "An ardent gentleman does bring out the passion in a girl," she said. "I saw you reach for his cock! But you're not yet ready for that. You look ripe, but you don't quite know enough. You really do need first to feel royally fucked. You will, don't worry."
There were no other incidents, and I almost began to enjoy sitting in a fine restaurant with my arms bare, a long silk skirt caressing my knees, my hair curled to look as fetching as any other woman's. I mentioned this to Stacy, and she nodded. "I knew you would," was all she said.
We got back to my house relatively early. I found my pecker fully recovered, so we went straight back to the bedroom, and without bothering even to slip off my dress or heels I lifted my skirt and pulled aside my panties and pushed into Stacy yet again. I held back for as long as I could, but all the while it felt like rocketing to another planet. Stacy's voice had recovered its pitch and volume, and again she screamed and shrieked through several orgasms.
Then when I finally came, without a pause she twisted and lay back on the bed with both of her legs spread wide over the bed's edge, the side toward the far wall, motioning for me to kneel between her knees between the bed and the wall and once again let her pussy know how affectionate I felt. I did. I snugged in and devotedly French kissed her clit and her slit, licking trickles of my own cum from her lower lips as she squeezed it out of her. She rested each thigh lightly on each of my shoulders, knees tucked behind my neck, and then locked her ankles into the small of my back. Then using only her leg muscles, she squeezed my mouth tightly into her quim. I found I was locked in there, my head immovable, bound and gagged, my tongue trapped deep in that sweet cunt. So I slurped still more cum out of her, along with her own delicate juices. I looked up over her mound and into her eyes, I suppose a little soulfully, with my wide, innocent doll's eyes, my high, thin eyebrows, and my curly hair squeezed and tumbling over my ears. I must really look cute to her, I thought. I saw that this time, as she leaned back on her elbows and looked down at me, she seemed positively triumphant.
"Suck on me, darling Sissy," she said. "Suck deep. Think about nothing but our mouths joined into one mouth!" I needed no urging. I continued to look up at her earnestly while my mouth performed heroically, plumbing the last dregs out of her gorgeous pussy and then dancing arabesques and minuets on her clit, and she looked down, satisfied, even gleeful, her crotch alternatively tensing and relaxing into my face.
Suddenly the bedroom door opened and light from the hallway streamed onto us! I shifted my gaze. There, framed in the doorway and silhouetted against the light was a woman's figure, standing quite still! Cindy's! The dark apparition held there unmoving, one hand still on the doorknob. I looked at the deep shadowy area under her close-cut hairdo, where her face should be. Blackness. She stood stone still, not even moving her head, and I realized that the light from the doorway had to be full in my face. There I was, curly hair high above Stacy's groin, my mouth crammed deep into her pussy, my nose snugged into her bush, my mascara-coated eyes staring blindly at the black shadow in the doorway, my eyebrows raised, as it were, in supplication. The figure of Cindy said nothing. It just stood there.
"NMMMMM, MMMNNNNNNNNNN!" I said as I tried to heave my shoulders, to break loose, to warn Stacy that we had been discovered, to push her to release me. I needed now to stand and take the full measure of this disaster! Surely Stacy saw that light from the hallway was pouring in on our dark privacy. Could she see that black figure looking at us? Stacy's back was to the door, and she seemed if anything to strain her thighs all the more firmly to hold me to my knees, my head clamped even more firmly into the fork of her crotch. The pressure muffled even incoherent cries from far inside my throat. I glanced at her face. She was still looking down at me, and she wore the same triumphant expression, as if she'd just achieved a glorious victory, or a glorious orgasm. Or both.
After an eternity, the shadow suddenly cried out a loud, furious "You!" It was Cindy's voice! Then she stepped back into the hallway and pulled the door shut after her with a slam. The room was suddenly dark again.
I lurched to my feet despairing! Stacy kept her legs on my shoulders as if reluctant to yield the moment, then almost lazily slipped them off, one at a time, and then relaxed back on the bed, still propped up by her elbows, watching me almost casually.
"She meant me when she said that, lover. Not you. But you're going downstairs to plead with her now, aren't you." She spoke in an almost friendly tone of voice. "Fix your lipstick first. You'll make a better impression. I'll gather up my things and be on my way now. It's been fun, my sweet Sissy! Nothing personal, mind you."
I hesitated, and now looked down at Stacy, horrified. I realized that as she'd advised it I actually almost did pause to fix my lipstick. Had I gone insane? Should I at least pause to change out of my dress? Cindy's dress? What for? She'd seen me! Her freak feminized husband, his face nursing on another woman's pussy! Time was crucial now! She'd be out the door in another moment, and I'd never see her again, except maybe when my alimony payments came late. What would any lawyer do to an unfaithful husband caught like this, flagrantly performing obscene oral sex on another woman in his own wife's bed. Dressed like a pervert! What couldn't Cindy do? My ruined marriage! Think of the glee in the tabloids alone! My ruined life!
"Aaaaaarrrgghhh!" A disembodied cry of despair out of my own throat! No time for that! I vaulted over the bed, long skirt and all, and then raced out of the room and down the stairs, still in my high heels I realized when I was part way down! Cindy's high heels! And flounced and tripped down the stairs! I had to stop her from leaving! I listened for the sound of a car door slamming out in the driveway, a motor starting. Nothing yet!
Then when I got to the foot of the stairs and stepped into the living room, I was dumbfounded. There she was, seated on the couch, looking quite calmly at me, not a hair out of place, holding a squat tumbler nearly full of what I recognized was a Perfect Bourbon Manhattan on ice, her favorite drink for unwinding at the end of a day. She was wearing the white blouse she often wore under a tailored suit, one that decorously revealed her femininity, her bra and slip straps, but otherwise revealed nothing. I saw that when she'd come in, she'd taken off her suit jacket and laid it neatly folded across the back of a chair near the fireplace. Its matching skirt was tucked primly under her as she sat there and then, without breaking eye contact with me, lifted her drink and sipped at it.
Next to her on the couch, forming a cozy couple with her, sat Bill. He too looked calm, at his ease. In fact he looked at me with a certain bemused curiosity, as if there were nothing much to think about encountering a man in a living room wearing full-scale women's regalia, hairdo and all, lipstick smeared from an hour's passionate lovemaking with Stacy, his wife, his neighbor's wife, having earlier fucked her ass. He too was taking a first sip at a drink, something amber on the rocks.
I had a mad thought, that he must have been fixing those drinks calmly while Cindy was upstairs standing still in the doorway, and had handed Cindy hers without comment when she arrived back downstairs to sit and await me tumbling after. Another mad thought, these might even be refills. They may well have been here for a while, drinking their first after-dinner drink and listening to Stacy shriek, waiting for an appropriate moment for Cindy to go upstairs and show herself. There was an ice bucket on the side table directly in my line of sight! Was the ice in it partly melted? Would I be utterly insane to go look? Would it matter? Then yet another mad thought careened out of my head -- I must look a mess -- I do look a mess -- and I realized I really was going crazy. I had to seize the initiative, at least try to contain this catastrophe!
"Cindy!" I cried out to her. I decided to ignore Bill altogether. At this moment, with me in a dress and his wife upstairs in my bed, even a simple nod to acknowledge his presence wouldn't serve. "Cindy!" I began again. I had no idea what would next follow, but I knew I'd think of something. I'd have to think of something!
I had no opportunity to find out what. "Not another word!" Cindy said distinctly. She looked perfectly calm, but her voice was like ringing steel. I was stopped in my tracks, and just stood there. "Not another word, Sissy!"
"To begin with," Cindy then said, her voice still sharp-edged, "you look a mess! I won't have my husband looking like some street tart after a hard night! Go back upstairs and fix yourself up! Don't change a thing, not a thing, do you hear? But arrange your hair properly and fix your face! And get that woman's pussy juice off it! And your own cum, if that's what that crusty stuff is on your cheeks! You're disgusting! Then come back down here. I want to look you over, and maybe tell you how you can save our marriage, and maybe save the rest of your life from ruin, if those things are of any interest to you."
Absolutely addled, I went back upstairs. Stacy was still lying on the bed, propped up by pillows, dressed now, looking at me as I came in and awkwardly went over to Cindy's makeup table, where we'd left a few cosmetics. I realized I should wash my face first, carefully so as not to disturb the coatings of cosmetics underneath. "I told you you should fix your lipstick," she said. I didn't reply.
I'd been set up, absurdly, ludicrously, utterly set up, and I didn't know why, and I didn't know what to think about it, and I didn't what to do about it. I was fucked! Royally fucked! Stacy had just told me at dinner that I would be, and I hadn't heard a word of it!
But right now I had to do what Cindy told me to do or I'd lose everything. I took a moist cleansing tissue and blotted my face, then wiped some smeared mascara off my cheek, then replaced my lipstick as neatly as I knew how. I pressed my lips together to blend it, then blotted it on a tissue, and touched my hair a few times with my fingers, and then went back downstairs. Through the whole ritual Stacy watched me wordlessly. I didn't dare look at her the whole time.
"That's better," Cindy said. "I see you decided to wear my black silk tonight. Very becoming. You'd better be careful with it -- its one of my favorites, and I bought it for myself, even though I've scarcely worn it. The same with those heels."
"Cindy, listen!" I began.
She continued as if I'd said nothing. "Listen closely, because I'm going to say this only once. Tonight you are up the creek, and I have the paddle. Tonight you will take off that dress and those shoes and then without hesitating even to take a sweater from the hall closet you will walk out of this house and I will never see you again. You can keep whatever you're wearing underneath, but you'll take nothing else at all. You'll then get a lawyer, but it won't matter. I'll see to it that for the rest of your life your standard of living is one handout away from starvation on skid row. There's the door. It isn't locked. All you have to do is walk through it."
She paused. I knew what she said was true. It was over!
Then she said, "But!"
I heard her. There was more! Maybe it wasn't over! I stood absolutely still, listening. Bill seemed only half-attentive. He pulled at his drink, and his eyes began to scan our small collection of VCR movie tapes across the room on the bookcase. I waited. I didn't dare breathe.
"There is an alternative. Tonight and for the foreseeable future you will beg my forgiveness. Not with words. With a contrite and loving heart. With a desire to make amends. With absolute, unquestioning obedience to my least whim. With utterly selfless devotion to whatever I desire."
I didn't understand what she was talking about. Cindy and I had had a sharing marriage. We'd cared about each other, I thought, and we'd always accommodated to each other's desires. Mostly. How was this different?"
"I'll ask you to do things you may find embarrassing. Humiliating. Maybe loathsome. I have some in mind. You'll do them. Not reluctantly, but gladly. With no discussion. Do you understand me? Gladly!"
I waited a moment. Then I said, deeply depressed, "Yes, I understand you. We've had a two-way marriage. Now you want it one-way or no way. For how long?"
She smiled at me with no warmth. "I want it my way, or no way. For as long as there's that door, and you can walk through it and walk away, and let your lawyer deal with me."
I heard her. I didn't move.
'This thing you've been doing with Bill's wife, with Stacy. As far as you're concerned it was utterly unprovoked by me or by Bill, by anything we were doing separately or collectively, or by anything either of us had previously done to you, or to anyone else, wasn't it? With no sense of grievance against us? You freely entered into it of your own will, didn't you? While of sound mind?"
What could I say? "Yes," I said.
"To gratify your own uncontrollable and perverted lust?"
"Yes."
"And how long has this been going on now?"
"Since yesterday."
"Since yesterday." Cindy looked me up and down, and a slight smile crossed the corners of her mouth. "She made pretty rapid progress with you, didn't she? In another day or two she'd have had you cruising bars and earning money on your knees or your back. Isn't that true?"
I didn't want to contradict her. "Maybe," I said.
"Maybe," Cindy repeated. "Maybe it would have taken more than a day or two to transform you from a dull husband into a slut whore, maybe even as long as a week. But I think less, from what I see in front of me right now. My husband the penitent pervert looking sorrowful while wearing one of my best dresses. No, not really penitent. Only sorry he got caught."
Suddenly she relaxed and took another sip of her drink. "Bill doesn't make these mixed drinks as well as you do," she said. "Empty this one and make me one of yours, please"
I took her glass. I couldn't think!
"Bill's glass is about empty. He's drinking scotch and water, I think. Bring him another too."
No problem there. That's merely being a host. Though I didn't invite him here this evening, Cindy did. What for? Had he heard Stacy's screaming from next door, and come to inquire? He didn't look like any jealous husband I've ever imagined or heard of, not at the moment. During my interrogation he'd gotten up and walked over to our collection of art books on the bookcase alongside the VCR, and at this very moment he was idly turning the pages of one of them, as if bored. Was that VCR light on? And on the camera above it? Recording what?!
"Then go upstairs and change the sheets on our bed. I suppose you and Stacy have been mussing them up. Well, Bill and I are tired. We've had a long day. Send Stacy home, and tell her 'Thank you' from us. She may not understand. You can thank her for yourself too, I suppose, if you feel like it. Then come back down and let us know when our bedroom is ready."
I had to take this new revelation one step at a time. First the drinks. I brought them each another drink. Then I went upstairs. Stacy was gone, out the back way I suppose. When I had remade the bed with clean sheets and set my cosmetics apart from Cindy's on the dressing table, I went back down.
Cindy and Bill were together again on the couch, but this time Cindy had stripped off her skirt, blouse, and shoes. Wearing only a flimsy slip much like mine, she was curled into Bill's arms on his lap, her legs spilled over onto our couch, holding him close with her arms around his neck. He was leaning over her and kissing her, deep, his tongue apparently way inside her mouth, and her mouth clinging to his. They paid no attention to me.
Cindy moaned, and reached down to unzip Bill's fly, and Bill released her mouth and leaned back to unbuckle his pants and lower them a little. Then, my God! What cock flesh! It kept coming! Higher and thicker each moment, a huge pink tube, then it grew to resemble the thick end of a baseball bat! Was that what all this was about? Her hand held it delicately, and her fingers stroked it as if with feathers, and they returned to kissing and tonguing each other. It grew even more huge, already too large for her to close her hand on it, but she stroked and petted it like some familiar, loved domestic animal. A gleaming pearl appeared at its tip.
Finally I must have caught the corner of Cindy's eye. This time she acted playful. "Oh, there you are again, my dear. My lovely Sissy dear, in your lovely dress, with your lovely innocent face. Sleep in the guest room tonight, Sissy dear. Or down here if you wish. If you're still in this house tomorrow morning, it will be because you mean to stay on my terms, and we'll discuss more of them."
She returned to kissing Bill, and to caressing his cock, no longer interested in me.
I turned and went back upstairs into the guest room, and took off my dress and hung it neatly in the guest room closet. I couldn't think. I'd gotten almost no sleep the previous night, I recalled. I don't even remember getting into bed.
During the middle of the night I suddenly woke up. It was pitch black, and there was no sound anywhere in the house. I thought of getting up and at least turning on a light, then I thought better of it. I stared into the blackness for a long while. Then I must have gone back to sleep.
When I woke up the next morning the sun was already high, and I could hear Cindy in the kitchen. For some reason I thought she'd be angry if I went into our bedroom for a change of clothing, so I came down dressed the way I'd gone to bed. She was seated at the breakfast table holding a cup of coffee in both hands, wearing Bill's velour bathrobe, the one I'd used to cover myself coming from Stacy's house. I must have left it in our bedroom. She was reading the morning paper. She looked up at me.
"Well, I see you're still here," she said. "Bill's already gone to his office. Don't sit down. Where did you get that bra and panty set you're wearing? I've been missing them for months."
"From Stacy. From her underwear drawer. She said they didn't fit her, but they might fit me, so I could have them."
"Yes," Cindy said. "So that's where they've been. I suppose I left them at Bill's a few months ago, that time we were both in a hurry to make a plane. I suppose Stacy found them and figured things out. And bided her time. I've been wondering how she knew."
I just stood there, feeling vaguely that I hadn't yet been dismissed.
"So she used you to send me a message. That two can play at husband- stealing. To even the score. In fact, to ruin you in the process, to emasculate you in my eyes before she gave you back to me. Cute. She did it, too. I can't think of you as a man now. Look at yourself." She looked up at me, steadily, examining my face for signs of disagreement.
I was still absorbing what she had just said. My wife has been fucking Bill for a few months, at least. So Stacy set me up, just as I'd figured last night. She really fucked me! The artist with the two- timing husband turned out to be an actress after all! The whole time I was blissfully dipping into her ass and her cunt and sucking on both, she was getting even with Cindy! But we're all even now, in a way! Not me and Cindy fuck for fuck, there she still owes me, lots of them! Why does she act as if I owe her?
"I'd wondered why she wanted to be seated at that center table at Andre's," Cindy continued, now thinking aloud to herself. "In full view of everybody,. Bill saw Stacy perched there center stage the moment we came in, of course, and asked me who you were. I recognized my black silk right away, sitting there with you inside it. Then we both saw you making out with that man in full view of everybody. Have you slept with him yet? No opportunity yet I suppose."
She paused for a moment and glanced at me with a gleam in her eye, amused, as if she'd just thought of something else to say but then thought better of it. "I don't know why she didn't just take out an ad," she said partly to herself. "When we pulled into the driveway last night her shrieking could be heard half way down the block. She was obviously taking no chances we'd miss out on knowing what you two were doing."
Then Cindy looked up at me directly. "You're here, so you're eager to please me. I'm afraid you get no breakfast -- you slept through it. Now go back upstairs and shower. Your pretty ass is mine, now. Light make-up for today, and you'll have to do something with your hair until we can get you a perm. The bra and panties are yours from now on -- you can wear them one more day, but rinse them out tonight, and maybe tomorrow we'll buy you more. I left out a blouse and skirt for you on our bed -- Bill's bed and mine -- and you can wear my sneakers today until you're properly outfitted, with sensible shoes for what you'll be doing. Then when you're dressed and tidy, unpack my bags and put the dirty clothes in the laundry. Put my panties in to soak."
She smiled to herself, still eying me steadily. "You once asked about those dried stains on my panties, and I was a little vague, it's a female thing, I said? I suppose it was. Cum leaking out of me, mostly. You see dear, I've never thought you were much of a man. Almost since we were first married I've been getting myself laid when I could, between classes, in the supply room at the office, wherever I could. Then after I first saw Bill's cock last New Year's, it was wherever and whenever the two of us could arrange to meet, daily when we were both in town. Several times daily. Usually with no chance for me to clean up afterward. So I'd never let you lick me down there when we made love. Even you might have caught on. But now there's no reason why I shouldn't use you the way Stacy did. To judge by what I saw last night, you're starved to suck cum from pussies anyhow. So that'll be one of your duties from now on, and you won't need to put my panties in to soak any more."
All this time I just stood there in her lacy slip and pale blue underwear and listened, a little awkwardly, feeling like a fool. I was a fool. But I had to ask.
"Cindy, I can't see why you're angry with me. You tell me you've been sleeping around. I've been faithful to you, except for yesterday, and the day before too I guess. So how can you feel I've cheated on you?
"You didn't know I was sleeping around," she said, a little bored that it needed explaining. "So you had no excuse. You did it all by yourself. With Stacy's help, of course. But you're thinking about this the wrong way. This isn't a matter of moral or legal equity. Of fair treatment for both parties, what you would call getting even and then calling it quits. No, not at all."
She set down her coffee cup and placed both palms flat on the table, and looked up at me with her back arched into a taut bow. This was her lecture and instruction mode. "It's a matter of what I want and what I can get. Now I've got you by the balls, and you've got nothing at all. I have witnesses at Andre's, and up and down the block, including Stacy if I need to depose her, and I have videotape of your statement last night, and I have your ridiculous appearance, and now there's also the fact that you lack the guts to walk away and wait for me to crush you, as I would. I learned in law school, when someone's balls drop into your hand, squeeze." She paused. "Or better, yet, cut them off."
I was now very uneasy, but I kept going. "I see now why Stacy got me up to look like this," I said. "To show she could, to use me to mock you. But why do you want me to stay dressed like this? To show Stacy that you don't mind, she did you a favor emasculating me? To punish and humiliate me? To keep me in a kind of subservience?"
"My, my! Questions! Those are the last you'll ever ask me, Sissy! From now on, as I told you, you'll do whatever I ask gladly, with your whole soul and no questions at all. But I'll answer these, because you already know the answers. 'Yes' so Stacy understands she's done me a favor, putting you into my bra and panties. 'Yes' to punish and humiliate you for betraying your vow to me to be true and faithful. People don't break their promises to me. 'Yes' to keep you subservient in a way. Not because to be a woman is to be subservient. But because that's what you'll be. Your old life is over! In my eyes you're no longer a man, so we'll see if as a woman you can be sufficiently servile."
"There's a fourth reason too. Bill and I discussed it last night after we got back from Andre's, while we were finishing our first round of drinks and waiting for Stacy to finish her screaming. We hadn't figured on Stacy putting you into a dress. Who'd have thought her that ingenious? You're quite presentable, you know. Bill even thinks you're kind of cute. So there's something else I'll expect you to do. You'll find out tonight."
"You can walk out any time, dear. Then your... er... inclinations will become part of the public record, and I'll see to it every man in town thinks you've been a whore for some time now. With alimony payments, you'll spend the rest of your life deprived of necessities in order to pay for my luxuries. Or if you actually do decide to become a whore, I'd take no more than a pimp would from your earnings, though no less. You could get your tits blown up, and have a few good years. But that's up to you."
She lost interest in me. Her eyes glazed over, and she picked up her coffee cup again and returned to her newspaper. "I think you have work to do around the house, and I have to get to the office now," she said. "Light make-up, remember. I don't want a slut keeping house for me." I felt dismissed. I turned to leave, and she didn't notice.
iii.
By that afternoon I'd waxed and polished and dusted and washed everything I could think of, and then after a moment's thought set the dining room table for dinner for only two, and a place for myself in the kitchen. Do it Cindy's way. I then went next door to talk to Stacy, to find out what she understood, to look for some less ruinous way out of this predicament. Or at least to get some advance word what Cindy and Bill might be thinking of for me. Maybe work out an alliance -- we both had long-term unfaithful spouses, after all. I was wearing the blouse and skirt Cindy'd laid out of course, and light make-up -- I wouldn't dare not. I found Stacy in her studio, painting yet another portrait of herself nude.
"Oh, hi," she said, preoccupied. She only half-listened as I told her how Cindy and her husband had reacted to this brief thing of ours. "Stacy," I said. "I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me!"
"Lust, Sissy dear," Stacy replied. "Sincere lust. That was the most sincere tongue I've ever felt moving inside me." She studied her canvas. "And it was fun! Do you like this? It's for you, you know. Cindy wants to hang it in the guest room, the servant's room from now on, yours, so you'll be reminded why you're there. And, I imagine, so you can have something to look at when you need to masturbate. Otherwise she means to keep you celibate. It's nice to think I'll still be helping you get off!"
She blended brush strokes on her portrait's hairy twat, and continued. "She commissioned it from me this morning. Do you like these highlighted skin tones on my labia, their puffy appearance? I was thinking about the way your lips looked after an hour of kissing mine. Puffy, the same way. And I'm rather pleased with the shiny trickle here from my pussy down my thigh. I'm trying to paint myself the way I felt when we ended our affair last night, well-fucked."
"Stacy, I'm well-fucked right now!"
"Yes," she said, mixing up a swirl of pink pigment, "I suppose you are."
"You made a sucker out of me!"
She paused and glanced at me for a moment, and then a smile lit up her whole face. "Yes, I surely did!" she said. "You were just wonderful! You have a great talent! Rest assured, it will not go to waste!" She then resumed stroking curves onto her likeness on the canvas.
I tried a different tack altogether. "Stacy, what does she have in mind for me?"
Now she stopped and studied me closely for a moment.
"You do know why Bill decided to live in your house for now, don't you, and to leave me to this one if I want it?
"No. But I can guess."
"No, you can't guess. It isn't just to sleep all night with your wife, though he will I suppose. Nor to leave me, his unfaithful wife, to my lonely fate. Cindy thinks that's why. But she's no big deal to sleep with, as you should know. And he'll be fucking me anyhow, as usual."
"Then why?"
She returned to her painting, lifting and lowering her right arm in sinuous sweeping motions, her right breast rising and falling each time. It was a very delicate effect. Her arm and her breast in motion I mean, not what she was painting. She glanced at me again. "If you're going to get hard-ons watching me while wearing a skirt," she said. "You'd better gaff yourself. Try gaffing tape. It hurts but it works. Sanitary napkins in your panties are good too for covering the genital mounds of ladies who sport cocks and balls where they should have smooth pussies." She looked at my erection again. "You've got to soften up and stow it, lover, or else whack off!"
I figured our conference had ended. I started back toward the door.
"See you tonight!" she said without turning her head.
"What?!"
"Oh, of course you don't know. I'm in this too!"
"In what?"
"See you!" she said. She began tipping her portrait's nipples with rosy highlights. Now they looked good enough to eat.
Bill came home first and hung his suit jacket in our front hall closet, then settled into the living room with the evening paper. I figured, cover all bets. So I came in carrying a scotch on the rocks for him. He glanced at me at first as if I were furniture. Then he saw the scotch.
"Well, that's promising," he said. "Without my even asking. You want me to put in a good word for you with your wife, don't you, for whatever you think she has in mind. Well, I will. Don't worry. What she has in mind, between us, incidentally, is dressing you to look like a woman until you get to believe that's what you are. Among other things. Nice hairdo, uh, Sissy is it? But you could do with some jewelry. Oh, I'd like a splash of club soda with this too, please, and a little more ice."
He handed it back to me, and I got him what he wanted.
Cindy came home soon after, carrying a package she'd picked up on the way home. A serviceable gray cotton work dress, calf-length, a frilly white apron, black pantyhose, black low-heeled pumps, and a white starched fringe of lace that was supposed to sit in my hair.
"Here, dear," she said, looking quickly around. "The house looks lovely. Now put these on, and when it's ready serve us dinner. And remember, whenever you're wearing this uniform, you address me as 'Ma'am' at all times. I'll call you by your given name, which is 'Sissy' and nothing else. Forget your past name and your past life. And for goodness sake, Sissy, it's getting to be dark outside! After five in the afternoon wear more eye makeup, and a darker lipstick! Where's your self-respect?" She then went in to chat with Bill in a low voice.
I went to my room to change, and then served them both dinner. It was irritating, seeing Bill lean back in my chair making familiar conversation with my wife while I stood back, occasionally refilling a wine glass or handing one of them a plate. He tried to look up my dress once, amused, I think to tease me. But he was always courteous when he asked for anything. Cindy was blunt and sometimes insulting. I resented it. Other men's cum had been dripping into her panties for years, and I'd been soaking and rinsing it out for her, and she begrudged me my one lapse! But she was right. Justice had nothing to do with it.
I was loading the dishwasher when Stacy arrived, and they talked among themselves for a while before they called me in. Bill and Cindy were sitting close together on the couch, being quite affectionate. Bill had his arm around her waist, and Cindy's hand was placed possessively on that monumental bulge in his pants. Stacy was sitting cross-legged in the big easy chair opposite, and when she saw me looking at her she grinned and gave me two quick pussy-kisses with her lips. For a woman who was looking at another woman holding her husband's cock, she seemed remarkably at ease. Everyone did, in fact, but me. They didn't invite me to sit down, so I just stood there. "Ma'am," I said.
"First of all, dear," Cindy said. "I want you to know that we all appreciate the remarkable adjustment you've made to your new status, in only a single day. You were never the Lord and Master of this house, but now you are certainly the servant, and we do appreciate that you're trying to please us. It shows what you can really accomplish when you try." She paused.
She's right, I suppose, I was thinking. I just fixed and served dinner to a man whose cock is still wet from sliding around inside my wife. But why can't she get to the point?
"The point of all this," Cindy continued, "is that there is only one real man in this room at this moment. Stacy and I are agreed on that. You'll do, but next to Bill's your cock is bush league, and your stamina is only average. Stacy and I both have needs we want to have satisfied. Bill has agreed to satisfy those needs, and we've agreed to share Bill with each other. It makes sense. That's where we are now. Bill will fuck either of us whenever he feels like it, or whenever either one of us feels like it."
"Where is there room for you in this? Well, first of all, we'll keep you on as a domestic servant, as our maid. You've done all the housework for me all along, so there isn't much new there. But it will now be as a maid, not a man, and now it'll be as a servant to Bill too, and also Stacy, so we need to formalize the relationship."
"You are not to think of yourself as our social equal. You may eventually want to develop friendships with other domestics, cooks, gardeners, people in service. We have no objection. Even to an intimate relationship with some male friend after a decent interval, since you'll never get pregnant by him. But I insist on that social restriction among your friends from now on, so you'll remain accustomed to your altered circumstances."
"And of course you'll continue to live as a woman, so nothing reminds you of your former life and former privileges as my husband. I'll want that commitment to be irreversible. I've thought about having your balls cut off in token of your good faith, as I mentioned to you this morning. But that does seem extreme right now. So your word will serve, and Stacy's suggested certain medications."
You can write your novel in your time off, if you wish, and you can even teach your usual evening courses in the Community College, after an appropriate change of gender registered in your credentials. Nothing much needs to change for you. Stacy suggests you'll be a better novelist as a woman, because now you'll understand women, especially those who feel betrayed. Before this you didn't know diddly."
"Oh, yes, another thing. As I've mentioned, Stacy's strategy did work. When I saw my pretty husband dining in public all femmed up in flounces, and kissing that man so shamelessly, he disappeared as a man with a penis. On the other hand, Stacy testifies that you do have certain gifts women can appreciate. I've denied myself their use out of a mistaken concern for your pride, but no more, and I must say, you've certainly impressed Stacy. She thinks you're a rare genius at cunt sucking, and that you'll make a perfect hygienic specialist for both of us. I've already told you I'll expect to see your curly hairdo between my legs whenever it's necessary, at least every morning before I go to work, and Stacy expects the same service. I think you can feel proud, that whenever Bill fucks us, we'll want you to clean his cum out of us. Stacy also agrees with me that your little prick has seen its last partner, I'm afraid, apart from your own hand."
"Now there's one more matter. As you know, I'm not very oral, and neither is Stacy. We don't enjoy sucking cocks. Call us silly, but that's how we are. On the other hand, since you'll be cleaning us out after our sessions with our man, it's only reasonable that you'll lick him off too, fairly frequently. It also happens that Bill gets hard often, and likes to relax with that thing of his out of his pants, kept wet, cooled down. So he'll expect that service from your mouth too, I suppose at any time at all. We may get you a beeper, so he can call you from his office. Then, when neither of our cunts is available to him, he'll be expecting your mouth to serve him adequately. He was going to ask you for a blow job this afternoon when he came home, he told me, but decided to wait until I could tell you in my own way. So I'm telling you now. Sissy, until further notice, you're my lover's designated cock sucker. Any time he asks for it."
"That's all I have to say. Now, my dear, you're very clever. We all know that. Can you think of an appropriate way to show us right now that you agree to provide for Bill's pleasure, and to show how much you appreciate the privilege?"
She was still sitting alongside Bill, her hand now rubbing his bulge in slow circles. The cock beneath was tenting and straining against his pants. They both looked at me expectantly. Bill broke out with a reassuring grin, and Cindy with an inviting smile, but I sensed that just underneath her smile was severity, quick to lash out if I delayed.
All right, I said to myself. Her boy friend wants a steady supply of blow jobs. Cindy was probably right. If I'm sucking his cum out of them, why not suck it out of him too? Does it make that much difference? Do I have a choice? I thought for a moment about that huge cock head, big as an ice cream cone. As I fell to my knees between his knees and reached to unzip his fly, I decided that licking was the best I could do with something that size. It would never all fit in my mouth.
I proved to be wrong, and a half-hour later Cindy and Stacy had been squealing in delight almost non-stop while watching my head at work in Bill's lap. When we finished they spontaneously applauded. I managed to get Bill so hot that he himself screamed, half crazed, as he squirted and spurted and gushed into my mouth. He was still gasping for breath when I stood up and nodded my appreciation for the applause, still swallowing as rapidly as I could. Some of the slippery stuff had escaped down the corners of my mouth, and I couldn't lick it while my mouth was full. Then I moved back to my proper place in the room. "Ma'am?" I said, when I'd arrived there, still working some out from under my tongue.
"That's was wonderful, dear," Cindy said. "Just wonderful! Breathtaking! That's all now. I'll be out of town tomorrow and the next day, so you'll do errands with Stacy, go shopping for clothes, set up beauty parlor appointments, see the doctor, and so forth. She'll keep you busy. About what time should he meet you, Stacy?"
"I think come by around ten," Stacy said. "That was soooo scrumptious, lover, what you just did to Bill. You'd have made a fabulous woman, I just knew it! Such delicate finesse and yet such powerful self- assurance! You made me so wet just watching! I'm going to especially enjoy sitting on Bill's cock tonight, I just know it! And your mouth tomorrow, sweetheart! Maybe come by around 9:30 instead?"
I went back to the kitchen, and as I finished cleaning up I could hear shrieks of laughter and giggles from the living room, and hilarious cries of "Did you see what he...?" and "That sweet little ..." and "Can you imagine...?" Were they mocking me? There was nothing I could do about it, so I went to bed.
iv.
When I got to Stacy's the next morning I called her name from the kitchen, and she called back "Up here, lover! The bedroom!" Her stunning body was wrapped in a filmy negligee that seemed to float her off the floor, and immediately my cock rose up in my skirt, pushing the front pleats way out and awry.
She noticed, of course. "I'm not doing anything with that part of you any more, sweetheart. Against the rules. We're teaching you how to be a lady, and ladies don't ever get their erections satisfied. If I want a man in me other than Bill, it'll be someone other than you. I know where to find one. Cindy does too, which is just as well, because sooner or later'll she'll need one too. You're spoken for now, as Cindy's domestic convenience and as a mouth for the three of us. Things are right on schedule. In fact I'm betting that after watching armies of women parade through Bill's bedroom, I'm finally seeing my marriage enter steady state."
She looked me over, lifted my skirt, and shook her head. But not because of my hard cock. "Mmmmm!," She said. "I just love looking at a man wearing women's undergarments! I see Cindy gave you panty hose to wear with that outfit. She's such a sweety! There's no way she's wearing them these days. No prick can push into the promised land through panty hose, not without tearing them, and that gets pretty expensive. The way Bill is, I'd ruin a few pairs every day, and Cindy too. But stockings don't get in anyone's way. We'll have to buy you stockings and a garter belt or two."
I was addled. "Stacy, what are you talking about? Nobody'll push into my promised land! I don't have one!"
"Really?" Stacy was genuinely amused. "Really? Not one, and I've got two? You've already forgotten how not two days ago I was milking your cock with my ass like some teenage girl doing a hand job on her favorite boy friend? Only two days, and you've already forgotten how you fell head over heels in love with my ass, and into it too? It was so delicious! Well, I mean to return the favor! I want you to be happy!"
"But first some unfinished business. Where were we when Cindy interrupted us the other night? Oh, yes, I was off the edge of the bed like this, and I'd already spread my legs real wide like this, and then I'd put them on your shoulders, that's right, just like that, and then I'd begun to squeeze my cunt into your mouth so you couldn't say anything when Cindy showed up, and ooooooohhhhh! Lover! Yesssss! Just like that!"
A half hour later we'd finished as if Cindy had never arrived and interrupted us and put me into this terrible predicament. Stacy moaned through most of it, with only a little full-pitched shrieking. I supposed that earlier she'd been trying to attract attention at the top of her lungs, for whenever Cindy happened to come within hearing. But she did seem completely satisfied. I was lying back on the bed with my eyes shut, savoring her flavor and the serene expression I'd finally seen on her face, and resting my strained neck muscles, when I next heard her voice suddenly from next to the bed, "Here we go, Sissy. More happiness."
I opened my eyes and couldn't believe what I saw. Stacy was standing next to me, but her beautifully trimmed bush was nowhere in sight. Instead, not six inches from my face was a huge pink dong, veined, crowned with a royal purple cock head. She was wearing what seemed to be a nearly invisible pink rubber panty girdle, and angled up from her crotch and fused to it seamlessly poked an enormous dildo.
"This is the kind I love," she said. "Not those contraptions with straps. This one is simple. One size fits all. Well, maybe not all but we'll see. Your turn to put your legs on my shoulders, lover."
I turned pale. "Stacy, I've never....I don't think....Stacy, it's so big!"
She kissed my cheek. "What a sweet compliment! That's exactly what I told my first boy, in exactly those words. I remember how I felt when I first saw that tree trunk of his, and I knew he meant to put all of it high up between my legs. You know what he answered? 'Sweetheart, you'll know it's there, but you'll know you love it.' And didn't I? Don't I?"
So I closed my eyes and pulled my legs up as high up as they'd go, and when I felt her shoulders pressing gently underneath my thighs, I relaxed onto her. I felt so helpless! That...thing pressed on my anus, and I could feel something slick and slippery sliding onto me, her finger.
"Just relax that sweet pussy," she told me. "This is what it's all for."
Her finger rotated in my hole a few times, then departed. A moment later it was as if some huge locomotive had driven in instead. I felt stretched out, in a terrible agony, and I almost shrieked like Stacy. Then a moment later I realized that the pain had eased.
"Oh, Stacy, thank God you pulled that thing back out. It was unbearable!"
"No lover. Wiggle your pretty hips, and push your ass into me, and you'll feel it. I'm all the way inside!"
I did. She was.
She them began slow stroking, and at first my ass felt crammed and raw as she moved her member in and out. "Try to love me with your cunt, sweetheart," she said. "Try to grip it and milk it while it slides into you, and don't let me slide out if you can help it." I did as she told me, but whatever I did, her stroking grew more and more strenuous, and I began to feel a familiar yearning for release in my prick, and I thrust against her with greater force, until finally I could feel my ass-cheeks broad siding against her thighs as she pumped me with the marvelous...thing she carried on her crotch, and we banged into each other, and she banged me until I came and came, my cum a glorious fulfillment. Then I just lay there with my legs on her shoulders, while she slouched down on my body, spent. I think inside those rubber pants, the thing she'd thrust into me was attached to something thrust into her. She'd come too. It was sort of like a marriage.
"Are you happy now?" she asked me when we'd devoted a few minutes to breathing deeply while pressed closely to each other.
"Oh, yes, Stacy! Yes!" I said. There was nothing else I could say.
"Good!" was all she replied. Then she said, "We won't buy you any more pantyhose at all, ever, unless you decide to enter a nunnery."
As I washed and made my face up, and Stacy was dressing, I asked her what she meant that some day Cindy might have to find another man to satisfy herself.
"Did I say that? Well, I guess I did. Long range planning, lover, prepare for the inevitable. No one lasts with Bill forever. I last. I'm married to him, and know him well, and provide for his needs. Cindy obviously isn't thinking ahead. If she should want to return to you after she and Bill have worn each other out, there isn't going to be any you left by then. None she'd care about. So she'll need to go looking."
It struck me that Stacy was remarkably free of animosity against her rivals. I said so.
"Oh, no! I've always shared Bill. He's impossibly horny, all the time. A girl needs to get away from him now and then to recover, and to do other things. I need time off from him now and then. Like now, lover girl. So I'm glad there's always a spare cunt nearby."
"Then you didn't resent Cindy? What you did to me wasn't to get even with her?"
"Resent Cindy? Good heavens, no! I introduced them to each other myself, at my last New Year's Eve Party, and practically sprinkled rose petals on the bed before he nailed her there. I had a feeling they'd hit it off. Six months now she's been waving at everybody from the top of his flagpole. Not to you, you never see anything under your nose, if it isn't a pussy."
She paused, then came over and kissed me on the lips, quite seriously, and then went back to fixing her eyes at her dressing table. My eyes suddenly got wet. I hadn't expected that. "With a pussy you are a very great artist," she said quietly. "I mean every word of that. You sculpt a girl's sensations with your mouth the way Michelangelo sculpted marble. It's genius! But if Cindy thinks I was resentful and vindictive that she's been fucking my husband, it's only because that's how she is. Just naturally mean and vindictive."
I was appalled. "You mean everything I'm trying to get used to now, this feminizing of me, this setting me up in a menage in what used to be my own house, this turning me into a domestic servant and cum-sucker for my wife, and her lover, and his wife, it's all because all you wanted was a casual fuck a couple of days ago, and then to play dress-up games with me on a whim?"
Stacy was pulling up her stockings, and fastening them onto her garter belt. "No, not a whim at all." she said inattentively. "There are always reasons for things. If you hadn't shown me almost the moment we tumbled into bed that you have that great mouth, that superb technique, I wouldn't have gone further and dolled you up in a dress and make-up to see how you'd look. But you did, so I did. You'll be happy I did. You have enormous talent when you're on your knees between a pair of legs, but it takes planning and discipline for an artist to achieve greatness. We're going to work on it. Practice, practice, practice!"
She'd whipped lipstick onto her face and checked the effect. Gorgeous, as always. Then she glanced at me, made a face, and said, "Well, you'll do for now. First stop now the doctor. Then your appointment for your perm and makeover and ear piercing. Tomorrow we'll shop some of the better stores for your dresses and underwear and things. You need everything, for all the years ahead of you. We'll do your nails and wax and oil your body tomorrow too. Oh, here, a sanitary napkin to put over that dingus of yours for now, to flatten it out. And here're a few tampons for your purse. You'll need them later and we won't be coming back here."
I was getting desperate! "Stacy, I don't understand! I agreed to lick cunts, and I have to suck Bill's cock I guess, and I'll take care of the house. I'll wear that stupid maid's uniform. If I don't, Cindy will crucify me in the divorce courts! If I do, I don't get my life confiscated, and I can wait her out. That's all!"
She straightened her dress, twisted her hips left and right in the full- length mirror, approved, and headed out the bedroom door. Without bothering to look at me, she said, "Yes, you believe that. And Cindy even believes some of it. But Sissy girl, you really don't have a clue, do you? Get in the car, lover, and I'll clue you in. By the numbers."
Once backed out of her garage and headed down the street, she glanced at me sideways and almost laughed. I was by now frantic! She prolonged my agony just a bit longer. "We have to buy you a bigger purse," she said. "You've got no place to put anything. No wonder you're coming apart."
"STACY!!"
Finally she smiled. "All right, sweetheart. By the numbers. One. There's a threat hanging over you of a divorce action brought by a vindictive wife for alienated affection or something because you fucked your neighbor's wife. Me. OK so far?"
"Yes! That's what I just said!"
"Don't interrupt!" Stacy turned a corner and headed onto the Freeway. "Two. Let's look at this so-called divorce. How long before justice delayed is justice denied? Or vindictiveness delayed is vindictiveness that begins to look silly? Three months? Six months? How long does Cindy continue to live with you in your new domesticated state before getting thrown out of any courtroom for pleading adultery way back there then whenever? What can she say? 'Judge, six months ago my husband fucked my neighbor, because her husband had moved in on me and had been fucking me for the past year, but who knew, and my husband has been waiting on me and the other husband night and day for six months now, and for sex he's been staring at the ceiling and dicking his hand, and I want compensatory damages! Oh yes, alimony too because I'm a lawyer and earn six times what he earns, and he's a professor with an unpublished unwritten novel, though his real talent is giving incredible head to me and to my boyfriend's wife. Also to my boyfriend, but we'll leave out how come, judge, because then words like extortion and blackmail and rape come into play.'"
Now we were caught between two slow cars, and Stacy gave the traffic her complete attention. Then onto an off-ramp, and she resumed. "How long before a plea like that puts her in the funny papers? Don't get me wrong. The threat's real enough right now. Your ass is hers, and I'm using that fact for my own purposes. And yours too, long range, Sissy girl. But soon it'll be ludicrous."
"And Cindy knows that. She's a lawyer! The parties to a real divorce action are always cautioned to stay far away from each other, to try if at all possible to avoid sucking each other's cunts and dicks. So we arrive at point number Three. Oops, also at the Doctor's office. We'll resume with "Three" when we're back in the car. And then "Four," and that should explain it all.
We pulled into the parking lot of a professional building, and Stacy got out of the car. "C'mon!" she said.
I got out more slowly. "What's this for, Stacy? A checkup? I'm OK. Physically, I mean. You know that too. But Stacy, I'm a little embarrassed. I'm dressed like a girl, and I'm wearing lipstick and so on, and the Doctor, he's going to see that I'm a man."
"Yes, she is, Sissy my love. But she already knows that. She knows lots of things about you. Cindy's been on the phone with her for hours. Some of the things Cindy's told her about you are even true. Don't worry about it. You don't really have a choice right now. And it's really for the best. Here we are."
Stacy said something to the Doctor's receptionist, who waved us into an examination room, and the Doctor appeared a minute later. A small, elderly woman with white hair and a wrinkled face, wearing a hearing aid.
"This is the transgenderist? Her wife spoke to me?"
"Yes," Stacy shouted into her ear.
She turned to me. "And you are the man with a woman inside trying to get out, who needs to become that woman or your wife will divorce him because when he was a woman she slept with ..." she checked her notes "...another woman, so the man now needs to hide from his wife inside the woman inside him. You now want to be a woman with a man inside trying to get out, or your wife does. Is that true."
It sounded familiar. But I couldn't be sure. I nodded slowly.
"Then we'll begin. These injections will change your body to match who you are. You will gradually become what you have been, irreversibly, irrespective of what you thought you were. You may think you are what you've thought you were, but your gender will change nevertheless. To say more than this might be confusing. I have your wife's informed consent to this process, to wit." The Doctor held up a paper with Cindy's signature. "She tells me she has yours to this too. To wit." She held up another paper.
"To what?" I asked her, puzzled.
"Very well then," she replied.
A half hour later I was heavy with injections. Four in each buttock, and three in each arm. Time release needles in the fat of my belly and under my arms. We got back into the car. Stacy was delighted, practically glowing, as if I'd been kissing her bottom the whole time.
"Stacy, are these really necessary?" I asked.
She shot me a quick look as we started out again. "Are they? Cindy wants you female and docile. Can you refuse? Do you have a choice? If its any consolation, I want you female too. And now you will be, irreversibly, irrespective of what you want, and irregardless of what anyone else wants. To wit. So now you've got no choice. Relax and enjoy becoming what we want you to be."
"All right. I've got no choice. But what will I become?"
"A woman. Those injections are heavy-duty, broad spectrum female hormones, lover, and you are now crocked to the gills with them. Lots. A full six month supply, slow release, time release -- you're a walking drug store. In six months you'll be a woman, a pretty one I should think, except for the chromosomes and the reproductive apparatus. You'll have breasts, and wide hips, and a round ass, and a smooth skin, and soft facial features, and a clit a little more modest that the one you're sporting right now, and an inclination to fix your hair often, and maybe even a desire to suck cock. The woman inside you is definitely coming out. And she'll be a nice person, really sweet, because there are also some long range tranquilizers in you, too."
"My God, Stacy, why?"
"Ooooh!" Stacy looked intently at a car coming toward us, and followed it as it whisked past. "Did you see the hairdo on that woman in the van? A precious poodle cut! And so practical! You might want something like that, that can't muss, and that springs right back into shape. Just comb it with your fingers, or with any girl's pussy, and it's beautiful again."
"Stacy, why?"
By the numbers? "'Three' is why Cindy wants you feminized. Cindy figures that by the time her divorce threat has no teeth, you won't remember you ever were a husband anyhow. She figures that with enough female hormones you will no be longer interested in sex with other women, because you'll have become a woman. Your penis will have forgotten what it was for. The ultimate punishment for an erring husband. You'll be a compliant servant. You'll wait on her hand and foot. She thinks all those hormones will recondition you to cry if she finds fault with your cooking, and to be overjoyed if she lets you lick dick on whoever she's fucking."
"Will it!?"
"I've got female hormones, lots of them. Have I lost my interest in sex? Cindy's got hormones too. Is she interested in sex? Well, in her case big-dick sex, not with you obviously. But I think that's because she resents it that she never grew her own. And is she sweetly submissive and eager to please others? I rest my case."
We parked alongside the largest quality women's store in town, and walked alongside the lingerie section to the purple and perfumed area in back, where their select beauty salon was located. "
"Now, Sissy, stop peeking at those pretty things. They're all lovely, aren't they? Ever since you hit puberty and noticed that girls are different you've been a little jealous of us, haven't you? Our faces and hair and bodies are desirable. The delicate lacy nothings that cover our sweet ass cheeks and moist pussies are desirable. The dainty, flimsy, sheer fantasies that lift our heavy-hanging breasts and point our nipples toward your mouth are desirable. Our grace when we move is desirable, and when we look at you with dark eyes and talk, heavenly choruses sing."
"You've been one quivering, masturbating, fetish-driven wreck in the presence of girls, ever since teenage, daydreaming without end of some moment when you can become one with these adorable creatures. Blend into one of us. I could tell the moment your nose touched my clit, so reverently, worshipping, and I knew it beyond any doubt when you tried to climb into my pussy head first."
"Well lover, it's done. You are such a lucky girl! Each hour, more and more hormones are seeping into your body and mind, and you are becoming more and more desirable. You're already one of us. An adorable creature who always surrounded by nylon and lace and silk and wisps of satiny cloth around her growing breasts and curving figure, perfumed and sparkly and red-lipped. Tomorrow, any lingerie you see here will be yours to touch, and own, and wear, and become you. Anything feminine in the whole store. Today your face and your hair will become feminine, and you'll look feminine for the rest of your life. Isn't that the most desirable thing in the world?"
"Yes," I said. Everything she'd said, repeating it so sweetly in her fluted voice, lulled me with the memory of our own pleasures together, how desirable it was to be close, to share, to be what she was. She seemed to speak for my most ardent unspoken wish. Two lovely young women in pastel pink and green uniforms waited for us by the desk at the entrance to the beauty salon. They smiled. I was bathed in perfume and light. "This must be Sissy," one of them said. "Sissy dear, are you ready to become a beautiful girl, and to be beautiful for the rest of your life?"
Maybe it was the hormones. Maybe those tranquilizers. Maybe because everything Stacy had said now resonated as my heart's truth, and because I couldn't help it now anyhow.
"Yes," I said.
V.
The drive back home was a little different. I was zoned out, a sweet smile never left my face Stacy told me later, and my eyes held in their glow a peaceful, contemplative inwardness, as if I were a woman who's just been told she's going to have a baby, that her femininity, her desire to love, be loved, and be lovely has been fulfilled. My hair was strawberry blonde and frost-tipped, curled, piled in lush, high, pretty curves, with loose braids woven in until my own longer tresses could grow out. I was touching and pushing it to peaked perfection with my fingertips even before we left the salon. Stacy told me that was the most naturally feminine gesture a girl could make, that it lifts the breast and defines grace itself as a beautiful upward motion of a girl's arm. She was always trying to paint it. I remembered her lifting her arm to paint her own portrait.
My lips were now permanently stained berry red, after a beautician told me I'd never again need to re-apply lipstick after heavy smooching of a woman's pussy or a man's cock, and then the other beautician had spoken with such feeling about the look of a woman's red lips sliding down a long, ivory tube of a penis. I wanted to see for myself. Stacy told me that Bill was home waiting for us that very moment, eager to greet me with a kiss. My brows had already been shaped, but now electrolysis of the follicles would preserve their high arch permanently. My lashes were dyed, and a beauty consultant had shown me how to apply shades of eye shadow to preserve the look of a wide-eyed, innocent but passionate girl. As a few nights earlier, a heavy foundation creme gave my cheeks and jaw a matte, fragile appearance. Each ear lobe was diamond-studded.
"You're just gorgeous, Sissy!" Stacy exclaimed when she saw me after three hours of effort had reshaped and recolored me. "You're going to be so very, very happy!" I was looking deep into a salon mirror as she said it, feeling a rich, flooding joy as I saw myself. I was desirable. I loved me. To complete my enchantment, Stacy bought me a deep turquoise matching bra and panty set, the panty with slit crotch and matching garter belt, stockings, a loose-draped white Satin blouse, and a tight bright red mini skirt. I put them on at once, and I felt so sedate yet sexy! I was lovely! In some vague way, I felt loved! It was just wonderful!"
As we drove home, Stacy was reluctant to disturb my delicious serenity. "Darling," she said. "It isn't all the tranquilizers talking. You know now why you want to be a girl, even though you didn't know that's what you wanted. I wanted that for you too. But there's more. Let me tell you now why I invited you to dinner a few days ago, and seduced you, and feminized you, and convinced Cindy to approve your being here now in this euphoric state she'd never have approved had she known. My reasons, by the numbers, are what make up number four. In this case, the last and determining reasons."
"Woman to woman, I can now tell you what has always been my woman's instinct about your marriage. Bill and Cindy are winding down. I'm sure he'll be out of her trenches by Christmas. He's restless already -- I've seen it many times before. He meets many out-of-town women in the course of his business -- buyers, customers, salespeople -- and many are attractive. Many are attracted to him. The first time they dance with him, and they can feel his dong on their bellies, they're done for. And once they're in bed together, Bill always behaves like a gentleman, and attends them in their bed, never his. And if their bed is out of town, then for months, until his passion ebbs, Bill will be out of town. Then I'll miss him terribly sometimes, because then I can't fuck with him for weeks at a time."
"I've been looking for someone local to groom to replace Cindy, so he won't be tempted out of town. There are no suitable women. But my instinct kept returning me to the notion that you could be suitable. You're small for a man, Cindy's size. You move with an easy grace many women don't have. For some reason, the way your head moves, and your lips when you're eating a hot dog or a banana, or a certain concentrated devotion in your eyes when you look at women and women's things without even thinking, I thought it might be you give good head. Imagine my surprise when Bill told me Cindy doesn't, none at all! So I thought you might. You might do. To supplement Cindy. To replace Cindy. To help me pass the time when Bill's otherwise occupied. And then I got into bed with you, and you got into my cunt with me, and my God! What can't you make a woman feel?"
We passed by the turnoff to the Doctor's office, and I looked at the building as we went past. My birthplace, I thought fondly. Where I've been born again! It wasn't all the tranquilizers, I knew, as Stacy had already told me. My mood was also the joy of release from a prison. Cindy had wanted to put me into gray and black skirts and dresses for the rest of my life. Stacy was buying me beautiful colors to wear, and the freedom to wear them however I wished. I loved Stacy.
"Understand me, Sissy darling. Bill is a straightforward heterosexual male who happens to have a prick like a May Pole. He is not gay. He loves feeling a woman's mouth on his prick, and yours is the first genetic male's ever to wrap around it. His current women don't like giving head. Would Bill accept your mouth on his prick? Only if you're a woman. Maybe he'd accept you, if he thought you were on your way to becoming a woman."
"But first, would you blow a man? Properly motivated, yes. You saw last night that once inspired, you can be a great artist who can blow cock like Louis Armstrong blowing a trumpet. So I set it up for Cindy to inspire you. She did, as only a relentlessly self-serving woman lawyer like Cindy could. And last night you sucked Bill's cock like an angel!"
"I had to persuade you to look like a woman and persuade Cindy to help keep you that way. Then, it seemed, all problems would be solved. Then Bill would be happy, getting laid repeatedly daily by two local women, and blown regularly by a local master cock sucker who resembles a third woman. Then Cindy would be happy, getting laid repeatedly by Bill, who is further secured to her because her husband blows Bill repeatedly, under duress, true, but then duress is her favorite way to motivate anyone. And when she's not rotating her hips in the vicinity of Bill's cock she can order her husband about like a servant to her heart's content."
"And then I'd be happy, getting laid repeatedly by my husband at home or just next door, and like a good wife providing for his needs now and also later on. I could also feel humbly gratified that I was advancing the career in cunnilingus of a very great oral sex artist, and assist in bringing his art to perfection."
"The four of us have each had different reasons for participating in this plan. The plan assumed that some would misconceive some other people's reasons, get them wrong, act accordingly, and then do the right thing thinking they were doing something else. But all reasons converged on you becoming a woman. And now that female hormones are flowing through you irreversibly and irrevocably, as your Doctor likes to say, you're effectively a woman. Now I suspect you may want to blow Bill silly whenever he wants, and he'll love it."
But there's more. Woman to woman, an instinct has also told me that under the right circumstances my husband would want to fuck your ass silly, and that you'd love it. Now, Bill loves getting his prick into a girl's ass! Another reason why you had to become a girl. And as we found out this morning, a man's prick in a girl's ass can serve as her stairway to paradise."
"I bet even now you're already feeling that you have a girl's ass. Wiggle it for me just a little, would you, Sissy? See? See? Doesn't it feel yummy! In a few more weeks your little pussy could well be dripping KY Jelly in eager anticipation of Bill's prick pushed into it, the way my cunt drips my lubricant when it isn't already dripping Bill's cum, the way your wife's dripped Bill's cum for so many months while you had no idea. Bill now has a new woman's ass to fuck, and he will. Soon, and then for a year or more, your ass will be dripping Bill's semen night and day. Around Christmas, when Cindy's accustomed cunt will be a year old and stretched to boredom, your asshole will be fully educated, cunning, and desired, entering its prime. That's in addition to your mouth giving the best head in the Western Hemisphere. In six months you'll also be a woman in fact. I'll have done my wifely duty, by preparing for Cindy to be replaced in Bill's bed by Cindy's former husband. Then when Cindy has moved on, the three of us can live together happily, and can keep finding new reasons to live together happily."
As we pulled into the driveway, I saw Bill standing in the doorway waiting for us. "Here we are, sweetheart," said Stacy. "I'll leave you two alone to get re-acquainted. Remember those tampons in your purse, if you should need them to absorb any cum oozing out of you later on."
It was very strange. My mouth and my ass both felt a deep desire to embrace him. The hormones? The tranquilizers? No. It was partly gratitude to his wife for the many erotic pleasures we had shared, as I now understood it, on his behalf as well as our own.
It was partly out of devotion and awe before a woman who was in her own way a good wife, faithful and devoted to her husband's needs, and also as Shakespeare said about Cleopatra, cunning past man's thought.
It was partly because for the first time in my life, I felt myself to be like Stacy, a beautiful woman, worthy of love, and affectionately loving.
It was partly because, having tasted Stacy's dildo only that morning, and felt what it could do, I longed to feel real, warm, throbbing flesh deep in my vitals.
And it was partly because, having felt that bliss in my rear, and now about to experience the joy of a real cock plunged into me, my heart went out to this glorious man who had never himself known such ecstasy. I would see that he soon did. I was already considering how I might continue to provide Bill that same pleasure, in six months or so, when the hormones within me had done their work and my own erection would no longer be stiff enough to penetrate his ass.
I would need before then to find some other man, sufficiently feminized of course, whose penis could replace my own, sufficiently well-fit to fuck both me and Bill into the distant future. Tim was rather taken with me, I remembered, and had said he would call me very soon. I would test out his penis myself first, of course, and that's what Tim obviously wanted with me. He had no concept now of the future I could plan for him. But first I would need to see if he was worthy of my ass.
Copyright © 1996,1998,2000,2009 by Vickie Tern. May be archived and single-copied, not sold.
Vickie [email protected]
Authors foreword: "Jack and Jill" is a novel in ten chapters averaging 30k each about a fictional cross-dresser like you or me in fact or fantasy or remote curiosity, or else why have you read this far, and how he or she became the person who is narrating the story. It's mostly TG and femdom, with forced or tricked or cajoled feminization, but of course also m/f and m/m and f/f in various u.c. and l.c. combinations, and also some d/s, and other such alphabetical stuff. Humiliation, yes, and mental but not physical bondage. There is no pain, and no magic or incest or bestiality or pedophilia or snuff, and no characters below the age of consent, so if these things turn you on, or if you're yourself below whatever age is lawful, this isn't for you.
You'd find this story boring, anyhow. The main character believes, as many adults do, that we are reasoning creatures who can understand and cope with our predicaments by thinking them through. Not so, but such people do a lot of thinking aloud, and that's part of the fun. They keep being surprised when events or other people's schemes cross them up and mess their minds.
It's fiction, but any resemblance to actual persons or events you have known, though accidental, is deliberate. A fiction that doesn't resemble any of the worlds we inhabit, or any of the imaginary worlds that inhabit us, isn't worth reading. It wouldn't even be imaginable. None of the events depicted here have ever occurred to anyone I know or have heard about, apart from the obvious and generic. Some similar things happen from time to time. If to you, whatever your gender, I'd appreciate your letting me know, to satisfy my own curiosity. But don't assume I knew earlier.
Incidentally, only when it's absolutely essential do I describe the length or thickness of a prick in inches or centimenters or rods or acres, or at all, being convinced that the real world of men and women are intimidated or else unimpressed by adolescent references to "my rock-hard eleven inch pole" (dream on, 5 to 7incher if you're like most of mankind but worry a lot about it). If you can't distinguish fantasy from fact, the credible from the true, go take a good literature course at your nearest Community College, or else go into a corner with other A.S.S. stories and do whatever you do in corners while reading sex stories. That's fine by me. This one tries to seem plausible, though of course some situations go to extremes.
I wrote this because it was fun to write it, and I learned a lot of things while doing it, about my own erotic imagination and about how to tell a story, and about how to discover things while telling a story. I hope to do better next time, but I'm pretty pleased with this one, for now. I'd like to know what you think. If you must flame, make it a flame of length equal to "Jack and Jill" (about 300k), if you can, and at least as eventful and amusing (as boring's OK too as long as I can skip through to the good parts), I'll be glad to read it.
Oh yes, I mean to post this through my AOL access, not my EDU access, in order to increase the proportion of stories AOL contributes to A.S.S.. Cretins who need to hate something to feel alive, or need to feel unjustly accused to feel justified, spam A.S.S. daily attacking and defending AOL subscribers. Between them and others who think their learned theological opinions matter, reading A.S.S. on Usenet is now like driving on a road littered with broken bottles thrown by drunks (AOL gathers these threads into single line references the eye can ignore). I have good reason to maintain both AOL and EDU accesses, and if Johnny Duh out there is offended that I choose to pay good money to AOL for certain desired services duly rendered, instead of trying to locate a suitable freenet, or to struggle with an EDU network system invented thirty years ago and still ten years behind the available technology, well Duh!
This preamble is a test text. If it shows up in readable format on the AOL *and* the EDU A.S.S, then I'll post it again with all ten chapters all at once, for the world to deal with. If not, I'll figure out why, and will welcome suggestions. Due notice: copyright is reserved to me. Archiving and reposting in single transmissions is OK, if you think this worth it, but preserve my name and address as down below, and if you want to "improve" the story, don't. Write a better one. That's what I'm trying to do as you read this one. Or rewrite 'Madison County' and retire rich.
Dedicated to TG's of whatever kind, wherever you are.
Love to you all, Vickie Tern ([email protected])ae
Chapter 1
I live alone. Oh, I've got a few girlfriends, and they fuss and worry over me sometimes, and sometimes they arrange dates for me and we go out together, and sometimes I arrange my own dates. But dates are always a problem. I don't know which gender to ask out. I look like a girl and I dress like a girl, and I live like one, and I work like one, as a kind of secretary-typist-administrative-girl-Friday who doesn't mind solving her boss's computer programming problems for him when he's stuck. And by now I even act like a girl, and swing my hips when I feel real good, and let my hands fly all over when I'm excited, and squeal with my girlfriends when we're thrilled, and call things "just precious" and "darling" and all that. But I'm not a girl. I'm a man who's been feminized, by his former wife, if you can believe it, because I wasn't man enough for her. People call me Jane, but my name used to be Jack. And I still like girls, and inside my pantihose I still have the basic equipment for coping with them, though it doesn't work too well these days.
My problem is, how many girls want to date a man who has breasts and delicate manners and wears dresses and loves to talk about girl things? Even the lesbians are turned off when they find out I'm not a proper transsexual woman, but a normal heterosexual male who has always loved cross-dressing and who happens now to live in a mostly female body. And how many guys want to go out with a guy who may look like a girl, but hasn't got a pussy and isn't gay? Oh I'll blow them, because what else can I do to please men if they're not into buttfucking, but there's not much in it for me sucking on other guys' dicks or getting my ass plowed (well, there's a little something, I do like it, my wife saw to that). But sooner or later guys catch on that I'm not hot for them, and sooner or later they don't come back. So I'm sort of caught in the middle.
Probably I should go the rest of the way and have surgery and become a proper woman and live a normal life. Or maybe I should go back to being a man, if I can. A few more shots and cuts either way might send me either way, I suspect.
But the problem is, I like looking like a woman. No, that's not true. I absolutely adore looking like a woman! I always have. The most wonderful thing I see when I wake up each morning is my mirror. I just love seeing a pretty face and a well-turned feminine figure looking back at me (see? -- "I absolutely adore," "I just love" -- my femme talk turns on when I'm turned on, and just thinking about my mirror turns me on!). I love feeling pretty -- there's such a marvelous glow to it! On the other hand, I don't want to BE a woman. I can pretend, and even fool myself sometimes. For some things, like feeling soft and warm and cuddly and loving with someone, being a woman is just lovely. But for most things I feel like a man, not a woman. Besides, if I actually were a woman and I felt like one and dressed like one routinely, where would be the thrill? Would I still feel deliciously excited each morning when I put on a dress and step out knowing I look pretty, my whole body feeling perky and blissful and privileged? Probably not. Probably, I'd just feel normal, like any woman wearing any dress anywhere.
I'm a transvestite. I love looking feminine, and I love the way it feels to look feminine. I guess I was born one, and I'll certainly die one. And that's where the problem started, how I got to be where I am right now. I love wearing women's clothes, and I can't help myself, and I don't really want to help myself. And now I live in them. I've got what I wanted, or what my wife wanted for me. I'm permanently cross- dressed.
I cross-dressed sometimes when I was a kid. I loved the feel of a bra tugging on my chest, or a slip or a dress swishing on my legs. My mother and sister never found out I was in and out of their clothes, but it wouldn't have mattered to me if they had. I was hooked. I got a paper route to help support my habit, to buy my own girls' clothes. Once I rode out at first light wearing a blouse and skirt, cycling furiously with my heart pounding and throwing papers at doorways at top speed, scurrying to get back before anyone woke up and saw me. I felt terrific about it at first, really high. But then I started to think about the chance I had just taken and I started shaking and couldn't stop! What I had just done terrified me!
After that I went deep into the closet, ashamed that I wanted to look like a girl, and afraid to be found out when I did look like a girl. Like most cross-dressers I got disgusted with myself and quit, a few times, but then I'd start up again. When I finished college I wore skirts and dresses all the time when I got home from work, all around my apartment. I felt so right in them, so ...together. But I never dared wear them outside. If someone were to look hard at me when I was outside trying to pass I knew I'd feel embarrassed, then humiliated, and then I'd panic and run, or come apart some other way. Then everyone would look hard at me.
When I first met Jill I had just quit again, and it was just as well. Jill was never a woman to think a cross-dressing husband kinda cute. In those days, sexually, as far as I could tell, she was not given to experiments or kinks of any sort. She wanted a husband she could respect, a friend, one not too demanding. Sex for her had to be strictly penises and vaginas, and that's what she called them, not even oral. And sex for her was an occasional recreation, not a kind of marvelous and crucial compulsory behaviour. She's a very good-looking woman, a lawyer, tall and slender, with a decisive manner that keeps her clients confident that she knows what she's doing. When we decided to move in together I thought I would stay quit. We got along well. We liked being with each other. At first she thought that my name being "Jack" and hers "Jill" was just too cute for words, that we couldn't possibly be compatible. But she weathered the kidding from friends and associates, and we found that we were able to get on, pretty much.
I respected her a lot, and she admired the way I did my work. We could talk about anything, and she'd listen to me carefully. Then she'd ask a few questions. Then she'd let some time pass, and finally she'd deliver her own views as if she were a judge presenting a final opinion. After that the question, if there was any, was settled and not open for discussion. Usually we agreed, so I didn't mind that the final decisions affecting both of us were usually hers. I got to assume that was the way things should be, and I liked the way she ran our lives. It saved me a lot of hassle. I think she was the one who decided one day that it was time we were married, and I certainly didn't disagree. By then I depended on her self-confident self-assurance, and looked to it for guidance. I thought this was love.
Once I tried to tell her about transgendered people, people like me, trying to lead up to a confession that I had once been one of them (and, I guess I hoped secretly, might be one of them again some day). I thought I was being casual enough, but she turned the topic off abruptly. She muttered words like "sick" and "perverse," and looked at me closely. She then asked me in her attorney's voice why I had raised the subject. A pang of fear sliced into me, and I said quickly that a client had joked about it, that's all, and as soon as I could I left the room to settle down, my heart still pounding furiously, still terrified. A narrow escape. So my pleasure in wearing girls' clothes stayed underground, hidden even from me. After a while I thought there wasn't any. Which is why I didn't tell her anything before we got married.
I began dressing again during our honeymoon. I know this doesn't sound like a great compliment to Jill's sexual attractiveness, and I mean no disrespect. But desire for a woman and desire to look like a woman were very nearly the same thing for me. And back then Jill was -- well -- deliberate in her lovemaking. Most of the kinds of love people like she found "distasteful." She loved being in charge, controlling events and controlling her feelings about them. If it wasn't cuddling, and it wasn't vaginal intercourse, she didn't care for it, and she made that known whenever I'd try to roam further with her. I knew from when we started living together that she was severely inhibited, and I hoped she'd loosen up in time. But it didn't matter. I needed her, and I had come to depend on her, and she seemed to care about me. I would marry her again, even now, despite everything she did to me. Maybe because of everything, in a way. But not for the sex when we first got married.
I still remember the morning in the hotel when she asked me to hand her a white, delicately embroidered slip from her bureau drawer. I picked it up and started toward the bed to hand it to her, and felt the most delicious "THWANG!" as my belly rose up in joy at the feel of the lovely thing in my hand, and my prick rose up too. Before I knew what I was doing I had unfolded it and held it fitted in front of me, admiring the lace across the hemline. "Very funny!" she said, as she took it away. Then when she noticed my aroused state, she asked, amused "Why, Jack, what can you have in mind?" I certainly didn't tell her what I really had in mind, but one thing leads to another, and it was easy to distract her.
That afternoon I stopped at a lingerie store and bought myself a slip just like hers, and later that afternoon I hid it in our hotel room in the back of our closet, so it would seem to have been forgotten by some previous guest if she found it. She never did, and that was the beginning of the stash that has since become my proper wardrobe. The next morning while she was off having her hair done I put on one of her brassieres and then my slip. It all felt so exquisite that I threw a golf shirt and slacks on over them, and feeling delicate and dainty and sweetly feminine, I went back to the lingerie store to buy my own bra. I bought two, because I couldn't decide which was more "me," a satin underwire, or a stunning lacy whisper of a bra I just loved at first sight. Barely married, I was at it again, and absolutely delighted to be at it again.
For a few years Jill never knew. As a lawyer she was very hard working, and tough and devious I was told, and I could believe it. She left the house every morning at eight and returned every evening at six, often later when there was a big case brewing. I was then an electronic systems designer, mostly computing systems. I wasn't the cleverest one around, but I was precise and reliable, with fantastic speed when I was writing up or solving problems, and that was my edge. My client list kept growing because my programs always worked, and were always installed on time. I kept a small office for consulting and for storing the stock modules and menus I custom assembled for each client. But until Jill found my clothes and demanded to know what they were, I did a lot of my work at home, dressed and made up like the beautiful woman I wanted to imagine myself, enjoying myself immensely. Then I'd modem or fax it in.
At the other end of the fax was my secretary Darlene. Darlene was no computer whiz, and no great brain either. But she knew the alphabet, and she could be trusted to file any papers marked up with one of its twenty-six letters, then to find them again and fax them out to the house when I asked for them. She also impressed the hell out of clients who came in to see me, and that was why I kept her on after I found she couldn't do much else. She didn't need to. There she sat in the reception area all day long, being gorgeous and fixing her makeup and tucking in her curls, and answering the phone in a bedroom voice so sultry people would think at first that they'd reached some 900 number somewhere else. Her voice and appearance could seduce anyone into being a client. I'd talk to Darlene a few times each day, and I'd see her a few times each week when I went in to the office, and if it had been any more frequent I'd certainly have gotten the hots for her myself, and maybe what happened wouldn't have happened, at least not the way it did. Jill wasn't happy that my secretary was such a Barbie doll, but she knew that Darlene was just right for what I asked of her, namely not much, and that she was even better for what I didn't ask of her, namely to keep clients eager to call the firm with repeat business. She knew that I never saw much of her, because I was mostly home. So that was no problem.
We settled into a routine. Breakfast with Jill, mostly just coffee and toast or a roll, me unshaven and in jogging clothes as if ready to hit the old streets. Then as soon as Jill left for the day I'd shave twice and change into a pretty outfit from the skin on out, bra, panties and stockings with garter belt or girdle or maybe a pair of panty-hose, slip, skirt and blouse or maybe a dress, or maybe a suit, or a slack suit, and pumps, strappy heels, flats, or sandals, depending on the season and my moods. I loved starting to dress by whim, in a mid-calf full skirt or a slutty mini, and then matching everything else to that first random desire, so by the end of the process I was dressed for the day, wearing appropriate jewelry and settled in to work feeling elegant and tasteful, my ensemble different each time. My hair is full and I let it grow to cover my ears, so I could brush it back when I went out as a man, and I could blow-dry it into a page boy to look feminine as soon as Jill left the house, or even curl it when I wanted to take the time.
Since I was home more than Jill and my time was more flexible, I did most of the shopping. Sometimes I took to dawdling in the supermarket at high risk, I thought, wearing women's shirts and pants, loafers and "natural" (that is, invisible) lipstick, and with a feeling of enormous risk maybe a touch of eye makeup. Beneath this undetectable femininity -- not even androgynous, I realize now -- I wore wonderfully seductive bras and panties and slips and teddies that would have reduced a cave man to paralytic gibberish if he'd seen them on a cave woman. Once I dared fate by wearing a flowered shirt that buttoned the wrong way, living on the edge I thought. But I lost my nerve and never unbuttoned my jacket to show it.
I never dared to go further, to appear in a skirt, or in unambiguous makeup, because I was so terribly ashamed of this delightful compulsion. To be found out would be devastating I thought, an embarrassment I could never live down. My manhood was at stake. For a man to look like a girl was demeaning, ridiculous. I shared the world's view that an effeminate man is contemptible, a clown, a sissy, a fruit, a joke, fit target for any insults. Even behind closed doors and drawn shades at home I felt dangerously at risk. There was a twinge of anxiety most of the time I was dressed, even at home, and I kept my oversized jogging outfit on a chair as emergency cover gear if the doorbell should suddenly ring. But I loved every minute of it. I adored that image in the mirror, posing and primping. Nothing was too good for her!
I also loved every minute I spent shopping for more clothes. When I finished an important piece of work I'd reward myself with a special treat. Dressed like a man, I'd carry into the store a slip of paper with my sizes written on it, and I would seem to consult it as I pawed through rack after rack of beautiful skirts and bodyshirts and dresses, looking for the one item I simply had to have. I hoped all the salegirls would assume I was buying for someone else, and I consulted my paper frequently, as if women's sizes were obscure and beyond comprehension. As if this persuaded them. As if they cared. But I could not risk seeming to be what I was, even to strangers. I was a man. To dress like a woman was to be no man, to be less than nothing.
All this gear grew in bulk, and soon occupied the closets and drawers of my workroom and of another spare bedroom in our oversized house, places where Jill never went. But it happened finally. One day when I was at the office Jill came home early, wondering whether a spare bedroom might make a home office for her weekends. She looked in on mine, and at the size of its closet, and at everything in the closet, and then she looked at closets and bureau drawers in the other rooms. Lawyers are careful and thorough, and by the time I got home she had located my whole extensive collection. She had also reached an exact understanding of everything. She had concluded that while she was at work I was keeping a variety of women in the house during the day, a slut who wore leather minis and tight tubes and cutoffs, a businesswoman who wore severe suits, a housewife whose tastes ran to sundresses and flowered prints, and from all the drawers billowing with sexy lingerie, a whole whorehouse full of high class call girls.
When I got home my life ended, my life as it had been up to that moment, anyhow. In a tight voice she demanded to know who these bitches were, and how I dared bring them under her roof. Incoherent, humiliated, mortified, hysterical with fear, tearful and stammering, for the next two solid hours I desperately tried to persuade her of everything I had been trying to hide from her ever since our honeymoon, the unacceptable truth about me. I pointed out that all of the clothes and shoes were of one size, mine. All that proved to her was that my taste in the women I brought home was self-absorbed and narcissistic, and she said that from my behaviour in bed she'd suspected as much. I tried to convince her that no women would ever consent to leave so much clothing here. Too vague an argument for a legal mind to accept. Desperate and red-faced, I finally stripped off my jacket, shirt, tie and pants to display show her that even at that moment I was wearing a matched embroidered slip, bra, and panties, all in the same size as the clothing she'd found, a variant matched in brand name as well as size by other brands and sets and styles and shades and colors of the other garments hidden in my closets and dresser drawers. She was horrified to stare at my body clad in its delicate lacy harness, and for once she was speechless, as traumatised in her way as I was. Only then did she begin to believe it was possible the stuff was mine.
So she sat me down and cross-examined me, relentlessly. When, how, bought where? She kept returning to Why, and I had no real answer. What finally persuaded her was my high marks on a tough quiz she herself set and judged. Men never know anything about women's styles, she was convinced, and she never hesitated to say it when I'd recommend that she wear something I thought becoming to her. But I'd spent a lot of time trying to look nice, even elegant, and I'd shopped with an eye toward completing different outfits, and I'd kept up with the fashion magazines despite my envy of all the beautiful women who populated them. I did have reasonably good taste! She sat down and said, for example. "Those red three inch heeled pumps! What would you wear with those?" And I hauled out of a drawer the black pullover sweater I'd worn with them, and from the closet in the room next door a matching red full skirt; then I pearl-dived into my earring box and found a perfect pair of dramatic coordinated black and red clip-on hoops. Or she'd say "That blue and gold cocktail dress with the slit to the waist, if it isn't higher -- what stockings go with it?" and I came up with them, and "Is there a purse also?" and I came up with a darling little matching clutch bag I'd found in an opportunity shop one day, not believing my luck! Little by little she began to believe I had spent more time on my outfits than on my computer programming. Maybe I had.
She took due note as I folded each sweater carefully before putting it back, and settled each blouse neatly on its hanger before hanging it away -- obviously I knew and cared for each article the way she cared for hers. She knew that in male mode I was a slob, my pants and jackets ending up wherever I tossed them. I knew she was persuaded when she came out with "That silver miniskirt -- that's for a teenager looking to get laid! How dare you wear such a thing at your age?" I showed her the ruffled blouse that kept me looking demure above if a little slutty below.
Then her interrogation went on to its next phase. "I don't see any outer garments. Where do you keep them?" she asked. I told her there were none, that I never dared walk out even into the back yard when I was dressed. She was astonished, and unexpectedly, angered by that answer. "You don't flounce about outside in those things?" she asked, "Why not? Are you ashamed of your perversion? Are you ashamed someone might think you're a woman, or something else equally demeaning?" I told her I was strictly a closet TV, terrified of being found out, that my manliness would be compromised if it were known. "It isn't compromised by the fact that you do it?" she asked. Then, again, "Why do you do it?" I told her I didn't know myself, but that I had always wanted to do it, that it was sometimes pleasantly erotic and always deeply satisfying, and that it was a kind of compulsion, maybe inborn. I started to tell her about the way it allowed me to express my feminine side, and how gender and sex are different things, gender being in the mind, and all that, but she wanted to hear no part of it. I compared it to homosexuality, another gender orientation people don't choose but discover in themselves.
That started a new round of ferocious questioning. "Oh, Jack? Do you get together with other perverts, and do twisted things with each other?" She sounded as if she couldn't even imagine what those things were. I assured her that gays and transvestites were altogether different, that gays are attracted to people of the same sex but transvestites are so strongly attracted to the opposite sex they want to look like them. I told her there were hundreds of thousands of transvestites like me though I personally knew none of them, and that no one knew about me except me, and now she knew. "Why do you want to be a woman?" she asked again narrowly. I assured her I didn't, but that I loved looking like one, and that when I looked beautiful, all my desires focussed all the more on real women. On her, I added quickly. She was not convinced, but continued, "If you like to look like a woman, why don't you want to be a woman? Why don't you want other people to know? Why do you hide it from me, your own wife? It's disgusting, but is it so shameful?" I assured her it was, or I thought it was, and she glared at me. Then she was silent. I awaited her verdict.
"I see," she said. Then she said cryptically, "Everything fits!" And then she sat silent again. Ominously silent.
I couldn't stand it. I said, "So now you believe me?," and she glanced at me with enough contempt to wither a rainforest, then glanced away again, and said nothing. She was convinced. I had been moved in her mind from her frying pan into her fire, from a mass adulterer to a pitiable, self-confessed drag queen, a hypocrite sexist wimp filled with fear and self-loathing.
It was my night to serve dinner, and she sat through it frowning, deliberately not looking anywhere I might catch her eye, chewing slowly, saying nothing. As I poured the coffee she suddenly looked up and said, "All right! Here's how it is! I married a man, not a woman, and not an imitation man and not an imitation woman. I don't care what your fantasies are like, or why, or what your so-called inborn compulsions are like or why. I think you can stop, and you should stop, and you will stop. From now on the only women's clothes in this house will be mine. The only person wearing women's clothes in this house will be me. You will be a man, and you will dress like one. You will act like a man. Or else I will leave you, and I won't mind telling all of our friends why I'm leaving you." She paused. "Coward!" she spit out.
I hoped this was her final pronouncement, so we could begin to discuss things more calmly. But then she added, "No talk! No explanations! No pleading! I want promises from you first thing in the morning, Jack, my so-called husband Jack, or I move out." She then went straight into our bedroom and slammed the door. I decided I had better spend the night in a guest bedroom.
No opportunity to talk, and no appeal. No way to ask even obvious things, like was there was a deadline for moving my dresses out, or where I should put them, or did she mean I should throw them out. Before this I had seen her ruthless decisiveness, the way she would speak her mind by uttering an ultimatum. But those dealt with trivial things, like whether pizza or other such unhealthy foods should be allowed into the house, or whether people who make porn movies should serve long jail terms. She could be sharing, and lively, and fun, and she could usually talk me into anything. But she could also switch on her lawyer mode, as heavy and unyielding as cast iron, and then I was afraid to dare to want anything she didn't want. This night would determine the end of our marriage or its continuation on her terms. And for me, life outside our marriage had become unthinkable.
I couldn't sleep. Then the next day I folded, or rather, I came apart. I promised to do everything she asked, and that I wouldn't do the things she hadn't asked, or rather, that I would stop dressing at home, and that I would clear everything out of my closets, all the women's clothing, that is, not the men's. I told her that as far as women's clothing was concerned, from now on she could wear the pants in the family, and then I apologized that I wasn't being sarcastic when I put it that way. I told her I loved her, that she was the center of my life. I started to cry, then I couldn't stop crying. She nodded, looking a little sour, and I was still blubbering when she left for work without a word.
That same day, I got a stack of boxes from a transfer and removal company, made trip after trip, and brought all of my clothes to the office. When I showed up in the reception area with the first box Darlene raised her beautifully plucked eyebrows, checked her lipstick, and asked what all of this was about. I told her Jill asked me to store a lot of boxes here, figuring Darlene wouldn't have a followup question. She didn't. I stacked them out of the way, against the wall in the large utility room where we kept the xerox, the coffee maker, and the office supplies
Within a month I was back at it, this time at the office. I took to coming in early on weekdays, every day, opening a box of lingerie and putting on panties, slips, teddies, stockings, and bras under my business suits, so I could feel them hugging and tugging at me all day long, then undressing and stowing them again after Darlene had left for the day. I had the Reception area of the office mirrored, which made it look bigger, and pleased Darlene because now she could see herself from her desk by looking in any direction. Saturday or Sunday I'd plead heavy overwork to Jill and head for the office, and then I'd spend the day in a specially treasured dress or pants suit, or just pass the time changing from outfit to outfit, admiring myself a little wistfully in each, then trying the next.
Jill's mood seemed different after my unconditional surrender, or maybe it was how she felt about me that changed, along with her idea of who she had married. Obviously I was no longer her Prince Charming, but some kind of would-be excuse for an imitation woman or an imitation gay man, neither one nor the other. We fixed dinners for each other as we had in the past, but instead of saying appreciative things when I put in extra effort or she especially liked something, she'd say "Well, at least this one came out all right, for once." Or if a dish wasn't to her liking, then she'd say, "If you can't do it properly, why do you try to do it at all?" When her turn to cook came around, as often as not she'd pick up takeout on the way home from work. She did not wish to serve me.
In bed she behaved the same way. She was never an enthusiastic lover, as I've explained, but now Jill ...well...was not even affectionate. When I would put an arm around her as we settled in to sleep, instead of snuggling in at me she just lay there, and if I began to caress her she'd say "Didn't we do this already this month?" or "I'd rather sleep, but if you have to, try to pay attention to my needs for once." After a while I quit trying. She didn't seem to mind. But at work, whenever I stepped into a pair of hi-cut nylon panties I would get all the more excited, and after a while whenever I was dressed I would masturbate like a teenager. On weekends at the office, when I saw my mirrored image in an exquisite white chiffon summer dress, I could hardly keep my hands off myself, and I didn't.
I wondered if talk of separation or a divorce was in order, but I realized I shouldn't raise the topic -- she'd simply say "You'd like that, wouldn't you!", and leave me all the more aware that she would rather continue to punish me for not being the person she had thought I was. There was a breach of contract here, and I had penalties to pay. We had our circles of friends, and we went to parties and dinners with them, and Jill never let on there was a problem. As a lawyer and as a woman, she hated to lose, and she wouldn't quit with me even after she was convinced she had married a world class loser. And I realized I didn't want to lose her. She wasn't fun, but her certainty strengthened me. I didn't want to live on my own any more. I needed her. I wondered whether the feminine in me was responding to the masculine in her, but I couldn't think that one through, and I decided finally that she'd get over her resentment if I waited her out.
Then something odd happened. Darlene looked disturbed one afternoon as I came through the outer office, wrestling through things in her purse, and opening and closing her lower drawers as if looking for something. "Something missing?" I asked her. "Not exactly," she said. She hesitated. "Uh, you don't happen to keep any tampons with your bras and skirts and things in the utility room, do you?" I was shocked, and said nothing. I replayed her words in my head unbelievingly. "Oh, never mind," she said, "I'll check next door and see if Vera or any of the other girls has any to spare." She started to get up. My hair still stood up, and I felt struck in the stomach. I had to answer something, so I said carefully, "No, why do you ask?" Mistake right off. Better if I wasn't supposed to know what "Jill" had put in those boxes. Darlene was still looking for her purse when she replied absent-mindedly, "Oh, I've run out, and I thought maybe when you got dressed up in those cute outfits you also put in a tampon. My brother did. I better go see if Vera can help me." She got up, went out, and headed down the corridor.
I went back into my office, and sat down with my mind roiled and running half-crazed. She knew! But she didn't seem to care that she knew! I had been hiding from her for months. But to Darlene, my dreadful secret was no more than a possible source for tampons in an emergency. What was my next move? Should I seem not to understand what she had said? And if I didn't understand, should I let it pass, or should I go back out there and ask her to explain it? Should I deny that I ever "dressed up" in those clothes? I couldn't, because I didn't know how she knew. Maybe somehow she'd seen me and there was no way I could lie about it. Here was my worst nightmare come true a second time, my ultimate humiliation known at the office as well as at home. And it meant nothing at all to her.
I decided to take my cue from her, and without confessing anything to ask her about her brother, as if none of this was a big deal or even a little one. I waited until I heard her come back, and a little apprehensive, I stood up and started over toward her reception area. Somehow I felt that my life was about to change. It was a little exciting. I told myself to calm down.
Chapter 2
I stood in the doorway. "Darlene, would you come into my office for a moment," I asked. She picked up her Steno book and headed toward me, with a questioning look when she saw I was a little distracted. I shut the door as she came in and she looked even more puzzled -- the outer office was empty, shut the door against who? Then I went back behind my desk and sat down, and she settled into her usual chair when taking dictation, and I folded my hands on the desk and leaned forward, trying to look only casually concerned. "Um, uh, you know ...," I began, "Ah, tell me about your brother."
She looked alarmed. "Why, is he in trouble again? He promised my mother that he wouldn't...."
"No, no," I broke in. "I'm sure he's fine. I mean, tell me about his putting on women's...er...clothing. Didn't you say he did that."
Darlene looked relieved. "Why yes, he did. He does, I mean. I mean he's a woman now, so why shouldn't he? She!"
I was bewildered. "Your brother is a woman?"
"Why yes," she was puzzled I should ask. "Hormones and operations and everything." Light dawned in her eyes. "That's how he had a place to put a tampon," she said helpfully. "Or she has a place to put one, now. But when she was still my brother and not my sister, he would put one in his other place anyhow just so he could feel more comfortable when he wore his women's things. That's why I thought maybe you did too." Darlene obviously thought she had now cleared up all the mysteries.
"Uh, Darlene," I said, looking out the window as if not much interested in my next question or her answer to it, "Why do you think those are my clothes in the ... uh...coffee room?"
"Why, aren't they? Your wife is going to miss them if they're not. Why else do you keep them here? Why not just give them away if they're hers and she doesn't want them? Besides," she said, and she smiled reminiscently, "they fit you beautifully. You look darling in some of them."
"You've seen me wearing those...uh...clothes, Darlene?" I asked in the gentlest and steadiest voice I could manage, though I was now beginning to feel, well, strange.
"Oh yes," her enthusiasm picked up. "A few times I'd come by the office on the weekend to pick up something, and there you were in your office, or looking at yourself in the mirrors in the reception area, wearing the sweetest things. You looked just dear. Well, you never noticed, and you were so busy I thought I shouldn't disturb you, so I didn't." She looked thoughtful and a bit troubled now. "I've also seen you change into panties and bras and things in the morning, when you got in before me. But I get in pretty early. Tell me," she continued, "I've always been curious. Why don't you put your panties and underthings on at home before you come in? Don't you wake up in time?"
I decided that only the truth would serve. This whole conversation was already touched by lunacy. I needed to keep it real. "My wife doesn't like to see me wearing women's clothes, Darlene." I tried to suppress a note of sadness. "She told me to take them out of the house. That's why I brought them here. That's why I get dressed in them here."
"Oh," Darlene said. She seemed satisfied with my answer, as if my wife was peculiar but entitled to her own inexplicable likes and dislikes same as everyone else. "You know," she said, still thoughtful, "this office isn't really a good place for dressing and undressing. And it's really no place at all for putting on makeup, if you're starting from scratch, because you can't clean up properly afterward. You use way too much kleenex. Sometimes on Monday morning the wastebaskets are all full."
My God! The wastebaskets! I used them without thinking!
Darlene gathered up her Steno pad and pencil, and gathered herself to stand up. "Would you mind if I suggested something?" she asked. She saw I was looking at her, mildly curious. "Why don't you bring all those boxes to my place? You could get dressed and undressed there all you want. I wouldn't mind. You wouldn't be in the way. I have an extra bedroom you can use to get dressed. I even have an extra dressing table where you can keep your makeup. It would be a lot easier for you, wouldn't it?" She waited for a reply.
"Yes, it would," I said.
"Then let me know when you'd like to bring them over. I'll clear the extra room and that can be yours." She giggled. "Not to sleep in of course. I don't think your wife would like that."
"No," I said. But Darlene was already out the door and back at her desk. I didn't know what I was saying "No" to, but it didn't seem to matter. Nobody was listening. I seemed to have said "Yes" to everything.
That evening when Darlene was leaving she stopped at the door to my office to let me know, as she always did. I thought I should say something that would show that her boss was grateful to her, and interested in her well-being. "Uh, Darlene," I said, "Uh, did you ever find a tampon?"
"Oh yes," she replied, smiling broadly. She had a terrific smile, but usually she felt too distracted to unleash it on me. Not now. I got both barrels, and felt staggered. Darlene didn't have smarts, but she had it where it mattered. And she was gorgeous! "Vera had some spares. Now I'm keeping a box in my desk, just in case. Let me know if you ever need any."
I still don't know what she meant by that last offer. Maybe nothing. But a week later I moved in with her, or my clothes did. She gave me her spare room, with its walk-in closet, and I hung everything up, and put everything in two dressers, and laid out my makeup on her extra dressing table, and got a spare key from her, and went home to fix dinner for Jill. It was my night to fix dinner. I felt wonderfully cheerful, and a little bit guilty, because I was setting up with another woman to violate an implicit understanding with my wife. But I wasn't violating the letter of the law Jill had laid down. I had never promised Jill I'd abstain from wearing my beloved women's clothes, and this arrangement with Darlene was all really very innocent. Jill ate without a word, then went in to watch the nightly news on TV. For once I didn't feel snubbed.
We settled into a routine over the next few months, Darlene and I. On weekdays I stopped by her place on my way to the office, and put on my brassiere and panties, or maybe panty-hose, or a girdle, or a slip, and then my regular shirt and tie if I was meeting a client, or an open necked shirt if I was just planning to work at the office, and then we'd drive in to work together. At the end of the day I'd drive her home and change back. On whatever day I told Jill I was heading for the office, Saturday or Sunday, or sometimes both, I'd go to Darlene's place and dress up in whatever felt right -- a mini, or a long skirt and blouse, or a cocktail dress, and do my face and my hair, and then I'd lounge around and watch television, or fix some sandwiches for lunch, or read, or work on some client's problem, and imagine I was a lady doing all of these things, and feel very good about it. Darlene never bothered me. She slept late on weekends, for one thing. When she woke up she'd head drowsily into the kitchen, and if I was there I'd have a fresh pot of coffee ready for her. If she liked whatever I was wearing she'd compliment me on it, and sometimes make suggestions, or chat about her own wardrobe, or about similar tastes among her friends, and without ever discussing anything other than the most superficial things we got to feel quite friendly, even intimate. I felt accepted for what I was. We were like girlfriends gossipping at breakfast. When Darlene would head off to shower and dress and set out for her own day's activities, I'd feel very good about her, and very grateful. .
Which may be why I made the first of several mistakes. One morning when I was driving Darlene to work she turned suddenly toward me and said, "You know, I think you'd be prettier if your hair were a little brighter. I don't mean blonde or anything, but maybe some sun streaks. And have you ever thought about getting a perm? When you set it in rollers it would have much more body if you had a good perm down under to begin with."
I reminded Darlene that I was not free to change my hair into a specifically feminine style or color, because my wife would notice. And besides, since I was a man, many things that made women beautiful weren't appropriate for me.
This notion puzzled Darlene. "That's not true. Sun streaks look natural. And with your shape of face, wearing your hair a little fuller on the sides would be, kind of, nicer. Even sexier. Better groomed, like Faye Dunaway. Especially now that you're letting it grow out. I'll show you next weekend."
I don't know what possessed me, maybe the idea that Darlene could make me look like Faye Dunaway, but the next Sunday I was sitting in a chair with a sheet tucked and pinned around my neck while Darlene snipped and primped and toned my hair with scissors and combs and brushes and swabs, until by early afternoon she was done. She took out the rollers and combed me out, and I was gorgeous! My hair had never looked so full, and soft, and lustrous. I was delighted, really rapturous, and when Darlene finally released me so I could stand up I turned and took her by the shoulders and planted a kiss full on her lips. "You were right, Darlene! This is really beautiful! I love it!" And while I looked at my new hairdo my fingers moved up to soften a wave here and to tuck in a curl there. The gesture was instinctively feminine, I recognized at once, and I was all the more delighted by what Darlene had done.
Darlene turned soft in response, no longer matter-of-fact but strangely quiet. "Jack" she said, looking me over closely. "There's one more thing that needs to be done. Why don't you sit down again, and I'll take care of it for you."
I sat down again, and Darlene put some manicure scissors and tweezers within easy reach on a table just behind me. "Now that your hair is curved so beautiful," she said, "your eyebrows need to be shaped a little better. Your bangs don't cover them any more. Just hold still."
And to my astonishment she straddled my lap and sat down on it facing me, her legs spread wide and gripping mine on either side, her crotch rubbing directly on mine, her breasts just under my nose, her beautiful eyes studiously serious as she stared intently at my eyebrows, not quite looking into my eyes. "I think a higher arch would be more beautiful," she said. And as she reached for the tweezers behind me she tightened the grip of her thighs on mine and lifted her whole body up and forward in a single motion. Her breasts brushed my face. I should point out that we were both wearing only bras and slips, so as not to get hair clippings on our dresses. I meant to pull on some panty-hose when I finished dressing, and knowing I'd be covered by a sheet while Darlene did my hair I hadn't bothered to pull on panties. Now, with Darlene posting on my lap like a circus equestrienne riding a stallion bareback, I could feel from the heat and moisture between her legs that she also wore no panties.
In a state of shock I sat very still, and like an overgrown child she twisted back, tweezed, lifted her elbow and twisted forward, tweezed, wriggled her delicious fanny on my crotch, and tweezed yet again. Needless to say, beneath my slip I had a raging boner pressing directly into the opening of her pussy. She seemed not to notice as she studied the sculpting of slightly higher arches onto my eyebrows, and tweezed, and trimmed some of my longer eyebrow hairs with the manicure scissors, and tweezed, and finally posted herself up off my crotch again with a single squeeze of her powerful thighs, to place her instruments back on the table behind me. I didn't dare move. "There, it's done!" she said with a satisfied nod of her head. And still holding herself up, with a single swift movement of one hand she lifted the hem of my slip beneath her to my waist, and then settled herself down onto my stiff prick, now tucked deep inside her.
"Oh God!" I said.
"You really are beautiful now!" she said in reply. And as I had done with her a few minutes earlier she rested her hands on my shoulders, leaned slightly forward, and kissed me full on the lips. Then she sat back with my cock imprisoned inside her pussy by the full weight of her body, and said with a satisfied smile, "Mission accomplished!"
That day we paid no more attention to my coiffure. I buried my face in her abundant, perfumed breasts, and with both hands stroked her back and sides along her satin slip, and looked up at her face to see that she was looking down at me, her eyes half-closed, hooded under their lids, her lips apart and still slightly smiling. I rocked my pelvis slightly as if to seat myself deeper inside her, and felt the base of my prick snug up tight against her. She was deliciously wet and warm, and I as I rocked back down again she lifted herself up with a squeeze of her thighs, and I slid along inside her in an excruciatingly slow progress until my tip was nearly released by her pussy lips. Then we reversed direction again, also slowly. Whatever her horsemanship, she rode me superbly, slowly spurring me from a walk to a trot to a canter to a full gallop in which we were each shrieking, bound violently together in a single rhythm, each unaware that the other was making a sound, both of us out of our minds. Finally I exploded, and spent what seemed buckets inside her, while she crushed my face into her chest and arched her own face back, toward the ceiling, screaming "AaaaaaHHHHH!" with her eyes tight shut, her pussy squeezing and squeezing me over and over in spasms out of control, until finally we both subsided and collapsed onto each other, dripping with sweat.
As I softened I began to leak out of her onto my crotch, but she made no move to dismount. The afterglow went on, and we sat quietly in each others' arms. Finally she opened her eyes and looked at me and said, "That was very nice. Do you think your wife will mind?"
"What do you mean?" I asked, stalling for time and in fact wondering why she felt she should ask that question.
"I mean, your having sex with a lesbian. Doesn't that make her one in a way too, all three of us being women?"
I was baffled, but tried not to let on. "Darlene, you're a lesbian?"
"Why yes, Jack, I thought you knew. Some boys I know are friends, but I don't have any boyfriends. To really enjoy myself I have girlfriends. Always. Ever since I can remember." She hugged me, rather sweetly. "Now you're my favourite girlfriend. You're very nice. You don't even need a rubber penis the way my other girlfriends do."
"No, I guess I don't." We were back in Darlene's own world. I tried a new tack. "Uh, Darlene, you do know that I'm not really a woman."
"Well, yes, I guess so, in a way. But you're so much like my brother, and he loved to pretend he was a woman, and it turned out he wasn't pretending. And you love to pretend that you're a woman. And now look at you."
"Well, I can't look at me, exactly," I said.
"Here," Darlene said. She reached over my shoulders again to the little table behind me and picked up a hand mirror lying there, and leaned back to show me my face reflected in it. My heart rose up and sank down, in both directions together it felt like. There over each of my mascaraed eyes was a thin, high, aristocratic arch of an eyebrow in such a delicately feminine curve that I felt a new erection begin just from looking at them. At the same time I realized that there was no way for me to disguise those fine traceries over each eye so they would look masculine when I got home. With my hair teased out to frame my cheeks and my eyebrows plucked I had a woman's face.
"Oh, God!" I said again.
"Jack," Darlene said. "What's your real name?"
"What?"
"I want to call you by your girl name. I'd feel better about what we're doing. Don't you have one?"
"Yes, I do Darlene. Ever since I was a little kid, and got hooked by my first bra, I've liked to think that a girl named Jane lives inside me and is using me to dress herself. I'm Jane."
"That's so nice. Jane. Does your wife ever make love to Jane?"
"No, Darlene. No way."
"Well, then," Darlene said. "I guess there's no problem."
Again I didn't ask her what she meant. I guess I didn't want to know. She sighed and snuggled down onto me again, and I began to grow harder under her, and soon I was inside her again.
Well, the rest of that afternoon, and early into the evening, I never did finish getting dressed. Darlene and I made love. When we were exhausted by our second session with Darlene astride my lap, she suggested that we go to bed together and make love properly. This time I understood her. "You mean like girlfriends," I suggested, and she agreed. By this time my pecker was slack, and I was willing to try anything that didn't require a hard on. It turns out that's what Darlene had in mind too. First she ran a tub, perfumed, and we both slipped in giggling, glued to each other. We fondled and stroked each other's slick bodies, and Darlene's fingers found my asshole under water, tracing the clamped, puckered opening. We began to grow passionate, stood up, and dried each other off slowly, exquisitely slowly. Then we each of us fixed our hair and put on our makeup carefully, each of us anxious to look pretty for the other. I slipped into my most delicate nightgown -- one I'd never worn to bed before, because I'd never been able to wear a nightgown at night. Then once we were snug together, lying on our sides, facing each other and smiling, the world turned radiant. Our hands reached out to each others' bodies, and we looked into each others' eyes, and smiled, and caressed each other, and closed our eyes only to moan softly, and then open them again. I touched Darlene's nipples and she reached for my penis, and we softly fondled each other, until we each came yet again! Then we reached even greater intimacy with out mouths and fingers.
Darlene and I tried anything and everything, one after another, and everything we did was wonderful. The key to Darlene's enjoyment of her lesbian relationship with me was gentleness. Her mouth was soft, and her tongue, and so was mine as we tasted and teased and tickled each other, and licked, and kissed, and sucked, and probed. I went down on her in an act of loving devotion, and sucked and tongued her as sweetly as I knew how, and she bent over my soft dildo clit, as she called it, and licked and stroked it with her lips. When it was time for me to leave, just after dark, when my plucked eyebrows might go unnoticed, Darlene and I hugged each other goodbye with respect and affection and gratitude and appreciation.
But not with love. We two girls, as Darlene thought of us, were having fun being girls together. For Darlene it was no more complicated than that. On Monday when I stopped in as usual to change to my bra and panties and take Darlene to work, her only conversation, as always in the car, had to do with a sitcom on TV. On Saturday we were passionate girlfriends again, and I was in heaven. Darlene seemed altogether content that I was the girl with the dildo, though she was sometimes concerned that I kissed and licked her pussy and also fucked it, while she couldn't exactly reciprocate in kind with me, and had to settle for kissing and licking my dildo clit or my anal opening. Another time she asked me why I got nervous whenever she suggested we go out, maybe, for dinner and a movie. I told her my hips were already too heavy, and I was trying to lose weight. She thought I was slim enough, but understood how a girl feels about her figure.
There was no problem when I got home that first night. Jill was already asleep, and the next morning when I woke I could hear she she was finishing her coffee and heading out the door. I headed for the bathroom, and saw I was fortunate she hadn't seen me. My hair was beautifully puffed out, with large stray curls tumbling here and there and falling behind my ears, and my brows were plucked delicately high, amused, inquiring, slightly surprised, slightly disdainful, unmistakably dainty and feminine. I realized I had no makeup to cover them with, not even an eyebrow pencil, and decided that today I had better find a theatrical speciality store before Jill got home. At least glued-on male eyebrows weren't on her list of proscribed contraband.
When I took a shower I discovered another problem. Darlene had given me a "Body-Perm", a light permanent wave to help form and hold the large curls of hair she thought my face required. When those curls were set with large rollers, each hair lay neatly against the next. But now, stepping out of the shower, I saw my wet hair was sinuously waved, hanging down in cascading ringlets. It didn't straighten when it dried, and I thought I was going to have to pay the ultimate penalty for my indulgence of Darlene, and get the permed part cut off. But I wet it again, and a blow-dryer and careful brushing brought it to an approximation of its former appearance. Close enough, anyhow. I would have to be careful never to let Jill see me with my hair wet.
I found just the right hairpieces for my eyebrows, and attached them with spirit gum, trimmed them back, and decided they would do. That night was my turn to cook. I brought home prepared food from the supermarket, heated it, and served it. I realized then that I was safe enough. She never seemed to bother to look at me as she ate, and when she got up from the table I noticed she looked away, as if I were still some kind of embarrassment to her.
But there were things for her to notice without my knowing it, I realized later. My bubble baths with Darlene left a faint perfume on my skin, and then on my bedsheets, and it was three or four weeks before I noticed. I began drowning the scent with an aftershave, and Jill commented on my peculiar, sudden dedication to perfumed smells, hardly ever used earlier. My stage eyebrows were a problem when I slept. Once she found one near the kitchen doorway and called me. I immediately declared it a caterpillar, and stomped on it before scooping it out of her sight. But first I instinctively felt to see if one was missing from my brow, and she may have noticed that off gesture.
Once, Darlene mentioned offhand that Jill sometimes called my office on weekends when I was supposed to be working there, and getting no answer left a message on Voicemail. I checked each week after that, and found that more often that not Jill was indeed checking up on me. Thereafter I called the Voicemail service from Darlene's house every few hours, each week. If there was a message from Jill I immediately called her back with a variety of excuses why I hadn't picked up the first time.
But what really set Jill on the trail of her errant husband was the oldest of all evidences of infidelities, lipstick on a shirt collar. That it was my lipstick, from pulling on my shirt over my head before I removed my makeup, didn't matter at all. If she had confronted me with it, I might finally have gone on the attack, and asked her angrily what a man with a frigid and sullen wife and a compulsion to crossdress should be expected to do. I had already begun fantasying myself married to Darlene, becoming her mindless girlfriend for life, and the sexual advantages didn't seem that bad seeing that Jill and I were no longer companionable in any other ways. My life might have been different, if I'd done that. But Jill may have sensed this, because she found the shirt in the laundry and still she said nothing.
Months went by. All those months of blissfully transgressive, transgendered heaven may be more than anyone deserves, but I had that much happiness as Darlene's in-house girl friend. I'll always have it. I'll never forget it. But it ended.
One Friday afternoon Darlene's concept of me collided with Jill's. Darlene called home when I was out, and got our phone answerer, and left a business message for me. Then she called back and left a message for Jane apologizing that she had borrowed one of my dresses and stained it, and was very sorry, but it was ready at the cleaners if I wanted to pick it up on the way over tomorrow, and she'd lend me one of hers any time in repayment, she thinks she has a few that would fit with just a little less padding in my brassiere. Then she phoned again, and left a message for Jack to be sure to erase that message for Jane, because she shouldn't have left it on Jack's answerer. Jill picked up all three of these messages from her office, I learned later, then left them for me to hear when I got home. I erased them in a panic. But Jill seemed no different that evening, so I relaxed.
The next morning I was at Darlene's, my hair piled high and curly on my head, wearing long dangly earrings because Darlene loved to feel them between her legs, and they were clipons so there was no danger they might tear my earlobes if she squeezed her thighs too tight, and I was also wearing the sweetest little Teddy, with my lipstick smudged from nibbling on Darlene's nipples, and with Darlene's lipstick smudged all over my face, when the doorbell chimed and then, because Darlene had left the door unlocked for me, Jill walked in. She didn't say a word. She looked at me and lifted a camera, and flashed a picture of me, and then another, and then one of Darlene, and then she walked to a corner of the room and took one of the two of us together, and then another, and then she went back out through the door and closed it behind her.
Darlene and I looked at each other. I knew she would say something silly, wondering whether her hair was combed nicely for those pictures, or wondering what they were for, or why Jill didn't stay for coffee, so I just went over and held Darlene, and hugged her, and kissed her, and looked at her tenderly, and kissed her again. It was very sad. It was over.
Chapter 3
Jill never did say anything about her discovery of my little tryst with Darlene, and I never saw those pictures she took either, and she never referred to them again. She didn't have to. I knew she would use them ruthlessly any time it suited her purposes. She knew what I most feared about my crossdressing was exposure, and she knew I knew she knew, so nothing needed to be said. I spent that night in a motel, and spent Sunday at the office hoping for a phone call and dreading one if it came, though none did. Again at the motel Sunday night, and again at the office on Monday, with only business calls. Darlene, miraculously, had worked out that I wasn't going to be stopping by her place to change my underthings any more, nor to drive her to work, but she was otherwise her usual sweet, simple self, untouched by my domestic catastrophe.
For a few more months after Jill discovered me with Darlene nothing happened. Oh things changed at home all right. On Monday I came home from work feeling seedy from too many days in the same clothes, and found our bedroom door had a new lock on it -- now it was her bedroom door. Without forcing the issue, that night I slept once again in the spare bedroom. A day later I asked her to let me in long enough to get my suits and shirts and socks out, and she shouted furiously "No! Wear your dresses, you freak!." It seemed better not to ask a second time, so I bought a few new men's jackets and pants and things, just enough to get by until things took shape or settled back down. Meanwhile Darlene gave notice that she was leaving town to work for another company, and had enjoyed working for me, and had enjoyed getting to know Jane, and that I should collect my things from her place. So I did. I couldn't bring myself to throw them out but I certainly couldn't start wearing them again either. So I boxed them and put them into the garage. Time passed.
Jill had nothing to say to me. We lived like strangers bedded down in the same motel, each without knowledge of the other. I tried starting up conversations and she stared at me impassively. I cooked a terrific dinner one evening, and the smells saturated the house by the time she got home, but when I asked her when I should serve it she just said "Whenever you want -- I'm going out!" Then she went out. I came home once to the smell of something cooking, went eagerly into the kitchen, and found only empty pans in the sink -- Jill had prepared and eaten her own dinner, then left for the evening. Soon we were both eating most of our meals out, me by myself, Jill with different women friends in different restaurants, I learned from time to time through the grapevine, and I wondered what that grapevine might not be telling me.
I wondered especially what she was telling her friends, and what they were telling her. When I called a few, they seemed to know no more than that I'd hurt Jill terribly and that no apology could possibly make amends, at best only time could heal things. One asked if I had hit her, and when I replied "No, nothing like that, I couldn't do that" she just replied "No, I didn't think so, you're such a wuss." I took due note that I'd lost that round either way. They all advised me that the storm would pass, to wait it out .
We did see each other at breakfast. Then Jill often looked directly at me, as if I were some kind of problem she'd have to get around to fixing one of these days, or couldn't quite figure how to fix yet. I usually avoided looking at her. Plainly she didn't yet know what she wanted to do, and didn't want to feel rushed into any decisions, and I took that as a good sign. After maybe ten or twelve weeks of this silent treatment, one evening we found we were sharing the living room as if we were together instead of each of us home alone, and I asked her if we could talk. She just said, "If you want, I won't stop you." So I took a deep breath, and with my life hanging on it I began.
I told her I was devastated, and would do nearly anything if we could resume our marriage. I told her that my crossdressing was harmless in itself, and a compulsion I couldn't resist. I pointed out that in a sense her absolute prohibition of it at home had forced me to the office and then into the arms of that bimbo. I told her I wasn't doing it now, but that sooner or later I was bound to resume it, I had purged and binged too many times not to know that. I begged her forgiveness. I offered to absorb any revenge or punishment she wanted to inflict upon me, and to meet any conditions she might set if only she would end her long silence. Any. I told her I loved her. I told her I was terribly sorry for having been unfaithful to her. I went down on my knees, and I started to cry.
She listened to all this with her face expressionless, looking at me the whole time. Then when I was on the floor sobbing, apparently done, she said merely, "I heard you. I'll let you know." Then she turned back to the book in her lap and dismissed my existence.
Two days later we met at breakfast, and just before she left for work, already wearing her coat and with her briefcase in hand, she paused at the kitchen door and said, "Are you ready to listen?" I nodded, speechless. "Ok," she said, "I've thought about this. I've talked to a lot of people about it, and I've gotten advice, and I've looked at a lot of options, and I've worked out what I want for me, and what I want for you, and what I want for us, and I know now that there is a way we can both of us have what we want, even if it isn't what we thought we wanted. It's the only way, and I'm not going to tell you what it is. What I'm telling you now is what I want for you now. That's all that concerns you, and that's all you're going to hear." I nodded again, still afraid to say a word.
She went on. "You're right in one respect. When I forbid you to wear women's clothing around me I was asking too much from you. You can't help it. It's like an addiction you're born with, and you can't be blamed for that. I thought I was marrying one kind of man, and I found I'd married another. It disgusts me to see my own husband parading around thinking he looks like a woman, but I can control my disgust, and I can change the way I feel about your...addiction. I know how to do that, now. And I will. I'm going to let you dress like a princess or like a whore at home, again, since you must. But only when it suits my purposes. And my purposes are mine."
"But nothing drove you to have an affair with that floozie. You violated our marriage with her. You gave in to easy temptation, and for that you owe me, and owe me dear, and for that you're going to pay me. Don't assume you're forgiven, or that there aren't punishments in store. I have plans for you. You have a way to go, and you're only just beginning. You said you'd do anything and agree to anything if I'd resume with you, and I mean to hold you to it. Anything."
I nodded, afraid to hear what she was going to say next, but eager to hear it.
"From now on you do not put on women's clothes, or makeup, or airs, unless I tell you you can. It may be a week, or a month, or six months before I tell you you can do it, but you will control yourself. Trust me, the time will come. But you'll do it when I say so, not when you want to. If it happens that when I say you can, you don't feel like it any longer, I won't complain. Then we can be together again the way we were, or the way I thought we were, maybe. But that's too much to hope for. From now on, you will be a woman when I tell you to be a woman, and only when I tell you. Is that clear?"
I nodded again, a slowly rising joy beginning to replace my fears. In a way this sounded like a fulfilment of my wildest fantasy, that my wife might participate with me, and guide me, even order me to dress up. What she then said confirmed it.
"When you next want to be a woman, and I want you to be one, you will do what I tell you. I will make suggestions about what to wear and how, and what's suitable and what isn't, and what I want you to do when you're dressed, and where I think you fall short. You may think that being female is a game. I don't. If you're going to do it, you are going to do it right. Any time I suggest anything, you will cancel any notions you may have concocted for yourself, and you will agree with me, and you will be happy that you agree with me, and you will thank your lucky stars that you agree with me, because I'm right and you're not. My suggestions are absolute commands as far as you're concerned. And you will never hesitate to think of them that way, no matter how odd any of them may sound to you. Is that clear? "
I nodded, my eyes beginning to fill.
"There are some real obstacles ahead for you, and I'm going to enjoy watching you trying to deal with them. You said you'd meet any conditions and I mean to hold you to that promise. Now do you agree to everything I've said? Absolutely, unconditionally, nothing held back?"
I nodded. For some reason I was feeling a small stirring in my loins, listening to her speak of hidden plans for me.
"Then here's the key to our bedroom. That cheap sport jacket you've been wearing to work for the past month is a joke. Put on something that looks decent. The Harris Tweed is nice."
I nodded, not believing my ears. My exile from our bedroom was over? But not quite. Not just yet. "Take the rest of your men's clothes into your room. You aren't going to wear any other kinds of clothes for the time being, so you might as well wear decent ones. Then lock the bedroom again and leave the key for me on the front hall table. I may be in late again tonight."
I heard her.
"And those women's clothes you've got packed up in the garage. Bring them into your room too. I'll want to look them over some time, to see what we've got to work with."
I heard her.
"And let your lease at your office expire. You are through working, for now. Maybe for good. Pass your clients on to someone else. I want you where I know you are twenty-four hours a day. I'll be the breadwinner who goes to work in the morning, and you can be the housewife who takes care of the house. I'll have full charge of the money and you'll have full charge of household matters." She looked sly for a moment. "Maybe some day I'll let you be the housewife who looks pretty for me when I come home from work, but don't get your hopes up."
There was a lump in my throat. I just stared at her and nodded.
"And dear, you remember that dinner you cooked up a couple of months ago when you were feeling guilty, and you hoped you could buy me off or that I'd let you off easy, and you found I wanted no part of you? I can tell you now that it smelled delicious. If you can fix it again for tomorrow evening, I'll pick up a decent wine to go with it, and I think we can begin to enjoy being with each other again. I do still love you, and there are many things about you I admire. But don't think for a moment that this is going to be easy for you."
And with that last remark she disappeared through the door and was gone.
More weeks went by, and we gradually resumed our old relationship, except that I was still locked out of our bedroom, and some nights she went out without a word to me, and I didn't dare ask her where when she came back, not too late usually, maybe by midnight or a little later. I no longer dressed up, and she said nothing more about it. I would stand wistfully in front of my closetful of pretty things, looking at them not daring to touch them. One day she told me that I could set out my cosmetics on my dressing table, but not use any, so I did, no questions asked. Then another week passed with nothing more said.
One evening she laid out a new arrangement for us. She told me she was giving me a green light for whatever I wanted to wear, women's clothes or men's, but with an absolute condition I must obey absolutely. It was this. In any one 24 hour period, from eight a.m. to eight a.m. the following morning, I could wear the clothing appropriate to either gender, either male or female, whichever I chose. Whatever gender I was imitating when she left the house just after eight each day, she said, was my gender for the day and for the evening. If I was in a peignoir for breakfast and I had to go shopping that day, then I would wear a dress to go shopping or I wouldn't go shopping at all. If she left me in men's pants, she wanted to see me in pants when she returned -- not necessarily the same ones, of course. If we were going out together to visit friends that night, I had better know it when I woke up that morning, because at eight a. m. we would both know what kinds of clothes I would be wearing that night. So I had better begin planning ahead. Unisex clothes were out, she said. I would have to choose who I was, each day, Jack or Jane. And then hope the house didn't catch fire, to force me into the street wearing a minidress or a tutu.
I thought this was just wonderful, and it was! The first morning I woke early and bathed and slipped on my prettiest silk dress, and did my hair, and made myself up carefully, and went down to prepare breakfast for the two of us. I was so excited! I primped and fussed, and when Jill came down I couldn't quite contain my shy pleasure. She looked me over.
"Not bad," she said, amused at my eager modesty. "Maybe you'll be worth the trouble. Are you going somewhere after I leave for work?"
"Oh, no," I reassured her hastily. "Not in a dress. I wouldn't dare."
"No, I suppose not," said Jill. "But aren't you a little overdressed for just breakfast when you aren't going anywhere?"
"I wanted to look nice," I said, a little disappointed in her reaction. "For you."
"For me," she replied. "Well, I suppose you need to express your feminine side, as you say. But try to dress appropriately. That dress is more suitable for tonight, for dinner. Are we eating out?"
I knew she was teasing me, or maybe needling me, and said nothing.
"Jack," she said, "Or, Jane, since today you're Jane. Something else. That dress does a lot for your figure, but you have to help it. You have no waistline. You look too chunky, too much like a man in a dress, or like some middle-aged woman who's let herself go. You need to nip in at the waist, at least a little. For now, from now on you're on a diet. Toast and black coffee for breakfast, a small cottage cheese salad for lunch, no more, starve yourself all day, and eat half of whatever you were planning to serve yourself for dinner. Decide on a regimen and stick with it. From now on. Whether you're dressing as a man or a woman. The discipline will be good for you. Go hungry all day." She paused. "And anyhow, you obviously like to shop. I want you into size 14 by the end of next month, and when you reach size 12 I'll let you replace your wardrobe. Not until then. Understood?"
I understood. She wanted moment by moment control over me, and any time I felt like snaking during the day, she wanted me to be reminded that she was in control and I had better not. I nodded.
Mostly, when I knew I could stay at home all day and evening I fixed breakfast for her in a blouse and denim skirt or the like, looking as neat as I could, with just a touch of eye makeup and wearing a subdued shade of lipstick, and my hair done simply. Jill would come down, glance at me, say nothing, comment on the weather, or the morning headline, or ask my plans while she was having breakfast, and then leave for work. She never seemed to notice what I was wearing, or how I looked. At dinner time when she came home from work I was happy to greet her in an afternoon dress, or a cocktail dress, or if we were having something special that night, with candlelight, I would put on a long gown and more dramatic makeup and put my hair up for her. I was still dressing for my own satisfaction, of course, but more and more I was dressing for her. I wanted her to admire me, to want me, to love me. But Jill never seemed to notice. She would praise my dinners, and admire the candlelight. But she seemed stone blind to my appearance.
I finally became a size twelve, and began buying new things. But always as a man. I became a familiar figure in stores all over the city and suburbs, buying dresses and lingerie "for my wife" as if she were too feeble to shop for herself. I don't know who I fooled. Some saleswomen would tease me, I realized later, by asking me friendly ambiguous questions like, "Are these for your pleasure or hers" while wrapping and charging some intimate items. I was too embarrassed to pick up on their comments and kid back with them. But for a while, when Jill saw me wearing men's clothes at breakfast she could assume accurately that looking male was not uppermost on my mind.
Twice I had a problem. Once I forgot we were expected for dinner at an friend's house and I began the day in a housedress. When Jill saw me, she said simply, "Is tonight's dinner party the place where, finally, you mean to show the world that you're a transvestite? Or do you think you can pass as a woman when we're expected to show up as a couple? Be sure you have a dinner gown that won't disgrace us in your closet, or you'll have to shop for one this afternoon. I don't think you own anything appropriate at the moment, and I'm certainly not lending you anything of mine." I spent the day hiding in the house terrified, wondering what was the least painful way I could injure myself badly enough to decline the dinner invitation. I was bailed out only by the dinner's last-minute cancellation, because the host had the mumps! Jill noticed that I was a wreck when she got home. I told her about my utter terror at being found out, and what I had been prepared to do to myself. She merely smiled a little grimly and said nothing.
Another time I was wearing skin-tight jeans and a T-shirt tight enough to show my bra and my breastforms when I saw we had run out of charcoal for the barbecued chicken Jill knew I'd planned. Without thinking I left the house dressed as I was and got into the car, and was halfway there before I realized I couldn't pass as either a man or a woman. So I drove further, to a place a half-hour out of town that sold bags of charcoal, sneaked to a far corner, hugged a bag of charcoal to my chest, threw some dollars at a puzzled employee, and fled back to my car. A day later, wearing men's clothes, I bought an oversized woman's sweatshirt to wear if that should ever happen again. Jill allowed that it was not a unisex sweatshirt, because it had small flowers all over it, and said she'd like to see me go out some time at least wearing flowers, if I had the guts. She was only mildly amused when I told her how I had bought the charcoal while my bra was visible. She then asked if I had ever bought myself a topcoat of some kind, and a purse, for when I meant to go out, and I answered "No, what for?" She merely smiled.
Now and then she would make a suggestion, and I took them as commands. Very early on she told me to let my hair grow out, for example, and she showed me how to use a barrette to hold it back when I was in femme mode. She asked me to practice a "lady voice," and then insisted I use it on all appropriate days -- which as it turned out, meant most days. She corrected my occasional lapses of taste, my wearing at the same time two different patterned prints with clashing colors, and I tuned my eye accordingly. Once she told me to do something about my nails, so I went to a unisex salon and had them trimmed, and shaped, and given two coats of clear gloss. Another time she told me to pluck back my eyebrows, "the way they were when you were carrying on with Darlene." I said I thought she hadn't noticed, and she gave me a contemptuous glance and turned away. I was very uneasy the first few times I went out with thin brows arched high over my face, but no one seemed to notice, and after a while I began pencilling their shape even higher on days when I was Jane. When I was in femme mode she insisted I walk, move, and sit like a lady, and after a while her constant correction of me became occasional, and finally unnecessary. In fact, when I sometimes made some effeminate gesture while in male clothes, she'd call my attention to it with sarcastic comments like "Do that again. Your boyfriends will love it."
Then one Friday late afternoon I was vacuuming in the living room when Jill came home a bit early, glanced to see that I was wearing a short cotton skirt and halter top, and went into the kitchen. When I put away the vacuum I saw that she was setting the dining room table for three, using our good silver and good set of dishes. A terrible fright struck the pit of my stomach. I clasped my hands behind me to stop them from shaking.
"What's up?" I asked her in my feminine voice. "Is someone coming for dinner tonight?"
"Yes dear. We have a new Associate at the office, unmarried, not yet settled into town, still living in a motel as a matter of fact. He's been eating out all this time, and he tells me no one has invited him yet for dinner or to meet people. I'd like you to put on your prettiest dress and look especially nice tonight for him."
To be dressed like a woman in front of a stranger! I was petrified! "Jill," I said, "No! I'd feel humiliated. I couldn't possibly. And besides, ...."
Jill cut me off. "Jane," she said sternly, "That's who you are today, Jane. That was your choice this morning. You are already humiliated, in my eyes, and those are the only eyes you need to worry about. You've been making a big deal over your so-called compulsion to dress like a girl. It has almost cost us our marriage. It cost you your dignity and your honour, and it led you to violate your marriage vows, and it cost me my trust in you. Now I'm allowing it, right? You haven't heard a peep from me when I come home night after night and find you're wearing a peignoir, or a silk dress, or a tailored suit, with your hair up in rollers or your face all tarted up. For you it's been a delightful game, titillating and safe! You never dare to go out and risk being seen. You're so afraid of discovery you've never asked me to go out with you to cover for you."
I started to protest I'd never dare ask her, but she cut me off. "Well, now's the time for you to take a nice, safe risk. Stay at home and be a lady and enjoy our dinner guest in your own home."
I felt a little scathed by this argument. She was right. She'd paid most of the cost of my crossdressing until now. "But what if he reads me? What if he comes expecting to see your husband, and sees a husband in drag?"
She dismissed it. "He won't," she said. "I told him my husband was out of town, and that I was having a dear friend over for dinner, and that he'd be welcome to join us, and that maybe he'd like to meet her. That's who he'll see. My dear friend Jane. Let's see if you can pass at least in your own home, this place where you've minced and pranced around hundreds of times. Let's see if you can manage to be a woman in your own home in front of a total stranger who'll come thinking that's what you are and won't see anything else!"
"But why?" I asked. "Why now, in front of a man I've never met?" The question sounded odd even to me -- would I rather it be a man who knew me? "Why not ask a woman I've never met, if you want other people to see me?" I was reaching for any arguments I could find. If a woman saw I was a fraud I'd feel embarrassed, but if a man saw through me I'd feel destroyed!
"Jack," -- and now her voice took on an edge -- "Do it! You want to be Jane, then BE Jane! You'd never fool a woman at close range -- she'd nail you as soon as she looked at you, certainly as soon as you moved. But men never notice how women really look, and how they behave! YOU've never noticed! You wear dresses and lipstick, but you're not at all feminine in the important ways. You still have a lot to learn! You do this and I'll teach you a few things you don't know. I promise! Trust me!" She sounded exasperated and also a little threatening.
Then she smiled, half to herself, and her voice softened. "Here's the truth, Jack, or Jane, or whoever I'm talking to. This little hobby of yours has cost me a lot of grief, but I've accepted it. You've cheated on me, and maybe I drove you to that woman and maybe I didn't -- I'm still working that out. But I won't live with a husband who's chicken- hearted as well as deceitful. I won't live with a closet queen! You want to dress like a woman, do it! You do it, but do it right! Tonight your real education begins. You are going to be a woman in the presence of a man who thinks you're a woman, and you are going to show me that you have the courage to do it! You may not know it, but that's what you want! Go upstairs and get dressed, Jane dear, and be sure you look pretty when you come down! He'll be here in another hour."
I had no option, not if I wanted to retrieve our marriage. I had to accept her challenge. I had always imagined that my first public appearances would be with women who would accept me as one of their own, and shield me from exposure. I had loved the vision of me sitting with other women, and chatting, and going with them to a restaurant for lunch. But this was something else.
Even so, Jill was right, I thought. I have been a wimp. If I'd been more assertive about wanting to dress up in my own home to begin with, I wouldn't have gone to dress up with Darlene, and now Jill wouldn't be feeling betrayed. If I were more of a man I would have been more of a woman to begin with, if that's what I wanted to be. She seemed to think so. She even offered to help me be more of a woman, if I went through with this!
Then a new thought struck me. "Wait a minute. You say you told him 'maybe he'd like to meet me'-- what does that mean? You tell me to put on my prettiest dress? And to be sure I look pretty when I come down? Are you trying to fix me up with him? What if he starts coming on to me? What then?"
She got a very peculiar expression on her face, and looked at me with deliberate care, as if beginning a jury summation. "Well then Jane," she said, taking twice as long as needed to say "Jane", "If he comes on to you, then welcome to the club. That's what men do with women, don't they? That's what you did with that...Darlene of yours, didn't you. You'll just have to learn to deal with it, dear. If he's overwhelmed by your beauty and your charm and he wants to get his hands into your pants, then that will be a new feminine experience for you, won't it?" Her voice grew tighter: "You want feminine experiences, don't you?" Then abruptly, she turned away and went into the kitchen.
I went upstairs feeling uneasy but also a little elated. Finally she
seemed to be thawing. Could it be that my wife was actually trying to fix me up with this new associate of hers. If so, was she trying to embarrass me, to subvert my manhood in my own eyes, the way my cross- dressing had subverted my manhood in her eyes? Maybe she did want me to feel like some queer queen flouncing around trying to attract a man, not the way I liked to think of myself, as a tastefully dressed girl chatting with other girls. Maybe she wanted to see for herself what kind of a woman I could be.
Well, if she was palming me off on him to humiliate me, it wasn't going to work. I would be friendly with him, but preoccupied. I wouldn't notice if he paid especially close attention to me. I would be pleasant, and no more than that.
Still, she was right in a way. If a man did try try to make time with me, that would be a new experience, a kind of affirmation of my femininity I could feel very pleased with. Real women enjoy that kind of reassurance all the time. My loins stirred, and I wondered what it was like to be thought attractive by a complete stranger. I wondered if I should try flirting with him. I began laying out my clothes for the evening. Some especially sexy lingerie, just for fun.
I heard Jill close the oven door and then come up, head into her room, and close her door. I called through it "How are we dressing tonight honey? You mean my prettiest dressy dress, or something more casual?" "That's my darling," she replied. "Don't push it -- we're supposed to be two girls who were planning to have dinner together, with him an extra third asked at the last minute. A nice skirt, not elegant -- say that black belted one that comes to mid-calf on you. Then you'll need a really attractive blouse to go with it, something that'll call attention away from ...your shape. That lovely flowered silk print, the green one? Heels. And no runs in your hosiery!"
The silk print had a bold pattern, cap sleeves, and a deep neckline. It was prim yet revealing, demure but assertive. I loved wearing it. It was me. I gathered my outfit onto the bed and began to feel optimistic. This was the first time my wife had ever praised any of clothes. Before, she had ignored them. Now she showed that she had been noticing, and that she even approved of some. All right! I would dress to please my wife, and not worry about the other man at all. I laid out a pair of medium-heeled black pumps, and went to shower.
Singing away in the shower, feeling good if a little apprehensive, I suddenly realized the blouse she wanted me to wear was short-sleeved and decollete. The hair on my arms and chest would be visible! I had to do something about that. When I dressed to please myself I could ignore such details, as did Doreen for her own obscure reasons. But this was serious. I had to look like a woman at first glance, close up, and maintain the illusion for the whole evening, or else appear ridiculous.
I had no choice. Jill had spoken, so there was no way I could switch blouses and come downstairs wearing something long sleeved and high necked. Besides, I wanted to look pretty for her! With a rueful smile but also a touch of excitement, I stepped out of the shower, reached into the medicine cabinet, took down a razor and shaving cream, and started shaving my whole body, chest, arms, and then for good measure my legs and crotch. It got to be amusing. I decided to give myself a bikini cut even though no one but me would ever see it, thinking that my French-cut panties would look far nicer without pubic hair mixed into their delicate lace edging.
Then I dressed, applied my makeup more carefully than I ever had before, especially the foundation over my beard, but also more sparingly than usual. Mousse, rollers, blow-drying, and combing out, and my hairdo was really rather flattering. I checked myself in the mirror. No raving beauty, but nice, even attractive. I noticed that Jill was already downstairs as I came down, doing things in the kitchen.
She smiled a wide, beautiful smile when she saw me. "How sweet, darling! You remembered to shave everything! That's very nice! And you look just lovely!" I was beside myself with delight. "But dear, you won't take offence if I make one little suggestion? Use a little more eye makeup. You have very nice eyes, and you'll want them to sparkle, and look mysterious, maybe even a little romantic." This puzzled me, but I decided she could still be playing her own game, to make me feel demeaned by a man's attentions, as if I dressed for other men rather than myself and now, her. Or maybe she had finally come around, and she genuinely wanted to help me become beautiful? My heart swelled up. Her tone had been gentle, not taunting, and I went back upstairs to add a little eye shadow, and then slathered on the mascara.
While batting my new, long, thick eyelashes in the mirror, it occured to me that Jill wasn't dressed the way I was dressed. We weren't exactly two girlfriends sharing a cozy evening, having dinner together. Instead, Jill had put on sheer black stockings, a short leather miniskirt I hadn't seen before, and a skin-tight, red stretch blouse with long sleeves gathered at her wrist. Her body and especially her breasts were beautifully sculpted in the fabric. She looked...sexy. The overall effect was tasteful, but still...very sexy.
"I thought we were dressing for a casual evening at home," I said when I came back downstairs, eying her up and down with much appreciation and some concern.
"Oh it is, darling," she said, her head inclined, smiling slightly. "But I want you to know right from the start, this is a very special evening for you. You won't forget it, I promise." She started to grin, skipped into a little dance step, twirled, lifted both her hands up and then out like a ballerina accepting applause, and beamed at me with unrestrained delight.
My exile had ended! Here I was, dressed and coiffed and made up, and I was the man she was dressing to attract! I reached out to embrace her, but she deflected my attempt at a kiss and just barely pressed her powdered cheek to mine, saying "Careful darling, you'll spoil our makeup!"
I LOVED it. "Our" makeup! I really did feel like a girl among girls, rapturously, and with my own wife! Together we finished setting the table, and while she looked after the last of the cooking, I set glasses and a range of drinks out on the sideboard. Now we were ready for her guest.
But not quite yet. Jill gave me a concerned look. "Dear," she said as I opened a bottle of wine to let it breath, "You're already acting like this evening's host, the way you always do. It's as if you lived here. Remember, you're supposed to be my guest tonight. an old friend who feels at home here, but still, this isn't your house. You're not supposed to know where everything is. You may give yourself away."
She paused. "I know. When he gets here it would be better if you weren't here at all. You have too many old habits, greeting people, taking their coats, and we don't want them to surface, do we?" I agreed "So," she said, "When we see him coming up the walk, you slip out the back door, cut across to the next street, then walk around the block and make a separate entry of your own. That should do it."
I wasn't too happy about going outside dressed the way I was, and told her so. I just didn't want to risk it. I never risked it even with Darlene. But she brushed aside my objections. "Oh pooh dear, you look just lovely. Very much a lady. Besides, it's dark out now. There's nothing to worry about. If anyone sees you, I'm sure they'll respect you."
I heard a car turn into the driveway. "Quick, he's here. Here, take my topcoat to cover your shoulders in case its chilly out. And you'd better carry this purse." She gave me a delighted conspiratorial grin and added, "Hurry back, dear. Don't let some stranger find you too attractive!" Then with a firm pressure stronger than I thought she could muster, she pushed me out the back door and shut it behind me. A moment later I heard a car door slam shut out front. The unexpected evening had begun!
I felt many things, all at once. Here I was out of doors finally, passing as a woman at last, though to nobody in particular. It was scary and exciting. I felt a cool breeze on my legs, and was suddenly aware that my skirt felt warm against my thighs. The air was a little chilly. I slipped Jill's topper onto my shoulders. So this is how women feel when they're outside, I thought to myself. It's rather pleasant.
Then it occurred to me. I didn't know what Jill's associate was like at all. Whatever she wanted me to do, I'd do better if I went around the side of the house and checked him over. I'd feel easier about making my own grand entrance if I knew what to expect. Was he fat, or young, or gawky, or dignified? No man had ever seen me in women's clothes, and only two women. I wanted no surprises. I need to match my feminine manner to the occasion, I said to myself, and I have no reflexes to fall back on. Better if I watch him come up the front steps and into the house. So I stepped down the driveway to the front of the house, my heels clicking, and I immediately went up onto tip-toe. Thank God these aren't really high heels, I said to myself. At least I can get them off the ground. I came around behind some bushes in front of the house, and saw our guest's back silhouetted against light from the open front door. He was very tall. Jill stood there framed in the doorway, her hand still on the doorknob, looking up at him.
He stepped forward, closed his arms around her, pulled her toward him, bent over her, and leaned into an intense kiss. She threw both her arms around his neck and kissed him back passionately, her red sleeves billowing over his shoulders, her legs planted apart and her hips thrust forward against his, as though she were trying to climb into him. Then they separated, she stepped back into the front hall, he took her hand and stepped inside, and Jill, her eyes never leaving his face, closed the door. There was nothing more to see.
I found myself still standing in our driveway, still hidden behind our bushes, wearing my nicest black skirt, a lovely flowered print blouse, respectable mid heels, a bit too much eye-makeup but still, very romantic, a purse under my arm, and my wife's topper thrown across my shoulders. Now I had to walk around the block, then return and put on my most genteel and ladylike manner and share dinner and the evening with my wife and...apparently ...her lover. I had no choice. All my other clothes were in the house where I couldn't get to them, and I was outside in a skirt being Jane, my wife's best girlfriend, and it was all arranged for me to come in and be Jane. Again, I felt a cool breeze across my legs.
Chapter 4
I started walking to the corner and then back, more or less the way Jill had suggested, trying to think this through. There I was, finally on the street dressed like a woman, in full makeup, no place to hide from anyone who might recognize me, and my heels were clicking on the sidewalk and I wasn't even aware of it. It no longer seemed so important, and I didn't feel at all feminine anyhow. If I were to meet some neighbour walking his dog before I got to the corner and turned back, I realized that I'd just nod and pass by. This was not good. I shortened my stride and tucked my elbows in and waggled my hips a little -- that ought to remove any suspicions I thought. In the dark who could recognize me anyhow?
It began to be obvious that she had planned this whole evening for her own amusement. It was revenge for my affair with Darlene. She knew that right now I'd be thinking exactly what I was thinking, that there was nothing for me to do but grit my teeth, make no fuss, follow her plan, re-enter the house, and make ladylike conversation with her and her lover, all the while pretending I knew nothing about their relationship, and seething inside.
No, I then realized, I'm wrong. She doesn't know I know anything. She doesn't know that I saw them together at the front door. I was supposed to be out the back door and half a block away. They were not going to signal anything to me about their real relationship, I realized. She's doing this to get even, for her own private amusement, and maybe his too. I'm supposed to come back into the house and have a friendly dinner the way she set it up, acting like an old girlfriend of hers helping her entertain a single guy from work. And I'm supposed to be as convincing as possible because I'm already a husband worried that he might try to come on to me, and ready to blame only myself if he catches on that I'm a man in drag. That's the scenario.
But does he know about me? Maybe she told him that her husband was going to show up in a dress, and that he should try to keep a straight face and play along, helping her to humiliate me and watching me humiliate myself? No, I decided, she's devious, but she wouldn't trust anyone else to carry on this kind of deception. She's got special reason to want to get even with me, and that's why she's doing this. But he doesn't have any special reasons. He might even be feeling a little guilty he's carrying on with a married woman. She couldn't be sure that he'd play along convincingly.
I arrived at our front door ready to play along and I rang the doorbell. I heard the chimes sound inside the house. Funny, I thought, in all these years I've never rung this doorbell.
The door opened, and Jill delivered yet another surprise to me, in a way a kind of death blow. "Jane!" she said with enormous warmth and enthusiasm. "Come in, come in at once. Here, let me take your coat. That's fine, you can leave your purse over there in the hallway, no one will bother it. Now come in and meet Tom." I was a little taken aback -- she was being much too effusive. A tall, thin, gentle and capable- looking man with hair just starting to gray was standing just inside, looking at me with a mildly friendly smile, one hand in his pocket and the other reaching toward me, strangely at his ease in my house.
"Jane, this is Tom. I've told you so much about him I'm sure you feel you've known him for a long time. Tom, this is Jane, my best friend. I'm so glad that you two finally have a chance to meet each other. The two people I care most about in the world."
She smiled a beaming welcome at me, and looked up at Tom, and her eyes actually nearly misted over when she made that last statement.
I was flabbergasted. But there was more. She turned to Tom. "When Jack died last year," she told him, "in that awful car crash, I don't know what I would have done without Jane. She was with me night and day until I got over the worst of it." She went to Tom's side and then turned toward me again, still grinning broadly, and put her arm around Tom's waist. He in turn reached his long arm over her shoulder and gave her a hug, then touched his lips to her hair. He turned back toward me, still with that relaxed smile, his possession of her complete. She acknowledged it by placing her hand over his, still on her shoulder. "But I did get over it finally," Jill said,"and I'm so grateful to you, Jane, for being a true friend during that difficult time. Now that I have Tom," she turned to look up at him, and he bent down and kissed her, and she turned back toward me, "I hope you know I still treasure you as the dearest of my friends."
She may have meant it. There I was. Dead, replaced by another man, but acceptable to Jill as a woman, as her girlfriend, because the man I once was was dead. I felt a flutter in my stomach -- for years I had wanted her to think of me as a girlfriend, the way Doreen did without thinking about it at all. Now, it seems, that's what we are. Is she also telling me in her bizarre way that that's all we can be? "Can I sit down for a moment?" I asked her in a low voice.
"Come into the living room Jane, dear, please," Jill said to me. "Tom, do get Jane a drink -- bourbon on rocks isn't it dear -- while she has a chance to catch her breath." Tom went over to the glasses and bottles I'd set out not fifteen minutes earlier, and Jill turned and fired off at me point blank the most delighted, devastating smile I have ever seen. Her eyes crinkled and gleamed, and her mouth stretched across her face and her lips parted joyously, the same brilliant scarlet as her blouse. I near-collapsed into an easy chair, and she said with great concern, "You don't look well dear. Is anything wrong?" Then with Tom out of the room, she threw back her head and started laughing uncontrollably.
Tom came back with my drink and looked puzzled at my wife -- my former wife it now seemed, at least as he saw it, that is, my widow. She saw his raised eyebrow. "I'm sorry dear, but Jane is in such a funny predicament, she tells me. It's a little hard to explain." She started giggling again, then tried to smother it. Her shoulders shaking, she choked out "Maybe....some...day I can tell you dear." I knocked back the bourbon in two swallows, Tom took my glass, and with his face impassive returned to me with the glass refilled to the top. Jill turned away. "I'd better see to dinner," she said, and in a minute, from the kitchen two rooms away, I heard yet another explosive guffaw. "We're ready!" she called out. I drained the second glass, stood with a slight teeter on my heels, Tom took my elbow, and we went into the dining room.
Dinner conversation was a little odd. I was angry with Jill, feeling set up and trapped all these weeks, even though I guess I deserved it. In a way I had asked for it. I was jealous of Tom, with his easy appropriations of my rights in the house, and my privileges with Jill. And I was embarrassed for myself, fearful that I'd make some odd move to raise Tom's suspicions. Jill meanwhile maintained her displays of intimate affection with Tom, touching him, gently squeezing his arm when she wanted to make a point, glancing at him I thought adoringly. It was all very depressing. Tom kept refilling my wine glass, and I kept sipping from it without noticing how much.
But Jill reminded me to count one of my blessings, the one that had gotten us here to begin with. I was out as a woman, and passing in front of a stranger. "What a lovely skirt Jane," Jill said as we sat down. "I remember you'd said you were looking for an occasion to wear it. How nice that you're wearing it here, tonight! I'm so pleased!"
I knew what she meant, and tried to feel grateful to her, and tried to think of something to say that didn't sound stupid and wouldn't give me away. "Thank you" was all I came up with.
But she wouldn't let go. "And that green print blouse goes so well with it. You look just lovely!" She turned to Tom. "Jane hasn't been going out much since her divorce...is it two years ago now?" I nodded.
We worked our way through a platter of hor doeuvres, and then some kind of beef on noodles. I kept my voice up in femme range, and answered whenever I had to in monosyllables. Then to keep from seeming utterly grouchy I smiled a lot. At Jill. At Tom. At any request to pass the salt, or the salad. Tom asked me if I meant to remarry, or was seeing anyone, and other questions like that, making the kind of polite conversation people make when they are being hospitable. I told him I didn't know, or wasn't sure, no matter what he asked me. I didn't. I wasn't.
I wasn't even sure I'd seen everything Jill had in store for me this evening. This seemed an elaborate way for Jill to announce to me that she was now having an affair, and to gloat over it. Every time she kissed him, or leaned over him, she was telling me she didn't need me for love and affection. Ok, I heard her. But why all the preparation, these different stories, her seeming to please me by planning a dinner for me to come in in drag, then showing me her lover when I couldn't do anything about it. It all sounded like simple spite, and Jill could be spiteful, but far more than spiteful she was devious. There was something else.
What else there was turned up as she cleared the plates and readied the table for dessert. "Well," she said, turning toward me, and speaking in the most gentle, earnest tones I had ever heard from her, "Jane, I've talked to Tom about it. He's willing. In fact, he'd love to do it."
"What?" I asked. "Do what?"
"Oh, Jane, I'm so filled with this little surprise gift for you that I'm not telling it to you properly. You remember when we were so tipsy together a few weeks ago, and we were telling each other our most intimate secrets about our husbands, our former husbands, what they liked to do with us, and what we liked doing with them, wonderful things and silly things?"
Tom refilled my wine glass, and then his own. The world was starting to swim a little, but I kept my head very still, and it stopped moving. "Tipsy?" I asked. "What?"
I had drunk enough so that my voice suddenly cracked out of its customary high femme mode, where I was trying to keep it, into pure falsetto. I had better watch it, I thought.
"You know," she said, smiling encouragingly, as if I already knew where she was leading this conversation "What you told me you missed most about having a man in your bedroom, since your divorce." She paused, as if waiting for me to reply.
I tried to fill the silence. "You mean snoring?" I couldn't think of anything else to say.
She smiled indulgently. "No, not snoring Jane. Much more intimate." She grinned. "Sexier." She looked at me intently. Then she let her eyes drift down, until she seemed demure, even too shy to go on. What a woman!
"This is so embarrassing for me to talk about, dear, because I've never done it myself, and don't know that I'd want to. I don't think its my kind of thing. But you remember, when we were talking together and feeling especially close, and you spoke of it so wistfully, with such tenderness, with such longing, and such eagerness, that my heart just went out to you. I thought, how can I help my dearest friend Jane in some way, and somehow thank her for all the loving care she's given me? How can I give you the greatest gift you desire? And then I thought of Tom." Jill looked at Tom devotedly. "And I asked Tom, and he thought it a strange request at first. He didn't want to at first. But finally he agreed. For me. But above all for you." She leaned over to kiss him, yet again.
Tom broke in, as if he had to reassure me of something. "It's not something Jill and I ever do with each other," he explained, "So it's not a kind of intrusion into our relationship," he commented. "It's quite apart from us. Except," and he looked fondly at Jill, "Jill asked me to, and I want her to be happy."
I couldn't make any sense of this conversation, but I decided not to force it. Maybe it was the wine. "Oh," I replied.
"Don't worry, Jane," Tom said. He now spoke with the same gentle, concerned voice Jill was using "I understand how some things are hard to talk about. You don't have to say anything at all if you don't want to."
I held my head very still to hold the room still.
"Tom, you said you'd help Jane past any shyness she might feel. I hope you will," Jill said to him, taking his hand and giving it a tight squeeze. "Now I'm going into the kitchen, to clean up everything, and I have a wonderful dessert to prepare. It'll take maybe a half hour, longer if it needs to. You two go into the living room. I promise I won't peek."
I was getting a funny feeling about all this, but I kept quiet. Maybe it was the wine.
"Jane," Jill said, leaning earnestly over me, "You remember when we were talking about losing our husbands, what we most missed ? You said it wasn't sleeping with him that made you feel most like a woman. It was something else. It was something you did with him you'd never done for anyone else. You said it was so satisfying you wished you'd started when you were still a teenager and all the boys wanted you to do it. You were so ashamed to say it. But finally you did say it!
You said you couldn't get enough of it! And I've remembered that you said it, because you were so sweet to me in those months when I found I had to live alone, and life seemed so unbearable!"
Jill smiled as if through tears. I stared back, trying to look as if I understood her. "Well, Tom is yours for the next half hour or so, and I want you to do what you said you most loved to do with your husband. Don't think about me at all." Her voice then took on an edge. "And don't disappoint me, or I just don't know what I'll do." I could tell from her tone she know precisely what she would do. I had no option. Then she came out with it.
"You go into the living room and enjoy Tom's cock with your mouth. Suck on it to your heart's content. I want you to. Really. And I want you to enjoy the taste of his cum. I remember how you especially talked about the peculiar, delicate, complicated taste and feel of a man's cum, sweet yet salty, creamy yet winey, and how you missed it." Jill giggled. "We were so silly that night. And you talked about the feeling of control you had over your man, when he was helpless with desire for you to lick him and throat him, and how when he was in your mouth you could bring him anywhere you wanted. About how you missed that feeling."
And Jill then looked me straight in the eye. "Jane," she said, obviously enjoying each word, "This is your big moment. Tom is yours for a half hour, or more if you'd like, as my gift to you. Please take him as a token of what I think of you. Tonight I want you to have your deepest heart's desire. Be all the woman you can be! Suck Tom off! For me!" And she went through the kitchen door and closed it behind her.
I stood up, and the walls really did swim. Holding onto the edge of the table as far as I could, I went into the living room. There was Tom already, seated in our big, overstuffed easy chair, legs apart, smiling to encourage me, both hands outstretched toward mine in reassurance. How could I get out of this? I thought of running outside, or upstairs. I thought wildly of claiming I was having a period. Did Jill think I was going to give Tom a blow job and enjoy it? No, not enjoy it. That's the point! I had to pretend to enjoy it while feeling trapped and demeaned, doing something she herself never did with me, nor it seems with Tom either.
And I couldn't make a fuss about it. Not without giving myself away. I was a little drunk, but that was clear enough. Which would be more humiliating to me? Confessing to Tom that I'm Jill's husband in drag, and trying to order him out of the house? Or staying and sucking his cock? Which would cost me more? Which was easier? My thinking was as blurry as my vision, but it was clear to me which would cost me my wife. I still wanted her back. I had promised her I'd do anything she suggested. This was her revenge, one more ordeal she had schemed for me because of Darlene. I would somehow get through it.
I took hold of the soft arms of the chair, one on either side of him, and leaned on them, and lurched to my knees between his knees. In a single swift motion Tom undid his buckle and pants, unzipped his fly, slipped his pants and underwear out from under him and down to his ankles, gently put his hands on either side of my head, and pulled my face toward his crotch. His cock rose up toward me as I approached, still tipsy and fascinated and horrified, unable to do anything about it. The thing wasn't that impressive in size, but respectable. To me at that moment it looked like the Eiffel Tower. "Jane honey," he said, "Jill tells me it's been a while since you've done a man, so take your time. I'll help you." He leaned back. "Just put your hands under my balls and cup them gently, Then kiss the tip of my prick, right where you see that little drop of clear fluid. Lick it with your tongue. That's it. What does it taste like?"
I thought, here goes nothing, and leaned forward, and touched my tongue to the tip of his penis, where he had directed me. "A little salty," I said, not wanting to say more, wondering if I was going to retch if I said more.
"That's it," he said, "Think about each taste, each feeling, so you'll remember. If you pay close enough attention to everything, your mouth will remember. And I want your mouth to remember. Now, just open up, and form an "O" with your lips, and slide it over the pinky-purple head of my cock. It feels silky, doesn't it. That's it. Lift your head up and tell me how it feels."
"Silky," I said. I was trying not to notice, to close off my mind, to put my attention somewhere else.
"Yes," he said. Now slide your "O" mouth down onto my cock head again, this time a little further, until you can feel the soft ridge it ends in, all around. Do you feel it? Clamp down a little just below the ridge with your lips."
I did as he asked. I felt the ridge with the moist inside of my lips. I tried not to.
"Now open your jaw wide. Wider. We don't want your pretty teeth interfering with our pleasure, do we. But keep the "O" nice and tight below the ridge. Stay still a moment, and notice how it feels. Now pull back against the ridge slightly, then tuck your lips under it again."
I did that.
"Now slide your lips over the ridge by tightening your lip muscles on it a little bit, like kissing it all around with your mouth open. Ah, that's right. Let a little saliva lubricate everything. Lovely. Now very gently, make a slight suction with your mouth."
My wet lips slid a little bit down the shaft of his penis as the suction pulled him into my mouth. I noticed that his hands on my head kept up their gentle pressure, so I couldn't back off as the main part of his penis entered my mouth.
"Feels delicious, doesn't it. Slide your mouth up and tell me, but do it slowly, so the "O" stays snug, and when your lips reach the tip, kiss it. Aw, that's sweet. Kiss it again. Ah. You feel now that your lips are empty, don't you, and you want to refill them with something for your lips to squeeze. Is that right? Tell me I'm right, dear."
His hands twisted each side of my head gently, turning my face up toward his, and I saw he was looking mildly into my eyes, waiting for an answer. I looked back at him, still whirling a little -- that wine. I couldn't look away. My mouth was still pursed from kissing his prick, and I could still feel the his cock-head ridge on my lips, and I could still sense his pre-cum in my nose when I exhaled. Would I ever be able to forget this?
"Oh, God!" I said.
"That's right," he replied. "It is heavenly, isn't it. If you'd like, lick me and kiss me anywhere you want. From the base to the tip. Underneath especially. Yes. Yes. That's right. Now make your little "O" again and wrap your mouth around me again, and pull me in. Only this time, deeper. I'm getting eager to fuck that dainty little mouth of yours. This time we'll go all the way. But don't worry, I'll tell you what to do. I'll remind you what to do."
Before my head went back down on him I started to say something, but it didn't get very far. I don't know what I would have said next anyhow. My head once again facing the tip of his cock, I made my "O" and opened my jaw just in time as he thrust it back in.
"That's it, dear. Suck. Slide. Again. If you need to come up for air every now and then, or to ease your jaw muscles, do. I'll feel your head pressing on my hands, and I'll ease off. Suck. But each time you leave my head behind, I want you to kiss the tip. Kiss it passionately. Devotedly. Lovingly. Try to stick your tongue into that little hole at the end. Slide. I want to feel you can't get enough of kissing me. I want you to know you can't get enough. I want your lips to feel they can't wrap tightly enough around me. I want you to slide me all the way into your mouth until my tip bumps on the back of your throat, on your gullet, and maybe slides down into your throat. Suck. Press your tongue flat against me and slide. Lick my head and down again. Ah. More. Suck. Again. Slide. Now. Again."
He kept pumping my head against his crotch, slowly and gently, and kept up his steady chatter, while I formed my "O" and held my jaws wide open and felt more and more of his meat fit into my mouth, and each plunge brought my nose closer to the base of his shaft, and sucked him in and slid him away. Now and then when I came up, my head would writhe on his tip as if it were the lips of the most gorgeous woman imaginable, my lips pressing on him and caressing him and my tongue flicking the delicate hole at the end until again I opened up wide and took him back into my mouth, and slid my lips down his shaft as far as I could reach, and pulsed them at the bottom. His hands held me and moved me, and his hips began bucking up toward me, and he was plainly getting hot. My nose was now getting down into his hairs, and his cockhead kept cramming against my throat then backing away, and I worried about gagging. I realized that at this angle there was no way I could bring him all the way in to relieve that pushing at the back of my neck, so I concentrated on bringing him off as soon as I could. He pumped me while I pumped him, and my lips compressed and pulled and puckered and tightened and loosened around the "O" they formed, and my tongue swiped his underside on my upswings, and danced over the helmet-shaped head. I realized irrelevantly that I couldn't have much lipstick left on, and I realized I should have hauled out a compact to repair my makeup after dinner. But I had got too drunk, and this had followed too soon.
I found that except for the back of my throat, it wasn't too bad. Some odd sensations, certainly very different. I took his advice and began paying attention to the alternating slippery, satiny, bumpy ride my lips were making. It was interesting, that sensation, and I did find I could enjoy my power over him when every now and then he moaned slightly, and I tried to make him moan again. If he's turned on because I seem to love this, I thought, I'm going to seem to love it like crazy, and we'll get it over with. I concentrated on satisfying him, and began to let my fingertips fly over his balls and squeeze them gently, and sometimes I let them caress the base of his cock. Every now and then I gave a kind of pathetic muffled cry deep in my throat, "Ohhh!", "Oooohhh!", as if I couldn't get enough. Suck, slide, suck, slide.
Suddenly he said,"Oh Jane, darling, I'm going to come. Hold me deep and start swallowing as fast as you can! Hold me! Deeper! Don't spill me. Don't let me spill on the chair, or the rug, or your blouse, or my pants, or AHH, AHH, AHHH, AHHH!" And hot cum splashed against the back of my throat with each pulsation. He shot his load into me, and I swallowed, and I held him sealed in my mouth and swallowed, and I reached into my throat with the back of my tongue and swallowed, and I rolled his thick liquid forward in my mouth and swallowed, and each time I thought it would overflow my mouth I swallowed. Meanwhile his hands crushed my face into his crotch, deep into its hairs, and he bucked against it, and I couldn't breath. His climax seemed interminable. He kept pulsing. My mouth filled with something sort of slick and creamy, a little like mucous, and a little salty, and a little bit sweet. Not too bad I thought, as he pulsed on and I kept swallowing. I'm surviving this, I said to myself. I leaned in and sucked the last of his cum out of him as if his prick were a straw.
He let go of my head, still breathing heavily. I looked up, and he grinned at me. I remembered that I was supposed to be passionate and conspiratorial and grateful about all this, and grinned back. Then I leaned back off my knees and sat down on the floor. For a moment I couldn't look at him. I kept working my tongue around my mouth and swallowing, trying to get the last squeezes of his cum off my teeth and out from the crevices of my cheeks, and off from where some of it had coated my lips. "You really do love that stuff," he said as he watched me licking my lips and working my mouth, his breathing almost back to normal. I didn't say anything. "Clean me up, dear," he said. "Lick me until you have it all." I got back on my knees and licked his prick, up and down and all over, then stood up.
"You know Jane, that was pretty good for a first time," he said. "You have a talent."
This stopped me for a moment. What did he mean by "first time"? What did he know about me? Was he in on Jill's plot after all? But as I got to my feet I decided he meant my first time with him, which would matter I suppose if the only blow jobs I'd ever given before were to my husband. I realized that this guy was something of an artist, the way he had talked me down onto him and through it. If I were gay, or a real woman, it really would have been enjoyable. "Thank you. It was very special!" I said with as much ardour as I could muster. What else could I say?
I thought I'd better say something more, so I added, as if we were now lovers of sorts, "But won't Jill feel jealous?" It suddenly flashed over me that I had just been blackmailed by my wife and raped by Tom, even though I'd brought it on myself. But I couldn't help it, and now I was trying to simulate post coital chit-chat. This was much too civilized. I tried to change the subject in my head, and began wondering what would get rid of his cum-flavour in my mouth. It really was rather creamy, and slick in texture. Gawk!
"No not at all," he said. "She isn't jealous at all. This is her gift to you. Jill doesn't do oral sex with me. Now vaginal sex, that's different." He smiled to himself, and I felt a sudden shock and jealousy -- he had just admitted to me he was fucking her! Well, what else did I think they were doing? I decided to change the subject . He was right, of course. Jill had always been turned off by oral sex, and after a while I had reluctantly stopped raising the subject.
He pulled his pants back up and sauntered back into the dining room. I remembered that I must look a mess, and had better act as if I knew it, and headed for the bathroom, where I knew Jill kept a lipstick and hairbrush, maybe more. It took me ten minutes to get my face back to some semblance of order after that workout. Then still feeling a little frazzled, I headed back into the dining room.
Jill was already there, with our silver coffee pot, setting out bone china cups with an innocently pleased look on her face. "Oh, Jane," she said, "Here you are. You look like the cat that swallowed the canary. Are you still hungry for dessert?"
I decided not to answer her. Let her enjoy her triumph. She set before each place a desert dish full of a custard of some sort, with streaks on top. "See, I promised you a special treat tonight, didn't I?," she said. "I want you to feel pampered. I decided on this Creame dessert especially for you, when Tom said he'd help you feel like a woman. I just finished making it while you and Tom were enjoying yourselves in the living room. I thought you'd especially like the texture, a little sticky, and satiny smooth, and it fills your whole mouth." She paused, and then added, "Of course some people prefer it with a dash of salt, to remind them of times gone by. Would you?"
Then as an afterthought, as she started pouring the coffee, she said without looking up, "I've been planning this dinner for a long, long time, down to the last detail. It seems to be working out beautifully. I hope you're enjoying it. Because this isn't the end yet. There's more." She looked up at me, and her smile was blissful. What could I say? I'd promised her I'd go along with any of her plans for me. I had better be a good sport about it. She'd gotten me and gotten me good. I did wish she'd feel the score was even and settled, so we could be done now with these games.
No such luck. When we finished dessert and coffee Jill went over to Tom and pressed her cheek against his, while she cleared the last dishes. He seized her hand for a moment and then let it go. Things were now a little unpredictable. What next? Should I stay on, and wait until Tom had to leave, though obviously he wanted to stay? When he was gone, could I go upstairs and change into something more suitable, and assert my dignity, and have it out with Jill? Or was he planning to spend the night here, and waiting for me to leave? I noticed a stain on my blouse, and I realized it was a dab of his semen, still a little sticky. My mouth puckered slightly when I recognized it. Jesus!
But Jill settled the matter. Tom appeared in the doorway holding the topcoat Jill had given me, and Jill handed me the same purse she had handed me earlier when she pushed me out the back door. "Here you are dear. I'm sorry you have to leave so soon. I'll call you tomorrow. Or you can call me. I think you'll find everything you need in your purse; I tucked a few things there." And for the second time that night I was thrust out of my own house, this time through the front door. She slammed it closed.
I stood on the front steps, and I noticed that the porch light was still on, as if still lighting Tom's arrival and mine. I was wearing a skirt, and was visible to anyone. I glanced up and down the street. No one. Then the porch light went off.
Chapter 5
Still standing by my front steps, near a dim street light, I opened my purse. There was the makeup I had used earlier. There was a folded piece of paper. There was a Motel key, with a huge weighted fob attached imprinted with a name and a room number. There was what I recognized as the spare set of car keys, with a small flashlight attached on a chain. There was a packet of condoms. There was a 3-pack of tampons. I opened the piece of paper. It was a note from Jill, typewritten, meaning that she written it some time before this whole awful evening had begun. When she wrote it she was already imagining me reading it right now. And now here I was.
"I want you to think about me and Tom here tonight, in our beautiful bed. Are you thinking about it, and about marital fidelity, and about being honest with each other, at this very moment? Good! If you want to resume our marriage, go to the motel room printed on the big key, and you'll find out what else I want. You'll be there for two nights. But you won't have to feel lonely. You'll find there's a beautiful blonde young man who hangs out with the night clerk and provides whatever services guests may require. He's very good, very gentle with first- timers, I've been told. He's very attentive. But I didn't arrange anything with him for you for tonight, so if you miss Tom's prick and want some more lovemaking before bedtime you'll have to talk to him yourself. Sleep well, dear."
I looked back at our house. A light in the bedroom had gone on. There was nothing more I could do.
So I went around in back, got in the car, and drove myself to the motel indicated on the key, not too far away. It felt odd driving the car in a dress, pressing on the accelerator and the brake in high heels, and I drove very carefully so there would be not the slightest risk of a policeman stopping me. When I had parked in the motel parking lot I sat still for a few minutes, to psych myself up to meet yet another stranger while dressed as a woman. Could I pass? I checked my hair and my makeup, and walked across the lot and into the lobby with what I hoped was a persuasive woman's walk, short steps, elbows in, mincing slightly. At the front desk a night clerk looked up at me without changing expression.
"Can you tell me where is Room 244. My wife made these arrangements." I realized that I had just blown my cover! He didn't blink, but merely checked his register.
"Yes. Room 244, pre paid for two nights. One flight up and to the left. The elevator is just behind you. Have you any luggage, ma'am?"
"No." I felt foolish standing there in a dress and I wanted to get out of the clerk's sight, so I hobbled down the corridor as I fast as I could, realizing that I'd been wearing heels for many hours now, and they were beginning to hurt. The clerk had confirmed what Jill's letter said, that I was here for "two nights." Why? So she could play house with Tom for the weekend? So I'd think that's what she's doing, whether she is or not? I felt a pang of jealousy. That's what she wants me to feel, I thought, but I owe her, so I have to pay her. At the same time I felt an odd twist of excitement at the thought of Jill and Tom romping together tonight, and all day tomorrow, and tomorrow night. It didn't seem like the same Jill. I wondered if she was more imaginative in her lovemaking with Tom than she'd been with me. During the past few months, I realized, she had changed from the girl I had married. She had always been assertive, but now she was domineering. And cunning! Tricking me into sucking Tom's cock! Does she just do straight screwing with Tom, then go to sleep? Does she let him know whether she enjoys it, or does she keep that a secret too? I suppose the two of them have a different kind of lovemaking, anyhow. Then I realized I was beginning to picture them wrapped around each other, arms and legs tangled together, and I realized I had better stop thinking about it.
I entered Room 244, and saw immediately someone had been there. The closet had clothing in it, women's clothing, a suit, a few dresses, a skirt and blouse or two, and a terrific-looking cocktail dress. I thought at first this was a hideaway Jill kept for herself, but I looked again, and saw that everything was was in my sizes. In the bathroom was an elaborate makeup kit. I checked the drawers. One had a few bras and panties in it, again my sizes, and that one of the panties was crotchless, with ribbons to tie together the bottom seam. There were several magazines on the night stand, Cosmo and Vanity Fair I noticed, and when I looked for a Time Magazine or a Newsweek, I saw that another was Seventeen. Only girls' or women's magazines. Jill had thought of everything. I started to get undressed. It had been a long night since I had put on this very blouse and skirt, Jill urging me to look especially pretty for this guy she worked with, and me without a clue about what she really had in mind. He did come on to me after all, I realized, and I had made love to him after all. A long night. I set my slip aside to use as a nightgown, then saw that Jill had left a lovely, frilly nightgown across my pillow. For me. Well, that was something.
I didn't know how this room figured into her plans. Did Jill feel guilty about putting me out of my own home? I doubted it. Was she setting me up to live separate from her, with this clothing a kind of payoff she knew I'd like? No, she'd have told me about it beforehand. She always wanted me to understand clearly what her rules were, and why. I didn't know what I was doing here. Being out of her way while her boy friend fucks her, I supposed. The nightgown felt silky smooth as it slipped over my chest and hips. It had sexy lacework circling each breast. I looked at it in the mirror, and for the first time that night felt nice. I was pretty. I was myself. This was all too confusing. I turned out the light, and fell asleep at once.
I was awakened the next morning by the sound of a key jiggling in the door. Terrified, I called out "Who's there?" as I ducked under the covers to hide my nightgown's frilly shoulders. The door swung open, and a thin blonde young man entered with a rolling cart filled with a Room Service breakfast.
"I knocked, but no one answered," he said deferentially. "I hope you don't mind my using a key to come in, but that was listed as one of the things I could do during your stay. I'm pleased to make your acquaintance. I'm Carl."
"Let me see," he said, looking at a list on his clipboard. "Yes. 'Well, uh, Jane, if I may call you Jane. Your wife advises that you spend the day here. We have an excellent restaurant, and a pool area for swimming or sun-bathing -- you'll find a swimsuit and wraparound here in the room. If you need anything else, the pool shop will have something that would fit you. I'll be back tonight at around eight, to let you know about the wonderful things she has planned for this evening. Oh, yes. The hotel beauty salon has an appointment for you for this morning at 10:00 am. A complete makeover -- expect to stay about three hours." As he opened the door to leave he gave me a warmly reassuring look, and then a charming smile. "Don't worry, Jane. Everything has been arranged and paid for. You don't have to do a thing. Just enjoy yourself."
He left. I noticed that while he was talking my nightgown's frilly sleeves had come fully visible to him. But it doesn't seem to have mattered, I thought, since he seems to be better briefed about me than I am. I was glad to have breakfast in the room, anyhow. It delayed the moment when I had to go out by daylight.
Then I thought, enough of this. I'll talk to Jill directly. I called home, and as the phone began ringing I suddenly wondered who would pick it up. Whose voice would I hear? After the third ring I heard Jill pick up and say "Yes, hello?".
I started speaking before she could decide to hang up. "Jill I want to come home. Is Tom still there?"
"Who?"
"Tom, your boyfriend."
"O yes, Tom, that was his name. No, he left early this morning; he had another woman to attend to."
"Your boyfriend?"
"But dear, he's not my boyfriend! I'm married. You remember."
"No? I saw you kissing. I saw the way you greeted him at the door."
"Oh, you did! I was so hoping you'd sneak around and catch that little drama! So that's why you looked so strange when you came in and I began telling you the story of your death. Oh Jack dear, that was all a show for you. So was all that lovey dovey during dinner. All for you. No, Tom was my escort for the evening, and for other things. I hired him and told him what I was planning, and what I wanted him to do, and he did it all very well."
My head began to whirl again. I couldn't keep up with her. "Did he know about me? Did he know I wasn't your woman friend?" "
Her voice sounded marvellously good-natured. "Why darling, of course he knew about you. I told him you were a closet fairy. I told him that my husband would show up wearing a dress and pretend to be my best girlfriend, and that we should go along with it. I told him that all your life you have wanted to give a man a blow job while wearing a dress, because that's what real women do, but that you were too embarrassed to set it up for yourself. I told Tom it was your birthday and that he was my present to you, a real man you could suck on like a lollipop, to your heart's content. I told him you'd go down on him without any problem, and you certainly did my darling. And I told him he should help you with it, your very first time, without letting on that he knew you weren't just one more slut who blows cock every night.
"I knew you'd do anything to keep him from finding out you were just another pansy in a dress. I knew you'd go along with it no matter how humiliating." Her voice grew triumphant. "So sweetheart, I turned you into a pansy in a dress!"
I remembered how helpless I had felt as I sank down on my knees between his legs last night. For nothing! I felt mortified. Tears came into my eyes. She had set me up! From the very beginning! She had even advised me what blouse and skirt a well-dressed husband should wear to his first blow job. I tried to say "Very clever!" with acid irony, but all that came out of my mouth was a little strangled sound.
Jill continued. "But I was very considerate, dear. I told him that I wanted it to be wonderful for you, unforgettable, so that you would always remember it, your very first. I wanted him to teach you how to enjoy every moment. I told him I wanted your mouth to remember it even if you tried to forget it. And your mouth does remember now, doesn't it?" She paused, then she went on. "I could tell that your mouth was learning, love. I could see by the way your lips kept their sweet little pucker, their little cuspid bow shape, and couldn't stop kissing the tip of his prick whenever you came up for air, and then how they made that pretty "O" whenever you went back down on him. You really do have a talent for it, love, don't you."
"You could see that?" I broke in, shocked. "You said you were in the kitchen."
"Oh, no! See that? Why love, I was there! There was no way I was going to miss the sight of my darling husband in a dress sucking cock like a ten dollar whore and pretending to like it. You were so busy head-fucking that man's dick you never noticed me! You must've really gotten into it! Was it that great? I took picture after picture of you slurping Tom's prick like a big purple ice cream cone! It looked really wonderful for you. So that's what you guys do when you get together! That's what male bonding is all about!"
She paused again. "When I heard him tell you how to feel every nuance of his prick in your mouth, he made it seem so attractive I thought of giving it another try myself. I told you on our honeymoon it just wasn't my thing, didn't I. Well, maybe I just never had as as good a teacher as you just had. You did so enjoy it! Dear heart, you make such a darling little cocksucker!"
Her affability faded. "And now, you're my darling little cocksucker, Jack dear. I have snapshots of you dressed up with Darlene, and dressed up with Jack, dressed up and going down on that stud, and now you little faggot I've got you where I want you." She stopped and caught her breath. "Not that I didn't before. I think we understand each other. Stay another night at that motel. It's all arranged and paid for. I need one more night by myself. Then you can come home and we'll see what we'll see. I think starting tomorrow we may be able to live together again darling. Maybe happily. Even joyously. On my terms. But not if you're still the way you are. If you'll do what I say, maybe. Spend the whole day being a woman, Jack. That's what you say you want and that's what I've arranged for you. I bought those bras and dresses for you, and made all of your appointments for today. You should feel grateful. Spend one more night. Otherwise don't come home at all, and I'll think about how I want to share the pleasures of my new photograph album."
The line went dead. I hung up at my end, and sat there a while. Then I picked up the copy of Vanity Fair. A gorgeous young woman looked back at me, smiling with approval and congratulating me on becoming a darling little cocksucker, maybe even as good with the guys as she was. The magazine cover promised an article inside on four new male film stars worth masturbating over, and another on how to keep your man by fucking his brains out. I wasn't ready for this. I picked up Cosmopolitan. A randy lady on the cover in an undersized red evening gown, her breasts and shoulders exposed wherever they bulged out from the material. Inside, three ways to apply the new Spring lipsticks, and advice for girls who like to seduce other girls, not men. I started trying to read about lipsticks, but couldn't find the article among all the ads.
So I read the ads. My spirits picked up a little. Today I would be Jill's kind of woman. She had bought me clothing to wear. I thought about Medea, the jilted woman of Greek mythology who poisoned her husband with an impregnated cloak. No, Jill wanted me to change, by spending the day dressed up. By going to the beauty parlour? There were worse things than trying to be one of those drop-dead beauties in the perfume ads. Well, she seemed to be meeting me half-way even while rejecting me. I got up and looked more closely at the clothes hanging in the closet.
First off, I would try to pass without attracting attention. There was a pair of stone-washed blue jeans, and a shirt. I took them down, checked the underwear drawer for a bra and plain pair of panties, and put everything on. So far, fine. Everything a little snug, but basic. They fit. The bra gave me a little bulge in the chest when I set my shoulders back, but nothing noticeable. The pants were very tight in my buttocks, but glimpsing the curves in the mirror, and the sharp separation of cheeks they gave to my ass, I thought, not too bad. A pair of flats on the closet floor I recognized as mine, and I put them on -- no way they could be thought to be men's shoes, but I loved the way they curved on my instep. I went into the bathroom and shaved twice, then again, and started to think about how how much makeup I needed to get through the morning without seeming to be a man in women's clothes, when I suddenly realized it was ten minutes to ten. My first ever visit to a beauty salon as a woman! But of course they'd know at a glance that I was a man! But Jill had arranged it -- of course they already knew. My heart began to pound. I picked up my purse, checked that I had my room key, headed out the door, and saw a sign pointing to the Salon off the pool patio at the end of the corridor. I walked as rapidly as I could, hoping no one would see me and wonder what I was. No one did.
A woman in a pale purple smock looked up from arranging bottles on a work table when I came in. I glanced around -- there was no one else there. "I'm Jane," I said, in what I hoped was a persuasively high voice. She looked at me without changing expression. I almost added "My wife made an appointment for me...," but I choked it off, and just looked back at her, thinking that maybe I could get away with this. "Yes," the woman said, "How are you, Jane? Your wife wasn't sure your hair would be long enough for a really feminine style, but I think we can manage. Sit over here, dear, and we'll think about you for a while." I sat down. "Tell me, something your wife couldn't answer for you. Will you want a hairdo you can just comb out each morning and forget about all day, or do you like to primp and shape it with rollers and mousse and curlers and things? Some women like to fuss, and some hate it. Which kind are you?"
I loved fussing, but there was no way I could say so. "Is there a style I can sometimes wear, uh, plain?" I asked, meaning one that could look like a man's cut but still look feminine when combed right.
"Well, yes, Jane, but not for you. Your face is too large for a gamin cut. You could look really lovely if you had masses of hair framing your whole head, but that needs longer hair than you've got, I think. Besides, my instructions are, make you look as pretty as you can be right now. I tell you what. Leave it to me. I think for now a curly top barely covering your ears on the sides, high on top, with just a wisp of bangs, and you'll be just fine. Your earrings can just peek out. Not too hard to take care of, either. And as it grows out, it'll still look pretty. Different of course. But you can always have me do it again if you want to keep it the way it is. The way we're doing it now, I mean."
As she led me over to a sink, slipped a smock over me, and leaned me back for a shampoo, she asked "Tell me, honey, why is it you want to go all the way? I can understand a make over for a costume party and then back to business as usual the next day, sometimes men come in for those, but your wife tells me you'll want to look feminine for the whole foreseeable, no compromises, the more like a woman the better. She said she doesn't want anyone thinking you're anything else but, so you won't embarrass her when you're out together. Why is that? Did you lose a bet? Are you planning on an operation to change your sex? Or is she planning on being the one who wears the pants in the family?" She smiled at her little joke.
Well, there was news! That explained a lot about what was happening. Jill was willing to accept my dressing as a woman if there was no risk of embarrassment to her. I just had to do it better, "all the way." Not look like a man playing a role in drag, or a feminized man, but look like a real woman. For the first time that day I started to feel hopeful. Maybe our marriage would survive after all. Maybe it was worth my trying to help it survive. Jill had some kind of plan in mind, and if it allowed me to cross-dress at times I'd go along with it gladly. But "the whole foreseeable" wasn't "at times." "I think I may have won a bet," I replied. "But can I wear it sometimes to look like a man?"
"Well, yes, dear, but you'll look like a man with a lady's hair style if you try it. I mean to give you a perm, and some clusters of really cute curls. If you want, you can set them, and if you don't, you can reshape them with a little comb. I'll show you how. But even if you brush everything out straight, this hairdo won't be too easy to mistake for a man's."
I decided to deal with passing as a man another time. "Your name is Marianne?" I asked, reading off her name tag, trying to change the subject.
"Yep, Marianne. That's what it says, that's what it is, honey. Mari to my regulars. Are you saying you're going to be a regular from now on? Because with what we'll do with you today, you won't need to come in very often any more, or not for too long anyhow. Maybe a half-hour a week. Touch up, re-curling, fix your nails, change of color, little things like that. Maybe even every other week. Depends how perfect you want to look." She warmed to her topic. "You watch. Your wife is going to love this." She sat me back in her cutting chair, and pulled strands of my wet hair this way and that. "You know, you have real possibilities...."
Three hours later Mari had remade me. My hair was no longer a mousy dark brown but a gleam or so lighter, with a hint of blonde or reddish highlights, though still brown. It was no longer straight, turned under at the ends, but looked like a cap full of darling curls, with sweet little bangs coming down in front, and extending much further in back, so my nose no longer a little large, but just right. I was delighted with it when she took out the rollers and showed me how a touch of a comb here and there was all I'd need after sleeping on it, and how to reshape it into springy curls with just a brush and mousse after a shower, and so forth. In fact I was so pleased that I said "Now's fine," without thinking, then realized she had been saying that little studs would look much nicer than clipons until my hair grew out a little, and had just asked if she should do the piercing now or wait till next time. It was done before I could realize what I'd said. But my sudden worry when I saw little gold studs in my earlobes wasn't enough to break my cheerful mood. I really looked attractive! For me, anyhow.
My nails were deep pink, a shade she said would go with anything and never look trashy, though she told me I'd need a deeper red if I was planning to go out formal some time in a long gown. She laughed when she said this, and I asked her why. She replied that the thought of me in an evening gown had put in her mind an image of my wife in a tuxedo. She plucked my brows to their previous fine arch, darkened my lashes, and she put very light "daytime" makeup on my eyes and cheeks, hardly any. "You'll do," Mari finally said. I saw I was no smashing beauty, but as she looked me over Mari said she felt very good about me. So did I. My wife had tipped her heavily to make me look feminine, in no way a man, she told me. Now I not only looked no way a man, I looked like a very passable woman, pleasant to look at. "From the neck up," she added. I thanked her for the compliment, and could think of nothing more to say. She said she'd call me at home for another session in about two weeks' time. That sounded promising too. When I left the salon I felt better than I had in weeks, maybe even months, maybe even more.
Without a worry in the world I strolled down the pool patio toward the restaurant. Immediately I caught my reflection in a glass door, hunched over, defensive, and I realized that was how I had walked into the motel last night. So I paused, and took some deep breaths. I lifted my head high, straightened up, threw my shoulders as far back as I could get them, and was pleased to see two little bumps hinted under my shirt. Then when I next glimpsed my reflection I saw a cute looking woman with not much waistline and a kind of poodle cut and a bounce in her step. I had a cottage cheese salad for lunch, went back to my room to get my magazines, and had a new thought. For the first time I might be able to get away with wearing a swimsuit in public, without looking like a freak. I shaved all over again, but everywhere, my legs, chest, underarms, and arms, places I had learned not to look at when I was dressing for myself and my mirror. Then I put on the brand new one- piece bathing suit Jill had left in my room, looked at myself, took it off, and trimmed last night's bikini cutting on both sides of my pubic area. Then I put it back on. With its built-in padded bra I didn't need anything else. Even so, I slipped on the cover up and spent the afternoon at pool side reading beauty advertisements. Every now and then I got impatient with them, but even turning pages with my deep pink nails was a privilege, and I felt grateful for some reason. I needed to know what every girl knows about being attractive, alluring, ravishing, gorgeous, so I could try. Like every girl I would find my own compromises with these impossible ideals, my own style of femininity, a way to be poised, gracious, and beautiful in my own mind.
People came and went, and glanced at me, or looked casually while listening to someone talk to them, paying me no real attention at all. It was a warm afternoon, and I lay in the sun awhile, then fell asleep. When I awoke I was stretching luxuriously, like a huge cat. I realized why. The bathing suit pulled and stretched and shaped me in a way that would make any woman feel catlike when wearing it. It said as much on a tag still attached when I took it off its hangar. By the time I returned to my room it was 5:30. I ordered a sandwich from room service, and tried on the different dresses Jill had put in the closet. There was that darling cocktail dress, high-necked, black, subtly beaded, almost calling for those red nails Mari had mentioned. Whatever the evening activities Carl had mentioned, this would do. By 7:30 I was wearing it, had adjusted my makeup for the evening, and was back studying the magazine ads, waiting for Carl to show up with my schedule. I wondered if he was supposed to be my gentleman escort for the evening, and where he would take me, and whether there would be other women there to help me polish my movements and manners, to perfect my behaviour the way Marianne had perfected my hair, face, and fingernails. Whatever lay in store, I intended to be a lady, and unashamed to be a lady. I wanted my wife to be proud of me.
Chapter 6
There came a knock on the door promptly at eight, and there was Carl. But he wasn't wearing his room service white jacket -- instead he was wearing a casual shirt, slacks, and a light sport jacket, resort wear. As he came in he looked at me with an appreciative half-smile, and said "My but you look lovely. That dress is very becoming. I saw you lying by the pool this afternoon, and thought Mari had done wonderful things with you." He was carrying a clipboard, as earlier.
"Thank you," I replied, thinking that this was my first compliment from a gentleman, and thinking that if I weren't the lady of the house I would have felt an impulse to curtsy. "I think so too. But tell me, Carl, what's the schedule for me for this evening."
Carl smiled and looked into my eyes. "Me," he replied. His smile and his gaze remained fixed on me, unwavering.
"What's that?" I asked. I felt a twinge of fright. I suddenly remembered my wife's note from last night, when she was gloating over trapping me into sucking Tom's cock, and had told me if I wanted more before bedtime I should ask the blond young man. This one.
"No, you're mistaken," I said firmly. I realized I had just suddenly snapped into feeling and talking like a man, for the first time today. I felt a little silly to be doing it in a cocktail dress. But there was a lot at stake. I loved looking like a woman, but that didn't mean I wanted to be a woman. Not where sex is concerned. A heterosexual crossdresser is not a homosexual submissive! My body was my own! And so was my pride! "I have this note from my wife that says she made no arrangement with you. And I have no money."
Carl looked at his note-pad, then turned over a few pages and smiled at me again. "No, Jane, my arrangement with your wife is quite clear. She told me to leave you alone last night, then to bring you breakfast this morning and to introduce myself. For tonight her instructions are, let me see." He glanced down the upper half of a sheet of paper, arrived at something further down, then read it aloud:
"Please see to it that by morning my husband feels like a woman in love, after a glorious night with you. I know you can do it. He's shy, and you may need to insist, and you can be as firm as you need to be. I hope he'll help, so you won't need to use force, or do any of those really punishing things you know how to do. Unless of course he wants you to."
Carl grinned up at me, then back down at Jill's instruction sheet. "Remember, he is still a virgin, as far as I know. He may let you be gentle with him, or he may not. But either way I want him to get the fucking of his life. No real damage to him, please. But if he can't sit for a week after you're finished with him, I'll understand. And months from now, if I see him smiling a secret smile and he won't tell me why, I'll know you've done for him everything I'd hoped. He wants to be a woman. Turn him into a woman. Give him the sexual experiences and reflexes and memories of a woman."
Carl read on silently a moment more, beamed at what I took to be some extravagant compliment, then looked up at me and put the note away. "An absolutely wonderful woman, your wife," he said to me. "To arrange a present like this! To arrange for you to live your deepest fantasies for a whole night! To change your very identity. And to keep it a secret until this very moment! You know, I'm quite expensive. She must love you very much."
I sat down on the edge of the bed in my cocktail dressed, stunned, all dressed up with no place to go. For some reason I felt demure at that moment, and I hated the feeling. It was so dependent, and helpless. Here I thought I knew what Jill had planned for me, and she had crossed me up again! Or rather, she was carrying out a plan of her own with a relentlessness I couldn't believe! She wanted me to submit to Carl, to be mortified, embarrassed, cheapened, and degraded by him. This was no path toward womanliness! This was pure and simple vengeance! For Darlene again. I couldn't believe it!
Carl looked at me, obviously pleased with himself, and eager to be of service. "Now," he said, "is there some special fantasy you'd like to perform with me, that you're a patient and I'm a doctor, or that you're a whore and I'm your best customer, or that you're a prisoner and I'm a prison guard, or that you're a schoolgirl and I'm a headmaster? Anything at all?"
"No," I said, "just that I'm Jill's husband, and you're the man she has hired to fuck me over."
"All right, Jane," he said. "Then let's begin. There's a beautiful peignoir in the closet. I think you saw it? And the sheer nightgown you were wearing this morning when I served you breakfast."
"Yes"
"And a makeup case in the bathroom, and more cosmetics in your purse?"
"Yes"
"A lovely word, 'yes.' It sounds so beautiful when you say it. I want you to put all those lovely things on and to make yourself especially beautiful for me. You will want me to be impressed by your efforts when I next see you. I assure you, you will. O yes, you'll also find some feminine douche kits in the medicine cabinet, and an enema kit. I want you to use them all on your pussy by the time I return, in that pretty virginal rosebud you have hidden between those gorgeous globes of your derriere. Use all of them, one after another. Clean yourself out throughly. Your first experience must be as memorable and beautiful as your wife wishes it. We mustn't let anything stand in the way. Now, I've set aside a bottle of champagne for us, so we can toast everything that lies ahead of us tonight. I'll go now and get it. And I'll want to get some other things too."
He took my hand gently, and kissed it, and looked down on it as if the sight were too sweet to bear. Then with one hand he bent my fingers up, until the tendons stretched to the point of pain, and forced me to my knees. I looked up at him, a little alarmed. He looked back down with doting affection, but maintained his one-handed grip. "You're not going to be troublesome I know, because you'd only get hurt. You're going to do everything I ask. Don't worry. You'll love it. This is really a kind of honeymoon for you, and I will want you to remember it always, and to smile always whenever you remember."
I couldn't say anything. His grip on my hand was just this side of real pain, and it was obvious he wasn't exerting any pressure on me at all, yet.
"Now Jane, just three questions. Please answer each of them. It's true that your pussy is virginal? You'll cooperate with my efforts and your wife's desires for you? You expect to feel grateful to both of us afterward?"
"Yes," I said, "Yes, I will. Yes."
He stared at me, then smiled. "Good!" he said. "I won't be long, darling girl." And he was gone. The door closed.
I immediately thought about escape. But that would mean the end of my marriage, with no hope ever of a reconciliation. That was clear. Well, I thought, there is nothing for it. Jill wants to punish me, and she has found this bizarre way to do it. This guy is going to fuck me, with or without my consent, and she expects me to let him, and I have to go through with it or she won't take me back. This is sucking Tom's cock all over again, and more! But if I do go through with it, would she ever take me back anyhow? Why should she? How could she respect me as a man ever again? There'll only be my further degradation for her to mock me with. Or is she just asserting more control over me now? Is this some kind of kinky test of my obedience to her? But there has never been anything kinky about Jill. In fact, that's been one of her problems.
Then I thought. Obedience. That's an odd word for me to use. Love, honour, and obey. Maybe what she wants is for me to learn what it's like to be a married woman, since my wanting to look like a woman has so offended her, and in fact has gotten me where I am right now. Part of that is getting laid by a man. So she wants me to get laid. If I'm going to wear panties, then I should know what it's like to feel a prick in me. Then maybe, in her mind, I'd be less of a fake.
I thought some more. No, I suddenly realized. She wants more than that. She wants me to want to get laid. She has her own ideas about me. It isn't being like a woman she thinks I need to learn -- she knows I've played at that all my life. And it isn't being made to do things women do, and gay men, like last night with Tom. That's just part of punishing me because she knows I don't want to have sex with other men. Not all young girls dream about sucking cock when they grow up. She doesn't suck cock herself, and she's a woman, at least she's never wanted to put her mouth on my cock, though maybe last night with Tom. No, she's devious. She wants more. She wants me to stop feeling ashamed to be seen dressing like a woman or behaving like a woman.
Good grief! She thinks that my feeling ashamed to be seen as a woman is unmanly! Only a wimp is ashamed of anything he wants to do. And to feel ashamed to be a woman is to insult all women! Does she want me to be a woman without apology? Yes. She expects me to want Carl to make love to me. And she wants me to want to make love to Carl. Her darling little cocksucker, she called me. She was mocking me then. But this is different.
I began to understand. She was mocking me because I felt humiliated when I had to suck on a cock, and she had set it up and rubbed it in. Now if I feel humiliated with Carl, she'd mock me again, and punish me even more. But I can escape her mockery by enduring whatever she dishes out without minding. Or I can escape mockery and punishment by wanting to do it, as if I were a real woman with real desires and a stud in her bed. Queers suck cock and take it in the ass and love it without feeling humiliated, because that's what they want to do. The same must be true for any woman, if she does what she wants to do. If I were the woman I claim I like to feel myself, sex with a man wouldn't feel humiliating. This isn't a punishment. In fact, it can be something beautiful.
So there's the answer. If I want to do it, then there's no humiliation. She wants me to want to do it. She's not punishing me with Carl, she's teaching me to be proud of my womanly desires, and to let Carl awaken them. She's even teaching me a kind of manhood. Real men are never ashamed of what they do. What did John Wayne say, "Never apologize, never look back." Of course the idea is disgusting.. A cock up my rear end! But I can do it. A man can be tough when he has to be. Tough enough to want to get reamed.
I decided I would submit to whatever Carl had in mind, if that was what it took to save my marriage. That wouldn't mean I really wanted to submit to Carl. Just that I wanted Jill. And I had promised Jill I'd go along with whatever she asked me to do. Here I am, fresh out of the beauty salon, and I never looked more like a woman. Now she says I should make love to Carl the way a woman would, and to love it. That's what I'm going to do.
With that decision out of the way, I really did want to submit to Carl. Part of me was genuinely curious what it was like to get fucked by a man. Despite myself, I realized I was already looking forward to getting fucked, in fact beginning to feel a certain trembling excitement about it. Last night I went through the motions of cocksucking Tom's prick, trying to feel nothing, thinking it was an ordeal I had to go through so Tom would continue to think I was a woman, when in fact he was thinking what Jill had told him, that I was a shy faggot. Tonight I can actually find out what women feel when they're with men. There had to be something they find attractive. They all want to do it, most of them. And from a woman's point of view, Carl is pretty good looking.
So it's arranged. Tonight, my inviolable virgin asshole will become a much-ravished pussy. And there is nothing I can do about it. Well, since I have no choice, I decided, I will set my manhood aside for the night, somewhere where it can't be violated or touched. Then I won't feel perverse or queer or debased. They want me to be a woman. I'll be a woman. I'll try to want to be a woman. For one night, anyhow. To see what there was to see.
I got up and headed for the bathroom. Then something else unexpected happened. I should have been resenting Jill, but I started to feel grateful toward her, and the feeling spread. She had left me a pretty negligee to wear, and a swimsuit. She had arranged a complete salon make over, something she knew I'd love but wouldn't have the nerve to arrange for myself. Now she's arranged for me to spend the night being a woman in love with her lover. She isn't denying my wanting to feel feminine, or mocking it, she's confirming it. I don't have to resent this. I can even thank her. All I have to do is go with the flow.
A whirlwind of thoughts, but I was pretty sure I'd arrived at an accurate understanding of my predicament. Whatever I was, whatever I wanted to be, Jill wanted me to proud of myself. My sneaking around was what had offended her. Of course Jill was devious. She had other things in mind as well. But this much I understood.
So I decided to go all out. I would go look for bubble bath crystals or body oils among the things laid out there, and take a bath, so when Carl came back he would find me clean and soft and perfumed. And I needed to prepare myself in other ways. This night was already a learning experience, and it hadn't even begun.
When Carl came back I was already in the bedroom, dressed in my nightgown and peignoir, my skin softened and scented like a field of flowers, looking to see how many pillows I could heap up on the bed toward whatever bliss we might find in each other. My pussy felt utterly empty, maybe too empty, and inserting so many different enema and douche nozzles into it had made me aware that the opening was a muscle I could tense or loosen. Carl extended the champagne bottle ahead of him as he came through the door, as if it were a line of defence he hoped would hold. I walked right through it. "Carl," I said, "I've been waiting for you. You took so long."
"I didn't want to hurry you, darling," Carl replied. "You had so much to do, and to think about."
"Yes, I did," I replied, "And I thought about it. But in the end you were most of what I was thinking about." I reached toward him, and grasped him, and placed my lips on his, hoping he would be able to do something to make me feel less silly.
He did. He set the champagne bottle down, and leaned forward into me, and grasped me around my waist with one arm, and around my shoulders
with the other, and gave me the deepest kiss I have ever experienced. He had soft warm lips, and a warm wet mouth. I leaned back as he leaned forward, and he pulled me into him, and we melted into each other, and I felt his tongue enter me and probe, and delicately lick my tongue. I pressed my body closer to him and he lowered his arm behind me, and then gently lifted my crotch into his. He was hard. I could feel it. An hour ago I would have felt sickened. But now I rubbed myself against him, aware that I was also hard. Involuntarily, I let out a loud sigh. "Please," I said, "What can I do?"
"Well," he answered."You can bring us some glasses. We need to toast your new understanding."
I found two and brought them over. He sat on the couch and filled them. I sat next to him, as close as I could. I actually hoped he could smell my perfume! He put his arm around me, and I snuggled into its crook. It was very comfy. He handed me a glass, and I looked at him.
He looked down directly into my eyes and said, "Jane dear, look into my eyes. To the night that lies ahead of us. Now we drink, slowly, steadily, and we keep looking into each other's eyes and keep sipping. It's an old Danish custom."
My feeling for him got incredibly intense as I looked into his eyes! I began to feel eager to submit to him. Of all things, my erection got even harder. He continued to look into me with his half-smile, deeper and deeper, and neither of us said anything, and I looked back at him. His eyes were blue. Suddenly I lost it. I let out a moan and yielded up my core, and threw my arms around his neck and poured kisses onto his face. His cheeks felt slightly bristly on my lips, like any man's when freshly shaved, and I could smell some kind of after shave. But I didn't care. He was just a wonderful, lovely man!
"Jane," he said gently, "Let's just sit here quietly for a moment. But I do know how you feel!" So I snuggled in against him and let a wave of deep affection for him wash through me. I had decided I would willingly let Carl make love to me. But things were moving very fast. Now I was eager to make love to him!
His first move surprised me. "Jane," he said. "I want to please you. Let me kiss you snd caress your breasts. Let me kiss your pussy and your clit. I want you to lie back and relax, and do nothing. I want you to empty yourself of yourself, then fill yourself with me. Lie back on these pillows."
I did as he asked, realizing that in my nightgown, with my beautiful nails and curled hair, I felt luxuriously feminine. He asked me to throw my arms over my head and rest them on the pillows above me, exposing my bosom (if I'd had any), certainly leaving my erogenous nipples wide open to him, and he asked me to lift my knees slightly and spread them, and he smiled. There I was, sprawled languorously like Camille waiting to receive her first lover of the evening.
He leaned over and kissed me again, first on the mouth, then on my neck. Sliding my nightgown's straps over my shoulders, he bared my chest and my nipples, and began to kiss them, oh so sweetly. I began to dissolve in erotic feeling as my nipples engorged, and he kissed each in turn. It was so sweet, so very deep, so very loving, as my nipples grew and their feelings spread through my whole body, and they yearned after his mouth. His lips circled and puckered on the very tips of my nipples, and gently began sucking them, first one then the other, and I went into a glorious trance, my eyes closed, my face glowing, and time passed and I was in heaven. I never wanted more to be a woman, and never felt more wonderfully fulfilled as a woman. After a while his lips moved down to my navel. I stretched back further and heard my throat begin to purr aloud, in a high and husky sound, feeling just lovely as his mouth worked further down, then reached my throbbing cock, and engulfed it. Magically, almost at once, I came. He swallowed me and continued as if nothing had happened, with an even greater passionate concentration. I softened, then hardened again.
He paused, got off the bed, then came around between my legs and reached to caress my breasts, and again my nipples felt an exquisite desire for ... something unnameable feminine. As his fingertips danced on my nipples, his head bent down to suck and lick and kiss my penis in ways more intricate than any Tom had told me. My feelings of joy went deeper and deeper, and he brought me off a second time. These spasms I felt deep under my mound, and I sighed aloud with the beauty of it all, then just lay there. I had never felt more sensually at ease. My arms were still sprawled luxuriously over my head. He smiled, kissed my flaccid penis tenderly one more time, and came out from between my legs to lie by my side on the pillows. On impulse I embraced him, and then kissed him tenderly. I felt just glorious.
I was lying entwined alongside him when he spoke. "Janie," he said. "I think the moment has come. We are going to make love as man and woman." I felt a pang of fear -- I knew he was heading toward it, but here it was. "There's nothing to worry about," he said. "You'll love it. Trust me. You'll love it. Just do what I say, and you'll love it."
"All right."
"Here I am lying here face up, looking at your dear face alongside me. Why don't you just straddle me while I lie here. Spread your knees as wide as you can on each side of me, and sit on my crotch."
I did. I could feel his dick was already quite hard. Mine was still slack, sucked out.
"Now raise yourself up just a bit, so I can lubricate both of us." He reached for a tube on the bed stand and did just that, working a fistful of it on his cock and then gently, gently, reaching under me, he stroked my anus with his finger, spreading a film of jelly all around it. Then as his hand began to feel nice, a little ticklish, I felt a soft finger press on my opening and then into it. My sphincter clamped down on it, and he seemed amused. "Not yet, Janie," he said. "Be patient, love." Then he pulled out. He slathered more jelly on his finger, then re- entered me, and worked his digit in and out for a few minutes, gently, even delicately. The ring of muscle guarding my opening relaxed.
"Please, bend down. I want to kiss your breasts."
I raised myself up off his hand, but the finger and hand followed my bottom as it rose, continuing to move inside my rectum. It was beginning to feel interesting, even a little delicious. Then I leaned my chest over him, and he licked first one nipple, then the other. Then his free hand caressed one nipple while he sucked delicately on the other, tonguing it. The same wave of lovely feelings I had felt earlier returned, and again I melted. I had to kiss him, and I did, with increasing passion, while he continued to touch and lick and caress my nipple tips, and underneath me he slathered more jelly on us. Finally he lifted his prick -- a long one by any standard -- and tucked it straight up between my cheeks.
"Now, dear, you feel the tip of my prick on your pussy opening, don't you."
I did. I wiggled my hips just a bit to seat it more firmly between my jellied cheeks, the head pressing on my hole...my pussy...but unable to enter.
"That's perfect. Janie you have nothing to fear. You are in charge. You will deflower yourself whenever you feel ready. Just press your pretty pussy onto me as you wish, whenever you wish, more or less, more or less." He took me by the waist for a moment and raised and lowered and raised me to demonstrate the rhythm. Then as if nothing further needed to be done, he returned to kissing and caressing my nipples. Then he reached for my penis with his lubricated hand, and began to smooth and cuddle it, and my belly and all of everything inside began to feel an immense yearning. My hips surged in the rhythm he had begun, up, and down, and I rotated my pussy opening a little while pressing in on him, each movement a bit more insistent as his prick pressed more and more firmly against my hole.
"Ahhh hahhhhhh" suddenly sang out of my throat in a soft soprano voice. He was in! My outcry of ecstatic pleasure surprised me. I pressed my vulva against his cock more persistently, each time increasing my pressure on the soft head of his remarkably firm prick until it was sliding in the slickness between my cheeks, and suddenly I felt a door open in my bottom, and he slid in three or four inches. I stopped. He was well inside me, I was sure of it. I wriggled again, and was sure. I felt stretched, and I felt an intense pressure, as if I were trying to crap something too big to pass, and I eased off, and began to feel just wonderfully full. Then I began to move down and up on him again, and his hips picked up my rhythm. With each movement I took more of him into me, then lifted to let more of him slide out, until only the tip remained, and then he moved up into me and I backed down onto him again. The ring of muscle closing my anus began to spasm at the bottom of each plunge, and I took more of him in, then more still, until incredibly, I found I was sitting flat on his crotch, my weight no longer on my knees but on my buttocks, my back arched, my head thrown way back, my eyes closed, my rear end and my bowels utterly packed with his meat, mindlessly blissful.
By now he was no longer kissing my chest but lying back with a beatific smile, eyes closed, hands on my waist, helping me rise and fall over him, one hand sometimes squeezing my flaccid penis ever so gently, caressing it so it felt just wonderful though it grew only slightly tumescent. Together we moved, and the harmony was musical. I wanted to make him come, to slide and squeeze his prick with my asshole until I could feel it was a true vagina, soaked and christened in cum. We picked up the pace, and the yearning within me increased. Faster, and I felt I was flying on him, my body dancing around his pole, impaled, joyous, sensations building until suddenly they burst. "Ohhhh Gahhhhhd!" I cried out as my asshole spasmed over and over on the base of his prick and my limp dick somehow squirted out more juice with each spasm, just as his hips gave a great thrust up and into me, and his hands clamped my waist and held me in a vise grip, and he emptied his balls into my vagina in a flood of pumping, his spasms triggering even more of mine. My bowel runneth over, I thought irreverently, and I fell down on him, near-unconscious with rapture, and gasped a few times before I could breathe deeply and catch up with myself.
His breathing returned to a more normal pace much sooner than mine. "Well dear, I don't think you're a virgin any longer," he said. I smiled at him weakly in reply. "No," I said in my feminine voice, without realizing I was using it, and then with enormous satisfaction and affection I added, "I'm not." Now that the ecstasy had subsided, I began to think I must have done havoc to my rear end. His cock was still thrust way inside, showing no sign of softening, but all around him I felt sore.
He reached out his hand to the nightstand again, picked up something, and said "Now Jane, lift yourself off me." I did, feeling terribly vulnerable, my sore ass up over him feeling altogether exposed as he sat up, leaned forward, withdrew, spread a cool lotion on my labia, and then in a single move suddenly inserted something very large into me, yielding but stiff, and pushed it home.
"What's that?" I asked, startled. "Now Jane dear, trust me," he replied. "You'll want to make love to me with your pussy some more tonight, won't you? A few more times, I'm sure. So we want to take good care of it for now. It's stretched out, and we want to keep it that way for later. And you have my sperm inside you, the world's best lubricant for later. So I've just put in a medicated plug, to sooth you and to keep you open, and to keep you from leaking. We'll keep it there except when I want to enter you and make love. By morning you'll be well stretched out and won't need it. In fact you'll probably leak for a few days whenever you try to stand up, until your pussy muscles get used to being closed again. But we'll take care of that later. After this night my dear, whenever you are feeling amorous with some young man, you'll find he can enter you much more easily than I did. But right now you need a butt plug. Come, lie down next to me."
The rest of the night went as he predicted. He fucked me in the ass three more times, once with me bending over the bed while he stood pumping me from behind, and caressed my breasts, once doggy style (it was only OK I thought), and once with me on my back and my legs held high on his shoulders, my pussy wide open to whatever he desired, Carl passionately kissing my face and neck all the while he was reaming me relentlessly down below. I loved it. I loved it all. It was remarkable how each time he used me I more and more thought of my anus as a vagina, feeling not like a sodomized man but like a fulfilled woman. I didn't come again that night, though during the last fucking my prick started to get hard, rubbing against his belly. The anal sex got very exciting, my prostate restimulated whenever he re-entered me. I loved it all. I've never really preferred men to women, but that night was the most sexually satisfying I have ever spent, and after that night I knew I could swing either way sexually if desire or need took me either way. That night it occurred to me I might not be merely a crossdresser but a transsexual, a real woman in a man's body. The feeling didn't last, but it seemed possible.
His performance was prodigious. Each time he fucked me he came, and just before the third time we had a reprise of my cocksucking session with Tom, and he came again. By then I wanted to suck on him, and swallow him, and eat him alive. Carl sat in an easy chair while I sank between his knees and eagerly licked and kissed and mouthed and caressed his beautiful prick while he showed me how to run my tongue along the full length of its underside, how to angle my throat to take him deeper into me, and finally how to swallow his cum even while matching my mouth's sucking rhythm to his head-fucking. By morning I had spent so much time pleasing him with my mouth and rear end, and had received so much pleasure from him, that I was half in love.
When dawn came I was sleeping curled up on him, my head on his shoulder, his earlobe still against my lips where I had been kissing it when I fell asleep, my arms and legs wrapped tightly around him. He carefully disengaged himself from me, and I woke up to hear myself make the most delicately feminine, sleepily petulant whine of protest I have ever heard from anyone. I tried to stop him by kissing his face and shoulders all over again, fawning over him. But no use. He stood up and dressed, then leaned over me and reached between my legs. For a moment I was hopeful we were beginning again, but all he did was check that his butt-plug was still in place.
"Didn't I tell you this would happen?" he said, mildly amused. "You aren't the first husband I've helped to discover the joys of being a doting wife, and you aren't the first who now, sadly, needs to be reminded that you are not my doting wife. You are your wife's." He said these things while gathering up his various implements and articles of clothing. I watched him a bit dismayed. I then felt dismayed that I felt dismayed.
Fully packed, he went to the door and blew me a kiss. "Goodbye love! O yes, your pussy is stretched, and it will leak for a day or two. When you take out the plug, I suggest you wear a tampon. You'll find some in your purse, where your wife put them before you came here. She knew you'd appreciate her thoughtfulness. I wish you a long and happy life Jane. We won't meet again."
He smiled at me reassuringly. "I loved it," he said. "You are a wonderful lover. You have nothing to be ashamed of." And while I tried to figure what he meant by this, he was out the door and gone.
Obviously, the way I felt now was the way Jill had wanted me to feel when I came home. Sore and complete, and a bit wistful. Satisfied, with no apologies. A woman fulfilled. I stretched back luxuriously, my arms again flung above my head like a houri whose Sultan has just left her, my eyes closed, smiling to myself. It was time to go home.
Chapter 7
I sat up in bed for a moment, musing, looking at the door where Carl had just disappeared, and realized I was still smiling in almost feline contentment. The night just past, my sense of entrapment, my acceptance of the inevitable, my conversion to desire for a man, my deep satisfaction at being reamed, and my joy while giving my lover passionate head, all this had gone further than I had ever dreamed possible. I felt...well...lovely! I pushed myself up from the bed and stood up, my weight on one leg for a moment, twisting my hips as I rose, all in a single, gracefully sinuous movement I recognized as intimately feminine. That was how I felt! My smile broadened. This went far deeper than the pleasure I usually felt wearing women's clothing. I glimpsed myself in the mirror, my hair still set in Marianne's mop of curls. How could I have ever wanted to comb them out to look like a man? Despite the night's ravages it looked darling. I looked well- fucked. I felt it, too.
Time for a shower and change. I took out Carl's butt-plug, thinking I'd keep it as a souvenir. But now I was leaking! Carl's precious cum was escaping! I had to stop it and absorb it all was my immediate impulse, and I grinned even more broadly when I realized that was the silly instinctual sentiment of a smitten schoolgirl. Still, I wanted to absorb it all. I hopped over to my purse, got one of the tampons Jill had put there, and quickly inserted it -- I thanked my stars there were no cardboard or plastic plungers to learn to insert, just a pure tampon ready to expand inside me. Again a full feeling, but satisfying, and I felt proud to think of the string now hanging out of my butt as a symbol of my new womanhood. I had earned it, with all sorts of feelings of love and loss, and desire and regret
In the bathroom I noticed a jar of Nair, and thought why not? Though I was still clean shaven I spread the pink stuff all over me, waited until the itching was intense, then showered it all off. Now I felt like a baby's behind, and I wanted to maintain the momentum, hellbent to become all woman! My new curls held up beautifully. I toweled them off and fingered them into shape, and touched them with air from the blow dryer. My makeup took longer, but I kept to Mari's daytime light tones and remembered her instructions, not much of anything much, but never ignore eyes and cheeks. A little more grey on my lids and I felt fit to look at the world. I saw in the mirror that the studs in my ears were neat, the holes healing. I had thought yesterday that they were a too hasty impulse I'd regret. Now I was quite pleased with them. I felt like a woman. I loved it!
Back in the room I picked out a beige tailored suit that had been hanging in the closet this whole time, and found a purple silk blouse on the same hangar under the jacket. Jill had thought of everything. This was the coming home outfit she had planned for me, I was sure of it. I thought I had better call her.
The phone rang twice, and Jill's voice answered with her polite but neutrally brisk inquiry, "Hello, yes ?" I realized that today was a working day, and that she was probably off to the office in a few minutes.
"Hello," I said in a relaxed, friendly voice, sounding the way I felt, "This is your darling little cocksucker speaking. Just checking in to find out what you have planned for me for today."
"How was last night?" she asked a little cautiously. "Did it go well?"
"It went beautifully Jill. Really well. I loved it! Really!"
She sounded relieved for some reason. "Darling, that's wonderful. I was hoping you'd say something like that. Carl called a few minutes ago and said you couldn't have been more loving. But you never know. You sound just fine. Please come home now, and tell me all about it. I want you to come home, Jack."
"I'm Jane, Jill. I'm not sure where Jack is right now."
"Oh darling," she practically exploded into the phone, "I did so want you to feel that way! Do come home as quickly as you can!" She paused, then said in an amused tone, "Jack can come with you if you like. It's his home too. He can live here with us. But we have so much we can talk about now, Jane! I'll be here. I'm much too excited to go to work today." She hung up.
Well! She did have a plan the whole time, and I had changed right on schedule! Jack had left the house in sneaking shame, a cuckold abandoning his wife to a stranger, a wimp transvestite entrapped cocksucker, and now Jane returns a satisfied and un-self-conscious woman. There it was. Contempt for Jack the crossdresser, the fearful husband terrified to be found out. Admiration for Jane, a woman inside Jack at ease with her femininity and unashamed to be whoever she is. If Jack had not become Jane before Carl started in on him, then Jack would have been corn-holed and fucked and humiliated some more, like the previous night, and he would have deserved it. But instead he had become Jane, pleasured and loved and transported into the joys of loving, and as Carl had promised she had loved it, and would cherish the memories. Jill wanted to live with Jane. She was willing to let Jack hang around, but it was as if she was married to Jane! Could there be a little lesbian in her? Could that be why she never really warmed up to Jack? What am I saying? I'm still Jack too, but I'm not what he was, for sure!
I felt confused and excited at the same time. What a woman! Devious isn't the half of it! I packed everything up in a valise I found in the corner of the closet, as I knew I would, and carried it out. On my way I saw that the front desk was manned by the same impassive clerk I had met when I first arrived. "Goodbye, dear," I said to him, my voice as musical as my mood, "It's been a lovely stay. I believe my bill's been settled." He looked up.
"That's right Miss," he said. "Have a nice day."
This time when I reached the car I sat down in my skirt, twisted into the driver's seat, and drove home with brisk efficiency. If a cop stopped me and saw Jack's licence, so what! None did. I parked the car in our driveway and sat there a moment, then opened the door. There was Jill standing on the steps waiting for me, smiling. I turned carefully, put both feet together on the driveway, and then stood up. My butt was indeed feeling sore! And my pussy felt full, but the full feeling was nice in a new way. I realized I sort of liked it. I felt fulfilled!. Or maybe what I liked was what it reminded me of. My night of love. I took my purse and started walking carefully toward the steps.
"How are you, dear?" she asked, as I came toward her. "I see you've met Marianne. She gave you a wonderful hairdo. It suits you beautifully."
"Thank you," I said. "I think so too. I'm very well, Jill."
"Oh, and I see she's pierced your ears. Do you like them that way?"
"Yes," I said, "I like them." I meant to sound evasive, to yield her nothing, but it came out sounding a little smug. She heard it, and smiled again.
"Well, darling, welcome home. Why don't you go right upstairs and take a hot bath. You'll feel better. You'll find a fresh tampon on the upper shelf in the bathroom, if you need one. Or perhaps you'd prefer a pad?"
"No," I said, "a tampon will be fine."
She was visibly pleased by that answer. "That beige suit looks just darling on you, nicer than I'd thought it would be. But you'll want to change to something more comfortable now. I've lay out some clothes on our bed, and when you're ready to come down we'll have a long talk. Oh, we have so much to talk about!"
I walked past her holding myself a little stiff, trying not to limp. I heard her. "Our" bed. Well! A hot bath sounded just right. I went upstairs to the bathroom, ran the tub, and added a touch of bath oil without thinking, amused to discover it when the fragrance reached my nose. Then I stripped down and got in. After a long soak I stood up again, feeling very much at ease, and got out. Did I still leak? Better be safe. I found the box of tampons, changed my soiled one for a fresh one, and went into "our" bedroom feeling .. well...pretty neat. Nice. Dainty. Together.
I saw two outfits laid out on the bed, a man's blue polo shirt and slacks, jockey shorts, socks, and sneakers, and another stack of clothes a foot or so away, a white cotton blouse with plaid skirt, bra, panties, and flats. Well, well. One more test? Feeling just a touch defiant, I dressed in the blouse and skirt, touched up my lipstick, and went back down, still walking slowly. For some reason her face lit up when she saw what I was wearing. She was glad to see me. This was not the old Jill, not at all. But then I was not the old Jack. I was Jane. My own woman. And to my own astonishment, that's exactly who I was!
I knew she'd take charge of the conversation by sheer habit if I didn't get there first, so I started speaking from the stairway as soon as I saw her.
"Jill, I know what you were doing," I said. "It worked. I do appreciate it. But it worked better than you think. You wanted me to act like a man, to quit with the women's clothes. I couldn't. Then you wanted me to stop pretending I was a man, to acknowledge I was the woman I've been dressing up all these years. Now I've done it. Carl pushed me over. Before I was a man obsessed to look like a woman, but terrified to be discovered and disgraced. When you fixed me up with Tom, you didn't disgrace me, I did. I felt disgraced in my own eyes, because I was ashamed of who I was. But not now. Now I'm a woman and pleased to be a woman, in a man's body, but with the look of a woman, and I have access to my male identity when it suits me, so nothing's lost and nothing's at risk. But Jill, I feel like more of a woman than you were when you married me, because last night I wanted to do more than you have ever done or wanted to do to give pleasure to the man I loved, the man I loved last night, anyhow. You never felt that way about me."
That was the zinger! But Jill never winced. She simply sat in our large easy chair and looked at me as if I were a birthday present she hadn't yet opened. I sat down on the couch, slipped off my flats, tucked my legs up alongside me, straightened my skirt over them, looked at her, and waited.
She leaned forward and began an address to the jury. "Dear, from the moment I saw you walking toward me, so weary in your rear end but so comfortable and well-poised, wearing your new hairdo and new suit without any self-consciousness at all, your pierced ears telling me you're proud to look female and don't care who knows it, I knew my plan had worked. You're right. Before you weren't a man at all. You were unfaithful to your own manhood and to me, and you were sneaky and ashamed of the woman inside you. I wanted to punish you for all those betrayals, or else straighten you out, one or the other, once and for all. So I trapped you into a situation your manhood would find intolerable but your femininity would find intriguing, even delightful. You had to learn what every woman has to learn sooner or later, to submit to a man and her own desires without loss of self respect. You male ego thought getting fucked by Carl would be a catastrophe, and it would have been, to your male ego. So it went howling in terror from Carl's prick! But that allowed you to become what you are now! As I hoped, you committed to the woman in you, the woman you've always claimed was inside you, and you became that woman, someone able to enjoy a handsome stud like Carl. So you escaped from my trap, and now you're more of a whole person than you've been since I've known you. I think much happier too." Then she added, "Even though your tush probably feels a little used right now. But not ill-used I'll bet!" Her voice became more thoughtful, as if she were talking to someone like herself. "When we married we were both mistaken. You thought you wanted a wife, and I thought I wanted a husband. Well, maybe we did. Maybe in some ways we still do. I was so proper and innocent. But I'm not the same person I was. I've learned a lot about what I want. We can live together as husband and wife if you want, the two of us, if you really want to wear Jack's clothes and masquerade as Jack. But then we won't be husband and wife. I don't think either of us wants that, really, anyhow. You've always wanted to look like a woman and now you do, and you feel like one too, don't you love, and it isn't too bad, is it? Now you're a woman in your heart. I love what you are now. I think we can live together very happily as woman and wife. That's what I want."
Now she began to sound a little uncertain, even vulnerable. It was very appealing. "I'm not sure what we'll be with each other. Maybe sisters. Maybe girlfriends. Lovers, I think. Or all of these. But we'll live together as women, in every respect, and then we can respect each other in everything. Are you willing to accept this?"
I was overwhelmed. If she had waited a few days to ask me, when the passion I felt for Carl had faded, and undeniable physical thrill of getting reamed in the ass was finally understood as no more than that, and the novelty of feeling myself unashamed to be a woman had lost its novelty, I might have given her a more carefully considered answer. Maybe a different one. As it turned out, the man in me was still very much alive and well, though I didn't know it just then. I think she knew it, and wanted to move fast, with her lawyer's sense of timing. But I was so overwhelmed that she wanted me at all, especially wanted me to be that marvelous thing I was feeling myself to be, a woman newly liberated from feeling ashamed of it, that my eyes filled with tears. I nodded to her, unable to speak.
"You're sure, dear? A woman? No backtracking? No second thoughts? You'll be a woman with me? You want to? Really?"
"I do." It sounded a little like a wedding ceremony, but she seemed to want to hear the words. In a way it was a wedding ceremony. We were re-marrying each other. And once I said the words, there was no pulling back. Then suddenly a wicked impulse possessed me. "Wait a minute. If I move back here with you, do I get to keep my own bedroom?"
She looked surprised. "Oh yes, dear. If you want. But I hope you won't want it."
"Oh, no," I replied. "Not at all. This will be interesting."
Now it was her turn to look at me with a wicked grin. "It'll be more than interesting, dear. It'll be fun! Something we haven't had much of lately. In fact, not much at all!"
She stood and came over to me, and kneeled by the couch and hugged me, and then kissed me with more passion than I had ever seen in her. "We're going to have such a wonderful life together, sweetheart. Darling, now that I know who you are, and you know who you are, I want to make it all up to you. I love you."
And to my amazement she lifted back my skirt, and pulled down my panties, and as my prick rose to meet her mouth she went down on me. She started to suck me with her lips shaped in a large sweet "O", devotedly kissing the head of my prick every time her lips touched it. "I see that Tom taught you a few things too, didn't he, dearest," I said. She nodded, I think, though it was hard to tell from the way her head was bobbing. So I showed her how to lick the underside from root to crown, and how to angle her head to take me deep into her throat. When I came, she swallowed almost all of it, and looked up at me in triumph. I bent over and kissed her, my cum still on her lips. "Happy Birthday to both of us, darling," I said. "Yes," she murmured, our open mouths pressed tightly against each other. Her tongue pushed some cum still in her mouth over into mine, and it seemed to me a sweet sharing of our new life together. And so it was. But now I know she was also getting on with the next phase of her plans for me, with as little delay as possible..
The next few weeks were the happiest I had ever had, worth all the humiliation and misery I had felt earlier. My wife loved me, openly and with joy, with none of the judgemental reserve, sometimes even the hint of scorn, I had sensed in her even before we were married. As she told me, she now knew what she wanted, and that was me.
That is, she wanted the womanly me, me as a woman. I had no problem with that, because after all the suppression Jane had endured that was what I wanted too. We returned to many of our old ways, taking turns fixing dinner, sleeping snug together in our old bedroom, but with a playfulness that was missing earlier. Our first night after my return from the motel I took out my most delicately feminine nightgown, all embroidered pink satin delicately edged in black lace, and put it on, and touched perfume behind my ears and on the pulse points of my wrists, not sure how she'd react to such blatant self-presentation. Then while she readied herself in the bathroom I began moving my undies from my former bedroom back to our bedroom, reclaiming my old bureau drawers, determined she should see me standing full length in the finery I intended to wear to bed that night, previously absolutely forbidden. I wanted her to see my lingerie as also an inalienable part of me. She came in and looked at me, and the sweetest smile lit up her face, and she opened her arms wide.
"Oh, dearest, you look just lovely. Are you wearing that beautiful gown for me? I love it! You look so darling! Come, give me a kiss!"
So I came over to her, and she enfolded me, and I melted into her mouth, and her lips were as soft as Carl's had been. It was wonderful. I felt like her delicate, demure, cherished lover, as she swept me over to the bed while still kissing me, and lay me down gently, and settled herself on top of me with even greater gentleness, and tucked my risen penis into her crotch and snuggled down onto it, and leaned over so I could kiss and lick and suck on each of her breasts in turn, each a delight, each rapturous, while we moved against each other and I felt myself grow harder, sliding inside her with more and more firmness and lunging into her with greater determination, as she grew more frantic, and cried out "Oh!" "Oh!" and "Oh!" repeatedly, until we both peaked and orgasmed together.
Then we lay there marvellously at our ease, smiling tenderly at each other.
"Tell me, what did Carl do to you that made you most feel like a woman," Jill asked in a quiet voice, as if she didn't want either of us to wake up.
"You know," I replied, not sure whether she did.
"Yes I do," she said complacently. "And you are going to be my woman the same way, darling. But was there anything else? Did he find any little secret places to make you go all soft and feminine and loving and doting?"
"Yes," I said. She waited, a half-smile on her face. Then very shyly I told her. "My breasts. He kissed my breasts, on the nipples. It was heavenly."
"Oh?" she asked. "Like this?" And her head tucked under my neck and her tongue began to lick my nipples, one after another, and then she pursed her soft, billowy lips and began to nurse on them. My back arched up to sink my nipple into her mouth in ecstasy! "Oh God!!" I cried in joy. She took hold of my penis and squeezed and caressed it delicately, and even before I had gotten fully hard I came yet again. Then we fell asleep wrapped up in each other.
In the morning the same thing again, this time with me sprawled on top between her legs, pumping sweetly into her and passionately kissing her neck while she squirmed in delight and caressed my chest until her fingers found my nipples, and she gently tweaked them, then sucked on them. I felt then that I would do anything for her, anything! "Oh, fuck me, fuck me," she said quietly as I humped her over and over and she pressed eagerly back onto me on each stroke, until we both came again. I was in heaven, and lay there floating as Jill got up. "I'll fix breakfast this time," she said as she slipped on a robe, kissed me, said "Don't forget your tampon," grinned sideways at me, and disappeared out the door.
And of course I went out dressed whenever I needed to do so. Back to the motel so Marianne could touch me up. Shopping. With my hairdo and my ears pierced and casual clothing and feminine shoes and the movements Jill had taught me earlier, I looked like a woman at first glance, and no one I encountered bothered to look more closely. In a hardware store a young clerk explained solicitously to me how to tell a pipe wrench from an adjustable end-wrench, because of course no woman could know. Salegirls asked if I had seen the new silk camp shirts yet, just in, when I was browsing for a blouse. Other women smiled at me when they noticed I was glancing at their hair and clothing in passing, checking out how they did themselves up, and I smiled at them in turn. We belonged together. Much of the time I was unaware I was cross-dressed at all, and just went about my business and then came home.
After a few weeks of this bliss, Jill came home late one night, having phoned earlier with apologies for the sudden emergency come up that needed tending. I waited up wearing a short waltz gown, demure and pretty, checking my makeup now and then. I wanted to be truly beautiful for her when she saw me. I suppose I was, because she came through the door, and set her briefcase down, and we swept into bed clasped together, barely pausing to strip Jill of her panty-hose. She dove for my breasts like a starved infant, first with her fingers and then with her mouth and tongue, and I was transported to paradise. I suckled her with a sweet tender feeling in my belly I'd never felt before, cradling her head lovingly. Then I entered her, and came almost at once. She hid any disappointment she felt at being denied her orgasm, but when I had softened but not yet slipped free from her she asked if I would mind kissing her down below, just once. She knew I had once wanted to, and she hadn't let me, but now she would love to know what it felt like. Another wish fulfilled! I kissed her by way of reply, then quickly reversed myself on her body, pressed my head between her legs and began to tongue and suck and mouth and lick her slit with an impassioned ardour I had never felt for any part of her before.
Almost at once she clenched my head between her two powerful thighs until I could hardly breath, and wrapped her arms around my own thighs with her head buried deep in my damp crotch, and rolled us over, so my face was beneath her. Then she began grinding her cunt into my mouth, and as I licked she began pulsing in orgasm. Immediately my mouth filled and my nose and face and chin were coated with a sticky substance. I realized it was partly her juices, but mostly my own fresh cum draining out of her. Again it tasted sweetly salty, as with Carl, and as with Tom, but creamier. I supposed that was my unique flavour, tasted in her. I loved it that I could taste myself inside her, and I tongued and lipped her so devotedly that she began moving over me again, then moaning, and writhing, and with great cries of "Ahhh! Ahhh!" she came yet again. As she calmed down and her breathing grew steady I rolled us over, turned myself again to look into her eyes, and again kissed her face.
She took mine in both hands and held it. "I hope its all right," she said. "I didn't mean for you to be tasting cum just yet, again, other than your own, if you didn't want to. But I loved what you were doing! I just loved it! I couldn't get enough."
What she said puzzled me a little, but I assured her that women love the flavour of a man, or should, and that I loved being a woman with her as well as a man, and if I could taste myself as a man inside her I loved that too. "Oh darling," she said, "then please, let's always do this afterward, whenever we make love? I do so love the thought of you drinking cum out of me. It tells me you're a woman with me even when you're a man." I told her I was delighted to oblige. And I was. And thereafter that's what we did. I got so I couldn't tell her taste from my own.
A few days later Jill resumed with her plan to make me into the girl of her dreams, as it seemed. It began innocently enough. "Well," she said as she got out of bed one morning, "Let's see what kind of a woman I'm married to." She looked at me closely, benign but critical. "Your hairdo is perfect for now, but we'll think more about it as it grows out. Your face needs attention, dear -- you've got to begin electrolysis." She looked over the rest of me carefully. "You know Jane, I never realized that Jack had such potential when he wanted to look female. You're marginal right now, and need more work, but I think you're going to look very nice, really beautiful in a way. Especially after you begin your hormone therapy."
"Jill," I said, "I already look nice, I think. And what hormone therapy?"
"Another ten pounds lighter would be nicer too I guess," she said, ignoring my question, still checking me out. "You're beginning to have a lovely figure, too, but it's time we thinned your waist down some more and rounded you out. We both start dieting this morning. Really. You shower first, honey, and then get dressed. A simple daytime dress, or blouse and skirt, nothing fancy, but panty-hose, and whatever shoes are comfortable and pretty. Just casual shopping this morning, and a stop or two. I want to make a few calls."
With her return to thinking about my practical improvement I realized that the past few weeks had been our new honeymoon, more rapturous than the original one by far. Then we were both more inhibited sexually, and had different ideas about who we each were and what we each needed. Now we knew. Or I did, anyhow. I was still feeling exalted. The more openly I allowed myself to dress and look like a woman, the happier I felt, I realized, first with Marianne, then with Carl, and now with my very own wife. I mentioned this to Jill, and she hugged me and said "I know, darling, I know. It's true. I'm so happy that you think so too."
I slipped out of my nightgown and into the shower, letting the hot water wash away all of the juices from our lovemaking. When I stepped out I saw a large bottle of body lotion waiting for me on the bathroom stool. While rubbing it all over and feeling it soften me, I remembered to check my tampon. At Jill's suggestion I had taken to wearing one all the time, "for the time being," she said. It was beginning to feel more natural for my pussy -- my rear end -- to be stuffed with something soft and comfortable. I kind of liked it. I slipped into a plain underwire bra and pantihose, a flowered shirt and a plain dark flared skirt, and my nicest black flats. I decided to do my hair and face after breakfast, and I headed down. When I arrived in the kitchen Jill was just hanging up the phone. "Well, there we are," she said, making an entry in her appointment book. "You're a busy girl today. But I think you're going to be a happy one." I kissed my wife. "I'm happy now," I said. And I was.
Chapter 8
Well, our honeymoon period was the happiest of my life. Whatever Jill may have done to me, she gave me those weeks, and I will always love her for them. Not that there weren't many other happy weeks that followed, some deliriously happy. But they weren't quite the same. That first night after Marianne and Carl transformed me, and the next morning, and during the weeks that followed, I thought Jill had accepted me completely for what I was or had become, a man who played out his feminine nature as a woman, who loved playing at being a woman. And she had accepted it, in a way. That was the key to our reawakened passion in our marriage, our newfound love for each other. What I didn't realize in my delight with this new state of things, was that in any relationship like the one we'd reached, Jill was still going to determine and control things.
And Jill had decided for herself what kind of a woman I was, and what was best for me. She was determined to see that I got it whether I wanted it or not. She loved me as Jane the woman, and respected the residual man who wanted to be more of a woman, but she had only contempt for the man in me who still wanted to remain a man. She wanted no part of Jack. So she decided to overwhelm Jack by force-feeding fulfilment of my feminine desires, as she preferred to think of them. In fact, she remained as devious as ever, sharing herself freely with Jane, and hiding from Jack anything that might spook him. Some things she hid from Jane too.
Her strategy required that she sweep me along on a wave of enthusiasm she always seemed to believe I shared, playing eagerly with her new girlfriend and wife, freely exploring with me her own previously suppressed desires, exulting in any new signs that I was a woman in a new way. Or so it seemed. She was delighted that her crossdressing husband was no longer ashamed of himself, and had become her feminine companion and lover. I was in seventh heaven because I thought that now I could play out whatever my gender fantasies either way at will. But my seventh heaven was a fool's paradise -- things were already out of my hands.
I didn't see it until later, but Jill was moving to eliminate my masculinity altogether, as fast as she could. She had in mind that I do womanly things with and without her until they became habitual. That included shopping, and trips to the beauty salon, and so forth. But she had in mind much more. I thought Carl had taught me all I needed to learn about being a woman sexually. But it seems my wife had decided my body should be much more female. That was what had so delighted her when I returned from my love tryst with Carl, no longer ashamed to be a transvestite, my mind apparently already gone all the way toward becoming a female. She knew that I really wanted to be a woman, not just look and feel like one at times, transsexual, not merely a transvestite, whatever I thought I wanted, and she knew that transsexual women, once they are women, prefer sex with men, because they are after all women, whatever they think they want (and in fact, most continue to prefer women). She knew what was best for me. I didn't.
So she never discussed these complicated matters with me, convinced that Jack the wimp in me was alive and ready to balk at anything unaccustomed. She just did it, step by step. And I went along. I was so thrilled to explore my newfound womanhood with her, and by her apparent delight in every step I took, that I didn't even notice where she was taking me. When I finally did notice, there was no returning. In fact it's only by an odd coincidence that I'm not a full scale post- op transsexual woman right now, the way she was moving me along. But we'll get to that.
As she had said, I was a busy girl that day. A few days after we remarried as woman and wife, I begun to go out dressed only as a woman, by myself, or with Jill to restaurants, or to concerts where we sometimes even encountered friends who regretted that Jack was out of town so frequently. Any outing became routine, and apart from making sure I was dressed appropriately I gave going out no further thought.
But this particular day was not routine. Breakfast was a single glass of diet supplement and a cup of black coffee, and then I went back up and teased my hair into little curls the way Marianne had showed me, and dabbed on a bit of scent, and put on a touch of mascara and lipstick, and clicked my purse shut, feeling very good, quite satisfied with what I saw in the mirror. Jill wasn't. Not yet.
I realized that right away, when we walked into a downtown beauty salon and were ushered directly into a private booth, where a young woman inspected my face closely and then asked Jill if she should begin immediately. "Begin what?" I asked? Jill nodded, and the woman told me "This will feel like a series of pin pricks, dear, but it will make things much easier for you later on. Just think of each pin prick as a hair you'll never have to shave again. If we do this three times a week, in six months your skin will be just lovely." I realized that she was talking about electrolysis, and sure enough, for the next two hours the hairs on my neck were electrocuted so they could never grow back. I didn't want to break the spell brought on by our apparent mutuality of mind, so I asked Jill very mildly, when I'd been stabbed and burnt for about a half-hour, what I should do with a permanently smooth, hairless face if I should want to dress like a man again. She replied without even looking up from her magazine, "Why, the same thing you're doing now, dear, wear makeup to look whatever way you like."
I could think of no answer to that. I later found an answer: women wearing makeup look like women, while men wearing makeup look like men in makeup. But by them my face was as smooth as any woman's, and like any woman I was using face powder regularly to reduce the shine on my cheeks and nose, reaching frequently for my compact whenever I was away from the house, without even thinking about it. By then nothing could ever grow me a new beard or moustache -- the follicles simply weren't there any more.
Next we stopped at a store off the main part of our largest mall, tucked in a corner, in a former natural food store. It was now an up-scale Sex Shoppe. Jill had several purchases clearly in mind, and she picked them out unhesitatingly. One was a double ended dildo with a realistic, fat, veined, eight inch cock on each end, meant to be worn by a woman and designed to give reciprocal pleasure. Another was an enormous single dildo, a monster rubber prick at least ten inches long, maybe a foot, at least three inches thick, with huge balls at one end. I thought it was a joke, and wondered aloud to Jill what the rest of him must look like. But she only flashed me a quick smile and returned to scanning the shelves. Next she took down a set of butt plugs, four or five of them, each longer and thicker than the next with the biggest one thicker than even the rubber prick. Each, I noticed, was bulbous in front and had a flange in back to keep it from slipping into the large intestine and disappearing altogether. Jill was quite pleased to find these last items. Then she located a peculiar device, made of plastic tubing with what seemed to be a heavy rubber balloon at one end; she explained it was an ultimate enema, one that closed off the anus until there was no doubt the bowels were being cleared of all unwanted substances. "These are all to help you get ready darling," she said. "For what?" I asked, still a bit worried especially by that monster fake prick. "Why for the men in your life," she said, beaming reassuringly.
I thought she was joking, and replied that she was all the men I wanted, and all the women too. She looked pleased at the compliment, and didn't reply. But when we left the store she handed me the smallest of the butt plugs and a tube of jelly. "Here you are darling," she said, "I know you'll want to get started right away. I'll be in that corset shop ahead there. You can leave your tampon in place for now." And she was gone.
I barely remembered to enter the Ladies' Room, not the Gents, and then I settled down in a stall to insert the device in what was plainly going to be, for future reference, my pussy. Despite her advice I took out my tampon, greased everything carefully, and also my rear end, and then pushed, but it wouldn't press in. I pushed harder. Nothing. It was much thicker than a tampon, and that's what I was accustomed to poking into myself.. Here was a problem right at the outset, the outset of what I had no idea.
I began to let my mind drift back to how Carl had done it. I remembered that lovely fuck, his hands lifting me up and letting me back down gently, with my ass rising and falling over his prick rhythmically over and over until magically, he was in me and I was surrounding him, and I began pumping him. I set up a similar rhythm with the butt plug, and I must have eased off my sphincter muscle a little because in a minute it slipped in and stopped at the flange. I stood up, gripping the plug with my anal muscle as if it were the choicest cock in town, realized there was no way it could come out, and relaxed. I felt incredibly stretched and full, much more than with a tampon. It was very...satisfying, I realized. Before I left the ladies' room I paused to retouch my lipstick and powder my nose and cheeks, and as I walked past various stores to rejoin Jill I realized I was now a lady in another new sense too. I could see in successive reflections in store windows that with the butt plug up my rear I held my torso very straight, leaning slightly forward. Then, with each step my hips and rear end undulated exaggeratedly from side to side, and when I tried to restrain the motion my whole walk became provocatively sinuous. My wife watched my progress down the mall and into the next store with a delighted grin.
"My dear, you are the sexiest thing in the mall," she said. I made no reply, but in fact felt rather pleased myself. "Now," she said, "we're here to buy you some better breast forms and a waist cincher, and I'm here as your friend for you to consult while you do the purchasing. Tell the saleslady something about a double mastectomy and let her do the rest. Remember to use your most feminine voice."
I approached the counter, glad that I'd just powdered my nose and especially the reddened area where my beard had been electrocuted, and for the first time I tried to speak like a woman to a strange woman. "Uh, Miss, I think I need to see a mastectomy bra, um, a double mastectomy." I sounded like a flute, but the saleswoman never wavered. "Yes ma'am," she replied. A half-hour later I had chosen a lovely full bra with silicone forms shaping me from my breastbone to my armpits, with a hint of a nipple visible even through my shirt, C-cups we had decided. They felt very different from the bra fillers I'd used before, much heavier, and they jiggled a little of their own weight. I liked them.
I commented to Jill in a low voice that ever since I was fourteen with my first bra, I'd disliked stuffing the cups, because a really good bra could gather up my pectoral muscles and fatty tissue, and reshape them, and thrust them forward so that my nipples became incredibly sensitive at the tips of my breasts, utterly erotic, the way they had felt this morning. But not with stuffing covering them up. I told her that the main pleasure of a bra for me was the feel of my extended nipples rubbing on blouses and suits. These breast forms feel strange and nice, I said, but they do cover my nipples so I couldn't feel them.
Jill listened attentively, and nodded. For once she sounded serious, sincere, not merely enthusiastic, when she said, "Then darling, we especially want to get to our next stop. We'll put off getting you your waist cincher, and some other things you need. We'll go right now."
Out from the mall and back to the car, with me feeling jiggly and top heavy in front and stretched out in back the whole time. Jill drove directly to a professional building a few miles away, and we entered the office of a woman doctor who called herself an Endocrinologist. As we waited for the receptionist to announce us I drew back a little worried.
"Jill, what do you have in mind? Are you thinking about hormones for me? I don't need hormones. I like who I am. That's how I want to be."
Jill smiled sweetly at me, and took my hands in both of hers, and began speaking, never letting go her grip on me, her eyes never wavering from mine. "Dear, dear, darling Jane. I know how you feel. I know just what you're feeling now. I know how you want to be. I'm a woman like you, remember. We love each other. We would do anything for each other. This is what I'm doing for you, and it's what you're doing for me. We're here so you can begin to persuade your body of what your mind already knows, that you want to be a woman, much more of a woman than you are. Isn't that so?"
"Don't be afraid darling. Your own body has always produced female hormones as well as male. You may have been washed in them in the womb, and that may be why you have these urges to let your femininity express itself by wearing women's clothes. Remember, that's what you told me. Now this doctor will restore your hormonal balance of mind and body, so you can be more of what you want. With just a little more estrogen, you'll become a lot more shapely. You'll fit your clothes better. You'll have hips you can sway when you walk. Best of all, you'll have your own breasts. Your very own! You won't ever need to cover up that delicious feeling in your nipples. Your nipples will lead the way wherever you go! Your own body will fill a C cup, even a D cup if you want! Jane, do you want your own breasts, or do you want to go through life envying everyone else's?"
Jill paused and looked at me steadily, waiting for a reply. "I'd love to have my own breasts," I blurted out. It was true! Not everything else that went with them, of course.
"I know you do," Jill said. "I know what you want. And if you don't like any of what happens, everything is reversible. You just stop taking your pills and everything ends up the way it was. But understand me! If you don't have the courage to be what you want to be, I can't respect you. It would mean you're still too much Jack, still too afraid to be yourself to be anyone at all. Well, I won't live with Jack. I've tried it. It didn't work!"
The receptionist returned. "The doctor will see you now."
I stood up, suddenly aware that I was wearing a skirt and lipstick and mascara, that my hair was curly, my ears pierced, and my eyebrows plucked, that my chest was pushed out in front and my ass waggled when I walked, and that my pussy was stretched and filled by a butt plug, and that with all this I was worried that I might become too female. It was ridiculous. What could I say? I had to embrace the inevitable. "Jill," I said. "I want to be your girlfriend, or your lover, or your wife, or however you'll have me. You're right. It's just that all this is so new, and it's happening so quickly! Please help me!"
Jill took my face in her two hands, right there in the reception room, and leaned forward and kissed me. "Don't worry, darling" she said, looking me fondly in the eyes. I thought we must look very strange to the receptionist, two women kissing, but she just stood by the door to the inner office and waited for us.
We went in and sat down. Jill pulled a stack of papers from her portfolio and handed them to the doctor, a slim and rather pretty blonde with oversized horn rim glasses and a way of looking directly at you when she talked or you answered. She looked them over, then looked at me. "I see you're dressing full time now, Jane.. For how long have you been doing this?"
"Ever since I can remember," I said in a small voice, reminding myself to try my "lady voice" next time. Then I realized she meant how long have I been wearing women's clothes exclusively. A month, maybe more, is what I tried to say, but nothing came out.
She went on. "You've had proper counselling for the required amount of time?" Jill nodded, and I sat there. "And on careful reflection, do you really and truly want this?"
Jill turned and looked at me as I sat without speaking. Her gaze seemed to grow more severe as I struggled to say something. "I do," I blurted out into the silence. The answer sounded strangely familiar.
"All right then, dear. I have your blood work-ups here. They're fine." I wondered what she was talking about, and then realized Jill must have turned in some old medical records of mine in order to move things along. But I had no objection. "You know," she glanced at her papers, "You're very fortunate, Jane. Most women who take a step like this lose their spouses. Divorce is almost inevitable. But your wife is the most supportive I've ever known. In fact, because you have such a favourable domestic environment I'm going to recommend a new kind of regimen to you, one that will accomplish what you wish in perhaps half the time. It's a combination of shots, pills, and an implant, all at once.
It's pretty high-powered. Your wife here will be necessary to the process, because during the first week or so you may feel moody or nauseous, until your system adjusts. It'll be a little like morning sickness, a hormone bath washing through your entire body, changing everything at once. But no matter how you feel, once started you must continue with it, the pills and the shots and periodically an implant renewal. The second week you may feel the same, but the body adjusts and reactions begin to level off. Some women begin to feel very horny at this stage, and experience a kind of farewell burst of energy from their penises, before they begin to shrink and lose their sexual function. After a month or two you'll find your erections are no longer as hard, and they eventually disappear altogether, at least while the hormone bath treatment continues. You'll find you can still climax, but it will be dry, more like a woman's spasms in orgasm, not at all unpleasant I'm told."
She paused to look closely at how I was taking this news, saw no reaction, and continued. "Your nipples will swell up, and you'll see changes in your skin, and some of your body fat will redistribute, onto your hips and your tush I'm afraid. But we can't all look like Barbie, can we? The third month you'll feel wonderful, there's a kind of hormone-induced euphoria, and you'll also begin to see real breasts of your own growing. After that I think you'll love seeing your progress, and so will Jill here. In about six months you'll have completed your girlhood puberty, so to speak, and we'll put you on a sustaining dosage as a woman. Shall we begin?"
I felt uneasy, but Jill took my hand, and I held onto it tightly, and said nothing. "Please," she said, "lift your skirt and lower your panties, so I can inject some fairly heavy intramuscular doses. These are in a time release formula, two weeks worth of shots all at once. Jill can do them afterward if she watches me closely today. It's very simple. Bend over." I did. "A little closer, please." I pushed my rear end way out, until it felt like a whore's bottom thrust out at a customer for convenient fucking. I felt her needle enter one buttock, then pause. Then the other. "Now, dear, your belly. We'll want to place the implant in fatty tissue." She made a quick incision, placed a waxy rectangle under a fold of skin, deftly taped it up, and placed another tape on top. "There," she said, "I'll bet that scarcely hurt at all!" Then she handed Jill some bottles of pills and some packages of syringes and some prescriptions for more, and turned to me and said, "I only wish I could do more for you, Jane. But with these hormones you'll do it all for yourself. You'll love being a woman, trust me. None of us would have it any other way. But I'm sure you already know that."
"I know," I replied. I looked at Jill with an almost child-like sense of helplessness, and she smiled reassuringly at me, and I tried to smile back. I guess I'm being a good girl, I told myself to try to cheer myself up. But this was all moving very fast, and I couldn't catch up. In fact from then on I was always a little disoriented. Jill kept increasing the pace and hauling me along, faster and faster. Trying to be a good girl, I never found a quiet moment when I could decide for myself whether I wanted to be good, or a girl. All that had been settled for me.
Jill took me back home instead of back to the mall, because I was already beginning to feel a little queasy. She tucked me into bed, and I slept though the afternoon, getting up only to use the bathroom, and to take out my butt-plug and put in a fresh tampon, then to replace the butt-plug. That evening she got into bed with me, and held my prick, and I moaned a little and hugged her, and she jacked me off into her hand. I never got hard, but I did come, and she held the handful of cum up to my face for me to lick. I kissed her, and swallowed it, and licked her palms and fingers clean, and kissed her again. Then I slept through the next day and evening. Jill gave me some pills to swallow and jacked me off again, soft, and I came again, but this time nothing came out, just a slight oozing.
But the next morning when I woke up I felt fine. Jill had already gone to her office, but I showered, and shaved my legs and changed my tampon again, and cleaned my butt plug (by now it was slipping right in, no problem), and dressed in a blouse and skirt and went for my electrolysis session wearing my new mastectomy bra. When Jill came home from the office I had dinner on the table. The hormones continued to pour into me, but I had gotten accustomed to them.
Marianne called, and I went back to her salon in the motel and had a pedicure, and she finished my nails, and retouched my hair, and called my pierced ears healed and hung a gold hoop in each. When I revisited her two weeks later so she could re-curl my hair where it was growing out, she noticed that my skin was smoother and my butt seemed rounder. I told her to stop teasing me, but I looked closely, and it was true. She saw I liked it, grinned, and amused, waggled her own rear end at me. I waggled mine back at her, still seated, and we both laughed. It was fun being one of the girls!
Soon I was taking my pills regularly, and my shots, and had graduated to the next size of butt plug, and my erections had returned. The next month or so our lovemaking was very much like those first weeks after my arrival home from the motel, my first weeks as a real woman, as Jill called them. We overwhelmed each other with our lovemaking, and neither of us seemed to get enough. My breasts became so deliciously erogenous that Jill's bare tongue on my nipple could get me to do anything she wanted, and her fingers on my both nipples could bring me to orgasm without her having to touch me anywhere else. I got incredibly horny one night, and humped her three times before my erection went down. Then when she asked me to I sucked all of the cum back out of her, along with her other juices, and tried again. For the moment, no go. She got out the double dildo and told me to lie on my back with my legs spread out high in the air, my pussy wide open to her. I lay there gleeful and eager, half out of my mind I suppose, but desperately impatient to feel that cock thrust inside me. Then she lubricated me and humped me with it, and we both came yet again, shrieking, her body falling over me and her breasts flopping in and out of my mouth while I sucked at them as best I could. She was doing it yet again when I fell asleep, from sheer exhaustion, the double dildo still plunged in my ass.
The next day I came back from giving myself my nightly enema, my vaginal douche Jill called it, to find I had graduated to the next-to-largest butt plug, and soon after to the largest, which had a vibrator in it. Once that butt plug became my anal jewelry, so to speak, Jill would smile devilishly at me after dinner, reach under my skirt, pat my fanny, switch on the vibrator, and tell me she'd join me upstairs in ten minutes, or a half-hour. Or maybe she'd say nothing at all. I'd run up and change into a pretty negligee and wait for her, or if she said nothing I'd go into the living room and try to read or watch television. But I could never concentrate with that vibrator going. After a while I would cum without anyone touching my prick, just sitting there, and then again after a while I would cum again. By this time she had me wearing a condom whenever the vibrator was on. When finally Jill joined me in bed and switched the vibrator off the condom was half full and I was half-crazed. Then she'd give it to me to drink down.
Little by little my cum became less and less plentiful, and after a few more months there was hardly enough to lubricate Jill or me to receive a dildo. After we had fucked and I was licking her out the flavour was almost all hers. One morning while I was licking and sucking at her, I felt and tasted a sudden surge of warm liquid, and as I sucked it up and swallowed it there was more, not slick but watery, and then there was even more. I slurped and swallowed it repeatedly, as fast as I could, but still some of it ran out of my mouth. I looked up at Jill from between her legs, and she looked down at me with an impish half-smile on her face, and I understood. I opened wide and pressed my upper lips against her mound and my lower lips as far down as I could reach, and sealed off the area as best I could. When she saw I was ready she peed a full stream directly into my mouth, and I tongued it into my throat as fast as I could swallow it, and it kept coming, and I nearly choked with the effort to swallow it all. But finally, I did. It was wonderful. I felt I was swallowing her most intimate, most feminine interior fluid and making it mine, making her me. When I told her that, she never again rose from our bed to urinate. No matter what the time of night or morning, all she had to do was take my head in her two hands and kiss me, then begin to move my face down her body, and I would know. I would press my head into her crotch, and eagerly drink everything she could squeeze out of herself. "My dearest little toilet," she called me when she wanted to reward me. I loved it.
Some of our nights or mornings together were reserved for pussy training, as Jill called it. First I would go to the bathroom and clear out my lower colon with the super enema, inserting the whole contraption, sealing my opening by blowing air into the balloon-like bladder, then forcing a quart or more of water into me, to be held until Jill judged the time sufficient and told me I could release it. I would then let the air out of the anal seal, and remove the enema, and my lower intestine would gush out everything, and I was ready for her. Plentiful jelly was supplied, and Jill then strapped the double-dildo into her cunt and slid the other side into mine, then rode my ass until the pressure in her pussy got overwhelming and she came, or sometimes the both of us came together. It was a little like the vibrating butt plug, because strange feelings were stimulated inside me, not in my penis, and I was beginning to enjoy them more and more. I even began to prefer them as months went by and my erections got increasingly unreliable.
Some time into the fourth month of my hormone bath Jill brought out a new butt plug, the biggest I had ever seen, the size of a fist at its widest diameter and the thickness of a wrist at its base where it narrowed down. A few weeks later I was easily slipping it in and out of my pussy. Then one night Jill brought out that monstrous rubber prick and told me to get on all fours, my rear end high in the air. I did. She worked it into me, and I took the thing up my ass with tears in my eyes and an unspeakable joy in my heart. My butt was stretched utterly full, bursting, and I thrust back against that huge dildo in spasms, bucking like an animal in heat and making throaty, high pitched, whining noises. The following day was the first she fist-fucked me. This felt utterly glorious, and rendered me helpless. Jill obviously loved seeing and feeling me reduced to a slab of whimpering meat wrapped around her arm, because for the next few months she did it frequently, almost on whim. By then my sphincter wouldn't seal up my anus any more, and I wore tampons and panty-liners all of the time. I was "pussy trained."
Jill gave away Jack's clothes soon after my hormone treatments began. "Oh Jane," she said to me while we were lying together one morning, "I hate your pants. And you look so cute in a skirt. Let's give away all of your boy things, even your girly boy things. I want to feel you're always open to me." So we did, cute shorts, harem pants, slacks, even panty-hose. My panties became the only barrier between my asshole and her whims whenever she had a mind to shove something into me. But I had to wear them. Between the enemas and the size of my opening, I trickled whenever I was exposed. Even so, she wanted access to me whenever she was home, so when I heard her car in the driveway, I took out my tampons and butt plug, inserted a panty-liner in my crotch, and waited to see what she might do. It was peculiar, sitting with my legs crossed and waiting for her to enter the house, feeling both ladylike and sluttish. wondering what the evening had in store.
What happened during those six months was, knowing I was still somehow a man, I became a woman. Not much during the first few weeks, of course, when I was getting accustomed to that massive dose of hormones. I did lose the ten pounds Jill had prescribed, and my dress size went down to a twelve, and gradually I filled out my wardrobe, sometimes with Jill's help and sometimes by myself. I returned to the Doctor for checkups or additional shots in the butt, and my ass and my hips filled out, and my waist narrowed, and my breasts grew until by the fifth month I no longer needed breastforms and they went into a bottom drawer. The electrolysis was completed, and my face looked like a baby girl's. Marianne changed my hair style and piled curls especially on the crown and back of my head and down one side, and she and Jill and I all agreed I looked cute as could be. I adored it.
I fucked Jill as best I could while I could, but toward the end there were no more erections, and that was that. I tried to make it up to her by avid sucking on her pussy, and I was eager to become her toilet on call. But now it was the double dildo that linked us together. One night I discovered that Jill could also use that monster rubber penis, not just me. I was slurping and fingering her when she asked me to get it and lubricate it. I took the tube of jelly, and she said, "No, with your mouth." So I did. It was like old times, licking up a vein on the underside, and trying to suck the head into my mouth. It wasn't Carl, and I had no feeling for it, but it was huge! Jill had me lie on my back with the thing poking up between my legs just below my crotch, where my own prick just lay there like a deflated balloon. Then she mounted me and positioned it under her, and we made love the way Carl had made love to me the first time, only this time I got to watch her climb on top of me while I was on my back.
I played with her titties, and kissed them, and took her waist in both hands as Carl had taken mine, and started her rhythmic movement up and down. Once Jill could feel the tip pressing against her pussy, she lifted and lowered herself over and over, and gradually sank down onto it. When she finally had most of it inside her, she settled between my legs, and then with the full length shoved into her it seems she just sat there, unable to move. I realized she was in a kind of fugue, a pre-orgasmic suspension in time, maybe not even conscious. So I took the flange in both hands and started to work it in and out of her. She went up like a skyrocket, writhing and arching her back and stretching out her arms to the ceiling, and screaming, over and over until gradually she subsided. When I took that huge thing out of her it was like assisting at a birth. She was covered with sweat, and exhausted. She smiled weakly at me in gratitude, then fell sound asleep. But six months into my hormone treatment that rubber telephone pole had become our common lover. She would use it on me, and then I'd use it on her, and we'd both enjoy paroxysms of pleasure from it.
Those six months she worked days at her law practice and nights and mornings with me, while my body was transforming before her eyes. One morning she watched me putting a bra on by leaning way forward, so my breasts could fall into the cups and be contained by them before I straightened up and pulled the straps into position.
"You're a real woman, Jane," she said with surprise in her voice.
"What did you expect?" I asked her as I adjusted my bra and reached for a slip. "I've been drowning in hormones for a long time now, as if there were no tomorrow. Is there a tomorrow?" What I meant was, when would I be woman enough for her to put me on a smaller sustaining dose, so I could begin to see if any of my old male reflexes had survived her shock treatment. I was especially interested in whether I could get an erection again.
"Yes, dear. There is a tomorrow. You look just lovely." She said it half-abstractedly, as if her mind had turned somewhere else and was thinking through something different. For five minutes she stood by her dresser staring into the middle distance, while I slipped into my dress, and stockings and garterbelt, and pumps, and combed out my curls and touched up my face. She didn't seem to notice. "Jill, are you there?" I asked, waving my hand in front of her face. "I'm going out now to the hairdresser. You're going to be late for work."
She looked up at me and beamed broadly, suddenly back in time present. "The hairdresser, wonderful!" she said. "You make yourself pretty for me, darling, and wait up for me. But don't wait dinner. I'm going to be a little late tonight."
I was sitting up in bed reading when I heard her come in, wearing my prettiest satin nightgown. I loved the way the tips of my filled out breasts and enlarged nipples rubbed against the material -- my nipples were by now in a permanent state of erection, it seemed, even when my penis had forgotten how. It was nearly midnight. I sat watching the door to our bedroom and listened while she came up the stairs slowly, as if tired. The poor dear. When she came into the bedroom she looked tired, too, but there was something strange. She also looked a bit flushed, even excited, and she was still carrying her purse instead of leaving it on the hall table downstairs. She looked at me, and smiled, and leaned back against the door, and her smile grew wider, a kind of cat about to eat the canary smile..
"What is it, Jill?" I asked as I set my book aside?
"I have something for you," she said.
"Really, what?" I asked.
"Wait till I get in bed with you, and turn out the light. It's a kind of surprise."
"Oh?" I made room for her while she undressed quickly, and slid in next to me naked, without stopping to put on a nightie. She left her purse on the night table, right at hand.
"Now lie back and close your eyes," she said with a delicious smile. And she leaned over to kiss me, so very sweetly and softly that I closed my eyes without thinking, and then left them that way. "Do you know what you haven't tasted lately?" she asked. I thought it through quickly. Not her cunt, which I still sucked passionately whenever she needed to pee, and which I always sucked as the main way we made love now that my prick could no longer perform. "Open your mouth." I did, eyes still shut, face turned up on the pillow, aware that I had put lipstick on just before getting into bed so I'd be pretty for her, hoping she thought I was pretty as she leaned over me. "This!" she said as if she were entrancing me in a magic spell.
I felt a thick, warm, viscous substance drip onto my lower lip, and I reached to taste it with the tip of my tongue. It was a little sweet and a little salty, like Gatorade, and at first I didn't recognize it. Then on an exhale I caught the faintest hint of laundry bleach, and suddenly I knew. My eyes flew open. I saw in the gloom that Jill was suspending a condom upside down over my mouth, and at that moment about a teaspoon of pale cloudy substance a little like mucous glopped out of it and into my mouth and onto my lips.
"Swallow it, dear," she said. I had no choice. I swallowed, feeling bewildered, and annoyed, and sensing a spark of anger surging somewhere underneath. What was she doing? Was this a practical joke? Again she leaned over and kissed me, with infinite sweetness, and again her lips lingered. I waited for her to break off so I could cry out "Whose is that?! Where did you get it?!" But her lips stayed grazing mine, and she began murmuring to me.
"My dearest, dearest Jane, tonight we are celebrating together the start of another stage in your transformation. You are real woman. I saw that when you were putting on your bra this morning, so gracefully, so naturally, with your pretty tits held up in the cups of your pretty brassiere. I am so proud of you! You look so feminine now, and I know that you are making yourself as pretty as you can for me, and I love you for it. You are so much a woman now that I can't possibly think of you as my husband. You aren't anyone's husband any more. And I'm not your wife. The only part of your masculinity that remains doesn't matter. It doesn't get erections, and it doesn't make cum. When you were my husband you made love to me with your prick like a man, and when you were my wife you drank up your own cum afterward like a woman. But no more. We're past that. Now you are my dearest girlfriend. We love each other. We share everything with each other. Don't we?"
She paused as if waiting for an answer. I started to murmur back at her "Yes, but...," but all I could get out was the first word, and she began again.
"Yes, everything. You are almost everything a woman should be. In fact your hormone bath treatment can end any day now, whenever you wish. It's now up to you. It could have ended with your last checkup, you remember, when you went from a B cup to a C cup? But then I still wasn't sure you were the woman you should be, so I told the doctor you needed more time to find and use your new desires, to feel how strong they are, before she put you on a sustaining dosage. That's what we are going to do now, Jane my love."
I was puzzled, but I did have a dark suspicion. "What are we going to do now, Jill dear?" I asked as gently as I could.
"Why my darling, we are going to explore the marvelous world of men. You and I together. Each night we are going to make love to men, each of us. We've already begun. What we've just shared is a man's sperm. Doesn't it taste marvelous? As a woman I know you love it. You'll want to put it inside you every way you can. The urge can be overwhelming, and I want you to let it grow into a powerful force. To yield to it, and yet remain a lady, that is the true test of your womanliness. I'm going to help you, my love. I'm going to share this wonderful voyage with you."
I began to feel frightened. "But Jill, I don't want men. I want you! That's why I've done all these things all of these months. That's why I've let you do these things to me."
"Darling," Jill resumed, and she began to caress one of my nipples with her finger, and I began to melt into the bed. She kept talking. "Everything I've done is what you wanted me to do. When I married you I thought I married a man, but you were really a woman without the courage to be yourself, only a man who liked to sneak around in women's clothing. Well, I changed all that, didn't I dear? And Carl." She started to suckle on one of my tits, and I went into ecstasy. "Carl found a humiliated and intimidated transvestite, and in one night he changed her into a proud and passionate woman. Do you remember how you felt when you arrived home? You were completely feminine in mind and spirit. Now you're also a woman in body, very nearly. It's time for you to enjoy the most sublime experiences a woman can have. Our marriage is over now, Jane. It has done its work. Now we're going to make love to men. Many men. You say you want me. You have me. And this is what I want you to do for me! And for yourself. You will, won't you darling!"
And with this she fell to kissing and tonguing and licking my nipples, first one and then the other, until I nearly fainted. "Oh yes!" I cried out impulsively as her tongue lifted me toward heaven. "Yes! Yes!" And then and there I came, in a glorious orgasm, all inside of me somewhere, my shrunken penis and balls taking no part but the mound behind them tensing into excruciating anguish and then pulsing out as pure joy in wave after wave of magnificent feeling, washing through every part of me. "Ooohhhh," I cried out, "Ooooohh, Ahhhh, Jilllll, Ooohh, Yesss!"
"I thought so," Jill said, lifting her head. "Then we won't ever discuss this again. Don't worry, sweetheart, I'll make all of the arrangements. Here, love, enjoy this for now. Suck on it, until we find you something nicer to suck."
And she tucked the used condom into my mouth. Whose condom? Whose cum was I sucking? How did Jill come by this condom filled with some man's spunk? Where was she earlier tonight? Jill, my wife? My ex-wife, now my best girlfriend? My best girl friend, who brought home to share with me the taste of some fuck or suck she'd had earlier this evening. Now she wanted us to double date, so I could fuck or suck for myself? Did she see this time coming? Is this why she was feeding me my own cum all those weeks, when I still had any? Is this why she was stretching my asshole, until it could take any prick as easily as if it were a cunt, and would feel like a cunt to any prick? My own prick was now useless to her, and to myself as well. There was nothing I could say. My mouth was full of thin latex coated with globs of someone else's jism. I rolled it over and over on my tongue, extracting and tasting and swallowing every last drop.
Chapter 9
I must say about Jill, it didn't take her long to put me through her crash program in "womanhood." What she had in mind for me was that I develop the habits and tastes and reflexes of a twenty dollar whore, to make me into a promiscuous slut as quickly as possible.
She did it in a few quick thrusts, each one justified with her usual enthusiasm and backed by her iron will, and I was so bewildered and trusting I went along with each, and did whatever she asked. It never occurred to me that her notion of womanhood for me could be called peculiarly narrow, that she herself didn't really subscribe to it, nor any woman we had ever known. It may be she wanted to drown out the last of my masculinity, any residual shame I still felt that I was a woman, by making me behave shamelessly, by getting Jane to fuck and suck anything in pants so relentlessly that Jack could find no place to hide. It may be that she was simply being vindictive, degrading me for her own amusement. But she could certainly be persuasive! She had already pushed me further than I meant ever to go, especially with the hormone bath that had turned me -- not altogether unwillingly -- into a girl with a prick. I was in unknown territory. I had no choice but to trust that she knew better than I did what I needed to do next. She was never in doubt.
For a few weeks she called me nearly every night to warn me she'd be home late from the office, and that I should be prepared to meet her at the front door. I did as she asked. Night after night, her car arrived, her footsteps clicked up the walk, her key opened the door, she rushed past me, and she slouched down on the couch with her knees spread apart, and said "Jane, you slut, clean me, suck me out!"
And that first night and all those following, that's what I did. It was obvious that just before coming home she was finding some way to get herself laid over and over. Her panties were usually in her purse. When I knelt and lifted her skirt, her pussy hairs were always matted with something sticky, and when I began to lick her slit, gobs of semen would squeeze or trickle out. She was filled with cum, overflowing with it. It was often the same person, but often different men -- after three or four days nursing all that cum from her cunt I could taste the difference. A few times she came home with a three or four man orgy in her, different flavours overflowing from different depths of her cunt, and I was half the night cleaning her out. She always assumed that I was addicted to the stuff, because real women were, and that she couldn't supply it and I couldn't slurp it fast enough. So I acted as if I were. This doubled her pleasures, I assumed, first when she was getting herself laid somewhere, and then at home, while I was lapping and licking her out, and she'd come repeatedly on my mouth. I wanted to please her, and I still couldn't raise a decent erection for her, so I tried to be grateful that she was sharing her men with me, and that our oral sex with me was passionate, at least on my part.
Then we sort of double dated for a while. That is, we went together to a bar where, she said, men and women were usually available to each other. She instructed me to dress for it. The first night I put on a brief silver mini sheath with spaghetti straps and a hemline just below the curve of my ass, and crotchless panties. The panties were always a risk, because I douched or did an enema just before we went out, so with my loose asshole I was often damp down below. When I mentioned this to Jill she was delighted, and added a little bath oil to my douche fluids, so I would seem so hot I was already lubricating down my leg. For these outings four or five inch heels and net stockings were routine, and I slathered on the eye makeup and lipstick. When I saw myself in the mirror I would have given myself a hard on if I'd been able to have one. The first night Jill settled into a booth with a blond man named Sam she seemed to know from somewhere else. They sometimes disappeared somewhere, and then reappeared with Jill's hair mussed a bit, and disappeared again, then just seemed to sit quietly together and talk. I wondered if Sam's was some of the cum I had eaten out of her. I sat at the bar, watched this man with my wife (because that's how I still thought of her even though she'd decided we were now only girlfriends), and turned away a few men who offered me drinks. Jill motioned me over.
"Is something wrong, honey?" she asked.
"I don't know, I said. Oh, Jill, I think I'm a little bit jealous. We were married for so long. And now Sam has you, and I..."
"And you're a woman who can have any man in this place, Jane. And that's what you need! To be well-fucked! Then you won't think about silly things any more!"
She instructed me to sit at the bar and agree to do anything anyone proposed, so I could sample all the variations there were and gradually get to know what I liked. I would explain to them that my pussy was unavailable because of the time of month, but that I would swallow every drop of their sperm because I could never drink enough of it, and that I loved taking it in the ass (as indeed I did by then, if the invader was Jill's dildos or Jill's fist and wrist).
So I sat there, and in the next two hours I was served five drinks and finished three of them, and I gave three blow jobs -- one of them right there at the bar, by the wall, partly covered by a man's jacket. And I was butt fucked four times, once rather sweetly by a very nice man who clasped my tits and hugged me to him and gently rolled his penis round and round in my buttocks, and kissed by neck. That was lovely. Another time by the same man twice, who didn't even slow down after his first climax, but rode my ass on to a second. I went home leaking all over my beautiful dress, and Jill reminded me to take condoms and tampons to the bar when we returned the next night, and a butt plug to close the door when I was ready to stand up and go home. So I did, and I spent most of that next evening groping and sucking and grinding my ass into any number of men. I really lost count. I set up in a booth in a back room, and Jill and Sam looked in on me sometimes, and Jill smiled encouragingly whenever I came up for air and headed back to the bar to pick up another stud, or she winked at me as if I were having a good time. I didn't want to disappoint her, so I winked back. But I felt a little cheap.
By the second week word had gotten around that there was this girl in this bar who gave head and cunt as if there were no tomorrow, and there was practically a line out the door of men trying to get in to buy me a drink. Jill mostly just sat there, though sometimes she took Sam home with her afterward and they disappeared into what became again our former bedroom. The fourth week Jill and Sam really did set me up as a whore. They rented a nearby motel room, and signed up all of my regular bar customers on the half-hour, and they told their friends. I lay on the bed all night with my butt up in the air getting reamed, and my breasts getting groped, or my clients sat on the bed while I knelt and cocksucked whatever came into my mouth. Those weeks I saw a lot of pricks, all shapes and sizes and flavours and fittings, and a lot of odd behaviour in the men attached to them too. But it all became routine. My mind wandered. Fucking and sucking from dusk to dawn seven days a week, after a few weeks there are no surprises left.
In fact I was swallowing so much semen each night that I began to gain weight, and some of my clothes no longer fit me properly. This amused Jill, who joked that this was a funny way to be look pregnant, but for me it was serious. I loved my size twelve dresses, even though they required that I diet all the time. "Jill," I finally asked her after the sixth week on my back or my knees servicing fifteen or twenty pricks each night, "Am I a woman yet? This isn't me. I'm a one-woman woman. Or if you insist on it I'm a one man woman. But not this. Can't I at least develop a relationship with some one person, the kind you have with Sam? I loved being with Carl. I'm beginning to remember even Tom fondly. Can't I just be a woman with a boyfriend?" I started to cry. "I want to be loved!" And then I broke down and couldn't stop.
Jill took me in her arms and held me close, for the first time in a long time it seemed. "Darling, darling Jane," she cried out. "A boyfriend! Yes, we will certainly look for one. But you have had to learn for yourself what the past weeks have taught you. Now you know that physical relationships are only just that, that your feelings and desires must be involved or all the sex in the world is meaningless. Isn't it? A woman needs romance, a companion for her heart, and she can give her body most lovingly only to the man who has already captured her heart. We'll find you such a man, dear!" It sounded specious to me, Jill moralizing about true love after she had converted me into a hooker, but I didn't care. I needed somebody to love me.
The next night Jill invited me on a threesome with her friend Sam, dinner and a movie. I dressed as carefully as if Sam were my own date, and I must say our conversation sparkled all through dinner. I had finally learned to control my flute-like femme voice, and to gesture in a flip, loose wristed feminine way, and I was happy and animated and felt marvelous. I must also confess, I liked Sam, and wanted him to like me in case he and Jill should ever fall out. I flirted shamelessly, and it felt wonderful.
From then on I went out only on proper dates. Sometimes I dated friends of Sam and sometimes men I met shopping or doing errands. If we came to sex, and it usually did, it was because we both wanted to, though I was always flying the rag as far as they were concerned, and needed to be taken from behind or with my legs on their shoulders. These men were always far nicer than the ones in the bar or in the motel. I would blow them gently, and they were considerate of my feelings, and were amused by things I said, or thought me cute, and some of them felt protective of me, and some I just loved to fold in my arms while they suckled sweetly on me like little babies.
I told Jill how I felt about them, how I appreciated being treated decently, not just used, and how my heart swelled up when I thought about one or another sometimes, how pleased I felt when I saw them at the door. Jill nodded, and hugged me, and we had another good cry. It was true, she said, men could be so awful but they could also be so marvelous. They felt so beautiful. This may be what Jill wanted me to know about men, I thought. Now I could look forward to meeting more of them. And I did, quite a few, though I never got really serious with any the way Jill seemed to be with Sam.
When I brought men home we used my room, and when Sam stayed over with Jill they used the room we'd formerly shared together when we were married. As the memory of that marriage faded out of our relationship we became more and more like sisters, and we looked more and more for privacy from each other. Sometimes we could hear each other making love, but not usually. We respected each other by closing our doors. One morning Jill forgot, or Sam forgot after visiting the bathroom. And this brought on another radical turn in my life.
We had double dated, me with a current boy friend, nothing serious, though he had the knack of kissing my body as if he were worshipping me, and I felt exalted whenever we were together. We had spent the night as couples do, and the next morning I let him out the front door with a tender kiss and a promise to call soon.
On my way back to my room to wash up, I passed my former bedroom with Jill. The door was ajar, and I could hear quiet, serious murmuring just inside. I paused. Jill and Sam were talking, Their voices sounded strange. Not strange, exactly, but relaxed, intimate, serious yet casual. I realized that Jill had not spoken to me like that since that moment in our marriage when she first found out I crossdressed, and we had ceased to be a loving couple. With Sam Jill seemed natural, easy, friendly, companionable. Everything she had been saying to me sounded made up, overly enthusiastic, or forced by comparison.
"Then when will you tell him?" Sam's voice asked.
"Her." Jill replied. "Her. Her legal change of name and sex just went through last week. I haven't told her that yet either. She needs to sign the final papers. Then I'll tell her."
"Do you think she'll make any trouble? She's dumb, but she's not stupid."
"She hasn't so far. But I'm not worried. She gave me her power of attorney long ago. And she gave me her word she'd do anything I asked her to do, unconditionally. Remember, when all this started, right after we first met and made love? I told you I had an effeminate husband back home who'd slept with his secretary, and that he was paralyzed with guilt, and that I'd put him into the deep freeze until I could decide what I wanted to do with him? I was ready to divorce him then and marry you, Sam, but you agreed that first we should thaw him out and have some fun with him? He agreed then to follow every order I gave him, and he's been true to his word. Or lately, she's been true to hers. At every step we've had no problem talking her into going along with whatever I've had in mind." Jill paused, then went on in a reminiscent frame of mind. "Sucking all that semen out of me for weeks, just to get her used to the taste so she wouldn't balk when we really put her to work! I'll never figure out where you collected it all each day."
"I've got friends who owed me favours," Sam said, "And jerking off into a bottle seemed to them an easy enough way for them to pay me off. Anyhow, a lot of that stuff was mine, remember, and I didn't need a gravy baster to put it where your so-called husband found it."
"No, you didn't," Jill said affectionately. "Anyhow, there she was, already agreeing to anything, even begging me to piss on her. So how could I not? Then she actually let us turn her into a human scum-bag! Whoring for weeks or months! I told you she would! You still haven't paid me the ten dollars you owe me for that one. But she did it! She really is still the old Jack with tits, isn't she, still the wimp I can talk into doing anything! And to think I once married him!"
Some of Jill's professional enthusiasm now entered her tone of voice. "What say, Sam, will you take on another ten dollars that I can get her to cut her balls off? I'm sure I can do it. I know I can! Twenty dollars if I get her to beg me to let her do it, OK? I'll make that my parting gift to her, that she herself pleads with me to cut off all chance of ever becoming a man again. Not that Jack ever was much of a man. He doesn't know it, but even now his impotence is still reversible. Partially reversible, anyhow."
"Well look, Jill," Sam said, his voice persuasive in its turn. "OK, you married an asshole, and you've fucked him up the ass, which is what assholes deserve. I even fucked him up the ass, one of those nights in the motel, and he never even bothered to notice! Stupid shit! OK. We've both had lots of fun by now. We've turned his mouth and ass into garbage cans. He waddles around all day in high heels. He's a man with bags hanging off his chest who can't get it up any more. You could probably get him to hang by his thumbs all day in a closet, waiting for you to come home. I don't doubt it. He's so fucked up now he's too easy! Quit playing with him. Forget about castration. Get him to sign the papers, and we'll be done with him. He's not a bad guy, for a queer! He does give good head."
"You ... animal! How would you know?" Jill's voice turned almost musical, and I realized she was talking to Sam with deep affection. I felt jealous, and deeply sad, all at once.
"Hey!" Sam said laughing. It sounded as if she was groping him somewhere ticklish. "No, seriously, can you tell him soon that you're through with him? I want us to be married! I really do. It's been how long now, over a year you've been putting me off just so you could play these mind fucking control games with your husband? At least by now he should be an ex-husband! So he wasn't the man you thought you married? So what? I am! There's nothing pansy about me, and you know it! Dump him and let's get our lives in gear.
"When the papers are finalized, love. Only another few days. When Jack becomes Jane on paper, our marriage is annulled. A legal woman can't be married to a legal woman in this State. But there's been lots to do. I've only just finished transferring the balance of his property to my name, including that huge inheritance from his uncle that he doesn't even know about. The dumb prick!"
"He isn't a prick any more, Jill. He's hardly even got one, thanks to you." Sam started to snicker, amused by his recollections. "You've had your fun. Remember when he limped and flounced out of his car with his sore ass the morning after he first got fucked, and you praised his grand conversion to womanhood, and you practically told him what you were going to do to reduce him to whimpering jelly, and he bought it all?" Jill began to chuckle at this. "And remember the way you described it, his sorrowful sad eyes big as dinner plates when you got him to stick his butt way out in the air for the doctor, to get it so loaded with hormones that he couldn't see straight for days, and still can't think straight? That mean-tempered lawyer in you really found someone you could fuck over more thoroughly than anyone anywhere has ever been fucked over before, and you couldn't resist! Your own husband! And he collaborated with you at every turn! Stupid shit!" Now the two of them sounded like an old married couple sharing old jokes.
There was a pause. Then Sam asked, "After he signs those papers, do you mean to kick him into the streets to sell his ass for rent money?"
"No, I'm not that mean," Jill answered Sam in a teasing tone. "I'll leave him a little something for his lipsticks and panties and tampons and things, his little necessities." She giggled. "He's a grown girl. He'll be grateful, you watch. Are you sure you don't want to bet twenty I can't get him to plead with me to cut off his balls in token of our undying love? On his knees? I'll make it tougher. I'll throw in his prick too. And I'll make the appointment with the surgeon right now, cut it all off one week from today, and I guarantee you he'll go like a lamb to the slaughter with tears of gratitude pouring out of his eyes and ruining his mascara. A bet?" Sam stayed silent.
She giggled some more, and then turned serious again. "There's no problem with him earning some kind of a living. All he wants is to keep himself in panty-hose. He can always go back to computing I suppose. Of course by now he might prefer to earn his living selling blow jobs. Imagine, swallowing so much sperm he was gaining weight! Can you believe it even now? Maybe we should set him up in a one-girl call-girl business, and collect a management fee for our trouble. I'm sure I could talk him into that. But how would you know that he gives good head?" Her voice became muffled, and the bedsprings squeaked a little, and Sam gave a small groan, and didn't answer.
I stepped away as quietly as I could, and went back downstairs to the kitchen. I was still in my pink lace wraparound, and as I reached for the coffee pot it fell open, and my breasts were exposed. They sagged a little, but they were pert enough. I kind of liked the way they stuck out. They weren't bags at all! They were mine! I was kind of glad to have them. I glanced at my reflection in the mirror by the back door, and I liked what I saw. Even in the morning, fresh out of bed, I wasn't too bad looking -- in fact, I thought, I'm sort of cute. I loved the way Marianne was doing my hair these days. I repressed an urge to go back upstairs and fix my makeup before anyone else came down. Instead I sat down with a cup of coffee, and began to think. A half hour later the coffee was cold, and I still hadn't drunk any of it.
Jill and Sam came downstairs. Jill winked at me in her conspiratorial way while Sam was occupied splitting an English Muffin, and I remembered that as far as she was concerned, the two of us were now girlfriends who each took pleasure in the hunks of meat we brought home. I smiled at her. She smiled back. Then I smiled at Sam. "Sam," I said to him. He looked up. "Last night was just wonderful. A marvellous surprise! We should do it again."
Sam looked a little startled and bewildered, and glanced at Jill quickly before turning back to me. I had wanted to shake him up a little, and I did. "I guess we could arrange another double date, Jane," he said, recovering as best he could. He glanced at Jill again.
"Just what I'd like! How's this Friday night, sixish, for drinks and things before we go out for dinner?"
"Fine," Sam said. "OK with you, Jill? Can you take care of it? Can you have everything ready for Jane by then?" I understood what he was really asking her, and I wondered how many clues like this I had been ignoring. Maybe hundreds.
"Six this Friday is good," Jill said. "I'll be ready. Then Saturday we can do what we've been planning the way we've planned it."
They didn't mind talking about running off together under my very nose! "Oh," I said, "Just one more thing. Bring a friend. Maybe someone who owes you a favour?"
"Sure," Sam said, a little uncertain. He looked at Jill again.
Jill looked back steadily. "Didn't you tell me you about a guy who was a professional football player until a few years ago, a big bruiser you just took into your firm?" Jill asked. "Why don't you ask him?" I heard her. She was proposing that Sam find a big-prick stud to stretch out my asshole one last time, so I'd sign the papers and the two of them could get their future under way.
Sam relaxed. "Good idea," he said. "He hardly knows anyone in this town. You'll like him, Jane."
"Wonderful!" I said. "Then it's settled. I'll see you then, Sam. I've got to go fix my hair." And I left them to their breakfast.
That Friday Jill came home from her office a little late. I was entertaining Sam and his friend in the living room. I had just served them drinks, and was telling them a bawdy story when she came in the back way and called out "Jane, are you there?"
"Yes, honey," I called back. "The boys are here too."
"Hi, guys," she shouted. "I'll be with you in a minute. I'm all ready for our big night -- I changed at the office. Jane, can we talk for just a second?"
I walked into the kitchen, and Jill stared at me. I was wearing a bright red dress with a princess neckline cut so low my cleavage was fully visible, and my upper breast curves hung out practically to the nipples. The dress was one I had bought when I was still developing my bust and my fanny, and it was a little tight on me. The overall effect was of a girl about to bust her buttons, or of a well-packed sausage spilling over at each end. Just the right amount of sexy vulgarity. And it had done just what I wanted it to do. Sam had taken one look and turned away, a little ashamed that he'd brought a business associate over to date such a broad. But his associate Art had bugged out his eyes and then couldn't take them off me. He still couldn't speak straight. He was well set up for his role in the evenings proceedings. He had one thing only on his mind.
"Jane, are you sure about that dress?"
"I think it's fine, dear. What did you want to tell me?"
"Oh, nothing important," she said. She gestured at a half-dozen papers she had spread out on the kitchen table so that mainly, only their signature lines were visible. "Some things you still need to sign, leftover from Jack's business. Let's get them out of the way, and then have some fun with our fellas." She handed me a pen.
"I'll sign them, Jill. Don't worry. I've given it a lot of thought. You've done so much for me, and I am grateful to you. I love you, I guess, still, despite everything. We were once married, and I suppose legally we still are. For now." Jill looked up at me sharply. "But first you have to do something for me."
Jill was bewildered, but reached to regain the initiative. "What are you talking about? Of course we love each other. What is it you want me to do?"
"Sam's friend in there is named Art, and he's about 300 pounds of solid muscle and gristle. From the bulge in his pants -- that's why I wore this dress, honey -- about 100 pounds of him is hanging between his knees."
Jill interrupted with routine enthusiasm. "Oh, how wonderful for you darling! He's ...."
"No, Jill," I interrupted. "Just listen. For once, just listen. I'll sign those papers. I'll sign them the moment I see something."
"See what?" I realized that in all these years, I had never negotiated a deal with Jill, bargained so that each of us could get something we wanted. I had proposed things for the two of us, and she had accepted or rejected them. But I had never set conditions. She sensed there was something new happening here.
"What I want to see is your Sam going down on Art and blowing him until the cum drips out of the corners of his mouth, and out of his nose, and maybe out of his eyeballs and ears. And I want to see Art drilling his prick into Sam's ass. I want Sam to be wearing a bra when it happens. I want it to happen tonight, now, before we go out to dinner. I want to see you arrange for this to happen, and I want to know that's what you're doing right from the beginning. You are one of the world's great manipulators of people. I want to admire your technique."
Jill just looked at me, taking my measure. I had her full attention. I went on. "I was no match for you. I'm a wimp, and besides, I wanted to please you even when you were walking all over me. I was a nice guy. Now I'm a nice girl. I'm still easy for you. But now I want to see you humiliate someone else. Someone you admire and respect. I want to watch your future husband become a darling little cocksucker just like me. I'm sure you can arrange it. I'm sure he'll do anything for you, just as I did. Then I'll sign those papers."
Jill looked at me steadily. "Jane," she said, "There's more to you than I've credited you. How long have you known?"
"Not long. A few days. I should have known from the moment you first started working on me, but I was so eager for you to let me dress up I guess I didn't want to know. Don't misunderstand me. I don't resent what you've done to me just because you knew you could. If I hadn't wanted it too, I wouldn't have done it. I am grateful. What I'll do from here on in I don't know, but that's not your problem. Your problem is to get Sam into a bra and make him swallow Art's meat at both ends, and to get Art willing to do it. Then you'll get what you want. And I'll be satisfied. And we'll each get on with our lives."
Jane continued to look at me, her gaze unwavering. She scarcely paused for thought, and then said, "All right then, Jane dear. I understand. You want your little pound of flesh. Sam is all man, and you don't want me to marry a man who's all man. I got you to suck cock and take it up the ass whenever I snapped my fingers, so now you want Sam to do it, and every night Sam and I are together you want me to know he's done it. All right. I'll fix it. Maybe it'll take a half-hour. Not much more. I'm hungry. I want to go to dinner. Go in and refresh their drinks. Pour a lot into Art, if he's as big as you say. And send Sam in here. You don't mind if Sam knows about your little scheme, do you?"
"Oh no! It'll be more fun for me if Sam knows what knowing you is costing him. But I don't think Art should know. I want to watch you twist him around the way you did me. Besides, he looks pretty straight to me. If he thought Sam wanted to go down on him maybe he'd wipe the floor with him. Maybe he's never poked anyone's asshole. But he has to know afterward that it was Sam."
"Don't worry, I'll take care of it," Jill said. "No problem, girlie. Go wave your tits in Art's face and give him something to drink, dear darling Jane." She said "Jane" as if she were swinging a sledge-hammer at me. "Shake that shapely ass at him. Do you still keep a tampon wedged in there somewhere, princess? Does your fuck hole still stretch big enough to satisfy an elephant? Send in Sam."
Finally, I had gotten to her! I loved it!
Chapter 10
Five minutes later I had poured Art a full tumbler of whisky and he had emptied it down, by the simple device of telling him there was a naked lady to be seen in the bottom of the glass when he had emptied it. He chugalugged, and I stood in front of him with my breasts pulled out of their flimsy bra, so he could see me through the clear glass bottom of the tumbler. We both laughed uproariously at this little joke, and Art reached for me. "Later, hon, " I said. "After we eat," and I tucked myself back where I belonged. Art was already sweating.
Jill and Sam came back out from the kitchen, and I was delighted to see that Sam was visibly disturbed. He seemed clubbed. His shirt was a little untucked, as if he'd hastily pushed it back into his pants. So he'd agreed, and his no-titties were now in a bra. So far so good. Jill followed, watching him closely, obviously concerned for him. Sam sat down abruptly on the couch. Jill suddenly turned very bright, as if she had flicked a switch.
She went over to Art and said to him, "Hi, I'm Jill. We're going to see a lot of each other I think, at least tonight we are! Ready to begin?"
"Sure," Art said. He seemed a little confused, but willing to go along. He'd had two drinks before Jill got home, and the huge one I'd just given him was beginning to reach his brain.
"Well, Art. Before we go out to dinner, Jane and I want a little taste of things to come. Do you have anything like that?"
"Things to come? Oh, yeah, cum. I sure do, Jill. Do you wanna see it?"
Jill produced four large napkins. "Oh no, Art. Seeing's believing! That comes later! Right now Jane and I want to seat you and Sam side by side, blindfolded, and we'll be blindfolded too, and we'll go down on you guys. OK?"
Art nodded, thinking no doubt that he'd really lucked out tonight.
"Only we'll none of us know which of us is doing who. Then later on we'll find out, by the way your cocks and our mouths feel, and by whose cum tastes more familiar. It's a game. Wanna play?"
"You bet," Art said, lifting his bulk out of his chair, walking over, and settling himself in a chair next to the couch where Sam was sitting.
Jill handed me two napkins and told me to cover Sam's eyes and then mine. I went over and blindfolded Sam. Jill waited a moment, so Art could see Sam with his eyes covered, and me tieing a blindfold over my own eyes. Then she blindfolded Art. "All secure?" she asked. "Can't see a thing," Art replied.
Sam took his blindfold off and looked miserable, and I set mine aside too. "All right," Jill said, "Now none of us can see. Why don't you two men stand up and change places, or maybe not, so we won't know who's where." Sam stood up abruptly, then sat down again in place. Art stood, shuffled tentatively, felt that Sam was still where he had been, and sat down again. "Now, Jane, out with his meat. Whoever you're in front of."
"You bet," I said. I sat down on the couch to watch. Jill unzipped Art's fly, and with her long, smooth hand with their lovely tapered fingernails, she worked Art's cock out until it stood tall out of his trousers. Art could feel it was a woman's hand, and he swelled up to gigantic size. I'd seen one or two bigger, of course, and Jill and Sam
had seen to it that I'd fucked bigger, quite a few times in fact. But Art was up there in competition with the best, and I saw he'd do very well for Sam's deflowering, Sam's emasculation in Jill's eyes. I grinned, and almost laughed out loud. Art's prick could have been the model for that monstrous dildo Jill and I had forced up each of us so often. It was like a baseball bat in shape and thickness, with a huge purple cock head. Sam's eyes bugged out.
"And now out with the other fella's meat," Jill said. "Is it out?" "Oh, yes," I replied. "Boy is this guy hung!" I was delighted to see this scheme of Jill's working so well.
"Now, gentlemen, the ladies want to take their pleasure. We just don't know which lady or which pleasure, that's all. From now on, no hands!" Jill stood and touched Sam on his shoulder. He slumped out of his chair and fell to his knees between Arts legs. Jill silently opened her mouth wide, hid her teeth behind her lips, and motioned to Sam to do the same. Sam fixed his eyes on her, looking pitiable. It was obvious that Jill was going to direct him through the whole exercise. This was better than my first session with Tom, when my mouth first lost its cherry, many cocks ago. My masculine pride never really did recover, and I hoped the same for Sam.
Jill licked the tip of her thumb. Sam leaned forward and touched his tongue to Art's huge cock head, right where a drop of pre-cum had appeared. She swirled her tongue around her thumb tip. Sam swirled his tongue. Art leaned back slightly, feeling pleasurably serviced. Then Jill plunged her mouth all the way around the first joint of her thumb, and up and down two or three times. Sam looked pathetically desperate, and a wild look came into his eye. He opened his mouth to its utmost and took in the whole of Art's cockhead, to just below the ridge. He looked over at Jill, and it was obvious his mouth was straining full. There was no way he could slide his head up and down. Jill signalled he should begin to suck, and while sucking hold Art's cockhead firmly in his mouth, and pump the whole shaft up and down with his head. So he did. Art's cock grew more in Sam's mouth, and it wasn't clear that Sam could ever get his mouth off it again. Jill made an exaggerated tongue motion, and somewhere in his mouth Sam did the same, still pumping. Art let out a groan.
Jill then removed her mouth from her thumb and made some elaborate licking motions up and down the whole extended thumb, and licked the joint at the base of her thumb, then up its length. So did Sam, for a while. Then Sam returned on his own to sucking Art's prick, but this time he angled his neck to take more in, far into the back of his throat. Art started twisting his hips, and soon the two of them had set up a powerful rhythm, Art fucking Sam's face in and out while Sam bobbed his head over Art's prick, like a big bird in a garden full of worms. Faster they went, until finally Art hoisted his pelvis all the way out of the chair and into Sam's face, and shouted "Now! Now! Now! Now! Swallow it, Bitch! Swallow it, Bitch! Swallow it, Bitch!" The Bitch in question did his best, but couldn't get it all. His Adam's Apple worked furiously -- he swallowed over and over, but slick cloudy ooze began to come out of the corners of his mouth, just as I'd hoped. Then he lost his grip on the head of Art's cock, probably because it had gotten too slick, and the last few pulses hit him full in his face and hair. So there he was, his nose and face dripping cum, eyes tight shut, his mouth still twisted wide open as if his jaw had unhinged and he couldn't close it, his face a mask of tragedy. Jill was watching him with concern, but also with disgust. Her mouth was set rather tight.
"How can he help but want to be a woman now that his mouth has tasted cum," I said quietly to Jill. "Do you think he's ready to slurp jism twenty times a night, the way I can? Do you think he'll make a good slut?"
Art must have heard the last word or two. "She's a terrific slut," he said. "That was the best head I've had in years. Lots of girls can't handle a prick like mine. Now who was it? Jill? Jane?" He started to take off his blindfold.
Jill stopped him. "No," she said in a throaty voice. "More! I"m hot! I want more! Give it to me baby! Up the ass! Are you man enough? Here, Art, put your finger in my ass. I can't wait for you to get hard again! Oh, yeah!" She looked a little disgusted with herself, producing that cornball slut talk. But her instincts were unerring. Art bought it all, and leaned back. She produced a tube of jelly and motioned to Sam to drop his pants. He did, and his underwear, and Jill immediately saw a problem. He had the hairiest backside I have ever seen. But Jill improvised brilliantly. "Yeah, grease that place between my smooth, ripe melons," she said to Art, and loaded his forefinger with jelly, and lowered her panties, and backed over his crotch, and crouched down so he could feel her rear. He began running his hands over her cheeks, which I must say I have always admired, usually from a distance, and he started trying to insert his huge tube, which had never gone all the way down and was now re-inflating. "No, grease me up first, or a great big cock like yours'll tear up my little love-hole," she said. This information she directed pointedly to Sam, with a warning expression on her face. She filled three fingers with jelly, and beckoned to him. He understood. He backed toward her and bent way over, his face now fearful.
"I gotcha, sweetbuns, first the coming attractions, then the main event," Art said, working his jellied forefinger into Jill while caressing her smooth, ripe melons. This was far better than I'd hoped. A daisy chain of finger-fuckers! Aa Art invaded her she winced, but kept her mind on her job, which was working three fingers into Sam, whose anal opening was obviously rigid and in spasm. With her long fingernails she didn't dare force anything. So as Art warmed to his work and began to finger fuck Jill's hole, slow at first then faster and faster, his prick still rising toward its former glory, she slapped Sam on a hairy cheek and said "Relax, you son of a bitch, or you're surely gonna regret it!" Sam gritted his teeth, and lowered his eyebrows, and Jill got a finger into him. A minute later a second finger. She fucked him with these two for a while, and he kept his eyes closed as if he were somewhere else. Finally she got a third in, and pulled out, and regreased, and re-inserted, and worked all three into Sam as deep as she could.
"Now, baby?" Art asked. Jill obviously wanted to get Art's finger out of her butt. "Now, baby!" she replied. She stepped forward and Art lost his purchase on her. Then she deftly twisted, filled her palm with jelly and slathered it all over Art's monster cock, now fully grown again. She then took Sam by the shoulders and backed him into her former space over Art's shaft. Then she pushed Sam's hips down so his slippery anus was pressing onto the head of Art's slippery prick. "You're on your own now babe," she told Sam. "Then here I come at you," Art replied. Art grabbed Sam's hips to hold them steady, and thrust full force at the anus he could feel between the cheeks he could feel through the layers of jelly.
"AAAaaaoooOOOOOhhh!" Sam shrieked in the highest falsetto I have ever heard from any man's throat. His maidenhead had gone into memory, in a single soprano outcry! He was obviously in great pain, but physical or mental I couldn't tell. "You like it, huh?" Art replied, "Well there's more where that came from." He started pumping, and with each pump added another inch of his cock to the massive meat Sam's ass had already swallowed, until finally he was all the way in. Sam then reminded me of Jill when she had first gotten that whole massive dildo into her pussy. He crouched over Art's lap, rigid, not daring to move, impaled in a kind of catatonic stupor, while Art pumped away at him from below. I watched fascinated. Jill had trained me for months to survive what Sam was undergoing in minutes, and was feeling inside himself right now. I'd taken some monsters, and knew what could happen. Sure enough. As his pain subsided, Sam's dick started to rise, and as it got more and more erect he grasped it with one hand and started to stroke it, obviously unaware of what he was doing, because his ass also began to move back onto Art in the same rhythm Art was using on him. Sam's prostate and all those internal nerve endings squeezed deliciously against Art's meat, and betrayed him. He moved faster and faster with Art, and finally they both came together in a crescendo, Sam spurting into the air and our carpet, Art unloading deep into Sam's bowel while shouting, "Take it, bitch, Oaghh, take it, bitch, Oaghh!" over and over. Jill watched the two of them with loathing. I burst out laughing! Here was yet another man who had given up his mouth's and his asshole's virginity for the love of Jill! I wondered if we should form a club. Art's penis softened a little and he pulled it out of Sam's ass with a "POP" sound. Cum dribbled after.
Art then took off his blindfold and saw Sam's ass, and puzzled, looked around it to see Sam's face, cum from the earlier encounter still oozing from the corners of his mouth, his face and hair still sticky. "Sam!" said Art. "What're you doing there? Did you set this up? Are you a faggot? You really like eating my cock? You really wanted me to fuck you? Hey hey!" And Art grappled with this information. It was hard to tell from the numb expression on his face whether he was next going to kiss Sam or deck him. Maybe both.
Sam started to stand up, but Art held him in his crouch. "No, Sam, we're not done. Now I know you like cock, we're going to have some great old times together. Some days in that office I just have to beat off, maybe two or three times a day, just to keep my mind on my work and off the secretaries. The way harassment cases go these days, I can't propose anything to a secretary, I bet not even marriage! But you know what I want, Sam! And all this time you wanted to give it to me! Now when I get a boner I'll know who to call to take care of me. Sam! I think this is terrific!"
A sly grin came over his face. "Tell me Sam, are you a real Queen?" Art felt through Sam's shirt and found the lines of his brassiere. "Oh, Sam, you're a queen all right!" Suddenly he looked up at Jill. "But he's your boy friend, too, isn't he. And there you were, setting things up for him. Well, that's love. I can respect that! Can we share him?"
Jill watched this whole scene white-faced, her mouth still tight. It was obvious she had not wanted to see what she had seen, nor to hear any of this. And it was obvious that despite everything she knew about duress, and rape, and victimization, Sam her all-man romantic companion and future husband was changing in her mind at that moment into one more potential pansy in pants, who got off by thrusting his asshole repeatedly onto the first cock to enter it.
Then came the capper. "Don't get up, Sam," Art said to him with just a hint of threat. "You shouldn't have tried to fool me. Now let's do it right! Here!" And Art took Sam's head in his two huge paws and turned Sam around, and forced him back onto his knees, and began to rub his face on his crotch. His monster penis hadn't lost all its erection, and Art said to the creature between his knees, "There, there, Sammie girl, suck on it. Lick it. Clean me up. It's a reasonable size now. I bet you can handle it. I bet you can deep throat all of it. Try!"
So Sam started in again, bobbing his head. Jill went into the kitchen, unable to watch. I went in with her, and sat down at the table and signed my whole former life over to her, just as I'd promised I would.
Now I was legally and officially a woman named Jane. Jack no longer existed. I'd even proved, I realized, that I could be as bitchy as the next woman if sufficiently provoked. I really was Jill's creation! And now, I realized, I didn't mind at all! Despite everything, she'd done me a favour. I freshened my makeup and said to her, "Well, Jill. You were right! That took exactly thirty-five minutes. Now if we can unplaster Sam from Art and clean him up, shall we go to dinner?"
The next week she and Sam quit their respective firms and left town together. Maybe they're still together, though whether they're each still the same gender is anyone's guess. Jill always had the balls in our relationship, and maybe in her relationship with Sam too. She didn't have to talk anyone into getting castrated. She just went ahead and did it to them in her own way!
But as far as we were concerned, Jill had the last word. I'm still pretty much the way she made me and left me. There aren't many men who want to date me, though I present well as a woman -- in fact I'm rather pretty, and I know how to dress well and enjoy it, and how to satisfy men sexually. But that's still not enough. As I said when I began this whole long tale, I prefer girls. But there aren't many who want me for anything other than a friend. I have some very dear girlfriends, and I love them, and they love me, but there's no romance between us. Some feeling has returned to my penis, but that hormone bath did short- circuit my erections. I get them, sort of, but they're soft, and it's a rare girl who'll take a chance that I can get firm enough to fuck her. So instead, until I find that special someone who'll love me the way I am, I date men, and they play with my titties, and that feels as wonderful as ever, and I'm fucked.
When Jill left town she sent me a checkbook for one of our joint bank accounts with some money in it, enough to help me get by as it turned out. And she sent me a note telling me that I'm now a lot better off than when she first met me. True enough. She said she was glad she had feminized me, and hoped I didn't resent it. I don't. And she finished by asking, "No hard feelings, right?". Nope, none.
Copyright © 1997,1998,2000,2009 by Vickie Tern. May be archived and single-copied, not sold.
Vickie [email protected]
Authors foreword: This story contains no unnatural acts only because nothing in nature is unnatural. But various characters here do uncommon things with each other, as well as the usual things, always considerate of each other's feelings. If this offends you, read no further.
If you're under whatever the age of consent where you live, read no further. You might learn to do uncommon things while being considerate, as well as the usual things, and we can't have that.
Here and now, on behalf of authors and readers everywhere, the author would like to thank the archivists everywhere who make stories like these freely available to those who enjoy them. You are high among the glories of the Internet. Also, she appreciates any kind of e-mail comment on her stories, [email protected], and usually replies in kind.
I made my first really intimate girlfriend just before my last year in High School, the summer I was nearly seventeen. Strictly speaking, his mother had already shaped him out, but I put on the finishing touches, so I guess you can say we both made him my girlfriend. When I finished with him he loved what I'd done, and we've been good friends ever since, though since we went away to different colleges we've hardly seen each other, only when I'm home on vacation and he is too. He's still a girl and will be for life, but with a difference. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
When I began with him he thought he was a boy and wanted to live like one, and I could understand that. I'd wanted to be a boy too until I hit puberty and my body began to round out and smooth over, and my tits ripened, and I realized I had no choice. Then I discovered it's much better to be a girl. Marianne, the boy I'm talking about, he never had any choice either, not really, but he didn't know that till later.
I better explain all this. When I was little I hated wearing frilly dresses and ribbons whenever we went visiting, and sitting up straight with my Mary Janes dangling off the floor, and listening to the grownups talk, and always being neat and ladylike. My boy cousins could stretch out all over the floor and wear torn jeans and boy-size work boots, and pick their noses, and make disgusting noises all they wanted. Or they could go out and climb trees, or throw footballs, but I always had to be a lady, even when I was still a little girl. It wasn't fair, just because I happened to be born a girl. I really envied them. So whenever I could I wore jeans and boots and learned how to swallow air and belch the same as them. Anything they did, I decided I was going to do too, better! And I did, too!
My mom despaired, though she never gave up on me. She'd ask me over and over, "JayCee, why don't you play with dolls like all the other girls. There are such pretty dolls these days, and whole wardrobes for them, and even makeup."
I'd answer, "Because I'd rather play with boys, Mom." She never could figure out how to answer that, so mostly she'd leave me alone then until the next time.
In fact I was quicker than most boys, and smarter, and tougher, and more stubborn, and I never refused a dare dodging traffic or climbing trees. But when we crossed into our teens all the boys began to develop deep chests and shoulder muscles, and got so they could swing on branches like apes. Not me. With my thin arms I could only hang there and then let go. They got bulkier and stronger and I only got softer and rounder, a lot softer and rounder on my chest. So I had to quit trying to compete with them. I bought a bra and took up being a girl as a life sentence.
That pleased my folks, who'd never thought it would happen. Especially my mom was delighted when she found she had a daughter to shop for after all. Then once I got some girl clothes and started wearing them, and got a girl's hairdo, and started wearing a little makeup, wow, I found out that for my whole life I'd been absolutely wrong! Talk about dumb? What I found out was that no way did I ever have to prove I was as good as a boy. I found out that girls never have to prove anything. They're already better than boys in every way that matters. And I found that deep down, boys already know this. Girls don't ever have to do anything boys do because they can always get boys to do it for them. A girl can make a boy stumble all over his own feet and fall on his face if she feels like it, no problem. Girls can even hurt boys real bad, and if they do it just right the boys'll never complain -- in fact they'll say thank you. They can't help it. That's how they're made.
Even my boy cousins couldn't help themselves, I realized. One day when we were still thirteen or so two of them were showing off in trees in their back yard, and one of them paraded right off the end of a branch while looking over his shoulder to see if I was watching. He broke his collar bone when he hit the ground, but when his parents hustled him off to the hospital he was still looking back to see if I'd seen it happen! It's obvious. Boys want to please girls. They need to. The only choice they get, maybe, is which girl especially. They'll do anything we say, if we know how to say it just the right way. And that's how it is.
I.
I guess I was still fourteen when I first found out how far I could push a boy, and how much fun it was. Our house has a swimming pool in the back yard. The previous owner used it just to look at, but our family uses it all the time, and so do a few of my friends from time to time, when I invite them over.
Well, one day when it was hot and my folks were out, two boys I knew from school came by, a year or two older than me. They hoped I'd ask them to hang around and use the pool, and I figured why not -- they were both cute. They weren't the smartest boys around, but still, good enough for me to practice being a girl on them. Ronnie, the tall one, he was into body building, and his shoulders and legs showed some promising bulges even then. Petey was short and thin and not too hard to fake out -- I once beat him at Indian wrestling because he went for a sucker shift-of-weight, and then he fell for the same move a second time too. It bothered him, my faking him out, because I was only a girl. He kept asking me how I did it, and did I knew any other tricks. I told him lots, but that only girls can get away with using them. That didn't stop him, so I told him a few. Maybe he's still trying them out.
Anyhow, they were sweaty, and it was hot, so I told them sure, we'd all use the pool. Then it turned out they already had their bathing suits and towels with them. That annoyed me, because it meant they were pretty sure I'd invite them to stay, and I don't like anybody to feel pretty sure of anything when they're around me. But I let them think they were right as we splashed each other, and laughed, and they tried to grope me, and I swam circles around them.
Then came time for them to change back into their clothes. We were all three sitting around a big poolside patio table, and I suggested we play a game. They glanced at each other. Petey wagged his head at Ronnie, and Ronnie nodded, and then they both grinned at me, and then there was a pause. They had a plan. I tried to keep a straight face.
Then Petey asked me if I'd like to play "Show and Tell" with them. The way we play is, each person gets to ask the others to show or tell about something personal or embarrassing, or to do something like that. All the players then have to do that same thing, even the person doing the asking. That's so no one will ask for anything too far off the wall.
Well, what they'd want me to do was obvious enough. I mean, did I have to put on a red riding hood and take a walk through the woods to figure that one out? But I got this idea I wanted to try, so I said "Sure."
They stole another quick look at each other, and Ronnie, he said, "You're sure, now," and I said sharply, "I just said so, didn't I?" I wanted to get on with it. Then a quick thought: "You guys too, no chickening out by anyone! And there's two of you, and you each get to ask one thing, but there's only one of me, so to even it out I get to ask two things of you guys, right? That's only fair." Then I added, "You first, I'll go last."
Well, they were so eager to play they didn't think through whether that was fair or not. I'd be getting two of whatever I asked for each time, one from each of them each time, four all in all. But they'd get only one thing from me apiece. So my taking two turns wasn't really fair. But they were thinking it was themselves versus me, two boys versus one girl, not each of us versus each other, so they couldn't add up two and two, so they just nodded without thinking. In a way they got what they deserved.
We sat around the big table and just looked at each other, until finally Ronnie lost it and started to leer, and he said right on schedule, "Me first. Ok. Stand up and show us your boobs, JayCee. Naked."
Well, I was wearing a two piece bikini, and I still didn't have much to show when I was fourteen. My nipples were large and pointy, but I was only beginning to swell out. Still, given what I had in mind for them, I had no problem exposing my tits. I sort of took center stage and started to untie my halter in back. Then just to make sure there'd be no misunderstandings, not now, not for the rest of the game, I paused still holding my string ties together and said, "You too, Ronnie. You too, Petey."
They looked at me as if I'd gone weird, because they were both already bare chested. But finally they both stood up, and waited, and then Ronnie thought to say, "Ok, that's how we are."
So I nodded and undid the rest of my bathing suit top, and then held it out to the side at arm's length, and stood there with my other hand on my hip. Their eyes followed the top as I held it out, then shifted back to my exposed nipples and the slightly round mounds behind them. They stared at me solemnly for a while, and made whatever they could of what they saw.
Then Pete said, "OK, now my turn. Show us your pussy, JayCee. Take off your bathing suit bottom." He paused, then added, "You promised, remember?"
Talk about unsure? He didn't think I'd do it, so he fired off his reserve argument right off. But he didn't need to worry. "No chickening out, that's what we said," I said. I untied the two side bows on my Bikini bottom. Then I paused and waited. "You too," I said.
Well, they'd been so eager to see what was between my legs they forgot they'd have to drop their pants too, but they hesitated only a moment. A little embarrassed but with his eyes on the prize, me, Ronnie pushed his bathing suit down to his knees, took a deep breath, and stood up. Then Pete. It was sort of funny. They both tried to stand up straight like me, shoulders back and chest out and all, but they hunched over anyhow, as if they could hide their private parts behind their bellies, and they finished in a kind of half-crouch. It was pathetic. I let go the strings on my bikini bottom and then pulled it off straight out from between my legs. Petey gasped! Then I held the bottom to one side too, with my other hand.
Now there I was, standing before them completely naked, arms out, shoulders back, head high, looking straight into their eyes. Not that I didn't want to check out the scene further down on them. But in due time. I knew that now, for what I meant to do, they had to know who was in charge. And it was odd. I didn't feel any way exposed or vulnerable or immodest, or even naked. In fact the reverse. It was as if I were fully dressed, only in my skin, like those nude women in those paintings over at the museum, those Greek goddesses. As if I were standing in front of a throne.
So I took over. "All the way off," I said. "Put your bathing suits on the table." And I put my bikini top and bottom down on the table to set them an example, and then I stepped back a few steps and put my both hands on my hips, legs a little apart, and I stared at them again, and my bare tits stared at them too. Still embarrassed, they stripped down the rest of the way, then picked up their bathing suits and put them on the table.
Ronnie tried again to pull his shoulders back and stand tall, like me, but when he straightened up his knees bent. Pete was having his own problems. He was trying to cover his whole body with just his hands. "I can't see you," I said to him. "Are you ashamed? Of what?" I leaned back and cocked one hip at them, my pelvis thrust forward, my hands still draped on my hips, and I looked at them sideways amused, like girls I've seen in the movies when they're playing seductive but hard-to-get. Then when I saw what I saw, I *was* amused.
There they were, both of them, naked penises at half-dangle, balls shriveled and trying to hide behind their penises. Pete's prick had a pointed foreskin, but even with the extra flap it hung only maybe half way down his balls. It looked maybe only an inch or so long, soft the way it was. But Ronnie's big purple cock head hung way down below his balls, maybe six inches down altogether, maybe more.
I'd already seen my cousins' equipment the previous Thanksgiving when we were all playing "Show and Tell" together out in back while the grownups watched football inside, so these were no big deal. Ronnie's and Petey's cocks looked just as silly, hanging there between their legs. I hadn't known that cocks could vary that much in size, so that was something, anyhow. And Ronnie's was the biggest I'd seen yet, so that was something else.
Meanwhile, they both stared fascinated at the vee of my crotch, which then was just barely covered with tan fuzz. There was nothing else for them to see, just my fuzzy mound, and maybe the beginning of my pussy, where the flat space disappears into the crease tucked between my legs. But they couldn't take their eyes off it. I suddenly realized that what they were staring at was for them the unthinkable. They saw nothing! Nothing at all. A smooth curved surface unlike anything they'd ever seen between anyone's legs. No cock sprouting out of it, and no balls. Nothing.
I suddenly realized that in some deep place way down inside them, they were awed and a little frightened. Here was the place they'd come from, the same as their mothers', and that was mysterious in itself. But worse! Here was what their own crotches would look like if everything hanging there was cut off, missing, gone. They had cocks and balls, but I had nothing. I had nothing to lose. They were exposed and at risk, and I wasn't. It was as if the worst thing they could imagine happening to them had already happened to me, in some primordial way, yet I wasn't the least bit bothered by it. In fact I was completely at ease, and that made me superior beyond their comprehension. Was that why they instinctively tried to hide themselves, and why I felt so powerful at that moment?
"Now my turn," I said. "I get two things to ask." I looked at their eyes. They were both still staring down at my mystery, silent, coping with their thoughts. "Now, my first show and tell is, show me how you guys masturbate."
They both stiffened, surprised, and raised their eyes up to look at me, and found I was already staring back at them steadily, not even blinking. I sensed in them a sudden tension I could use if I could tip them the right way, so I decided to go for the gold.
"How you masturbate each other, I mean," I said, as if I were completing my original sentence. Then I sat down at the table and waited, never taking my eyes off them, making myself into an audience of one waiting for them to begin their performance.
Well, as I'd expected, there were delaying tactics and denials, a stream of "You're kidding, right?" and flat out "We don't do each other," and "No way, Jose!" and so forth. I gave them a minute to vent and get used to the idea, even to think they'd persuaded me, and then I cut them both off with "No chickening out, remember?" Then I couldn't resist. "Even though those little pricks do look like chicken skin, the necks when the heads are chopped off!"
They flinched, but I kept looking at them steadily. They looked at me a moment longer, then averted their eyes and looked at each other. I had them! Gently, even seductively, I added, "Just reach over, you two, and pick up each other's cocks, and then show me how you do it. Pull very gently. Be nice to each other!"
Then they couldn't resist. It was as if I were doing it to them. They didn't dare look at each other or say anything, but they each edged closer, faces fixed in a sort of smiling grimace, and Ronnie's hand reached out for Petey's little thing. Ronnie groped too high, so Petey took Ronnie's hand, pulled it further down, lifted his cock, and placed it on Ronnie's palm. Then Petey looked at Ron's crotch, reached over, and tenderly cradled Ronnie's long dingus in his whole hand. Better than I'd hoped, I was thinking. They both stood still for a few seconds, each hand getting used to the heft of an unfamiliar penis, each one aware that the other had custody of his most prized possession. Then they each closed their hands on the other's cock and began to pull back and forth, gently. Soon the pricks swelled up to fit their open fists, and then they had no more problems holding and pulling or stroking them. They closed their eyes. Ronnie held the whole of Petey in his hand, now all of four inches, and squeezed it rhythmically, and Petey slid his palm up and down on Ronnie's long monster as it got longer, and they each pulled and stroked, over and over, and a slight smile came over each one's face.
"This doesn't count as my second show and tell," I said. "But wouldn't it be a little more friendly if you looked into each others' eyes?"
They opened their eyes and looked at me and then at each other, a little evasive at first. Then more directly at each others' faces, as each one tried to concentrate his mind on the pleasure the other was providing. In a few minutes they were each lost again in their own sensations, but now they were looking at each other unashamed, even a little fondly. It was so dear! Really, precious!
So I decided it was time for me to take care of my own slit, which by now had gotten pretty slick. There were two guys jerking each other off under orders, mine, looking like they were in love! That alone was enough to get me going! Also, I didn't want either one of them to realize fair is fair, so one of them could do me next, or I'd have to do both of them.
So I licked my middle finger and pushed it into me, and then when it was wet and slippery I diddled it back and forth across my clit, flipping that little button faster and faster. Real nice. I could feel myself mounting, oooh!, really reaching higher and higher, and in another minute Oh! Wow! I shuddered into a delicious orgasm, a tremendous squeezing and expansing of all of me all at once, a kind of explosive celebration of my pussy by my whole body! My first one always comes fairly quick, but this was my strongest ever, and it went on and on! When I opened my eyes I saw that Ronnie and Pete were still so absorbed with each other they'd never even noticed. They'd picked up the pace, and their breathing had gotten faster and deeper, and now their hands were flying across each other's crotches. Each one's face was twisted as if in pain, or in concentrated yearning.
"Stop!"
They froze, each one with his hand gripping the other's swollen dong, and looked at me dazed.
"Before you guys blow each other off, you should know what's my second Show and Tell. Now, my second one is, I want one of you to fuck the other in the ass."
They stared at me horrified. Pete swallowed, and swallowed again, but still couldn't say anything. His eyes avoided mine and stared into the middle distance. Ronnie swallowed too, then stared hard straight at me.
I noticed neither of them let go the other's prick. I suppose they were afraid if they did their fun might be over, and by now they were both desperate to cum. That's why I thought I could get away with this.
"You're kidding!" Pete said finally. What he meant was, "You're serious!"
"That's not fair," Ronnie said. "If we did that what would you do?" He was talking at least, single syllables, and just barely thinking. Does a boy's brain close down when his cock rises? Anyhow, he was opening a negotiation! He was seriously considering my proposal!
I already had my answer. "Whoever gets fucked can fuck me," I said. "In the ass. That's fair."
I knew that was the clincher. Ronnie heard me loud and clear. I could tell by the way he was still staring into my face, his eyes lit by speculations I couldn't myself imagine! His cock lurched in Petey's hand. I bet both of these guys are virgins, I thought to myself. Well, my ass wasn't. The previous Thanksgiving I'd traded in its virginity to a cousin, for a baseball.
Well, it was a little more complicated, it happened this way. I'd gone off with that cousin, and had cheated on a game of forfeits, and had gotten him to kneel between my legs and slide his tongue in and out of my cunt while I was lounging back in a soft chair with my thighs resting on his shoulders, reading a book as if he didn't matter to me at all. He looked so sorrowful and so earnest, staring over my mound into my eyes from his mouth slurped and sucked on me, and I felt so good with him down there, that I let him know it when his tongue brought me off. That was a mistake, because then he felt good too, and wanted to fuck me. I told him no way with his prick, I was saving my pussy for my husband and the father of my children. He bought that argument, and asked instead for a blow job. Fair's fair, he pointed out, the way kids always do.
Well, just about then I'd been reading some stupid grownup woman's magazine that said that cocksucking was servile worship of the male phallus, and one of the ways men dominate women and keep them subservient, and stuff. I didn't know then that a phallus is really like the control stick in an airplane -- once you take hold of it you can fly a guy anywhere. One lick and he's yours, he'll do anything. But I didn't know that. I still didn't know it that day with Ronnie and Petey by the swimming pool, when I was getting them to play queer with each other.
Anyhow, I'd told my cousin I wouldn't blow him, no way, I was liberated and wouldn't demean myself. Then with a sudden inspiration I told him he could push into my asshole instead, if he'd throw in the baseball with Babe Ruth's signature his father kept in a little plastic shrine on the mantel. I'd always envied them that baseball, but mainly I was curious what it felt like to have a guy inside me moving in and out, what all the fuss was about. There was no way I'd let him into my cunt, because then he'd forever after lord it over me that he'd been Number One. Boys do that. My asshole he'd never boast about, because at that age most boys still think a back door is a shithole, and yukky. But he'd just been down there inspecting everything with his mouth and nose, and he knew that after my pussy my rosebud was the next best thing. So he agreed.
And he did it. We got him oiled up, and he got in after only a little bit of trouble, and he felt real good in there, but barely two swipes in and out and he came into me and then all over my ass. I was disappointed, but didn't let on. He told me later that his father really belted his ass over and over for supposedly playing with that baseball and then losing it, but that getting into me made it all worth while. I was his first. He was grateful, the way I like guys to be when they've done what I want them to do. The way I expected Ronnie and Petey to be when I was finished with them. I always give satisfaction.
Well, Ronnie just stood there staring at me, his dong still stiff in Petey's hand, its purple head poking out into the sunshine, and I could see that wheels were whirring in his brain. A chance to stick it to a girl at last! Or into Petey? But at what price?
Petey may not have registered any of it yet, that whoever gets fucked gets to fuck me. "You haven't whacked off yet, JayCee," he said, maybe stalling for time. "Or whatever it is girls do."
"Oh, yes I have," I said. "I came. You two lovers were too busy with each other to notice." I pushed two fingers into my quim, pulled them out gleaming wet, then stood up, walked over, and held them under Pete's nose. "What do you think this is? Or wouldn't you know?" I wiped my juice on his upper lip so the smell would last and maybe he'd get to like it, and then I gave Ronnie his chance, drenching my fingers a second time and then holding them up to his mouth. "Suck on this!" I commanded. He did, as if he were licking a candy cane. "You can do it, Ronnie," I told him in a low, sultry voice. "Be Pete's girl, for me."
I won that gamble too. I'd figured that Ronnie would calculate even in his coma that Pete's little cock shoved into him was a small price to pay to get his big one into me. I hoped so, but I didn't want him feeling too macho about it. Now whatever he did, he'd be following my orders. Better, in his own mind he'd be the girl who got laid, or he'd think I was thinking that. And once a girl in your own mind, I was thinking, always a girl. Once fucked, always fucked. I'll have to remember to call his cock a clit, I thought, and later I'll have to ask how his pussy felt with Pete's cum still leaking out of it. Because I had other uses for him now that I'd seen how obediently he'd licked pussy juice from my fingers. He'd be handy to have around when I felt like slinging my legs over someone's shoulders. More manageable than a cousin.
Ronnie finally decided. He pulled a few more times on Pete's pecker, then leaned in and muttered something to him, and then turned toward me. "He'll need lube of some kind, or he'll hurt me, JayCee" he said. His voice sounded very respectful. "How about we use some more of your juice?"
"I use my juice for me," I said with finality. "You've got a mouth, Ronnie. Take care of your own needs! Petey'll do the same for you afterward, blow job for blow job, won't you Petey?" I flashed him a smile to keep him encouraged, didn't even glance at Petey, then turned and sat down again to watch. Can you imagine? I was only fourteen then!
And sure enough, Ronnie looked at Petey, and Petey nodded, a little overwhelmed by all this wheeling and dealing. So Ronnie dropped to his knees in front of Petey and took Petey's little cock into his mouth. He gave it just a few licks all over to coat it with thick saliva, and only a few sucks and strokes up and down with his lips to spread the slick stuff around, but it was enough for Petey to forget himself, and stiffen up all the way, and then to start fucking his friend's face.
I was ecstatic! Here before my eyes was a boy I'd turned into a genuine cock sucker, home-made, my very first! I wished I had a camera. Petey's cock grew as swollen as it would ever get, sliding in the warm moisture of Ronnie's mouth, and his face again took on a glazed look. But Ronnie took no chances. He stopped suddenly, then got down on his hands and knees and lowered his head and chest onto a towel on the ground, with his butt way up in the air. Petey mounted him doggy style, spread his cheeks, felt for his asshole, and pushed at him a few times with that stubby cock.
At first all he did was shove Ron forward. But I could tell when he finally managed to get it into Ron, because on that stroke, the third or the fourth, instead of lurching forward when Petey's cock shoved on him Ron's body held steady. In fact Ronnie wriggled and snuggled back, and then Petey really began fucking him! Ronnie was now genuinely queer at both ends! I felt like a Maestro conducting an orchestra! A few more lunges, and then Petey was sprawled onto Ronnie, hugging him tight and squeezing his belly against his ass, and shouting "Hah! Hah! Hah!" Each shout another spurt of semen squirting into Ronnie's guts! Then Pete softened and flopped out of Ronnie's ass almost at once, leaving behind a trail of oozing cum.
Petey may have been small, but he had semen to spare. Ronnie's asshole was filled to the brim and running over. I bet he'll still be leaking tonight, I thought to myself idly. I'll try to remember to lend him a tampon before he goes home, or his folks'll ask about the stain on his bathing suit. I wondered if he'd want to fuck himself with the tampon while putting it in, now he'd had a taste of it, the way I sometimes do. He would if I told him to. Maybe he would for no reason at all.
I caught a glimpse of Petey's softened cock, and marveled that anything that small had even gotten past Ron's ass cheeks. But he'd done it! They both stood up. Pete's cum leaked down Ron's legs and glistened in his crack, and Pete looked like any boy who's just blown his wad, complacent and a little arrogant. Ron looked disturbed. I knew why, of course. He did feel more like a girl than he'd meant to feel, now he'd been irrevocably fucked by a stiff prick up the ass. But he wasn't a girl. Not with that cock, he wasn't. And he still hadn't managed to cum yet himself. It was time.
"Sit here under the umbrella, Little Peter," I said to him. "I'll give Ronnie back to you so you can be his girl next time, now that he's yours. Put your bathing suit back on now. If you can't find it I'll lend you some panties to wear home."
I don't know, I suppose I was just teasing these would-be macho studs who'd come by my house cocksure that any girl's swimming pool was theirs for the asking. But Pete turned bright red, and when I looked I saw Ron was red too. Well, well! A discovery of some kind! Had they done each other previously, or dreamed of it, these buddies? Had they just now been girls in their own minds, while they jerked each other off with such loving affection? Had I just ordered them to enact a really secret desire? Maybe that's how boys use each other sexually and yet keep their self-respect, by pretending one of them at least is a girl. Were guys so ashamed to do it with other guys that they'd rather pretend they're the other sex, to avoid thinking they must be gay? Do gays do that too, pretend they're girls when they're really only guys who prefer each other? All interesting to look into later, but I said nothing. Pete put on his bathing suit and sat down without another word.
Well, this time I let Ron lubricate himself on the outside of my pussy. It was my ass, after all. "Now go easy," I said to him. "Remember how Little Petey felt in you when he was moving in and out of your ass? Did he stretch you out first, and then feel real good? Delicious? Yummy? Could you feel his cock pulse when he came, and did his cum feel hot when it splashed inside you? At that moment did you think to yourself, now at last I'm a real woman? Remember that my ass isn't slippery like yours is right now with that cum leaking all over, so go slow!"
Then I got down the way he'd done it, and let him slowly push that long cock of his into my rear, a little at a time. I instructed him inch by inch, like a steelworker signalling how to work a girder into position. It took a while. This was only my second ass-fuck, so mainly I was comparing it to my first, to see what new sensations were available -- I don't like expecting something and ending up disappointed. Well, Ron's cock was really huge compared to my cousin's, and it did feel tremendous when he finally got it all in. I felt full. Complete. It's nice, something that swollen way down deep inside you, I decided. School would begin again before too long, and this was something I could use to reward boys who were especially obedient, or as they liked to think of it, especially gentlemanly and courteous with me. I'd let them put their most prized possession into my shithole.
But that was the best of it. Ron began thrusting, and it seemed to me that each stroke in and out was like a slow commute to the suburbs and then back into the city. Each one took a while, and together they got repetitious. He pumped me, and my mind drifted to the magazine I'd been flipping through a couple of hours earlier, when the two of them first came by looking for a free ride and I'd taken them for one. For sure, from now on, I decided, whoever's doing my ass will at least diddle my clit at the same time, unless they've gotten me excited some other way. If he isn't Mr. Right.
When finally Ron came I let him stay in me a minute longer, and then I wriggled out from under him. He looked so grateful I almost laughed. But instead I turned and kissed him on the cheek, thanked him, and told him that now he was my favorite stud as well as my favorite girlfriend. Then I asked him to let me know the next time he and Petey jerk each other off or fuck each other, because I'd enjoy knowing I was the one who'd helped them find themselves.
That reminded Ronnie. He stood up and went over to where Petey was sitting and watching the two of us. His cock was still half-engorged, and still slick with semen and who knows what from my bowels. He walked over where Petey was sitting and just stood there with it touching Petey's nose, and didn't say a word. Feeling macho? Too embarrassed to ask? But after only a second's hesitation Petey took it into his hand, then dropped his mouth onto the big purple knob and plunged his head all the way down onto it. All the way down! It swelled up full even as I watched, and then disappeared down Petey's throat! Petey bobbed his head up and down on it several times! Had I discovered something about their relationship they'd rather have kept to themselves? Had Petey done this before? He took in Ron's cock like a master sword swallower! Ronnie then leaned back slightly with his hands on his hips, and Little Petey dropped his hands to his sides, headfucking Ron unassisted in long, easy, comfortable strokes. Then Ron grunted, clasped Petey's head tight to his crotch, squirted his load straight down his throat, and reached over and lifted Petey's head off his cock by both ears.
When they left I told them I'd love to have a picture of Petey sucking on Ronnie as a souvenir of the afternoon, and Ron nodded his agreement absent-mindedly while looking for one of his sandals. Apparently nothing even to think about. So maybe I was right about them. They may or may not have done it before, but they surely were going to do it again. Ronnie would see to that.
A few days later, three Polaroid pictures arrived in the mail: Little Peter cocksucking Big Ron the way I'd seen, and another of Petey grinning at the camera while wiping a blob of cloudy glop off his lips, and last of all the two of them blowing each other in a classic 69. On the back of that last one was written "Here's how we learned to swim at your place!" These were pictures with their faces fully visible! Talk about trust? The next three or four times they got together to do each other they phoned to tell me. I congratulated them each time, and wished them a long and happy life together.
They often invited me to come watch once they were well into it, and I took them up on it just often enough to keep them eager to see me. They liked doing whatever I told them, and I never ever had to remind them about the pictures they'd sent me. I sent them on lots of little missions to keep them busy and happy. For example, it turned out after a while that they weren't really girlish, they were gay. They even preferred sex with each other dressed normal, like guys. Even so I made Ron buy Petey a full girl's outfit from K-Mart, from a bra on out, one item each day, the two of them livid with embarrassment each time Ron had to ask the salesgirl if Petey could use a changing room to try the item on. I told Petey to dress up for Ron for a big date out at least once a month. And to wear makeup, and to make himself as pretty as he could. And to send me a picture now and then of Ron lifting his skirt to ream him in the rear. During the next year those pictures got more and more elaborate as Petey got more and more into dressing up, and spent more money on costumes. He turned out to be a real Drag Queen, no mistake about it, a real contest-winner.
Of course other kids at school caught on in no time at all. The two of them got careless, and sometimes they were seen holding hands, and there was talk. The clincher came when they were seen together in a pizza parlor on the other side of town, Petey dressed like a girl, though in bad taste, another girl told me. Well, I'd seen that outfit and thought he looked rather cute in it, a low-neck peasant blouse and a teeny denim mini-skirt, with sort of clunky shoes and big bold eye makeup. I liked it on him. Anyhow, after that, girls lost interest in dating them, though some girls felt especially comfortable with them and invited them to slumber parties, and gave them advice how to use makeup with more restraint, and asked them how it felt, doing each other. Girls are curious about things like that.
Boys wanted no part of them of course, and called them all the usual names. So they got more and more dependent on each other for their social lives, and by the end of the year they were living practically in each others' pockets. Petey's parents caught on eventually, and when the school year ended the family moved across the state to another town, so Petey could get a fresh start. But by then he didn't want one. Petey soon found some new boyfriends, and Ron knew where he lived, and they visited each other now and then.
I dated lots of guys the next few years. A girl with my kind of self- confidence who isn't afraid to tell boys what to do attracts certain kinds of boys. I'd let them do my homework for me if they were smart enough, or drive me to school mornings, and I'd reward them by letting them perform little services for me. They got to be known as "JayCee's nursery school," and it turned out they were real popular with other girls when I was finished with them. They had all kinds of special skills.
The jocks took me on as a personal challenge, and of course got nowhere. None of them ever got into my pussy, because I was still saving it for the boy I would one day marry, I told them. Also because they were boastful adolescents who still thought a fuck was a conquest, even the smart ones. It was easy to outthink them. They were never sincere with me, so I saw no reason to be sincere with them when I put them through hoops.
The other boys at our high school all knew that my pussy was out of bounds except to their mouths. But they knew I expected that much lip service from them at least, and they looked forward to offering it. They knew that if I really liked them, or if I was in just the right mood, or if I wanted something special from them, they knew that I might even use my mouth on them too, to help persuade them to do whatever it was I wanted.
And they knew that if they were really attentive and submissive and grateful and courteous, and if I was especially turned on, and if they were willing to do certain especially humiliating things while I watched, they knew I might actually allow them to fuck my ass, enter me near that sacred place where my eventual husband's semen would eventually unite with my own eventual egg. Knowing all these things, they'd all try extra hard to please me as soon as their faces got down to business. I had no complaints, and I heard none.
Ron never got into my ass again -- despite its size his cock was just plain boring, and it turned out to be mutual, because he'd discovered girls just didn't interest him. He liked Petey and a few other boys he hung out with, and that was it. He'd let me put my legs on his shoulders when I wasn't going with anyone else and wanted someone down there, though he confessed once that he did it only because I asked him. In return I let him use our swimming pool without his ever having to ask. Oh yes, I also got good grades in school, very good grades, though that was never what school was really about as far as I was concerned.
II.
So along came that summer when I was nearly seventeen, and had half the boys in my class, practically, under my pussy or my thumb. But that summer nearly every boy I knew left town. They went to be camp counselors, or for sports training, or to learn mountain climbing, what they called "Leadership School." What a joke! Some wimp hangs from a rope between some rock and nowhere, and that's how he learns how to be a leader. Really! Any girl who can't get a guy to do that any time she wants ought to turn in her tits. Anyhow, some guys went out of town because there weren't too many summer jobs that year, or else they were farmed out to relatives in other cities to broaden their experience. Ronnie talked his parents into letting him spend part of the summer with an Uncle who lives in Provincetown, on Cape Cod, and then talked Petey's parents into letting Petey go there too. Some families moved out of town, the way families do. It's sad when that happens, just before a kid finally get to be a Senior in High School and can do anything. But it happens.
It also happens that families move in. In fact it happened just down the street from us. Right after school ended I noticed how dull everything got suddenly, how the place emptied out. There were still a few guys around, of course, not my usual crowd, though you make do with what you've got. I almost took up my mother's idea I should find summer work of some kind to earn money for college. In fact, that's what my family still thinks I did do, that that's where I got all that money I saved up that summer, that that's how I won that whopping scholarship that's paid my way through college mostly. I guess in a way I did find summer work. For sure I found what I wanted to do when I graduated.
This new family that moved in down the street a block away wasn't really a family. Just two people, a mother and a son. The day the movers came I saw him outside cutting the grass. He looked to be about my age, a little taller but not much, and real thin, though it was hard to tell from a distance because he favored loose clothes. He had long hair worn straight and loose the way all the guys did that year, when only geeks wore pony tails. A girl's hair that year had to be long too, but mainly it had to be as crimped and curly as rollers and hot irons and drug store permanent waves could get it. Slaves to fashion, that's what we all are, all of us. The guys too. But this guy checked out OK on that score.
My mother went over with a tray of sandwiches the day they moved in, and stayed about an hour. "Nice people," she reported to my father and me at dinner. "At least she's very nice. Jane is her name. She runs some kind of merchandising by mail thing, and is very successful at it to judge by the furniture and china they've got. Spode, service for twelve, she was unpacking and putting away -- beautiful -- it must be priceless! I don't know why she didn't buy a bigger house on the other side of town, but she says this one is ample for the two of them, and she likes the location. She was divorced when her son was just starting kindergarten, she tells me -- her husband ran off, or ran off once too often, or something. The boy seems a little quiet, maybe even shy, but he's very polite, very well brought up. He'll be a Senior when school begins again, same as you, JayCee. I told them you'd come over some time and introduce yourself, and maybe show him around a little, where you kids hang out, things like that. With school out and so many families away, he's got no way to meet people his own age. His name's Marion."
I didn't say anything. My Mom was always trying to fix me up with boys she thought she could trust, our cousins for example, which is how my ass lost its cherry and my Uncle lost his baseball. Or with boys from families that belong to our church -- she thinks they're respectable because they call her "ma'am." I tell her they're the worst, because by the time she quits talking me up they think she's already guaranteed them a piece of my ass, and they expect me to hand them the rest on a platter. That's why so often I hand them their own asses, not always as nicely as I did it that time with Ronnie and Petey. I stay away from polite creeps. They're the worst.
What I was actually thinking was, with a name like 'Marion' this kid better be a fighter, with a nickname like "Spike" or "Crusher," something to slow the guys down when they want to lean on him a little. Polite won't cut it. Boys like to push each other. Nice boys in our neighborhood don't stay that way.
Anyhow, a week later I happened to be out front getting ready to visit my friend Marcie, when I saw this Marion kid coming down the sidewalk toward me wearing his oversized shirt and baggy pants, carrying a plastic bag from that drugstore in the mall on the highway two blocks south of us. Sort of hip-hop, his clothes, I saw, acceptable enough, big, everything out and hanging loose. I checked myself. Just the reverse -- real tight jeans and a black stretch sleeveless pullover with a turtle neck, no bra, fresh lipstick I'd just put on to show Marcie the shade I think goes with a jumper she just bought. My hair up in the Betty Grable forties look I'm trying out. I'm OK, I decided. If I smile at him he'll fall over.
So I crouched down pretending to do something with a flower bed alongside the sidewalk, and when he got nearer I wiggled my tail at him a little. Looking him over sideways, I could see he was trying hard not to notice me, the way polite boys do, but he couldn't help himself. Then when he was just about to pass by I suddenly stood up in front of him and faced him down and smiled. I gave him both barrels at close range. I can be devastating when I want to be, and I can be mean, too, and sometimes it's the same thing. I didn't know which it was yet myself, in this case.
He stopped walking as if he'd hit a wall, and then he stared at me with no change of expression.
"Hi!" I said brightly. "I'm JayCee, the girl who lives here? My mother was over to your house the other day, a week ago? When you were moving in, and she met you and your mother?" I saw he had huge almond-shaped eyes and long black lashes and high cheekbones. Close up he looked real cute! In fact he was a living doll! Stroke him the right way, and he'll purr like a cat I'll bet. Or a tiger. He might be worth getting to know after all!
He smiled just a bit, a little nervous, and he passed the bag he was carrying over to his other hand, then half-hid it behind his leg. I'd already seen through the plastic that it had some big bottles of pills, and a big blue and purple package with "Kotex OverNite Maxi Pads" in white letters. No mystery -- he was on an errand for his mother. But at his age mothers can seem an embarrassment. "Sure," he said. "JayCee. Your mother said you might be coming by real soon. I'm pleased to meet you."
"I'll walk you," I said. "Then I'll have come by." No sense letting anyone get any advantage over you, any time. I started down the sidewalk. But he kept standing there, so I stopped and looked back at him over my shoulder, and I gave him my slow steady inquiring look with one eyebrow raised real high. I once turned two football players into drooling mush with that look.
"No, I didn't mean that," he said, now altogether flustered. "I mean I'm very pleased to meet you. I was looking forward to it." Now he clutched his shopping bag in front of him with both hands.
I realized that he was one of those boys who have a hard time speaking to girls, a late bloomer or something. He wasn't just jockeying for position when he'd said that about me supposed to come by and I didn't, trying to hang a guilt trip on me. He'd said it because that was all he could think to say. He understood that I misunderstood him and that I was miffed, and now he was trying to apologize and be nice! Now that was something! The other boys I knew wouldn't have had a clue to anything that had already happened in this little conversation, and if they could have figured it out they couldn't have cared less!
"Likewise," I said, and this time I gave him my special smile. Sincere. I really do have one, though there isn't much call for it. "I'll walk you. I'd like to." Should I tell him I've seen him cutting the grass? No, too relaxed and neighborly. Keep the initiative. Stay on him.
"Your name's Marion, isn't it," I noted.
He realized he'd forgotten to say so, and felt further disadvantaged, which was my intention. "Yes." he said. "'Marion' spelled with an 'O.' That was John Wayne's name, too, before he was John Wayne."
The poor boy was belly up! So sensitive about having a name that sounds like a girl's that he had a canned speech prepared to prove he's really a man's man like John Wayne. Who'd doubted it? Obviously he was first in line!
I decided to keep after him. "Marion with an 'O," I said. "That's pronounced 'Marianne,' right? Then you won't mind if I call you 'Marianne'? 'Mary' for short, maybe?" Then the clincher so he wouldn't dare object. "It sounds more friendly that way. You don't mind, do you?" Now let him hang himself. What's in a name?
He surrendered. "No, not at all," he said. "Whatever you like." I had him. He was outclassed. But he *knew* he was outclassed, and that showed more intelligence than ever glimmered in any of the boys I knew. I decided that I liked him. Maybe I should have come by after all? I decided that this could be a prize fish, so I should reel him in. Keep up the pressure so he won't throw the hook.
"Mary," I said to him, taking his arm real comfy, so he'd know I wasn't being sarcastic or threatening, but also so he wouldn't spook and run off, "Why did you buy Kotex at the mall? Are you having your period now?"
I hung on tight until he could get a grip on himself. Now his doll face was bright red. "Oh, JayCee," he said finally. "Quit teasing me, OK?"
Terrific! I loved it! He respected himself after all! He didn't fall all over himself to explain the obvious, that it was for his mother. He was uneasy about his name, but he didn't feel totally apologetic about everything, as if everyone's opinion but his own mattered. He knew I was mocking and testing him, maybe even insulting him, but he took off the edge by calling it teasing. And it worked! All of a sudden, I'd only been teasing him, in a friendly way, the way girls do when they meet an interesting guy. I liked that. I squeezed his arm to tell him, and I knew he knew that too. His blush faded, not altogether. "OK, Marianne," I said. No reason to back off just because I was beginning to like him. "Deal!"
"What're the pills?" I asked him, now just making conversation. We were only about halfway to his house from mine.
"Vitamins," he said. "I had asthma and such when I was little, and I took a lot of pills. Now my mother feels better when I take them."
"Prescription vitamins? Let's see!" I could see the typed RX labels through the translucent plastic bag, so I reached over and took the bag from him before he could pull back and be embarrassed into playing tug of war, and I reached in and started reading the bottles. They had his mother's name on them, not his.
"These pills are for your mother too," I said, to put my Kotex taunt behind us once and for all.
"She's got the health insurance policy," he said, "So she gets the prescriptions, even the ones for me."
Was he kidding me now? About asthma and vitamin pills? I could read, and I saw that these were birth control pills. Female hormones of some kind. One was "Estynil Estradiol" and the other was "Progesterone." The same stuff the doctor started me on last year, to make my period more regular, and as Mom said, to forestall any little problems. Only mine come in a cute little pill wheel inside a compact, so I won't forget to take one each day, or forget which one. And mine are a lot smaller. These were big pills, like the kind my Mom started taking after her hysterectomy, massive doses of female hormones to keep her in womanly trim. I checked again in the bag. It was Kotex all right. No hysterectomy. A mystery. I decided he was kidding me but wasn't very good at it.
"Well, here we are, Mary," I said. We stopped for a moment on the sidewalk in front of his house. And I added sincerely, because he needed all the encouragement he could get, obviously, "It's nice that we live near each other, Marianne." He smiled. "I like you. You stop by. We have a pool."
He hesitated, and then asked if I'd like to come in and meet his mother. Meaning he wanted me to meet her. Meaning, he really liked me too. He led the way into the kitchen, and there she was standing by the window, cutting vegetables.
Marion's mother was thin too, like him, with a nice figure, and though she wore no makeup at all it was obvious that she could look stunning whenever she chose -- she had the same high cheekbones as her son, and the same almond-shaped eyes, and she had the same black lashes, though on a woman you can never tell. She carried herself like a dancer -- there was something poised and formally gracious even in the way she turned to greet me. Her hair was fairly long for a woman her age, and piled high up on her head, the way mine was pinned up. She made pleased and surprised noises to see the two of us together, looking from one of us to the other and saying something about my mother's visit the day they first moved in. So she knew who I was already, without being introduced. I saw that the kitchen window in front of her cutting board on the counter gave her a full view of our entire promenade, from my calculated crouch in front of my own house practically to their front steps. I glanced out that window, then at his mother again. She was watching me, and we saw we understood each other perfectly. She smiled. Marion put the bag on the kitchen table between them.
"JayCee, isn't it," his mother said wiping a hand on her apron, and offering it. "I'm Jane. Just 'Jane' please. No formalities here. I'm delighted to meet you, I'm sure you know that." Then to her son, "You got the prescriptions too, Marion? The vitamins? Yes, here they are." She opened the pill bottles and took two from one, then one from the other, huge as pills go, and handed them to him. "Take these now," she told him. "Then if you don't mind, that washing machine isn't hooked up right. Would you mind going down and reversing the hoses, and put it up on its blocks, and check it over, then holler to me when you think it's finally installed right, so I can bring down some washing and we can test it out?"
"Sure, Mom," he said. "I'll see you, JayCee!"
"When you come up. I'll look after your friend meanwhile. I'd like to get to know JayCee a little, if she doesn't mind, now that she's here. You go down and we'll talk, and we'll be here when you've done what you need to do."
He went down to the cellar to fix the washing machine or whatever. I looked at her expectantly. She hadn't gotten rid of her son just to pass the time of day with me. "Your mother told me you were a nice girl," his mother said to me when we were out of his hearing. "She didn't tell me you were also clever. I see that for myself. I'm pleased to know you."
"Likewise," I said, not much into formalities myself. I looked her straight in the eye, and she looked straight into mine. I liked her immediately. "Mrs....um, Jane, you have a nice son. I like him."
"Yes, I just heard you tell him that," she commented with a small smile. Meaning she'd also heard me call him Mary. She didn't seem to mind. Also meaning, she didn't want secrets between us.
This emboldened me, but I remembered my manners. "Can I ask you something, Mrs...Jane, I mean? Right out, with no 'I know its really none of my business, but...' stuff?"
I had never spoken to anyone like that before. Not so blunt. But Marion's mother seemed to invite it. I could sense that, and I wanted her respect, and I sensed this was how to get it.
"Absolutely, JayCee! No 'none of my business stuff...' between us ever, OK?"
"Great!" I said thinking to myself that there were certainly some secrets around here, if she's that open about being open with me. "I guess I've got two questions, really. The first is, why did you name your son 'Marion'? That was asking for trouble for him."
She looked at me steadily, then sat down at the table and leaned on her elbows, and twined her wrists together and clasped her hands. It was a graceful gesture, like an actress or a model, and I thought I might try that some time myself. It might be useful. She found it useful, obviously. She nodded for me to sit too, so I did.
"You ask without preliminaries, so I'll answer the same way. By the time Marion was born I knew I was going to divorce his father. His father is a real shit, a vicious man with no respect for anyone he can't control, especially women, and a foul-mouthed wife-beater. I'd wanted a daughter of my very own, so at least I could carry something good away from my years with him, not a son who might look up to that bastard and maybe some day choose to live with him, and to think and behave like him. And a daughter he'd never contest during a divorce. He'd want all kinds of rights over a son."
"But we take what we get. I got a boy. So I gave him a boy's name I could imagine was a girl's name, and everyone else could think was a girl's name if they wanted to. That way I saw to it that I was asking for the right kind of trouble for him. He's still a little defensive, the way adolescent boys are, but you must have noticed, he doesn't feel it's al all demeaning to be carrying what sounds like a girl's name. You can call him 'Mary' to tease him, if you like, or even 'Marianne' all the time, and it doesn't bother him at all. He takes no notice. He's not insulted that his name sounds like a girl's. He respects girls. He's had to learn to respect them in order to respect himself, and not go through life cringing and apologizing for things that aren't his fault." She sat back and smiled. "Then when his father came home from some long overseas engineering and whoring trip and got infuriated to learn that he now had a son named Marion, well, that was another plus."
"Ok, Mrs. ... uh, ma'am, fair enough. Just now I...."
"'Jane,' please, JayCee, if you don't mind."
"No, Jane, I don't mind at all. I like it. I like you too." I really did. Why did I want her to know right off? "That explains why he didn't mind my calling him 'Marianne' or 'Mary.' I didn't get anywhere near him with that."
"Closer than you'd think, but not the way you'd think, JayCee. 'Marianne's' a lovely version of 'Marion.' And so is he. I wish I'd thought of it! I'm glad you did. You had another question?"
"Yes, ma'am. Yes, Jane. This one's a little more serious." I really hesitated, then I just blurted it out. "Why are you feeding your son female hormones and telling him they're vitamins?"
Jane glanced at the bottles between us on the table, then looked at me mildly but steadily. "When he was a boy he had asthma," she said, "And he got accustomed to taking vitamin supplements and allergy shots. He thinks he still is."
That wasn't really relevant, except that now I knew that he was also shooting up female hormones, and didn't know that either. Pretty heavy duty stuff. I sat there waiting.
"May I ask how you know what these are?" She picked one up and held it as if to read the label, but didn't bother looking at it.
I told her. And how I knew they weren't for her.
She glanced at the Kotex package when I mentioned it, with a quick smile. Then she resumed looking straight at me. She added gently, as if reminiscing, "Yes, I saw you reading the labels earlier while you two were walking here. I knew you knew. And I notice that neither then nor just now did you say anything to him. You saw as soon as you both walked in here that he didn't even blink when I called them vitamins and handed him some. He still thinks they're vitamins. "
Now I felt like a co-conspirator. Was that was how she wanted me to feel?
"He also gets hormone shots, as I've just told you, and I have his blood monitored carefully each month. I love him, and I take no chances with him. He needs to overcome his body's natural production of male hormones, so he needs heavy doses of estrogen and so forth. If he'd had an arranged accident when he was younger, and lost his testicles, he could have gone on much smaller doses to complete his puberty. But it's too late now -- now he'd think it was a disaster if it happened, and I don't want him to suffer anything traumatic like that ever!"
But she still wasn't answering my question.
She looked steadily at me a moment longer, then she suddenly straightened up. "JayCee," she said. "Can I talk to you frankly, woman to woman? No 'stuff' at all?"
Now she really wanted to make me a co-conspirator, no question about it. What she wanted to say was not to be known even by her own son. It could be a barrier between me and Marion, if we ever got close. I hesitated, but I'd never known anyone like this woman. She was elegant and yet down-to-earth, direct yet extremely tactful, gracious, smart, and she knew her own mind. She was already some of the things I realized I wanted to be. "Yes, of course, ah, Jane," I said. She knew I knew what she was really asking. But that wasn't good enough for her. She had to underline it.
"What I say now never leaves this room. And Marion or 'Marianne' is never to hear of it. Are you willing to agree to that?"
"Sure," I said. I love mysteries, and a big one was about to be unfolded.
"I just told you that when Marion was born I wanted a girl, didn't I?"
I nodded.
"Well, in a nutshell, I'm getting one. Marion is becoming a girl. I've arranged for him to have a girl's puberty instead of a boy's puberty. He doesn't know it himself yet, but this summer coming up is a crucial one for his development. I want to use it to ease his transition to living as a girl full time by the time school begins again, not merely so he'll accept it, but so he'll enjoy it. So he'll love it! So he can start school this Fall as a girl, and never again be anything else, and for the rest of his life never look back. Never wish to be anything else. That's one reason why we moved here, where no one knows him. No questions, no curiosity, no mockery. A whole new beginning."
I was dumbfounded. I leaned forward and asked her yet again. "Jane, why are you doing this to him."
"Not to him, with him," his mother said. "For him. For different reasons. Let me list a few, and let's see if they don't make sense to you."
"First, girls are nicer than boys. If you don't know that yet, you will. But I think you do. Also, girls have more character than boys. They can endure and survive more, and once they understand how boys tick they can put themselves in charge without even seeming to be there at all. Because most boys really want girls to be in charge. I think you've already found that out too, haven't you, JayCee?"
"Yes, I suppose I have," I said evenly, wondering how she knew.
"Well, that's what I want for my baby. To be what you are. To know what you know. To live the life you'll live. You be the judge, JayCee. Which would you rather be? A girl or a boy? For the rest of your life."
A girl, of course. For the rest of my life? Why should anyone ever want to be a boy? But I didn't answer her. There was really nothing for me to say. She didn't mean for me to answer. I waited.
"Secondly, I'm still young. Still in my thirties. I go out, and I invite friends back to the house now and then, and sometimes I'll ask them to dinner here, and sometimes a special friend'll stay overnight. It sounds selfish, I know, but it isn't. Now, I am not a storybook mother whose whole life is dedicated to her child. I wouldn't want to burden any child of mine with the notion that I sacrificed my life for him. For her. That's a terrible burden for any child to bear. So I have my friends over. I enjoy their companionship and the sex, and so on, and I expect my child to understand. It's my life too."
"Well, responses to a parent's sexuality are fairly standard according to a child's gender. At Marion's age boys resent their mothers' sexuality. Girls don't. A girl may even admire their mother's boyfriends, though usually they resent their father's girlfriends. Well, I don't need a resentful adolescent son implying to any of my guests that they're not welcome, or moping about unhappy because my life and my affections aren't exclusively devoted to him. I love Marion dearly, but I'd love to fall in love again with someone I can take to bed and dedicate to my own pleasure, and I'd never want Marion to be in the way. I'm still looking."
I thought, I should be feeling embarrassed to hear that. But I wasn't. I understood well enough.
"On the other hand, it's nice for everyone when a woman is living with a teenage daughter. Daughters understand how their mothers' feel, and don't feel threatened themselves. In fact, sometimes a pretty daughter somewhere in the house can't help but enrich a guest's fantasy and intensify any romantic moods. Even a decent person who'd never touch her. You're a daughter. Don't the older men who come into your house sometimes seem to feel a compulsion to turn on the charm when they look at you? Even though you're your father and mother's child, and untouchable?"
"More often than sometimes," I said. I grinned to myself, and she saw and grinned back at me.
"You're a real pet, JayCee. You hear me perfectly, I can tell. Now, so far what I've described are the advantages of having a daughter instead of a son. My third reason is why it's necessary for Marion to be my daughter, not my son. Not just advantageous, but necessary. Crucial. It's this. His father comes back now and then to claim his unlimited visitation rights over Marion. That was the price I paid to get a decent child support allotment when he first abandoned us. I make plenty of money now, but I didn't then. I needed every penny, and the price I paid for it was, any time after Marion turns 16, and he's just done that, his father can take him away from me for as long as he likes, and keep him as far away as he likes."
"Well, that man resents me. In fact he has contempt for all the women who have ever associated themselves with him. He's boasted to me that he means to come back and take Marion away and keep him away for good. He said he was going to turn Marion into his kind of man, which means a self-gratifying, conceited, sexist boor like himself. A calculating rapist who'll never get caught. And he could do it. At Marion's age a young man is attracted to the idea that women exist only for his pleasure. It solves all of his problems, of relationship, and responsibility, and adequacy, and respect, everything, all at once. Marion will want to believe it, and his father can be persuasive. Already there've been times when Marion came home from a week's visit with his father with his mouth spewing filth, arrogant, for weeks useless around the house, because he'd adopted his father's belief that women are lower forms of life placed on earth to serve men."
"Well, I mean to put Marion beyond his reach, beyond the slightest interest his father might ever have in him. That bastard is overseas now, and means to take Marion away from me when he returns next year. He's told me that repeatedly, to upset me and then gloat. Well, when he gets back next year I want him to discover that his son is the sweetest, loveliest daughter any man ever disowned. A lovely girl and a respectable young woman. And I'll confess it to you, JayCee, I'll get a lot of personal satisfaction from seeing my ex when he sees he's lost a son and gained a daughter. That'll fix him once and for all!"
Changing her son's sex just to get back at her ex struck me as a little harsh, but I saw she wasn't really doing that. She was protecting him from her ex, and protecting a lot of women from what he might become after her ex corrupted him. I really couldn't quarrel with that. In fact I decided to enter even deeper into our conspiracy by asking some more questions.
"Marianne knows nothing of any of this?"
"Nothing, JayCee. Well, he knows he's having an odd adolescence, but I've assured him he'll get over it. As he will."
"When are you going to tell him?"
She stood up and went to the fridge, and took out a Coke. Then she looked at me with one eyebrow raised, and I nodded. She took out a second coke, handed it over, and sat down again. I cracked the can open.
"Obviously, some time this summer, he'll have to know that he isn't going to get over it. Not ever. That he isn't a peculiar boy. That like it or not he's a transsexual girl. That he'll have to be a girl for the rest of his life. That his body is already a girl's, except for his genitals, and that he needs to change his gender in his own mind and become a she. That she can enjoy being a girl. But I'm hoping it won't be necessary to tell him."
"What do you mean?"
"Think about it. I'm hoping he'll want it to happen all by himself, and accept what's happened, so we don't have to tell him anything. That he'll help it happen."
"How do you plan to do that?"
"By making each step in becoming a girl delightful. As attractive as possible. More desireable than remaining the kind of boy he is now." She paused and then looked directly at me. "Will you help me, JayCee? Will you help him? Will you help Marianne become herself?"
I took a swig from my coke can and considered the matter. "If he knew, he'd never agree," I said, avoiding a direct answer.
"No, of course not. It has to happen because he wants it, not merely because he agrees to it. I don't mind if he thinks he has no choice, and only reconciles himself to it, because I know that in the long run he'll be grateful. But back to my question. Will you help Marianne become the daughter I want him to be? The daughter she should be? For the rest of this summer? It would be so much easier with your help. You know you'd be doing him a huge favor, really. And I can make it well worth your trouble.
I thought about it. I didn't have a summer job yet. "I was going to work ten or fifteen hours a week at Chicken Licken or Burger Bob's," I said. "Evenings. I figured on earning maybe $75 a week through Labor Day."
"This is irregular work, but it's a lot more than ten or fifteen hours," she said. "It can be a lot of most days. It's whatever it takes. Whatever it costs. It's my son's life. My daughter's life, for the rest of her life."
She paused, near tears, swallowed, and recovered herself. Then she listened to my silence. Encouraged, she then went on. "JayCee, we can tell your parents you're working for me. I'm now setting up training courses for various businesses, the kind they need when they bring in new computer software to teach to beginning employees. I can tell them honestly that at your educational level you're a typical targeted client and customer who for that reason can be a very persuasive sales representative. That's all true enough. Each week for the rest of the summer I'll pay you three times whatever you'd have earned at Burger Bob's. And if we accomplish what we wish to accomplish by the end of the summer, and Marion begins her Senior year in High School as Marianne, and enjoys being Marianne, I'll see to it that you win my firm's annual employee full scholarship to any four-year college of your choice, the money to be held in trust for you by your parents until you can use it. That will be a bonus that will need no explanation."
I just stared at her.
"Moreover, I'll pay whatever your expenses all summer. And that includes clothes. You'll be enormously helpful going on buying excursions with him, two girls together deciding on skirts and things. You know what girls are wearing these days. You can build his confidence by assuring him he'll fit right in with the other girls. Her confidence, I should say. Does that seem fair?"
I still couldn't speak.
"She'll be on her own once school begins, of course, because you'll have prepared her for that. But I'll want to keep you on retainer through all of next year, just in case something comes up that only you can handle. For my own peace of mind."
This was beginning to sound like all the money I'd ever need for college. My parents want the best for me, but they aren't well off, and I'd been expecting to work my way through State, and then take a job to pay off the loans and debts, leaving graduate school a long way down the road.
"JayCee? Will you help me? She doesn't have to be the Prom Queen when she graduates. Just an ordinary girl. I'd be so happy for her if only there's some boy she likes who'll take her to her prom, and if she's beautiful in her prom dress, and she can feel the magic I remember from that time of my life, when I was pretty and young and desireable, with everything ahead of me. I loved my own high school prom. That was the last time in my life I felt happy and alive when I woke up each morning, before that lying bastard I married swept away my girlhood, and all my beautiful dreams." She blinked and turned her face away from me, and took several deep breaths. Then she just kept looking away from me, looking out of her own kitchen window past my house. And waited.
Was I being bought? Yes. Well, I thought, also no. His mother was right. What she was asking matched my own deepest feelings about boys and girls and what's most desireable. I would be doing Marianne a favor. I liked him. I could help him. I would be helping her too. And the money I'd earn would be real money. If it worked, if I could bring it off, I could go to any college or university that would have me, anywhere in the whole country.
Well, I stood up to shake her hand. As she saw me reach out toward her, her whole body suddenly shook with a great sob, and then she opened her arms to me and rushed around the table. Then as we hugged each other she really began to cry, and I did too. I couldn't help it. She kissed my cheek and my neck, and I could feel her wet eyelashes. My eyes were wet too. I really was a co-conspirator, but it felt good. All in Marianne's best interest. I knew that when the dust settled she'd thank us for what we'd done.
We broke our embrace and separated a little. Now we were two women conspiring together, but we still clasped each other like two girls dancing. She was so pleased! "Invite him over to use your pool tomorrow, would you?" his mother said. "And to spend the day? He'll say 'No,' of course, but be sure to leave quickly before you can hear him say it, and I'll see that he gets there. Then you'll see soon enough what his problem is, what our problems are. And I'm sure you'll begin to cope."
His voice came from the cellar. "Mom? It's all set up now! Let's try it!"
The two of us grinned at each other. I never saw a woman so happy.
"JayCee? Please sit for a moment more, dear. At least tell me how you got your name."
"It's what my Dad said when he first saw me, right after I was born. Or it's the initials, anyhow. He'd wanted a boy, and the nurse just held me up new born and naked for him to see, and when he saw my cunt he just said it out loud without thinking. My Mom liked what he'd said, what she thought he'd named me, but she didn't think a girl should have a boy's name. Not that boy's name, anyhow. So they settled for the initals, spelled out sort of. I like it."
Jane smiled at me, and nodded some more. "I'm very lucky to know you, JayCee. I can't believe how lucky I am! You know, we used to live across the state in another town about this size, and I've got a client there with a son named Petey, and Petey once told me an extraordinary tale about a teenage girl in this town who helped him discover himself, and how cleverly she did it. I've been hoping to meet her so she could help me too. In fact, that's why I bought this house in this neighborhood, near you. To create opportunities. I can tell you that, now that we understand each other, and now that you're on the payroll. No secrets, right?"
I just stared at her. What an extraordinary businesswoman! If she was as resourceful and persuasive with her clients as she'd just been with me, she must be very wealthy by now, I thought. No wonder she can afford to hire me, and even pay my full college costs for four years, and probably her daughter's too when Marion becomes her daughter, and yet here she is living in a small house in a modest part of town, where most kids can't afford college at all. She really does love her son. Her daughter.
"Jane," I said. "I'm very lucky to know you too. I hope we'll become very good friends. There's so much you can teach me."
She beamed. "I just may end up with two daughters," she said happily, "Where I've had none. That's just lovely! So very lovely!" Then she shouted down the cellar stairs. "Marianne! Come on up now! JayCee wants to ask you something!"
I stood up to deliver my invitation and then make my getaway as she'd suggested, before Marianne could say "No!" And that's what I did.
III.
He arrived wearing his usual loose shirt and a pair of swimming trunks, and also a sour expression, carrying a bag no doubt with something dry to change to later on.
"Hi, Jaycee."
"Hi yourself, Marianne." He was acting as if someone had condemned him to death.
Well, I'd already figured out what his problem was, and how I was going to deal with it. After all, now I was his mother's chief assistant in charge of his transition, and she expected me to cope. He may have been gloomy, but I'd put on a bright yellow string Bikini under a short orange terry cover up, and there I was, all brilliant colors in full sunlight. Why not? Girls have advantages, and should use them.
"What's in the bag?" I asked him, ignoring his tone of voice altogether.
The answer was interesting. "Another bathing suit my mother wants me to wear. She says it's more proper and decent and fitting."
"Well, if it is, why don't you."
"JayCee," he said exasperatedly. "I just don't want to!"
This was not the moment to push him, so I just pulled off my cover up, pushed my chest way out, stretched up on tiptoe, and dove in. I knew I looked terrific at that moment, like a girl on the cover of "Seventeen" preparing herself for the cover of "Sports Illustrated," and I wanted him to admire girls like us. There's only a thin line between desiring a beautiful girl and envying her. I felt glamorous and natural, and did three quick laps, and then climbed out again. Marion was looking at my figure and my glistening skin rather mournfully while I arched my neck and bent way over sideways and wrung out my hair and began to towel-dry it, and smiled at him.
"What's wrong?" I asked. "Can't you swim?"
"Of course I can. I just don't want to."
"Well, at least get in the pool. That's the polite thing to do, you know."
Seeing there was nothing for it, he stepped down into the shallow end still wearing his shirt, and waded around in water up to his hips.
"That's not how to swim," I shouted. Then just when he was on tiptoe on the edge where the shallow end suddenly gets a lot deeper, I dove in, came up next to him under water, took his arm, and pulled him under. He splashed off balance and even his head went under for a moment. I was pleased to see he was at home in deep water -- at least now I wouldn't need to rescue him. He lifted his head and shook the water out of his eyes in a reflexive gesture, swam toward the deep end, did a racing turn, and swam back. He could swim all right! I could see that his shirt's heavy, loose fabric was waterlogged, weighing him down, and his sleeves were clinging to his arms. But he stayed on top easily, and paused a little distance away from me, looking concerned about something while absent-mindedly treading water. It was time for him to face a moment of truth. The first of many.
I hopped out of the pool and went over to the big patio table where I'd already set out a tray full of sandwiches and a cooler with cans of soda. "Lunch time," I shouted. "C'mon out"
"No, I'll swim around a while more," Marion said.
I went over to the edge of the pool and looked down at him. This time I wasn't thinking I was a cute young thing on the cover of "Seventeen." I was thinking I was Shalimar the Jungle Queen looking down on her subjects from a high cliff. I stood with my legs wide apart and my knuckles against on my hips, elbows squared, and my chin high up even though I was looking down on him.
"Marianne," I said. "Get out of the pool. Now!"
He looked up at me.
"I know why you didn't want to go in and get wet. I know why you don't want to come out and get dry. It's obvious, Marianne! But you've got to come out of the pool sooner or later, so come out now and we'll talk about it. We're supposed to be friends, aren't we? And it isn't as if I've never seen anything like them before, is it? Lots of my friends have them." I hesitated, then said it. "I've got them too, you know. You shouldn't feel the least bit ashamed. Its insulting to girls everywhere that you're ashamed of what they're proud they have." I stood up straight, head high, and ran my hands up my sides to caress the sides of my breasts, then just stood there cupping them in my palms. "Out!" I added, as impatiently as I could.
Marianne looked at me with an anguished expression. I felt sorry for him, really, but I knew I had to be firm. For both of our sakes. Then he swam to the shallow end, walked up the steps out of the pool with his back to me, and then with a cry of exasperation, fury, and despair said "All right, then!" He turned suddenly to face me, and then started striding toward the table with the umbrella and the sandwiches, as if sandwiches were the only thing on his mind.
When he got close I told him, "Unbutton your shirt and dry off. What's that underneath?" I saw he'd wrapped some Ace bandages tightly around his chest as if he'd broken some ribs. "Oh, sure. Take that off too, or you'll catch cold."
"JayCee, I'm going home now." He turned to leave.
"Marianne!" My voice was as abrupt and forceful and as stern as I could make it. He turned back astonished, and just stared.
"Don't you wimp out on me! Ever! You hear? I know what you've got under there. I know lots of things. If you want a friend, the only friend you'll ever have who can really help you, you'll be straight with me and do what I say! Now take off your shirt and unwrap that bandage and tell me the story!" I was sharp, but I really was a little angry, and I let it show. No one with Marianne's potential should ever be allowed to run away from himself.
Like some whipped puppy, slowly, he turned back and unwrapped the bandage. Then he slipped his shirt back on unbuttoned, unable to bear being completely naked while I was looking him over.
They were impressive! How long was it now he'd been on hormones? His mother'd said since puberty. Years! I must say, they were bigger than mine, and mine create suspense whether my bikinis can hold them in! His wet shirt clung to his curves, wrapped form-fitting around those two huge melons jutting way out in front of his chest, each one punctuated by a thick dark nipple poking through the soaked fabric. He was stacked! When his shirt was dry I'd noticed he hunched his shoulders way forward, so he wouldn't bulge too noticeably. But now there was no hiding them! At least a C Cup, maybe bigger! A pair of stunning knockers, thrust out and self-supported. He didn't really need a brassiere yet to hold them up, I saw, though I knew he'd be wearing one before this day ended, and wearing one for all the days of his life after today. Were they freakish, breasts on a boy's body? No, I saw that he had narrow shoulders and a very narrow waist, and thin arms, and wide hips, and even a well-rounded bottom. A beautiful girl's figure! Those hormones had been everywhere in him for years and years, doing their things. He had a girl's body, no mistaking it! He'd said very little yesterday, I suddenly realized, and today he'd spoken only in a low, grumpy voice. Did he also have a girl's voice? I tried to remember.
But this was not a moment for remembering. I had to respond immediately, and pretend there was nothing wrong, that everything was the way it should be.
"Why Marianne! They're beautiful! How can you want to hide them? They're just gorgeous! You must feel very proud!"
This was not at all the reaction he'd expected. He'd gotten used to thinking he was a freak, and he looked at me as if I were crazy to think he was anything else. I suppose I would have been, except that I knew what I was doing. And actually, his problem wasn't that he was a boy with huge tits. It was that he had a girl's body, a beautiful one at that, but thought he was a boy. This will be easier than I thought, I said to myself, and a lot easier than his mother thinks.
"Come over here and let me see! Oh, Marianne, you are so lucky!"
My enthusiasm bewildered him. He came toward me baffled. I could see through the open shirt that the upper halves of the round globes of his wonderful tits were gleaming, smooth, white, and wet in the sunlight! In a way I really did envy him. My boobs were OK, nothing much. But his?
"Come sit down right here," I said, patting his chair, which was snugged up against mine so our knees would interlock. I'd set it up that way first thing this morning.
Dazed, he sat down. I sat too, one knee between his, one of his between mine. I reached over, and before he could pull back, I ran my fingertips delicately over his nipples, one hand across each. They immediately stiffened. I saw that that his nipples were those of a mature woman, practically of a nursing mother, sticking out a half-inch or more like the tip of a finger, longer and thicker even than mine. But he didn't know that, of course. It crossed my mind he might still be a virgin, that he'd never seen any girl's figure naked, perhaps not even his mother's. He might not know his breasts were exceptionally well-developed even for a mature young woman, and that the shape of his whole body was also female, not male. To him his breasts were just an embarrassment.
"How long have you had these, Marianne ?" I asked gently. I ran my fingertips back over those huge nipples again, this time pausing while still touching them, then ever so lightly I started to caress them. I noticed that he didn't back off at all. In fact he seemed to lean in ever so slightly, and a slight sigh escaped. So they felt the way mine do whenever I caress them, or gave a boy permission to touch them. Delicious. Melting. I saw his eyes had gone slightly distant, and that his mouth was a little open, his lips parted. If I keep this up, I thought, he might dissolve into a puddle. I decided then and there that I would seduce him this very day. It would be like seducing a girl. I'd never tried that, never even vaguely thought of doing something like that. I wondered if he had a little boy's cock, or a man's. Lowering my eyelids, I saw a bulge in his bathing suit, and saw it throb once as I tweaked one nipple and then resumed a gentle circular caress. Not much there, but something.
"Four years ago they started growing," he answered, his voice a little resentful, as if in long-standing disapproval. I noticed that his tone was a little thin, but also gruff. Probably he's been habitually faking a boy's resonance, I thought. I'll have him practice sounding like a girl, just being himself. "I asked my mother if it was normal, and she said yes, it happens to some boys when they reach puberty. One or two other guys said they'd had lumps in their nipples too for a few months, but they went away. So I figured these would go away too."
Now his voice got very quiet, and began to quaver. "But they haven't gone away, JayCee. They've gotten huge. They bounce, so I can't run any more. They're heavy, amd sometimes they hurt. I don't dare take my shirt off in school, so Mom gets me medical excuses from Gym. She keeps saying it's nothing, it's normal, she has big breasts too so it's probably hereditary. She says it's not necessary for me to see a doctor to get them fixed."
He paused. Then he looked up at the sky, as if he couldn't bear to look directly at me. "JayCee, it isn't normal! Boys shouldn't have tits. Not like these tits. I'm so ashamed!"
And he started crying. At first his eyes teared up, and then a strange keening whine came from the back of his throat, his pent-up misery squeezing under tremendous pressure through a crack in his impassivity. Then a wail. Then the dam burst, and he began crying out aloud in great wrenching sobs. His face contorted, and he surrendered himself to his anguish. The years of uncertainty and embarrassment had finally found an outlet, someone listening, and he couldn't suppress his feelings any longer. He practically howled out his grief.
My heart reached toward him, pitying so much terrible suffering. If his mother had known he'd feel like this, would she have done it to him? Probably. She'd felt she had to do it. I tried to remember that there were enormous advantages to his being the way he was, though he didn't know that yet. That it was my job to show him he was better off. But right now what he needed was sympathy.
"Oh, my poor baby!" I held out my arms. He lurched forward out of his chair and fell to his knees in front of me, reaching out and wrapping his arms around my waist with his fists still clenched, and he buried his face in my breasts, still sobbing. I folded my arms around his head and hugged it tight. It was that easy! "My poor, poor baby," I crooned. "Marianne, my dear, dear Marianne!" I stroked his hair and hugged him close. "The luckiest boy in the world, and yet you're miserable! Why? Why?"
I kept hugging him and stroking his hair, and I kissed his face repeatedly, tasting real salt tears. Over and over I kept making comforting sounds, until finally he began to get a grip on himself. His wails softened into sobs. Then I kissed him. Not too gently, and not too consolingly, either. His manhood needed reassurance that he wasn't ruined, that he could still be attractive to a girl his own age. I knew he needed that reassurance while he changed slowly into an attractive girl his own age, with an attractive girl's desires.
I held his face in my two hands and pulled it up to mine, and plastered my mouth against his, and pushed my tongue as deep into his mouth as it could go. Down in those dark, moist recesses, I felt his own tongue press back against mine and then maintain the pressure, as if mine might disappear if he eased off even for a moment. His fists opened and his palms turned, and he pulled my body toward his, timidly, tenderly, holding me the way a shy young girl might hold another ... another girl. Our mouths stayed locked in place. Gradually, his breathing slowed. No doubt about it, he would be the first boy to probe my pussy with his penis, and the first girl too. If it felt right.
With that thought, I pulled his head back from mine, my fingers linked now around the back of his neck, and looked at him with the brightest smile I could find in me, as if I had suddenly discovered in him the love of my life. I suppose in a way I had. I looked delighted at his face, as if I couldn't get enough of seeing it. He really was a dear, my Marianne! I kissed each of his eyes, and then his mouth, and then his closed and waiting eyelids again. Then I let go of his neck and again let my hands drift down to the tips of his nipples, and gently, daintily, I caressed them again. His eyes opened as new sensations coiled down into his groin, and I lowered my own eylids demurely, looking down at my own breasts. He reached for them and tenderly touched my nipples, then fondled them as delicately as I caressed his. Just for a moment -- I wanted him to feel that we were similar and desireable, no more than that. But I felt it down below too. I lifted my eyes to his. He was studying my face so seriously, looking a little puzzled, though his mouth was contented enough. He kissed me tenderly.
He was still kneeling at my feet, leaning across my lap, now finally calm. No new paroxysms of sobbing, nor of shame at having let go so desperately earlier. He really did have strength of character! I really did like him! I kissed him again on the mouth, gently, this time for myself, and then with both my hands I lightly tugged him up by his elbows, reminding him to sit back in his chair. He reluctantly abandoned his position at my feet, and his hands left my breasts, and he sat down. He did have the longest, darkest eyelashes! He was going to look just gorgeous! I began planning his makeup.
When he had calmed down all the way I handed him a sandwich and a can of soda, and took one of each myself. I said nothing, but just looked at him with a kind of bright curiosity, as if I really couldn't understand why he was so miserable. He took my cue.
"Why did you call me the luckiest boy in the world just now," he asked timidly.
"Because they're beautiful," I replied calmly and reasonably. "They're bigger and better shaped than mine, and they're beautifully proportioned to your figure." He probably doesn't know that he has a girl's figure as well as a girl's breasts, I thought, more feminine than most girls' figures. "And you have a beautiful figure too." I looked at his cheeks. I saw not a whisker and figured he probably thinks he's a late bloomer. He doesn't know he's already in full bloom.
"And there's another reason, too. I've read about people like you. Most people have to be whatever they're born. Boys have to be boys and girls have to be girls. But some people are lucky. Some people get a choice when they get to be your age. You've got a choice. You can be a boy or a girl. Have you figured out yet how you're going to decide which you'd rather be?"
"I'm a boy!" he said. "I was born a boy."
"So you say. But you coulda fooled me," I smiled at him. I decided to take a chance. I'd read a lot about hormones last night, and thought it was worth putting it to him now, while he was still vulnerable, because he was also still malleable.
"Think about it. Obviously you're both at the moment. You were raised to think you're a boy. But you have great breasts. A wonderful figure. A pretty face. You're a terrific girl. Are you also a terrific boy? How well are you hung?"
I was pretty sure that with the kinds of hormones he had taken to grow those boobs, his penis and testicles were still pre-pubescent, a small boy's. "Never mind," he said, obviously embarrassed. Piece of cake, I thought to myself.
"You know what your friend John Wayne once said," I said, reaching for an unlikely authority. "'A man should be what he can do.' You can do being a girl a lot better than most girls can do, I'll bet." I looked more closely at his face. The same almond shaped eyes and high cheekbones I'd noticed when I first saw him. And a small, rounded chin. A doll! "You're beautiful," I told him. "you really are!" I meant it. I kissed him again.
He was silent.
"Let's think about it together. How are you with girls? How often do you date? Are you popular?" The questions were cruel, because any answers were obvious enough. With those boobs I knew he'd never allowed a girl near him. For sure. Until me, today. And though he thought he was a boy, probably he felt he had nothing to offer a girl, and maybe he didn't.
"I've never dated," he said. Tears were starting up again. "I've been too ashamed." Then he added, "I don't even have friends who are boys. They'd laugh at me if they saw what I really look like. Or worse!"
"Most of them, maybe," I said, thinking about Ronnie and thinking I should get him involved in this conversion project. "But anyhow, Marianne dear, you're dating me. Right now. We're going to see lots of each other. We're going to straighten this out. And I'm going to help you get lots of other dates. I'm going to fix you up so this fall you'll be with the prettiest girls in our class, girls who'll love being with you, and I promise you'll never lack for dates! OK?" Every word was true. He didn't have to know just yet that he'd be with the prettiest girls as one of them, and that his dates would all be with boys. "OK?"
He nodded, baffled but trusting.
One more nudge and then I'd leave the subject alone. Let him think he has a choice. Of course he doesn't, I knew, but I didn't feel sorry for him at all. He really is lucky, I thought. Who'd want to be a boy, given a choice?
"You've been trying to be a boy, but you haven't got much talent for it, and you don't have a boy's body. You're ashamed you're a boy, in fact, because you've got a girl's body. Except for that one little thing down there between your legs. You've been trying to be a boy, and you're not very good at it. Are you?"
I paused. He nodded, reluctantly.
So here's what I propose. Till near the end of the summer when you have to register for school, you forget you're a boy. Let's see what kind of a girl you can be. See which you can do better. See if you can be proud of your body just the way it is. I'll help."
He looked up at me peculiarly, started to say something, then looked down at the ground, frowning. "JayCee, I'd be ashamed," he said. "I'm not a girl. No way!"
"More ashamed than you are now?"
He said nothing.
"After the summer you can be a boy again if you want, and no harm done, and you can decide which is better. Which you really are. When you've been a girl for a while, you'll know what you're better at. What you really should be. What's more fun. OK?"
He didn't answer.
"The next few weeks we'll spend lots of time together, and I'll help you, if you'll promise to go along with anything I ask you to do that girls do. Then we'll see what we'll see. Of course any final decision is yours. OK?" I put my hand on his knee, and left it there, and looked up at him. Of course no decision of his would ever be final in my own mind until it was the right one.
"Right now try out being a girl, and no one will know. Change back if you want when kids start to come home from the summer, and no one'll know any different. There's a pretty rough crowd of boys lives around here, if that's what you think you are, and you don't mind getting punched around a little, the way boys do."
Still, he delayed. Was he worth my bothering with at all? The money was, I reminded myself.
"What'll I tell my Mom?" he asked. "If I go with your plan, that is."
He'd decided! "Don't worry about your Mom. She wants you to be happy. Just tell her we're playing a game kids play around here, to help boys learn to respect girls. She won't say anything. I guarantee it."
"No one else will see me looking like a girl?"
"No one," I said. Except for every clerk and shopper in every mall inside of ten miles, I thought. And every boy I introduce you to later on, all of them trying to feel you up and get into your panties. "And then we'll be able to see a lot of each other. My folks don't care how much time I spend with my girlfriends." As if they'd ever object to my boyfriends, if I ever brought one home. As if I'd listen if they did!.
"OK," he said finally. "For a few weeks, anyhow."
It was mostly to placate me, I knew. But now he'd pledged it. to try it my way. The rest was a matter of time.
"Starting today!" I said. "Today you're mine until I send you home. This'll be so cool!" Now he got my most dazzling smile. He looked uneasy but half-smiled back.
I passed the plate of sandwiches, and he took another, and we talked about what it was like growing up in this town. He'd lived with his mother in lots of different places, early on following his father's different engineering projects, then wherever his mother went while she attended different schools and training institutes, until she'd set up her own mail-order training business and it succeeded. Now she was making very good money at it, he said, with lots of employees. She had an office with a large staff, he said, but a good office manager, so she herself could work out of her house whenever she wanted. She had a knack for hiring people who could figure out whatever needed to be done and could do it without needing to consult her.
I nodded.
They'd moved this time, he said, mainly because she wanted him to make a fresh start with people his own age, to find himself and live up to his best potential. Whatever that means, he added.
I nodded. We'd always lived here, and I'd always been eager to live somewhere else. But he'd lived nowhere really, and that's why he was so much a loner. He'd had no close friends all the while he was growing up. I'd had plenty, more than I wanted, which is why I didn't feel I needed any more I suppose, except maybe to play mind games with them. Boy friends, that is. I told him I needed a good friend, a really close friend, if he'd be willing. I'd never had a really close girlfriend, someone who'd share everything with me. More boys I didn't need. He didn't answer.
Then I went back to work. "Marianne," I said. "Why don't you put on your bathing suit, and then we'll go back into the water."
"I'm wearing my bathing suit," he said.
"No, you're wearing a half a bathing suit," I said. "That's why you're so ashamed, with your tits hanging out like that. Breasts are private. You should let only your dearest friends see them. Other girls. Yours are very attractive, and shouldn't be just flaunted out in the open like that. People might think you're a tease. What would your mother think? Put on the bathing suit she gave you."
"It's a girl's bathing suit," he said. As I'd suspected and assumed.
"Do you think she's been trying to tell you something?. You want to look nice, don't you? You've been a boy who's ashamed of his tits. Now be a girl and be proud of them. Go. I'll wait for you."
He was still uncertain. I had to use Petey's dumb line. "You promised, remember?" I sounded reasonable and confident. The fact was, he didn't have a choice. He went in.
A few minutes later he came out wearing the bathing suit his mother had selected. It was a an irridescent blue Maillot with flowery front panels, one piece with supported cups -- and he really did need them -- and a draped detachable skirt gathered to one side. With the skirt clipped on I couldn't see how his male parts or his female-shaped buttocks fit the suit's bottom, but one thing at a time.
"Now you're decent. Stop trying to hide your boobs by slumping -- it won't work. Be proud. Shoulders back. That's it. Whether you're a boy or a girl, be proud. It's easier for girls." I decided to go further. "And you're a very pretty girl, Marianne. Let's swim some more, and then we'll see what kind of a girl you can be when you really try. So far you haven't been trying. Another time maybe I'll help you become the best boy you can be, though I'll be frank, you don't look like much of a boy to me. Then we'll be able to see which one of you is more you."
I stood up and walked over to the edge of the pool. He did the same, a little awkwardly. I decided he was going to learn to walk with mincing little steps, like some cutie pie who's a little timid but thinks her ass is made of candy. That would be attractive. A bimbo walk is always reassuring to guys who are unsure of themselves. I watched him unhook the skirt and drape it over a chair. His bathing suit was severely hi- leg, and it left bare the lower globes of his rounded rear end. They were gorgeous. I saw that he needed a Bikini shave, and added that to my agenda for later this afternoon. I also saw that whatever grew there between his legs barely disturbed the neat V line of his bathing suit's crotch. His genitals weren't very consequential. They'd tuck, and a sanitary napkin would give him a smooth mound, and then any boy could grind his groin into him while dancing, or could feel him up during a heavy petting session, without suspecting anything. As long as the boy doesn't try to dig his fingers in.
Off and running, at $225 a week and expenses, and my college money pretty much assured. I began to think about which expensive private colleges attract the most expensive boys, boys who like doing things girls ask them to do, boys who can afford to indulge girls that way. But first things first.
I was careful to keep him out in the hot noonday sun and the broiling early afternoon sun too. We splashed, and lay around, and talked some more. I showed him how to sit down on the side of the pool and pose, and stand up again, and lie around, without ever spreading his legs or being caught looking awkward, how to keep his elbows high when he reached behind his neck with both hands to lift his long hair off his back, and how to spread it over his breasts to dry. I decided that we'd both take the two-week modeling course being offered at the high school next week, so he could learn more girlish poses, and how to walk like a lady. He reluctantly agreed. I didn't tell him that posture was only part of what they'd teach him, that makeup and appropriate clothes and attitudes toward boys was much of it, not only "Tips on Travel" but also "Manners and Men" it said in the catalogue. I expected that ten days of enforced sociability with girls who thought he was a girl would have its effect on a lonely, ungainly, embarrassed boy. I figured he'd come out of it happy for the companionship, glad to be one of them. He was so desperate to belong!
By mid-afternoon, his scoop back and bra top and V-shaped bottom were outlined in a pretty pink sunburn. When his mother saw those shoulder strap marks there'd be no question I'd earned my money today, I thought to myself. But we had more to do yet. Though we'd talked about this tryout lasting only a few weeks I wanted to set things up so there'd be no turning back. So he wouldn't want to turn back.
IV.
I took him up to my room and sat him down, and studied his face a while, and decided first of all to pluck his eyebrows severely. Girls these days can have wide eyebrows, if they're not too thick but look neat and refined, and taper to the outside edges. Mine are like that. But I wanted Marianne's to be high and arched and thin like my Mom's, a real lady's, no way a boy's, no mistaking them. He objected, but I told him these three weeks were mine, he'd promised. Before he could think through how thin, feminine eyebrows would ever pass for a boy's when the three weeks were up, they were shaped, and before he could see them I told him to take off his bathing suit and get naked, so I could check out his proportions.
That gave him new feelings to deal with. This time not that he was ashamed -- I'd already seen his most shameful feature, those glorious boobs -- but that his modesty was violated. I just said a little angrily, "Now you're supposed to be a girl, so be one! Here, we're girls together! Strip down the same as me!" And I whipped off my Bikini and stood before him altogether in the buff. Like a few years earlier with Ronnie and Petey, and sometimes since, on certain special occasions when I needed to intimidate some guy with my goddess pose. So he did the same.
When he was bare, cringing in different directions with his hands fluttering to try to hide his nipples, and his legs crossed to try to hide his cock, I proposed five minutes of calisthenics. Not enough for a workout, but enough for him to quit being ridiculous trying to hide his body, and to notice that even when I was bent way over with my legs apart, and he could see way up my slit, I was never troubled by the fact. We were just two girls together. So he began trying to be one of them.
I then made him stand up and practice standing perfectly erect, shoulders far back, hands gathering his hair at the nape of his neck, his lovely breasts lifted as he raised his elbows up as high as they'd go. Then I had him clasp his hands against his buns and pull his arms straight down, pulling his shoulders back and thrusting his boobs even further forward. Then back to gathering his hair behind his neck again. Then to clasp hands on his elbows behind his back -- that really pulled back his shoulders and pushed his breasts into the middle of next week. A few more repetitions, and he no longer seemed self-conscious about them. They were more prominent than ever, but he seemed now to be taking them for granted. Better still, he'd finally forgot about hiding his cock and balls. There they were, though I seemed to take no notice at all!
Next I sent him into the shower with a depillatory and a razor to get rid of all his body hair, especially that dense mat around his genitals. I suppose his boy hormones and girl hormones together had grown it. No objection from him. Then when he came out as hairless as a baby, I could see that if it were fully erect, his cock might reach three or four inches, like Petey's, long enough to pleasure himself but touch when it came to pleasuring a grown woman. It was a boy's cock, not a man's. It had no real future. His testicles were little more than marbles -- there'd be no problem stowing them to make a smooth girls' crotch whenever he needed to hide his sex. Obviously his prick would never get past an average girl's buttocks to reach into her ass. It was cunt or nothing, probably nothing when girls saw that pitiable thing. He had no future as a man.
Which returned me to my earlier idea. The more I thought about it, the better I liked it. In fact, I *loved* it. I'd do it! It was past time. Here was a prick ideally designed to take my virginity.
But fucking me had to be a reward for obedience. I went into my lingerie drawer. "Here, put these on," I told him, handing him my prettiest bra and panty set, the bra size larger than any I usually wore, and underwired for support. I'd been keeping it in a kind of hope chest, though my own figure hadn't changed much during the past year. It would fit him, I figured, and once dressed in my undies, he'd feel he was mine in a way, sort of gift wrapped.
"I can't," he said. "These are girl things!"
"Well, duh!" I said, and turned to find him a blouse and a pair of shorts. I took out a full cut white satin blouse buttoned along one shoulder, draped from the neck and sure to cling and then drape from those boobs of his. Perfect. And I found shorts with elastic to fit him at the waist, flared way out at the legs to look practically like a mini-skirt. And thin-strapped sandals, delicate looking.
When I turned back holding his new outfit, I saw he'd slipped into the panties, but otherwise he hadn't moved. "Marianne, you need dry clothes," I told him firmly. "You can't walk down the street wearing that soaking wet shirt. And your bathing suit's wet too. And you can't walk bare-chested! It wouldn't be decent! With that body you'd stop cars!"
Before he could object I slipped the bra over his arms and clipped the band snug behind his back, where I knew he couldn't reach the catch. Boys never can. It'll take him a while to figure out how to get it off without cutting it off, I thought.
"Well, OK, but why this? Why a brassiere?"
"Tuck yourself into those cups," I told him firmly. "So you don't bobble. Because girls with titties wear brassieres, that's why. And boys with titties should too. It isn't healthy to have those things jouncing around loose. After a while, they'll sag." I paused. "And besides, girls who don't wear bras always seem to be asking for something. If you go without a bra, everyone will think you want to get laid. Do you want to get laid?"
He blushed and looked down, reaching for some flaw in my argument but unable to find any. I suppose he never noticed that yesterday, when we first met, I wasn't wearing a bra. He knew he needed one, but he had to put up one last rear guard defense.
"I stick way out, JayCee," was all he replied. His voice sounded a little mournful. "How'm I supposed to look like a boy sometimes if I look like this?" He was staring down at what were now obviously a great pair of knockers held firmly supported far out in front of him. I didn't answer. There was no answer. "JayCee, these'll stop cars too," he then said. And he flashed me his first smile of the day. A joke! It was so utterly endearing. Then he added, "I bet I could charge money if anyone wanted to cop a feel!"
Well, that was true enough. And before I could say so he stood up wearing only his bra and panties -- his now, though he didn't know it yet -- and struck a girly-girly pose with one hand tucked into the hair at the nape of his beck, and the other planted on his hip. He waggled those great breasts and his round tush and added, "I wonder how much?"
I smiled back. I understood. He was scared. His identity as a boy was slipping away. So he was getting a grip on his fear by joking with me, by pretending to be a loose woman. He thought he was joking. I smiled even more broadly as I wondered seriously whether to include a week as a real streetwalker in his summer's curriculum. A week spent patrolling the freight station area would teach him more about being a girl than any of us knew, for sure, including his own mother. No, I thought. When school begins there'll be plenty of guys hitting on him, and we'll deal with those problems then. He was now moving down the track his mother had laid out when she'd started feeding him those knockout doses of vitamins: if his body looked like a girl's, and it couldn't be changed, then he shouldn't be ashamed of it. As I'd been telling him, he should accept that he looked like a girl, and he could begin to work out for himself what kind of girl he'd like to be.
"How does the bra feel, Marianne? Nice? It doesn't bind of pinch?"
"Better than I thought it might," Marianne said, a little uncertain. No, it was a little shy. "I like the support. It's like being held and hugged, and when I move my chest doesn't seem so...floppy."
"Well, wait till you feel this on your skin." I handed him a satin blouse.
When he slipped on the blouse, there came another moment of truth. If anything, the shiny fabric draped across his breasts in a way that accentuated them. Now even his nipples jutted way forward. In fact they stiffened and poked through to form two pointed tips accentuating the effect. He looked sexy, downright provocative, indecent. It was no longer a joke.
"I can't wear this," he said. "Don't you have a loose shirt?"
Not for him I didn't. "No," I said. "You look fine. You have nothing to be ashamed of."
He was looking down again, and his manly pride struggled with what I'd just said. Not to feel ashamed. But I was reminded again that he was no fool. He just said very quietly, "JayCee, now I do look like a boy with breasts. I look like a freak."
"No," I said. "You look hot. No one will ever believe you're a boy." I eyed him, and realized that with that cute face and those globes on his chest, that was true. Was I myself responding to him as a boy or as a girl? Why worry about it?
"Just wait," I said. I saw now that I could move very fast. "Put these on and sit down," I said, handing him his flared shorts. He did quickly, without noticing that just off his hips they swirled out to form a cute, flirty mini. Then in no time at all I had his hair pinned up into one of my Betty Grable styles, and he'd slipped into those delicate sandals with just a little heel, and before he realized what I was doing I'd given him just a touch of mascara and lipstick. When he saw the lipstick in my hand coming at his face he tried to object, but I just ordered him to stop fussing. I was thinking to myself that from now on, for the rest of his life, he'll be wearing at least this much makeup, because that's what girls do, and that's what he was. Another first.
And that's all it took. "Now you don't look at all like a boy with breasts," I said. I gave him my hand mirror, and busied myself as if with other things. But I kept an eye on him..
"No, I don't," he said, as he stared at the face staring back at him from the mirror, obviously uncertain what to think. He couldn't quite say what he saw, a passable teenage girl. So I said it for him.
"You look like a girl with breasts. Enjoy it! A girl should be what she can do. From now on those knockers of yours belong to the world, and that face over them. They're your best features. No more trying to hide them! Bras and a little makeup from now on!"
"Are you telling me I should look like this from now on?" he asked, As if somehow I hadn't just said it.
"For the summer," I said. "That's the deal. After that, it's your choice. You can look like a pretty girl, or like a freaky boy with breasts. I'm telling you nothing. You figure it out. But for the next few weeks anyhow, you're what you see. Now sit down on the bed. I want you to know there are certain advantages."
He sat down on the bed. He seemed a little resentful, still trying to think of someone or something to blame that the boy he'd thought he was was getting more difficut to locate. I sat down next to him, and before he could realize what I was doing, I reached for his nearest hand, and placed it squarely on my naked breast. It felt warm on my cool skin.
"Feel this," I said to him. "What do you feel?"
'Your breast, JayCee." He turned very quiet, very solemn all of a sudden. I guessed mine were the first he had ever touched, apart from his own.
"A girl's breast, Marianne. Like yours. Caress them, please. Kiss them, please. Both of them."
I lay back and he leaned over me, bringing up his other hand too. Now each hand held one of my breasts for a moment, cupping them underneath with the finger tips fondling my nipples ever so lightly. I began again to feel a stirring down under, Probably like what he was feeling under his panties and flared shorts at this moment. I reached for his breasts as he leaned over me, and began to touch and squeeze his jutting nipples in their satin enclosure, and run my fingers around them, and stroke them. He shivered.
"Oooohhhhh" he said in a delicious, high pitched sigh. He closed his eyes, though his hands were still busy on me.
"Kiss them," I whispered. He did. Tenderly, one kiss on the nipple of each. Then gently he put his mouth over one and began to suckle on me, lapping the tips of my nipples with his tongue. "Mmmmmmmm" he sighed again, in that same flutelike tone of voice. I reminded myself to train him to use that voice from now on. It was so very seductive! I cupped both his breasts and then again gently tweaked each nipple. Each grew stiffly erect inside his bra and blouse. His mouth now firmly planted on one of my boobs, he started to breath more rapidly.
"These are mine now, aren't they, Marianne?" I said in a tense voice.
He wasn't sure which pair I meant, of course, but he was in an exquisite trance and he wanted to stay there. "Mmmmmmmmm" he moaned again, and his lips took in more of me more ferociously, his tongue tip now flicking my nipples, first on one breast, then on the other, then back to the first.
"You'll wear a bra until I tell you it isn't necessary," I continued. "And you'll feel proud of your breasts, always!" I began kneading them with my thumb and forefinger, delicately pinching the tip of each. "Because they're beautiful and they're a woman's breasts. And because they're mine and I'm proud of them. Promise me!"
"Mmmmmmmmmm!" was all he said. My nipples are small, much smaller than his, but he was slurping and sucking on the one in his mouth like a starved infant. His first since he'd been an infant, I suppose.
"Promise!" I repeated. I stopped moving my hands for a moment.
He lifted his head. "I promise!" he whispered intensely, and began to lower his head again.
"Promise what?" I asked.
He raised his head and held his face just above mine, and looked into my eyes. "I promise not to be ashamed of my breasts, JayCee," he said quite seriously. His breathing slowed down. "Because they're a woman's breasts. And because they're yours."
Such a lovely boy! Already my lovely girl! It was time to raise the ante. I knew I hadn't made a mistake about him earlier!
I smiled up at him, looking deep into his eyes. "Now take off your shorts and panties, Marianne. Then lie back down on the bed. Right where I am. It's all warm and snug right here."
I slipped to one side and stood up, and he stripped and replaced me on the bed, his little prick pointing straight up, stiff as a clothes pin, swollen thicker than I'd thought it could get, but really not much longer. Long enough. I quickly hopped back onto the bed and straddled his crotch, my wet pussy now an inch or two above that jutting boy-cock of his. It would never get bigger.
"I've never done this with any boy," I told him. "You'll see I'm telling the truth. And I won't do it again until I meet the boy I'll marry, if I ever do. But I want to do it with you. You're special. You're not a boy. You're a girl who can put her cock into me and fuck me. Aren't you?"
He drew in his breath sharply and nodded, obviously unable to believe his extraordinary luck. It was happening! At last! He closed his eyes and held his breath, unsure what to expect next.
I was about to lose my cherry too, and not just as a figure of speech. But I'd had lots of chances before, so it wasn't as big a deal for me. I started to fondle his breasts and his nipples again, and he let out his breath in a sweet sigh. He was already in paradise!
"Say it," I said. "Aren't you?"
"Yessssss!" My fingertips were rubbing the tips of his satin-tipped boobs again, and he could think of nothing else. He lifted his chest into my hands, ecstatic.
"Yes what? What are you?"
"I'm a girl who can fuck you, JayCee," he whispered, distracted from his pleasure by the need to speak, eager to relax into those delcious feelings. I let him.
"Yes," I repeated. "You're a girl. You're my girl now." And I lowered my pussy until my outer lips touched his little cock. He felt them and held his breath again. I lowered myself a little more, and felt myself gripping his cock head. Just like my small vibrator he felt, but a lot warmer! He lifted his hips as high as he could and held himself absolutely still. I lowered onto him a little more and felt more of him inside me, and finally felt his prick press on an obstruction further in. I stopped for a moment.
"Look at me, Marianne!"
He opened his eyes. They were filled with so much happiness they glistened! He was such a darling dear! My very first boy! With his hair piled on his head, and his mascara'd eyes, and traces of lipstick still on his lips, and above all those women's breasts rising high over his chest, he was also my very first girl! So wonderful! I looked tenderly and steadily into his eyes as more tears welled up in them, smiling at him, and he smiled back. "My sweet girl!" I whispered when his eyes looked just right, and I felt just right, and it all felt just right, the two of us felt clasped intimately by each other in full sight of each other. Then I closed my eyes and thrust my pussy all the way down on him.
There wasn't much left to go on that prick, but enough. I was very tight, and I'd felt him pressing on me on all sides, but then something inside me popped with a sudden sharp sensation, not really a pain, and suddenly I felt much more wet than I'd been. Blood, I decided. My virginity was gone. And, I supposed, that was the moment wwe could say he lost his too.
"Are you all right?" he whispered. I opened my eyes. He was looking at me, worried that my face had suddenly gone serious. I smiled.
"Yes," I said. "My darling girl. I'm just fine. Come when you can, my sweet darling girl. I won't this time. Some other time!"
He closed his eyes, and I resumed caressing his breasts. He reached for mine, and began to roll his hips. I rocked with him, and decided not to ride up and down on him. Even so, after a minute or maybe less, he reached up and pulled my body toward him, and sucked one of my breasts into his mouth as it deep as it would go, and pushed his little cock into my pussy with a single great thrust upward as far as it would go, and I felt him suddenly begin to pulse. It felt odd but delicious, better than a prick pulsing in my ass, and suddenly I felt very wet! Really slippery! He was breathing almost frantically.
When his breath steadied down, I raised myself off him and tucked a towel between us, to blot up some of the blood and semen I was leaking all over his groin. I leaned forward and kissed him on the mouth. He raised his chin to meet my mouth, and kissed me. Our tongues tangled. So tenderly. There was no question here who was the dominant partner. From the way he nibbled on my mouth I knew he felt like a shy, compliant young girl who has just been fucked and feels humble and grateful. He'll be easy to break in for boys to use, I thought. Even now I bet he'll kneel down and blow any stud who has the good sense to caress those breasts of his first. I allowed Marianne another moment to grow softer in me, then slowly climbed off him.
"There you are, my girl," I said. "I've used you. Now you're a sex object. A fallen woman! We just gave each other our virginity, didn't we? So we've just used each other to become two fallen women, haven't we?"
He nodded, overwhelmed by the enormity of the gift he'd just received.
"Now you're a lesbian," I went on. "Your little clit has been inside a girl. You've been kissed and caressed by a girl. Some day you'll be kissed and caressed by a boy, and that'll feel nice too." He nodded again in his trance, eyes still shut. I bent over and kissed him on his sweet mouth. Did he understand what I'd just said? He kissed me back ever so gently, only his lips moving.
Then more briskly I said, "Now into the bathroom and clean up, sweetheart, then put your panties and shorts back on. Look at that! You didn't even take your sandals off, you were so eager to put out for me! What a slut!"
I grinned at him, and after a moment he opened his eyes and grinned back. His eyes were beautiful, with those long, dark, wet lashes, and they were gleaming. He glanced down at the pink splotches on his groin.
"JayCee, you've made me so very happy," he tried to say, and he finally got it out the third time. Then he started to cry.
"I know," I said. I felt moved too. "But hurry, my mother's due home about now."
When we came downstairs about ten minutes later, there was my Mom already in the kitchen putting away groceries. I hadn't even heard her come in. I glanced at Marianne, and saw that with all the color in his face from all that unaccustomed sun and sex, he'd turned pale, and his eyes were just a little wild. He was trying not to panic. I knew what he was thinking. He was the boy who had just taken her daughter's cherry! He was a boy with breasts who was wearing her daughter's bra and blouse, a boy who had just freshened up his lipstick at my insistence. Could she guess it?! What must she think of him?!
"Hi, Mom," I said. "I didn't hear you. This is Marianne. I don't remember if you've met. We've been swimming and talking and stuff. We're getting to be really good friends, I think."
Marianne's politeness overcame his fear, and he spoke the scenario drilled into him since childhood, in a low voice, "Hi! Thank you for your hospitality today. I've had a lovely time. JayCee loaned me these clothes to get home in, I hope you don't mind."
"Not at all, Marianne," my mother said. "You're very welcome. Now if you two girls will excuse me...." She gestured vaguely toward some pots and pans, and more packages of food. She was hardly paying any attention to us at all!
"Sure, Mom," I said. We left by the back door so Marianne could pick up his damp shirt and other things he'd left by the pool.
"See?" I said when we were just out of earshot. "You're a girl. Parent-certified. You really don't have a choice, sweetie."
"I was so frightened!" he said in his small, high voice.
"For no reason." Then I added, "I'm proud of you. You're a brave girl. And we are getting to be dear friends after all, aren't we."
"I hope so," Marianne replied. Then suddenly he grabbed my arm, his eyes staring desperately into mine. Yes, I thought, staring back at his, that's just about the right amont of mascara for daytime. "JayCee!" he said. "My mother! What'll I tell her now, dressed like this? What'll she think?"
I took hold of his arms, both of them, and leaned toward him until my face was only inches from his, and said to him forcefully, "Nothing, Marianne! You'll tell your mother nothing! What I told you to tell her! She's a loving mother, and she knows you've been having ... problems, and if she asks you anything you just tell her I'm helping you with things, and we're doing things together. And that's all you need to tell her. Then she won't question you more than that, because she trusts me. Do you understand me?"
He didn't, I thought, but he nodded. I have that affect on boys when I'm being firm.
"Are you proud to be you? Are you proud to be my girlfriend?"
He nodded again. I wanted it, and he was too much a gentleman to deny me!
"Good! Let your mother see that you're proud. You have every reason to feel proud of yourself now especially, don't you?"
He nodded and grinned a little.
"Tomorrow we'll go shopping for girl clothes for you. You need a few outfits. Wear what you're wearing now. Ten in the morning?"
He nodded again, not fully comprehending. It would dawn on him on the way home. Then it wouldn't matter.
"Here. Fix your lipstick again. You'll want to look your very best for your mom. Shoulders back, remember!"
He was so throughly addled that he did just that!
That night his mother called, and chatted with my mother about some Church arrangement, then asked to speak to me. When I got on, I heard her take a deep breath, and then say it all in a rush.
"JayCee, you've performed a miracle! Marion looked just lovely when he got home. He just glanced at me with those breasts of his held way out in front of him in that bra, and his skirt flipping off his hips, and his hair piled up on his head, and he didn't say anything except 'Hi, Mom.' So I didn't either, and he went straight up to his room. But that isn't the miracle! The miracle is, he still hadn't changed his clothes when he came down later for dinner! And his hair was still up! I had to say something, so I told him that was a very pretty blouse, and all he said was 'Thank you,' and then he told me you'd loaned it to him until he could get some things of his own. 'I'll need some blouses and skirts of my own to wear now for a while,' he said. "So JayCee and I intend to go shopping tomorrow." So very calmly! So all I said was, 'Oh! That's nice.'"
"JayCee, he looks so ... so developed, now. He has such a beautiful figure! You know, he hasn't let me see him completely naked for over a year now. His breasts, of course, because he was worried about them, and I had to tell him they were nothing, when obviously they're not. Oh, JayCee, he really does look like the daughter I've always dreamed of having!"
"Then he added, quite matter-of-factly, 'JayCee thinks I should try to see how girls feel about everything, have lots of girl days this summer, to see what it's like.' So I decided I could push him just a little. I asked as casually as I could, 'Oh? You mean days you'll play with girls, or days you'll play at being a girl?' And he answered 'Both, until I find I'm not playing any more.'"
"So what could I say? 'Do you like that idea, dear?' He answered, 'I think JayCee's right. Every boy should know what it's like. So that's what I'll do.' I said, 'That's nice. JayCee sounds like a very thoughtful girl.' And you know what he replied? It almost broke my heart! He said, 'Yes, we're getting to be good friends, me and JayCee. My very first really good friend. In a way I'm hers, too, I think. I know I'm special for her. I know it.' Then he added, 'She wants me to be her special girlfriend. What do you think?'"
"I told him, 'Whatever makes you happy, dear. I want you to be happy!'"
"Well, JayCee, he's upstairs now playing his CD for the first time since we moved here. Loud. Madonna, I think, of all things, and he's singing along with her! But I don't care! He's happy! JayCee, I just called to tell you and to thank you. For everything. You're wonderful."
"You're very welcome, Jane," was all I could say. Then I added, "I'm sure he's goimg to make a marvelous daughter." She said a few more things like be sure to use Marion's credit card until she could get me a company credit card of my own, and then we hung up.
Well, Marion wasn't ashamed to tell his mother. He saw how it all made sense, and he'd accepted it. He's really a dear person, I decided. A really special girlfriend.
V.
Well, that was most of it, getting Marion willing to try. The next few weeks went quickly, much more quickly than I'd have expected, and as I'd figured, by the end I had him hooked. Let me tell you how.
The next day he showed up in the same outfit I'd sent him away wearing, and I re-pinned his hair and instructed him in the uses of mascara and lipstick, light touches of each. He put on his own, several times, and took them off again, until he found he was putting them on neatly without really paying any attention, just chatting away with me.
"Always that much makeup," I said. "Never less. More when you learn how to use more. Here, keep them here, and take your wallet." He clipped the lipstick and mascara and his wallet into a purse I gave him to use, and off we went.
First I bought him some shorts and blouses of his own, and together we selected a sun dress, and then from another store a better dress for summer evenings, and then a nice slinky clingy party dress, green, sparkling with sequins. I figured his own jeans were good enough for now, even though I supposed they were as oversized as everything else he owned, but I made a mental note to size him for slacks and minis that would make proper display of that curvacious tush. If boys are always eager to poke into my ass, I was thinking, how will they feel when they see Marianne's?
In every store we bought him more bras and panties, drawers full, enough to last through his whole Senior year. He kept asking what this or that style was for, and how it would fit and feel, and when he tried each one on he had to have it. I only own a few bras myself, but I realized for him bras were special. They were what girls wore closest to themselves. Wearing one was like having a girl wrapped around him. If it was true that every man has a girl inside him afraid to come out and be seen, the way I'd read, Marianne's girl sure had her man hooked on undies.
We did a lot of teasing about the party dress. I wanted him to start sedate, with the kind of dress his mother would want him to wear on a first date, any respectable mother who would want her teen age son wear to look pretty. A dress in good taste, high and flouncy, maybe even tulle, with a hem at least half way down his thighs. But Marianne got fascinated by the little green clingy number, though it barely covered her ass, and he wanted to try it on, so he did. Then he claimed that he loved it, that he just adored it, that it was just too precious and he had to have it.
I thought he was putting me on with talk like that, but when I looked at him to signal "Enough, already," he just said, "JayCee, if it attracts me, and it does, it'll certainly attract the boys, won't it?" That sounded reasonable until I realized that now he was certainly putting me on. I looked at him quickly and saw he was watching me and grinning. I grinned back. He still had no idea yet how attractive boys were going to find him, that what we were really discussing was whether he'd be a demure young lady who ends her big dates with a sweet good night kiss, or a hot dish who finishes with her date's semen still dribbling out of her mouth. "If you buy that dress," I said, "You'll never be able to keep it on through a whole evening." He grinned again, but I noticed he didn't return it to the rack.
Well, he did have good legs, really, and I knew that with a Kotex napkin snugged down on it, his mound under that clingy dress would be something any girl could envy and no boy could ignore, so I suggested he go for it. I knew of at least one house party coming up where he'd get groped all evening long in that dress. But that would provide useful initiation, I realized, and if he was going to be that kind of girl he'd better get used to getting groped. His buns flirted with exposure whenever he bent over. At least with that ass visible to the world, I thought, there won't be any doubt about his sex. Not that there'd be any doubt anyhow. The dress's low scooped back meant that he couldn't wear a bra with it, but it had a high neck and long sleeves, and was form-fitting around his torso, so his natural endowments would be on display even so. The dress projected the generous curves of his breasts as if he were naked. When he first came out of the fitting room wearing it, they jiggled seductively.
He wanted to wear that dress out of the store, but I drew the line there. "Only a slut would wear a dress like that during the day," I told him. "Nice girls wait until after dark to seduce men with dresses like that."
"Well, then," he replied. "Why can't I wear it during the day? No time like the present!"
I held firm, and he was teasing, but when we left that store he was wearing his sun dress, scarcely any longer in length, and with much less on top. At least it allowed him to keep his bra on. I insisted he buy a cardigan sweater to cover his shoulders, though his arms were thin enough. A pair of sandals, and flats, and heels for the party dress, and a makeup case with just a few items, and that was the morning.
It was odd. Overnight, he'd gotten ahead of me. I'd expected a certain amount of reluctance, and expected to spend some time wheedling him into girlish attire here and there, even ordering him into it. Instead, he was a serious, attentive student, listening carefully to my lectures on bra styles and on the mixing and matching of patterns, obviously absorbing it all. In between he play-acted different feminine roles, alternatively acting like a coquette, a harpy, a bimbo, a spinster, whatever came to mind. I realized he was trying out various feminine selves, looking for one he could adopt and become comfortably. He was into it.
Just how far into it I didn't realize until just after lunch. While we were sharing a burrito it occurred to me that I hadn't changed his gender in my own mind, and I'd better, or I might give him away. Several times I'd asked salespersons which changing room "he" had disappeared into, or told a cashier that "he" had our credit card. They thought they'd misheard me. But that afternoon I did it again without thinking.
This time, a saleswoman responded with, "That friend of yours is a man?" I only smiled and lifted my eyebrows, inviting her to share with me a conspiratorial shrug, as if to say, what can we women do when men get an idea in their heads? Instead, she frowned and looked down, and where she had been making small notations in her order book, she began slashing at it. A woman with a problem, I realized, and went on my guard. Then when Marianne came out of the changing room to show me a rather pretty "better" dress, a cotton print nice enough for a party but usable for daytime wear, she said to him, "Sir, you should not be using these changing rooms. The men's changing rooms are in another part of the store."
Marianne was a little shocked. "Are they?" was all he could say at first. I think what hit him was the saleswoman's severity, not his embarrassment at being read. But he wasn't at all embarrassed! I realized that when he had agreed to try living like a girl, he had decided to go all the way and enjoy it. He was a girl, and that was that! Maybe I was confused about his gender, but he wasn't! He meant to enjoy his femininity, at least for the next three weeks. He'd play the roles improvisationally. He felt liberated. That was why he'd been such a delightful tease and mimic.
But with one glance at my facial expression, apologetic and dismayed, he realized what had happened. I had goofed. He saw. I was dreadfully remorseful. He saw that. Then he came through beautifully. "My dear young woman," he said to the saleswoman, who was ten or twenty years older than he was. "Are you suggesting that I parade myself half-naked in front of half-naked men in another part of the store?" He shook his high-piled, Betty Grable head in disbelief!
The saleswoman was momentarily addled, but then she stood her ground. "I'm suggesting that you satisfy your taste for trying on...dresses" -- she spoke the word as if it were foul-tasting -- "in another part of the store."
"You're telling me I shouldn't be wearing a dress in this part of the store?" Marianne now turned bright-eyed, curious, eager to understand and to please but not quite grasping the woman's point just yet.
"That's correct, sir!"
In a blur of cloth and elbows Marianne swept off the dress he was wearing. He laid it inside-out across a rack of other dresses, and now there he was, standing on the sales floor in nothing but his bra and panties -- my bra and panties still, really -- and my sandals, otherwise altogether naked. His crotch, I noticed, looked perfect -- the sanitary napkin I'd loaned him until he could buy his own must have had tapered edges. But his breasts spilled out of my bra on all sides -- we hadn't yet managed to buy him some better-fitting ones of his own. He stood there a moment, as un-selfconscious in his bra and panties as I had been when I'd stood naked in front of Ronnie and Petey, or Marianne once I'd begun seducing him. Then he reached up with one hand and patted the back of his hairdo, as if flattening a stray curl.
"Now, where are these men who want to see me trying on dresses in their part of the store?" he said.
And Marianne started to stroll down the aisle wearing only his bra and panties. He was prepared to tour the whole store, I was sure of it. His eyes were still wide open and round, innocent and compliant, trying to oblige. But I could see his jaw was rigid.
It struck me that he was indignant! He was not in the slightest ashamed that he'd been caught masquerading as a girl. He was defending his right to wear dresses as if it were a birthright! He resented that this saleswoman had intruded into our fragile agreement that he would be a girl for a while to see how it felt. Now he was outraged! Of course he was a girl! But how far would this conviction carry him?
"Marianne! Please!"
I was shocked, and had to let him know it. I certainly didn't want him arrested -- publicity would do neither of us any good. I was also deeply unhappy, because I knew I was responsible for this scene, and I had to let him know that too, that I wanted out the easiest way available. He heard me, and turned to look at me. He was still posturing for effect, his eyes barely aimed in my direction. But I know he saw me even so.
The saleswoman, however, was staring at his chest, his undersized bra with its billowing spillover titflesh, horrified! She'd blundered terribly! "Sir!" she cried out. "I mean Ma'am! Miss! Please! I...uh...please, can you return to your changing room, and ...please, Miss?" Now she was pleading. She glanced nervously down the aisle at a few customers looking up from some discount racks at the far end.
Marianne took pity on her, and walked back into the changing room without another word, and emerged a moment later wearing her familiar blouse and flouncy skirt, the ones I had loaned her...him...only yesterday. The saleswoman almost fell on her knees in thankfulness. I realized that before my very eyes Marianne had indeed changed gender. By an act of insolent assertion she had bluffed out the saleswoman's indignation and had intimidated me out of feeling that this was only... a game, that Marianne's femininity was only pretend. Marianne had become a woman. She was now in her own mind and mine no less than she claimed to be!
I was subdued as we continued down the mall, and not at all surprised when Marianne asked, as we passed an ear ring kiosk, "Shall I get my ears pierced?"
"Are you sure you want to?" I asked cautiously.
"A girl with my eyebrows and my tits should have pierced ears," she replied.
Again I couldn't argue, and fifteen minutes later Marianne displayed a pretty gold stud on each ear. It was as if she had to prove something to herself. This was the boy I'd been consoling only yesterday, so miserable because he looked so much like a girl he'd never be a normal boy. And shouldn't try to be a boy any longer, I'd tried to persuade him. And now she wasn't.
We passed a hair salon. Two hours later Marianne's blonde hair was a shade lighter, crimped and curled the way we were all wearing our hair that year, pinned up but with a crinkly fall down her back, a style so feminine I'd never try it myself. And her fingernails were groomed and polished a glossy pink. She was wearing pale green eye shadow, and I envied her that drama, because with my dark hair I could only wear brown or purple. A few more shops, and then as we headed back to the bus stop I realized that there were only a few more things left to do to complete Marianne's conversion. Well, more thn a few, maybe. She still walked like a boy, shoulders moving from side to side, legs a little wide-set. And she had no delicate gestures at all, no little feminine moves like flipping her hands loose-wristed, or tossing her head back as if to clear hair from her eyes, or looking at you sideways with a slight smile. That modeling course was coming up none too soon, in just a few more days.
Even so, at worst Marianne looked like a girl who was still something of a tomboy. Like what I'd wanted to be before I'd caught on to the way things really are. Maybe it was time Marianne caught on too? She had a few things to learn.
When we left the mall late that afternoon I decided to invite her back up to my room for another session of lovemaking. Being intimate again had distinct appeal, especially because this time I could enjoy her to the full. Not very full, I thought with a small smile. But snuggling with her, caressing her, kissing her, that might be nice. I began to daydream about seeing her crinkly hair nuzzling between my legs.
We linked arms as we walked toward our houses, the way girls do, affectionately. My heart melted toward Marianne, and I glanced over at her clear profile, and saw her satisfied expression as she looked straight ahead. I realized that here might well be my dearest girlfriend. She saw me looking at her, stopped walking, turned toward me, leaned over, and we kissed each other, daintily, just once. Then without a word spoken, when we arrived at my house we set down our packages and went straight up into my room.
There we made love girl style. It was heavenly! We looked lovingly into each other's eyes as we slowly unbuttoned each other's blouses and unhooked each other's brassieres. Marianne's eyes began to gleam, and I saw she had the same faint half-smile I'd seen on her mother. We touched and stroked each other with infinite tenderness, on our shoulders and arms, and finally on our breasts. When I leaned in to kiss her nipple she gasped and clutched my head tight to her breast with both arms for a moment, while I suckled her, passion growing. Then we slid out of our skirts and panties and tumbled together into bed, eager to feel our skin pressing on each other's skin along the entire length of our bodies, our hands roaming freely, then our mouths, all with exquisite gentleness. It was magical.
We rolled into each other's laps, then into a 69 when we found ourselves unable to stop kissing and licking. I lifted my knees and opened my legs to welcome her mouth to my lips. Her tongue found my slit and began to stroke up toward my clit, just along the inside of my pussy lips, and I turned to jelly as she found my clit and began to nurse on it as if it were a teeny nipple. I reached around her plump ass cheeks and pulled her mound firmly into my face, and took her big clit and balls and all into my mouth, then sucked and licked and tongued them in a frenzy, moaning because I couldn't pull her deeper into me, and all the while her tongue made the sweetest tensions rise and flow from my pussy to suffuse my whole body. Desire rose, and grew, higher, and filled me full, and finally overflowed and overwhelmed me as I orgasmed, and she came at that same moment into my mouth. I loved it, and swallowed it all. So very creamy! So very much like my own cum! I licked wherever I could taste its sweet silky salt, and then pressed frenzied kisses all over her clit and her balls while she continued to lick me with long, sweet strokes of her satin tongue. I realized she was trying to sip up and lick up all of my juices down there in my crotch, trying to take my liquids in to become a part of herself. A wonderfully feminine instinct!
"Lick my face too, darling," she said in a low, throaty voice when our breathing had quieted down. We were both drenched with each other. So we uncurled and turned, and then cuddled against each other the whole length of our bodies, and writhed to feel each other's pillowy softness and bony solidity. We ran our hands over our various billows and hollows and crevices wherever we could reach, and we licked each other's faces. Hers was soaked with me! I'd never ever gotten so wet before when someone was eating me. But then, I'd never before eaten anyone while she was eating me. Usually I preferred seeing boys on their knees in front of me, worshipping my cunt while my thighs clamped their heads and pulled their faces into the altar. But this was different. This was affectionate, loving, spontaneous, beautiful. Passionate. Just gorgeous. I kissed her face with all my heart!
"Time to go," she said finally. We reluctantly untangled ourselves.
"That was beautiful, Marianne," I said to her from deep in my own throat.
"Yes," she said. "It was. Now I know how girls make love. And we'll do it some more, I hope. Lots more." She smiled.
Then while she was clasping her bra over her breasts again, she added thoughtfully. "I could be happy being a lesbian with you, JayCee. But I do need to know how it feels to be a girl making love with a boy, too, I think. The idea was just awful at first, when you first mentioned it, but it's a little more attractive now that I'm getting into what girls do and how they feel about things. Now that I feel more attractive. Can you arrange something like that?"
I told her, no problem. This was a new, 'Take Charge' Marianne. Eager to get on with it. And I was curious myself how she'd get on with a real boy. Would she feel attracted at all? How deep were her new feminine feelings, and how sincere? How far would her role-playing carry her?
We arranged to meet tomorrow to spend the day together again. Standing just outside our front door, Marianne suddenly remembered to fix her face before going on home. I knew why -- she wanted to look as lovely as she could when her mother saw her new hairdo, and her piereced ears. With a compact mirror in one hand and a lipstick in the other, it took her a moment to figure where to tuck her purse. Under her arm. Then she made some deft strokes, as though she'd been fixing her lipstick all her life, snapped shut her compact, slipped her makeup into her purse, snapped the purse shut, and looked up at me as she bent to gather her parcels.
"Today was the nicest day of my life, JayCee," she said. "The nicest ever. I love you."
The late afternoon sun glinted on her ear ring studs, and she reached up to pat her new hairdo, checking that every crimp and curl was in place. I could see she was getting excited, anticipating the moment he mother saw the new Marianne. Then the sun gleamed off her long pink fingernails too. It had been quite a day. As I handed her more of the mountain of boxes and packages, she added, "Yesterday was the best I'd had till then, but also one of my most awful ever."
"I know. I'm very glad for today, Marianne," I replied. "Your decision to try being a girl seems so right! I think we both learned a few things."
"I think so too," she said. "I certainly surprised myself today!"
"And me," I said. There's no doubting that, I thought to myself. I wondered if it was always this easy. Then I wondered why I was wondering that. "Ten tomorrow morning again?"
She nodded and went *kiss* with her lips, then headed off doing a balancing act, packages held high. I watched with genuine affection as she stepped down the street toward her own home, a cheery lilt in her walk. Such a lovely, lovely girl! Now she really and truly was my best girlfriend. We'd now made love two different ways I'd never made love before, and I realized that both of them were the ways most people make love most of the time. On both occasions I'd wanted to do it that way to share the experience with her, not merely because it empowered me, put me in a dominant position, gave me a leg up. Though that too.
I wondered if I should try out my new dildo on her, or save it for me, now that I was finally rid of my hymen. Then I got a much better idea. Before I went to bed that night I called Ronnie.
VI.
Ronnie wasn't leaving for Cape Cod for another two weeks. I asked him about Petey, and he told me that both of them were now seeing other people, though they still sometimes got together, and they'd be seeing a lot more of each other pretty soon for old times' sake. Neither of them had anybody special right now, he said, though Petey had been through a really heartbreaking affair, hard on the other guy too, because Petey had called it off when his partner decided he was really bi and wanted to date real girls too. Ronnie didn't have that problem, but he'd do just fine to help accustom Marianne to the feel of real guys. I asked Ronnie over to the house the next day for lunch and a dip, to meet someone I'd just met.
"A really cute guy?" Ronnie asked.
"You'd be surprised," I answered. "And even if you knew, you'd be surprised!"
Well, the next day, there was Ronnie. I hadn't seen him for a while. He still wasn't in the least flouncy, though I noticed a lilt had developed in his voice. He explained that his new friends talked like that too. It was one way they recognized and reassured each other in a world of straight women and men alike, and also it sounded a little bit bitchy when he felt that way.
"So where's this guy? Do we get to play Show and Tell with him? You and me against him this time?"
He looked disappointed when Marianne showed up wearing her Maillot bathing suit under a gauzy wraparound barely suitable for walking down the street, hair pinned up curled as cute as could be, and of course wearing lipstick and mascara. She wasn't surprised to see a stranger standing there, just curious, and I looked again at Ronnie through her eyes. He was taller than when he and Petey had jerked each other off and decided on a lifetime of buggery in this very place. And more heavily muscled -- he still worked out. In fact he'd sent in a picture of his oiled, pumped up torso to a gay men's magazine, where it had been published, and he'd gotten a number of letters from readers, he'd told me, and even met a couple of them. They didn't go away disappointed.
I didn't really formally introduce Ronnie to Marianne -- kids our age can still survive without social graces. I wanted to keep it all cool and casual. But I was real curious to see what they'd see in each other, and how soon.
"Hi, Marianne," I said. "My old friend Ronnie's come over today -- he gets to use the pool whenever."
Marianne looked at him and just said "Hi, Ronnie." She nodded at me. "JayCee!"
"Pleased to meet you, Marianne," Ronnie said in his lilting voice, looking at her a little more closely than he usually looks at girls.
I watched Marianne. She heard the lilt and I could tell from the way her eyes suddenly focussed that she understood instantly what I had planned for today. Today sex with a man. A man not interested in girls but one who'd never object to sex with another man, once he found it, which seemed inevitable given Marianne's inexperience. Marianne could test out this part of her passage into full girlhood undistracted by problems with some boy who would loathe her if he knew she was still a boy. Ronnie by now had done it many times with other men, but not before that I knew of with a chick with a dick. But would Marianne agree to let a boy actually fuck her?
It didn't look that way at first. "Likewise," said Marianne, and she settled into a lounge chair and wriggled her shoulders to settle them in comfortably, then her hips. Then twisted her pelvis to cross her legs, and arched her instep. It was the most provocative set of moves I'd ever seen a girl perform. I even felt like jumping her bones myself! I was about to ask her where she'd learned to do that, but remembered just in time that there was a more interesting drama going on.
Then when Marianne got comfy she reached back to the nape of her neck in that feminine gesture I'd taught her and began to pin up imaginary loose hair back there. Her breasts bobbed and thrust themselves at whoever was watching, as her elbows rose and fell. "Are you an old friend of JayCee's?" she asked innocently, in a higher, more girlish voice than I'd ever heard her use. Heard him use! Today, I realized, it would be better not to think of Marianne as a girl, or I could blow this arrangement the way I nearly blew yesterday's. I tried to remember that she -- HE! -- had been a boy just a few days ago, a fit partner for Ronnie.
Marianne continued to play the minx. "I've just moved to this town," he said with a satisfied smile, "But JayCee and I are already loving friends."
"JayCee is one of my dearest friends, for a long time now," Ronnie replied. "In a way, she made me what I am today, and I'm very satisfied. And grateful."
"She likes to do that, doesn't she," said Marianne, as if I weren't here. "To me too. 'A man should be what he can do,' she told me once. John Wayne said it first. Did she say that to you too?"
'A man.' Ronnie looked at this catlike babe preening herself on the lounge chair, and began to understand. A smile started on his face, and I noticed his arm and shoulder muscles, his biceps and triceps and latissimas and stuff, all started to swell up, as if his muscles were like his cock, the bigger they got, the more irresistible.
"How good are you at being what you can do?," Marianne went on. "Can you rub sun tan lotion on my back?"
He amazed me! What a slut! But Marianne really was using this opportunity to try his skills at naked seduction. He slipped off his shoulder straps and lowered the front of his bathing suit down to his navel, and flashed his huge tits at Ronnie for a moment as he turned over onto his stomach. Now that luscious ass was up in the air, and his bare back open to Ronnie's hands. "JayCee, would you hand Ronnie that sun block? I don't want to be too exposed to the sun this time, not after last time."
Now Ronnie looked addled. He'd decided that Marianne was a gay transvestite femme, more persuasive even than Petey. But with those tits? His muscles didn't deflate, exactly, though his shoulders came forward again, just a bit. I'd trained Ronnie to serve well, however, and when I handed him the little plastic bottle without a word, he dutifully began to massage lotion onto Marianne's back.
Marianne really was something! He knew what I was up to, and had made up his own mind about it. If sex with a man was the agenda, he was going to have that first experience as straight sex, as a girl with a guy, not as a guy in drag in a homosexual encounter. If I was using Ronnie to initiate Marianne into the pleasures of sex with boys, Marianne would use Ronnie to practice being attractive, even seductive with boys. He would begin twisting a boy into love knots as only a girl can.
"You do that very well," came muffled from where Marianne was face down on her arms. "Do you do everything as well?"
"Some things," Ronnie said, still uncertain, in the most bitchy lilt imaginable. "With some people. It depends." He was sending a warning signal to this girl under his hands, if that's what she was, not to play teasing games with him.
Marianne got the message. He lifted his head and looked Ronnie straight in the eye. "I'll bet you say that to all the boys," he said. Then he lowered his head again. "A little to the left, honeybun." he said. "And much lower down. Ooooh, that feels just scrumptious! JayCee, do you think you might be getting a little too much sun now yourself?"
"Sure," I said. "I guess so. I'd better go in for a bit. I need to fix lunch. And it looks like we'll need more towels, anyhow." I was a little annoyed to be asked to leave my own swimming pool, but had to be amused by that fact, because it was just what I had wanted to see happening. Marianne getting it on with a boy, and better, enjoying the pleasures of being in charge while getting it on with a boy.
I hung out inside for about a half hour, looking out the back window now and then to see what was happening. Marianne has a real vixen's instinct for this kind of thing, I thought. The first time I looked, Marianne was on his back and Ronnie had his hand on Marianne's crotch, massaging whatever he felt there. Marianne meanwhile had his arms clasped and extended around Ronnie's neck and shoulders, experimenting with different holds and grips. He settled finally on one hand on the back of Ronnie's neck and the other arm draped across Ronnie's shoulders so his hand could caress the hills and valleys of Ronnie's back muscles. As I watched, the hand on Ronnie's neck pulled him down into a kiss, and held him there for a long time. I turned away to look in the fridge.
When I next looked Ronnie was on his knees in front of Marianne while Marianne sat regally on the lounge, one leg forward, looking down at him. He had taken off his bathing suit, and was now every boy's wet dream of a girl. No way could I think of her as a boy. SHE was now naked, and her tits curved questioningly up into the sunlight as she leaned back on one hand, playfully caressing and ruffling Ronnie's hair with the other, that same half-smile on her face. Ronnie's face was in her lap, bobbing and sucking away on Marianne's cock. Then both of her hands pressed Ronnie's head close onto her as she pumped her hips up repeatedly to meet his mouth, a blissful smile on her face. Ronnie seemed to be swallowing as fast as he could.
Chile and crackers this time, I decided, and cans of soft drinks. I began heating it -- it would take a few minutes. Now Marianne was lying langorously back on the lounge chair, arms and hair strewn in casual relaxation, while Ronnie was straddling her chest and -- I had to say it -- servicing her mouth with his prick, offering his goddess that impressive long sausage. Cocksucking an act demeaning women? No way here. She lay there as if the head of his penis was a peeled grape offered for her delectation, licking it, feeling the whole of it with full, rounded lips for just a moment, tugging on it with those lips only, enjoying its velvety texture. Marianne's first cock! With a royal wave of her hand, she commanded Ronnie to sit higher over her neck so she could reach and lick his balls without raising her head, then lower down again so she could taste a delicate pearl of pre-cum she saw formed on the tip of his penis. I'd left the chile on the stove a bit longer than I'd intended, and turned away.
Then when I glanced out again I saw history repeating itself. On a towel on the ground, Marianne was crouched on her knees, her head thrown back, and through the double-glass window I could hear her shouting a muffled "Yes! Yes! Yes!" with every thrust of Ronnie's long cock, now lunging deep into her, over and over and over, in and out and in. Ronnie was gripping her around her waist with both arms as if holding on for dear life, and Marianne bucked and pitched and heaved, that beautiful round ass grinding and pushing back into Ronnie's cock and balls as if trying to wipe them off his body. I could see Ronnie's dong sliding and lurching in and out, and Ronnie half hysterical with desire, and as I watched I saw Marianne's face twist into ecstasy as she threw her head far, far back, then began shaking it from side to side violently. She shouted "Ohhhhhhhh, yesssssss, ohhhhhhh, yessssssss!" in a voice audible through the whole neighborhood I'm sure, and her own little prick began spurting into the towel under her.
Then to my amazement she turned and said something to Ronnie, who hesitated. She said it more firmly. Ronnie looked bewildered, disbelieving. But he then pulled out of Marianne, and with his purple- headed cock with its long white shank now glistening in the sun, he lay down on his side on the towel. She lay down facing him, and took hold of his shoulders with both hands. Then while she held him at arm's length, she watched him jerk himself off until he came into the towel! Just where Marianne had just cum! I couldn't believe what I was seeing! Her first fuck, and she was already taking charge of her stud's climaxes! She allowed Ronnie to cum only as it pleased her, not as he might wish and she might too, inside her. She said something else, and Ronnie then bent down to lick up the towel's mix of sweat amd cum. I decided it was time for me to bring out the chile and soda.
Marianne's ass was now no more virginal than mine, and she'd spared herself the indignity of cum dripping out of it while we ate lunch. I looked at her carefully as I set down the tray and the two of them put their bathing suits back on. Her face was hard to read, but there was no mistaking her spraddle-legged gait as she came over to the poolside table and sat down in a chair, carefully. She had been well and truly fucked.
Did she like it? She looked over at me earnestly and sent me a kiss, to reassure me, and I realized, to thank me. Was she now addicted to sex with penetration, as a girl with her guy? If so, I might need to haul out that dildo after all, a pity in a way, because sex with Marianne was so...natural, so lovely, just the way we'd done it, as two girls together who cared for each other. I smiled, but Marianne wasn't sure yet whether to smile back. In the end she did, just enough to be reassuring. She reached for my hand and held it a minute. It was so quick, so overwhelming, all of this. She needed time to process it.
Ronnie came forward and sat down, picked up a bowl and ladled out his own chile. "Ah," he said. "As Marianne keeps saying, just lovely! Is there ketchup too?"
We ate and splashed and joked with each other through much of the afternoon, and as the sun began to lose its warmth Ronnie said "I'll have to go soon, Marianne. Will we see each other again?"
"I don't see why not," Marianne replied, flashing him a smile and a cute little wriggle of her rump. "In fact, I don't see why not now. May we use your room, JayCee?" I nodded, and off they went.
I felt a twinge of jealousy I guess, despite the fact that the day was working out perfectly. Marianne was getting laid by a good-sized prick, her curiosity about that part of being a girl satisfied and piqued, getting it out of her system or getting it into her system, whichever. Whichever, it seemed to me that her boyhood was fading further and further behind her, and would soon be over the horizon. She'd now fucked a girl and a boy, and obviously there was more in it for her fucking a boy. I'd seen and heard that through the window, and she still hadn't gotten enough.
When Ronnie finally left with a promise to phone her, I looked over to Marianne with my eyebrows raised to say, 'You don't have to tell me everything, but you have to tell me something.'
"JayCee," Marianne said. "Thank you. Three days ago I had no friends. I've never had any friends. Now I have two dear friends, and I love you both, really, truly, and passionately. And you're the person who introduced me to both of them. Maybe to three wonderful people, if we count Marianne too."
"Just doing my job, ma'am," I said in my best Sergeant Joe Friday imitation. Then I nudged her again. "The facts, ma'am?"
"The facts are, we fucked, and I love having a prick up my ass. I love sucking on cock when it's me doing the sucking, not the prick getting itself sucked. Now what do you think of that?"
"You're quite a girl, Marianne," is all I could say. "More a girl than I'd ever imagined!"
"I guess," she said, beaming at me. "Everything I am today I owe to you," she said. "And, of course, to my mother." She did an elaborate, ungainly but theatrical bow after delivering that line, her arms wide apart. One part of my mind registered that she certainly does need those modeling classes, but another wondered what she really meant by that last remark.
"More than you'd think," I said. It was a broad hint, a little stupid I guess, but I was curious to find out if she knew anything, and I don't know, I was feeling a little catty. I'd wanted Ronnie and Marianne to hit it off, no question, but they'd flowed into each other like maple syrup into pancakes.
But Marianne answered, "No. Not more than I'd think. I think I know what there is to know, JayCee. I saw those books you've got up in your bedroom, the ones you took out of the library a few days ago, after you had that long talk with my Mom while I was down in the basement. Books about hormones, and transsexuals, and things like that. I can read, and I can add things up."
I just stared at her. Those books! Mostly hidden, but I'd hauled them out again only this morning. My bedside reading!
She went on. "What's done is done, JayCee, and there's no use crying over spilt mother's milk. I know you both think it's for the best. Maybe it is. I promised you I'd try it out, and that's what I'm doing. You said that Modeling School begins next Monday?"
I went over and kissed her. Marion had been my first real lover, and Marianne was my first real girlfriend for sure. I couldn't speak. She kissed me back.
"JayCee," she said quietly, but not at all shyly. "Do you think we could go back to your room now for a little bit? Ronnie doesn't understand anything about breasts. I suppose it's because he's never had any himself, or desired any, so he has no feel for people who do have them. He's a great lay, but I have feelings for you he'll never
come near."
I tried to say something, but nothing came out. "Sure, Marianne," I finally managed to whisper. "Whatever you say."
VII.
Modeling school was a blast. There were fifteen other girls besides us, half of them genuine dyed-in-the-hair bubbleheads, the other half in a range from feline to friendly to efficient. The teacher read Marianne right off, from the way she moved, or didn't move, or something, and called her over. Then after a moment she called me over.
"Uh, JayCee," she said. "Marianne says I should speak to you about this. She puzzles me. She has the lines and hips and height of a high fashion model, but also of a man, and frankly, she moves like a man. I don't mean she's klutzy, and I don't even mean she isn't gracious or dainty sometimes -- that doesn't matter -- I can teach anyone that. I mean she doesn't walk and move like someone who holds herself in, someone who's spent a lifetime taking up no more space than she must. Like a woman. She's far too open. Is there something I should know?"
"Tell her, Marianne."
Marianne hesitated and then squared her shoulders. "I was born a boy, and my mother's given me a girl's puberty without telling me. Why I don't know, and I won't ask her until I've become as much what she wants as I can be. She loves me and has her reasons, I'm sure, and I love her. What she wants is for me to live like a girl. So I'm giving it my best shot, and we'll see. JayCee's my dearest friend, and has been helping me. She thinks you can help me too."
"I think Marianne needs to learn to walk with cute, short steps," I blurted out. It had been on my mind. "Not the long stride of a high fashion model. We want her to be attractive to boys, and a long stride would intimidate them, I think."
The teacher looked at me. "Straight to the point, aren't you, JayCee." She considered a moment. "All right! I just don't want any ringers in here, any peeping Toms taking advantage of my girls. You'll all be seeing a lot of each other, and I don't mean just in terms of time, though that too. We have a single common dressing room here."
"There'll be no problem, ma'am," Marianne said. "You'll see soon enough. None."
She looked over at Marianne. "Those are real then? They'd better be, or we'll all know straight away, the first time we change clothes, and we do a lot of that. Around 36 C, aren't you? Too large for high fashion anyhow. All right, I'll teach you how to make boys' pricks drool into their pants whenever they see you. So they'll want to fuck the air you've set in motion after you've passed by. You know what I mean, don't you? Do you drool into your pants now when a girl goes by?"
A trick question. She was asking Marianne how she was equipped, and warning her there'd be no fucking around with the other girls. Marianne caught on right away, "No ma'am," she said. "I get a little wet there sometimes, the way girls do when the right kind of guy goes by."
Hearing that evasion, the teacher just looked at Marianne and said nothing. Then "All right, let's get started!"
Right off we both learned that a girl is always on display, and that walking around with books on your head is old hat. "You are mannequins, suspended from the top of your head by a cord fastened to the ceiling," she began. "Whenever you stand, whenever you walk, even when you are bending over to get into a car, you are suspended by the tops of your heads, lighter and more fragile than you have ever imagined yourself!" And so it went. By the end of the two weeks we had relearned every gesture, even how to use a knife and fork, and how to chew. And lots more about makeup, and clothes, and how to say "yes" and "no" without giving a guy any more ideas than we want him to have.
I suppose lots of girls actually live and move and think the way the teacher taught us to live, move, and think, but lots don't. I didn't worry it, because everything I do is what a girl does whatever I may do. But Marianne carefully learned everything, each move and posture and gesture, and practiced them all the time, because for her that was all there was. The weekend between the first and second week of classes, she never let down. Not even when her face was in my pussy and mine was sucking her clitty cock and licking her crotch, and we were both stroking each others' breasts and bursting out of our skins with passionate feeling, her hands always stayed arched, so her fingers seemed longer and more delicate, and her neck always stayed swanlike. When she left my house to walk to her own, it was always with the tight little short steps she had learned, and the cutest sway of her hips and wiggle in her ass, a real busybody blonde walk that attracted men as if she were walking stark naked. She loved it, and told me how cars passing on the street had started honking at her even when she was wearing a respectable A-line skirt ending well past her knees.
She learned even more from being with all the other girls. The talk was boys and sex and clothes, and sex and boys, and because we weren't going to see each other again it was altogether uninhibited. Marianne told some wicked stories, partly true and partly not, and became a favorite -- some of the girls even developed girl-crushes on her, and they hugged and kissed their greetings each morning before classes began. We found out everyone's kinks, who liked leather, who pulled trains, who swung both ways, and who were swingers.
I told them once that I told every boy I dated that I was keeping my vagina for the boy I'd marry. Clara asked, "You mean you're a virgin?" Clara was a frail wisp of a girl, all blonde lace with pale, dreamy eyes, teeny, weighing not even 100 pounds, seemingly helpless, a doll. But don't believe it. Underneath her delicate appearance she was a tough dyke who loved using whips on boys or girls, and loved people who loved whips.
I told her "No, not a virgin." Marianne caught my eye, and we grinned at each other, and Clara saw..
Then she said, "My mother was a professional dominatrix, and I mean to be just like her. She told me she used that line too, all the time, when she was in High School. It gets guys' attention and respect, and then you've got them by the balls."
"But in her case it was true, enough, until she got married to my Dad and got pregnant with me. Then she reversed field. After that my father became the only man in her life who was never allowed into her cunt. The postman could fuck her silly, while he listened, and on rare occasions might be allowed to watch, and never to come nearer. For the next twelve years he slept in their bedroom closet, lying on her soiled linens from whatever her previous day's bedroom activity, her panties from her previous day always stuffed in his mouth, listening through the door to whatever Mom was doing with her clients. He never again shared her bed, and she told me he wore a cock cage for the rest of his life, so he could never masturbate and of course could never cum himself. He just lay there and listened all night to other men screaming and moaning and pleading, their cries of joy and their grunting and sighing."
"That was his gift to her, self-denial, and he knew she loved him above all the others because of that gift. He told me when he was already terminally ill, near the end, that he wouldn't have changed a thing, and I know he died happy. Mom was inconsolable. That's the kind of boy I'll marry some day, when I can find one. I use that line too, I'm saving myself, and so on. But meanwhile I fuck whoever pleases me."
I told her I felt the same way sometimes, but didn't know what kind of boy I'd marry, if any. She glanced at Marianne and said nothing.
Mostly wearing only our bras and panties, getting in and out of different dresses and outfits with all those other girls all the time, always poised and hanging from a cord suspended from the heavens, then from a string, then a thread, then from nothing at all, wearing perfect makeup every moment no matter what, everything we did got to be second nature. My mother commented on how refined I'd become all of a sudden, even in my table manners, and I smiled at her in a wearied woman-of-the- world way.
Marianne saw Ron a few more times, so it wasn't necessary for me to haul out my dildo ever when we made love together. The second weekend of modeling classes, in fact, Ronnie called to ask me why Marianne was being so dainty, so utterly feminine. "She's almost no fun to fuck any more," he said. "She's getting to be too much like a girl. She even makes those delighted squeals girls in porn movies make, whenever I pump her just right. My other boyfriends never do that. It's kind of sweet, but doesn't she ever let down? When I mentioned it she told me that if I complain again, she'll order me to sleep in my own bedroom closet. Can you imagine?"
I told him not to worry about it. Marianne had a moment of decision coming up in another week or two and was giving being a girl her all now. I thought it was a foregone conclusion. But Marianne had to realize that herself.
A while later, a friend phoned as expected to say she was throwing that house party now that her folks were going out of town, and she was short a few girls. Would I come, and did I know who else to bring?
Well, it happens I did. Marianne got wonderfully excited, and got herself up in that slinky green dress and high, high heels. With her delicate air and her brilliant smile outlined in bright crimson, she was a smashing success.
The day before the party we practiced dancing while suspended by a cord. Our slow dancing got so amorous we never managed to finish a set. Marianne got so hot that she told me whatever we'd done with each other, and that was a lot, she always had to go over to Ron's for a good fucking afterward to finish her off. She kissed me in case I needed reassurance, but she told me she now thought a hot cock spurting into her bowels was one of God's greatest gifts. I wasn't sure about that myself, but I couldn't disagree.
I warned her that during this first night of partying she should put out for no one no matter how badly she might feel tempted, or she'd get a reputation for being easy, and that meant she'd have to put out for everyone. Especially, she'd be bothered all year by nerds who could only get dates with sluts no one else wanted.
I doubt she needed to be told that. During the party she played games. She got one guy groveling on the floor looking for an earring for her, and then she straddled his head with her high heels, and looked down at him, and flashed her panties at him, and asked if he'd found what he was looking for. He must have creamed in his jeans right then and there. During every dance, she brushed her breasts against her partners unrelentingly, with noticeable effect on the size of the bulge in their pants. Then, the way she glanced at their swollen crotches and pursed her mouth the way we'd been taught, then smiled at them, she seemed to promise every guy she met a fabulous cocksucking. Shameless? Guys drooling in their pants? There wasn't a dry pair of drawers in the house, I'm sure.
The next night after the house party Marianne had dinner with my family so we could get an early start on a movie together. Registration time for the school year was approaching, and she'd need soon to make up her mind, was she Marianne, a tease who had lots of fun, or was she Marion, a boy with tits. That was the deal.
When we were both of us were using our best modeling school manners to butter bread and scoop up salad, my mother said, "You know, it's strange, dear. When I first met you the day you moved in, I thought you were a boy. I suppose it was those loose clothes you were wearing to help with the move."
"Marianne?" I said surprised "A boy? Did you see her in that green dress yesterday?"
"As it happens, I did see her," said my mother, quickly distracted, "That's a lovely dress, dear. Green is certainly your color. I wish JayCee would dress herself as attractively. But to each her own I suppose."
"I think we're lucky," Marianne answered thoughtfully. "Girls can wear anything we want. We can play with who we are. Boys and men don't get much chance even to find out what they might enjoy wearing if they could."
So there we were. Marianne was one of "we" girls in front of my mother. If Marianne was ever going to be a boy again, she'd certainly have a lot to explain to my mother, who now thought she'd been wrong when she first met him and thought he was a boy. Or else she'd have to leave town. Marianne seemed unworried by the prospect.
Then after the movie when we were walking home from the mall, two guys I knew showed up. It was a hot night, and Marianne happened to be wearing not much at all. Some sandals with three inch heels, because it was one of her "heel" days, when she wanted to practice walking in heels as she'd been taught, with a really provocative sway to her rump, and short shorts, and the barest see-through blouse with her prettiest lace bra altogether visible. Her hair was piled high off her neck, and held there with a darling little gold comb. And she'd slathered on the eye makeup, because I'd commented that at night in dark places you can't wear too much eye makeup, and for a joke she'd been trying to prove I was wrong. Seductive? She looked scorching! And who should happen by?
"Hi JayCee. Arent you going to introduce us?"
I looked, and immediately saw manna from heaven! Money in the bank. "Hi, Jeff, Will. This is Jeffrey and Wilmott, Marianne," I said. "Jeff is President of the Senior Class this coming year. He bought the votes with Wilmott's money. They do things like that together."
They were paying no attention to me. "Hi, Marianne," they both said together, each one taking one of her hands, and then realizing they were being ridiculous, but neither one wanting to let go. We walked four abreast for a while, bumping into each other, and finally we split off, Marianne with Jeff and me with Wilmott, talking about how our summer had gone as they walked each of us home.
Willmot was already on my string -- we'd already dated a few times, and he had graduated from only licking my pussy to my jacking him off if he said sweet things to me, though he was still a long way from my ass. I began scouting him in a new way, though. His parents had maybe even more money than Jane seemed to have, and I was thinking I should know more about what rich boys like, if I'd be going to college where they went. I later found out rich boys want the same things any boy wants, only they think they're entitled. That gave me special pleasure later on, when I'd make someone especially wealthy beg permission to humiliate himself, and then refuse him.
Soon after I got home from our movie date my bedroom phone rang. It was Marianne of course, just delivered to her house by Jeff.
"Wasn't that wonderful, JayCee, running into those two boys. Are all the boys in the senior class that nice? And handsome?"
"No, Marianne. But lots are. Why are you so excited now about two more guys in your life. You were one yourself not long ago, remember?"
"One thing at a time, JayCee. First, Jeff wants to take me to the RamaRama concert a week from Saturday. He's got tickets! JayCee, no one can get tickets to that concert, not for weeks now! I told him Yes! I'm so excited! Can I borrow that embroidered jumper of yours? I'm sure it would fit, maybe it would be a little short, but for a concert that's fine, and with a boy like Jeff, better than fine. Or would you go shopping with me to help me buy something like it?"
I checked and doublechecked the calendar in my head, then looked at the one on my desk.
"Marianne, slow down. Listen carefully. You accepted a date with Jeff for a week from Saturday?"
"Yes. Is there something about him I should know?"
"No. Something about yourself. The previous Wednesday you and your mother will be registering for the Fall term at the High School. As what? That's when our agreement ends. You'll have tried out what it's like to be a girl, in order to make up your own mind which you prefer."
"So?"
"So?" I mimicked her. "You sound as if you've made up your mind."
"JayCee, how can I ever go back to being Marion? Jeff knows where I live. He thinks he knows who I am. He thinks I'm a girl. So does your mother. And you know something, so do I, most of the time these days. It's *so* much more fun!"
"Marianne, listen to me. Do you want to be Marion in school?"
"I'd thought that was what I wanted. I mean, playing Marianne for the summer was a good idea, certainly, but.... Well, if all the kids think that's who I am, I can't be anyone else, can I?"
"No, you can't. But Marianne can disappear, and Marion can replace her. Who'd suspect foul play? This is a small town. Decision time. Who would you rather be?"
"JayCee" -- she was still playing hard to get to decide -- "I have more fun as Marianne. I look more like Marianne. With you I feel more like Marianne. As Marianne, I felt like kissing Jeff goodnight just now, so I did. It was so sweet, JayCee! Don't worry, only on the cheek. But how could I do that as Marion?"
"Talk it over with your Mom."
Now her voice changed. I realized that she'd been riding the high wave of her excitement over dating Jeff, a charmer and the class President, a kind of signature on her success as a girl. But all the while, she knew there were serious things going on.
"I did talk with my Mom, JayCee. She says I can date boys through the first term, and enlarge my circle of friends among the girls in the class. I can giggle and be one of the girls easily now, ever since the modeling class, thanks to you, and I'm sure I'll get on fine with the other girls. The other girls, JayCee, that's how I feel about them."
"Marion never had a social life, and never will, he's so self-conscious about his body. You were right all along, JayCee. I love being Marianne. I really have no choice anymore anyhow. But if being Marianne doesn't work out, my Mom says, we'll move again to another school at mid year. If it does work out, then I'll be Marianne through the whole of next year, and that'll mean through college and for life. I like the idea."
"You've helped me wonderfully, JayCee. I hope you still will. Now I know how to make love to a girl because of you, and how girls can make love to each other. I know how to satisfy boys with my mouth and my ass, and how to satisfy my mind by making them jump through hoops too if I feel like it. I know how to tell boys not to use my pussy because I'm not on the pill (even though I am), but that if they want to push into my ass I'd love it. And I do. I do love it. So will they too, I expect. Marianne hasn't got a pussy for them to lick, the way you do, but you can't have everything, and there's really no choice any more."
"Think about it. The way I move and talk, and the things I like talking about these days, how can I ever be a boy again? I'd look and sound like the most flaming nancy anyone ever saw. And with tits? I'd be a real freak! You made the point weeks ago, but I didn't want to believe it them. I've got no choice." She paused. "JayCee, will you lend me that jumper? Please? Or else come shopping with me?"
"Come over tomorrow, and we'll try it on you," I said. "But while we're on the topic, will you take one more word of advice?"
"As many as you have, JayCee."
"After the concert, you should try to swallow all of it when he cums. Boys like that. For them it's kind of like cumming inside you. I don't know if you ever did blow Ronnie all the way or if you mostly let him cum only when he was fucking Mary Fist, but that's the way it is with boys like Jeff."
"I appreciate that, JayCee. I really do. Thank you."
A half hour later Jane called to thank me as well, and to find out how she should address her firm's letter of congratulations to me on my being granted a four year full scholarship to any college of my choice. And to ask my opinion about various ways to set up the trust fund, before she spoke to my folks about it. Part way through, she started crying. So did I. And ten minutes later, neither of us had managed to stop crying, so we said we'd talk together again real soon and hung up.
VIII.
Well, our two Senior years went about how you'd expect. We saw a lot of each other, as girls will, and double-dated sometimes, but we each had our own separate lives to get on with too. I got into interscholastic Brain Trust competitions, and wiped up the floor with competing teams from lots of other different high schools, not because I knew more than they did, but because I knew how to look at the boys on the other teams when they thought they knew more -- sometimes an injured look, sometimes furious, I could always tell what would fluster them. I won a Thousand Dollar Scholarship from the competition's sponsors for the highest scores in the All-State division, but that was scarcely noticeable when it went into the trust fund Jane set up for me. I got good grades, but that's never been a problem for me, and I got into just the right kind of college too, and I'm about to graduate this year. But wait, I'll get there.
My sex life that last Senior year also went the way you'd expect. I enlarged the number of guys I had on my string, and they kept me plenty satisfied. Five of them earned rear end privileges that year. I took in guys with wealthy parents and big allowances, who bought me the nicest presents whenever I gave them the opportunity, and took me to terrific shows and concerts. Gradually I refined my ways of dealing with them, and even now they appreciate it when I give them a call and let them do things for me.
I finally allowed two real dolts to fuck me properly in the cunt, the way Marianne had done it with her little clit when she took my virginity. I could let them because they were both big, tough, and nasty, so it was easy for me to threaten each of them with quick retribution from the other if he ever said anything about me and word got around. It was OK. Guys are guys, I decided, no big deal.
Way better were my sessions with Marianne. She was so sweet! So all- girl! Somehow, whatever we ever did together, go to the beauty parlor, cheer the hunks at a football game, shop, check out a movie or a concert, share our homework assignments, we always ended up in bed together, and it was always just lovely. Toward the end, I got a feeling that Marianne was less passionate than I was, even a little absent-minded when we were making love. But my own desires more than made up for it!
Marianne looked like she was having a blast, and it turned out she was. She auditioned for the role of Viola in our class play, Shakespeare's *Twelfth Night*, Viola being a girl who pretends to be a boy, usually played by a boy actor in SHakespeare's time, only Marianne was a boy no longer pretending to be a girl but pretending to be a boy. She got a standing ovation -- no one had ever seen as dainty and feminine a girl become as noble and gallant a gentleman, and then change back again. She dated Jeff a few times more, and they really looked like an Item for Keeps, but one sad evening she told him she wasn't really ready for him, and she started dating lots of other guys. Lots. I lost count. Ronnie told me they still saw each other now and then, I figured probably for the same reasons we still saw each other, for the sake of old times and present friendship.
But Jeff was her date for her Senior Prom after all, and just as her mother had wanted, it was magical for her. He'd carried the torch for her the whole time, all through that year, and when he asked her late that Spring, he looked so sorrowful, she told me, she had to accept. I remember her well, the specially chosen date of the President of the Senior Class making her grand entrance on his arm. She was radiant. True, she wasn't voted Queen of the Prom, but as Jeff's date she got to crown the Prom Queen, a twit we all knew was already pregnant by the son of the local bookmaker. She did it as if she herself were made of whipped cream, parfait, and air, and no one looked at the Queen. Wherever Marianne went in her floating white gown, that night she seemed suspended from the heavens.
That night was Jeff's night too. She told me that Jeff's prick was even bigger than Ronnie's, and a lot fatter, she knew that from blowing him after the RamaRama concert, and that she wanted to make his Prom night with her unforgettable. She owed him so much. He had been her first real crush, one of the most important reasons why she had become what she was, and she couldn't ever forget it. So during the weeks preceding their big night together we worked systematically to enlarge Marianne's rosebud, with bigger and bigger butt plugs, and before she started to get dressed for her Prom -- she looked absolutely angelic, have I mentioned that? -- we gave her four successive enemas, so she would be clean and sweet for him. And she was.
She danced every dance, with Jeff more than with any other guy, but also with lots of the guys she'd dated during the year, who kept coming back to her the way mine did when I'd let them. For Marianne though, that night, Jeff was special. When the dance ended at two in the morning we all went together to Burger Bob's, and then afterward we each went withour dates our own separate ways.
I was feeling nostalgic, and arranged to play Show and Tell with two utterly straight arrows I wanted to see blow each other before my high school years ended -- my date and another girl's date, a girl who bet me I couldn't get either of them to do it, and who thereby lost a double forfeit. They looked beautiful, 69ing together on the grass with their eyes tight shut, like hungry nursing infants. The other guy's date, the girl who lost her bet with me, was just amazed to watch my techniques as I persuaded them to go ahead and suck each other off. As tuition alone she got her money's worth
But Marianne's was the real romantic adventure. As she told me afterward, at four in the morning when the early dawn light in the sky was just enough visible to keep the street lamps from seeming lonely, she and Jeff parked on High Ridge Hill and looked down on all the gleaming and twinkling lights of the city below. Marianne blew Jeff twice, and the second time when they kissed, he sipped his own semen from her lips, lost in a delicious erotic trance. Then he wanted desperately to do something for her, anything, as she knew he would. So she bent way over in the car seat, on her back with her legs high in the air, and with what she later described as an imaginary blare of trumpets, Jeff entered her rear with his enormous cock. She was absolutely rapturous, telling me about it a few days later, when she could again think about it without choking up for joy. He fucked her for nearly an hour before she came finally into her Kotex pad, delerious with pleasure for the last half-hour of it and hoarse from screaming, and then finally he came deep inside her. They solemnly traded class rings, which was just as well as a gesture Marianne told me, because their fingers were each the same size and the rings were identical. She had stars in her eyes the whole time, Marianne said, and when she got home and woke up the following afternoon, she found her mother had already pressed her corsage into the family Bible. It was perfect!
We went to different colleges that fall, and we stayed in touch during the next few years. Marianne majored in business to prepare herself to take over some of her mother's spinoff companies, and she means to do just that now that she's graduating. I majored in psychology, developmental psych because I wanted to know everything that's known about bringing people from one concept of themselves to another, and abnormal because as I already knew, people's kinks are their most interesting features, the ones where they find their greatest joys, and I wanted to teach them how to accept them. The world could do with more more accepting of oddity.
IX.
Not long ago I returned home for the Easter break just before graduation from college. I'd already been admitted for graduate training in Clinical Psychology, and decided to specialize in gender identity transformation, a core area of concern to me. It seemed to me that there's an enormous need for specialists to help men convert to become the women they wish to be, or women the men. My own experience with Marianne I found was in no way unique. But I had an idea I wanted to float past Jane. I had plans for the future, and I wanted to see if she was interested in a partnership.
It was old home week. I ran into Ronnie almost immediately -- he'd tried different things and had finally become a hairdresser, with his massive, muscled physique the most fashionable and successful one in town. He smiled wickedly when he told me that two of his seven employees, his cute little manicurist and his vivacious curling assistant, were both really boys under their short-skirted smocks and impeccable makeup, and that in fact they were going steady with each other. We chatted about different people we'd known. I asked him about Petey, and Ron shook his head. "Petey never straightened himself out," Ronnie said. "He went with a couple of tops like me for a while, then with an s/m motorcycle gang, and lately he's taken up with a little girl way below the age of consent. He says he prefers her to anyone he's ever met, because she doesn't boss him around. But the FBI are already watching him, and I don't think that relationship has a future."
A pity, I thought, and Ronnie agreed. And what of Marianne? I hadn't seen her for several years.
Ronnie brightened. "JayCee, I thought you knew. We're going steady, in a way. We're even thinking we might get engaged. Marianne often comes home to learn more about taking over a big chunk of his mother's business. I see him all the time. Didn't he write you?"
"No," I said. "Marianne didn't write me. Why do you call her 'he' when you speak of her? You're thinking about an engagement? To each other? I'm confused."
Ronnie moved to the edge of the streetcorner where we'd just run into each other. "I have to go. Why don't you phone ahead, then show up for cocktails this afternoon at Marianne's mother's house. He's home from college just before graduation, just like you. I know they'll both be overjoyed to see you. They always speak of you with love and respect and admiration, even a little awe. And Jane mentioned you need to talk business with her anyow, isn't that so?"
I did. But Ronnie and Marianne, a couple? This was bewildering! Had Marianne reverted back to being a boy?
When I came to the front door, there was Marianne looking as beautiful as ever. We immediately fell into each other's arms and hugged each other, and kissed each other with deep affection, immediately back in our old relationship. It was so wonderful! It was as if years and separate lives had never come between us, and there we were about to complete our last year in High School all over again.
"My dearest JayCee! Do come in! Mom'll be here shortly -- she stepped out only a minute ago. We've got so much to tell each other!" Our cheeks were wet, and Marianne's eyes were as brimfull as mine, pools of mascara beginning to flow from them as she pulled me into the house and sat me down in the kitchen, in the very same chair where nearly five years earlier I'd discussed her transformation with her mother. I'm sure my face looked a mess too, but it was a terribly moving moment for both of us. We couldn't let go of each other, or stop kissing each other's cheeks and hair.
When I could recover. I just looked at her. "Marianne, you haven't changed at all. You look just the same."
"And you too, JayCee! It's so good to see you haven't really changed either! Despite how you do your hair now. That's lovely too, incidentally!"
"But you've changed in other ways, just a little, haven't you, Marianne? When we were still close, you were dating straight men, the prize studs in our high school And delighted to be the attractive girl you'd decided to become."
She nodded, still looking so very pleased to see me she seemed scarcely to be listening.
"Now Ronnie tells me you two are thinking of getting engaged?"
She smiled her half-smile, and nodded.
"That's wonderful news, but a little puzzling. I'm sure you know that. Everything I've learned tells me that physical sex can be changed surgically, and gender identity sometimes, as in your case, but sexual preferences rarely. Maybe never. Isn't Ronnie still gay? Gay, and planning to marry a gorgeous woman like you? How can that be? He'd never marry just to go stealth with his homosexuality. He's proud of it."
Marianne looked at me with kindly affection.
"This may shock you, JayCee, but I know you'll understand. I haven't changed. I'm not a woman. I've never been a woman. That summer we met I was a boy with tits, and now deep in my heart I'm a man with tits."
I stared at her speechless.
"I'm gay, JayCee. Like Ronnie. And I'm proud of it too. My mother never knew it. I didn't know it when you started teaching me how to become a girl, a woman, the woman I seem to be even now. But I knew it soon after that last year of High School began, and I accepted it, and I've never looked back. I don't really regret it. I am what I am. It's been just wonderful! It will be for the rest of my life, I just know it."
I tried to smile with her. I was happy for her. She was happy, and she always looked especially beautiful when she was happy, and she looked especially beautiful. She? Ronnie had called her "he." And she had just called herself a man. A man with tits. A man with tits in a beautifully cut Chanel type suit and a silk, scoop-necked blouse. And diamond drop earrings. And trim, elegant 3" heels.
She saw me looking her up and down, struggling with this revelation.
"That time I made it with you as a man was nice, JayCee, and I appreciate what you did for me that day especially, and that I was your first man where it mattered, and all. I'll never forget it. And we've had some beautiful times together, making love as women. But Ronnie really opened me out to what I am, that time by your swimming pool. And then that night with Jeff after the concert, our first date, when dawn came and I was still making love to his cock, and couldn't stop myself, and he was still able to get hard and cum in my mouth yet again, as I so wanted him to do -- I didn't understand it. I couldn't come near him without feeling my own cock start to drool."
"It was hopeless, of course. Jeff is as straight as a man can be, which is why he was attracted to me in the first place, and even fell in love with me, a little. I did try to cool it with him and take up other guys. All through that last year, with lots of other guys. And I loved sex with them, the same way I love it with Ronnie. I used your line about saving your cunt for the father of your children, and I used them to pleasure me the way you use men, but I didn't love any of them. If anyone, I loved Jeff. I truly loved Jeff."
"That's only natural, Marianne. You were a girl. A woman. Women love men."
"No, JayCee, just listen. Women love men. But so do gay men. I loved Jeff as a gay man. That Prom night is still the happiest night of my life. I was back with Jeff one last time, kissing and sucking and licking him the way I'd always wanted ever since we first met at the movies and he first walked me home. I wanted to eat him up. It was just marvelous! And then when finally I was ready, and had to have him, for the first time to feel his meat crammed deep into me, to feel him pump his juices deep into me -- heaven! And when he fell asleep in my arms as dawn came on High Ridge Hill, and the sun rose and woke him, and I looked at his face and held him all the while he slept? Ecstasy! Beyond belief! He's the man I was born for, JayCee. His is the penis destined to enter my vagina, if I had one, and it's his sperm I'd want to have share in the creation of my children, if I could have any."
"But it can't be. I knew instinctively, from the very beginning, that all the wishing in the world would never get him interested in me if I weren't a girl. Even when he was walking me home, that first time, when you first introduced him to me, I knew it. Only a girl can ever get close to him. That's how he is. And really, that's why I agreed to start High School as a girl that summer. Then we started getting really serious, and I knew if we went much further he would have to find out about me, I knew that he'd hate me for deceiving him. And that would break both our hearts. I knew then that I had to break off with him. I cried for days when I realized that. But I did it. Except for Prom night, our one last glorious fling into a fantasy fulfillment of what might have been."
"Anyhow, that's why I was such a slut for so much of that year, JayCee. After Jeff, I felt sheer delight that I'd discovered I love boys, and love being fucked by boys, and love pleasing them and being pleasured by them! I'm gay, JayCee, and probably always have been but never knew it. I know it now. And I'm not ashamed to say so."
Marianne's confession -- Marion's? -- confounded me utterly. I stared at the gorgeous girl in front of me, my dearest friend from that summer, my own creation in a way, the reason I'd been able to go to the smart college I'd chosen, and meet so many wealthy potential clients, and plan the career for which I was preparing myself. I was speechless, and could barely splutter out, "Wait a minute, Marianne, just wait. You say you're gay? You mean you're not a girl, you're a boy who likes other boys?"
She -- no, he -- was patient with me. "That's right, JayCee. And I'm really, truly indebted to you for helping me find that out."
"I did? But Marianne, I was teaching you how to be a girl. And teasing you into being a girl. And persuading you how much better it is, being a girl. None of that took?"
She -- he -- she -- smiled that absolutely darling half-smile again, wry yet knowing, with that narrow sidelong glance I knew had caused stumbling in corridors and drooling in lots of pants all through our Senior year.
"Oh, a lot of it took, JayCee. And you were right. It's a lot better being a girl. I've been willing to let my Mom change my sex to "Female" on my school records, and my birth certificate, and so on. I've gone to college as a girl. I mean to marry as a girl, and live in some respectable neighborhood as a girl. As you see, I still dress like a girl, and I'm deeply grateful you taught me how. But deep down I'm a boy. Always have been. I could never fool myself about that. I tried to be a girl, but I really had no choice in the matter. My gender is "man". And my sexual preference is "other men." I love other men. Some of them, anyhow."
I was still baffled!. "But, Marianne! Marion! But John Wayne, for goodness sake! If you're not a girl and you've got no choice in the matter, why are you still dressed like one, and still living like one? Why haven't you changed back?"
She leaned forward and took my two hands in hers. Or he did in his. "For two reasons, JayCee. I figured you'd be smart enough to see them without me telling you, but I guess this is a real blow to you. Anyhow, one reason is what you proved to me that first day by your swimming pool. With my big boobs and my little cock, and my shape and my face after all those hormones Mom fed me, I had no future as a boy. It's easy for me to pass as a girl, but there's no way I can pass as a man. Mom meant well, and she meant to lock me in. And she did."
"But I don't feel imprisoned in a girl's body. I like looking like a girl. It's fun! It's so much more free than being a man! I don't want to change back. Ah, I can see now by your face you've just suddenly realized why I don't want to change back! You just caught on, huh?" He grinned at me conspiratorially.
I was amazed! I grinned back, and then stood up and came around the table and impulsively hugged him. "You sly creature you!" I said, looking him in the face, delighted. "You clever boy, I mean! It's so obvious! Looking the way you do, dressed the way you do, you don't need to go searching for other like-minded gay men when you want sex or companionship! You can date anyone, and looking the way you do when you're all dolled up, you really can date anyone at all! You can sleep with any man you can get into bed with you, straight or crooked! You can stuff your mouth or your ass with any cock in America, if that's what pleases you and you can please whoever's attached to it."
Marianne's grin broadened even more. "You've got it, JayCee! Looking like a girl, with everyone thinking that's what I am, my grazing grounds are the whole male population. Most of them low risk as far as AIDS goes, with a huge range of compatible interests and temperaments to choose from. And you taught me how boys really want to do what girls want anyhow, and how to get them to do it, so it's no trick for me to get a guy into bed with me if I like him. And then to get him to please me any way I want him to."
I was highly amused by this realization. "And I'll bet I know what you tell them when they want to fuck your pussy, and instead you offer them your ass."
Marianne glanced at me sideways again, still grinning. "That's right! And I really am saving it for the man I love and will one day marry. I can marry a man now, you know. Legally." She stood up and posed, placed her whole body on display, arms extended, the way we'd been taught. "And after I'm married, I can always get a vagina installed surgically if my husband wants me to have one. Though Ronnie says he's happy with me the way I am."
We had gotten to it.
"Yes," I said. "Ronnie's a sweet boy and all that, Marianne. But we both know that he has certain ... limits, as a companion for someone as clever as you are. You could have your pick of the whole straight or gay population, it seems. Why Ronnie?"
"JayCee, I can't pick from the straight population except for one- nighters or brief affairs. I'm not a transsexual, a man who feels he's a woman and wants to be treated like one, and perhaps live with a man. I'm gay, a man who finds it convenient to look like a woman, inescapable really, but who wants to live with a man. Ronnie's the only man who knows this. He's so wonderfully understanding. He's there for me whenever I need him. I adore him! And he loves me, too! He's even letting me sow all the wild oats I want, until I'm ready to settle down, whenever that happens. I guess I should say, he's letting me encourage all the men I find attractive to sow their wild oats in me. And it happens that after all, I did save my pussy for the man I may most likely marry. As you know, Ronnie really was my first."
"We've exchanged little tokens, and we think it'll happen some day, but there's no hurry. And it's convenient for Ronnie, too. He's never been flamboyant about being homosexual, not since you started him with Petey, way back. Not too many people outside this town know about him. And once we're married there'll be no reason for anyone ever to know. We can both seem utterly respectable to the outside world. We both find that prospect amusing."
Marianne went into the living room and started mixing cocktails for both of us, Margaritas with salt frosting on the rim of the glass. He then carried them back into the kitchen and we sat there sipping them. The kitchen seemed more familiar, more intimate ground. I complimented him on his lovely outfit, and he complimented me on my hair again. I'd finally decided to wear it straight, cropped at earlobe length, with bangs, blow-dried but nothing else. A 1920's flapper style. No more Betty Grable. He smiled, and asked me if I'd been waving my ass at very many men in college the way I waved at him when we first met. I was about to tell him no, and why, when his mother walked in, and looked at me disbelieving.
"JayCee! That *is* you! It seems like years! It *is* years!" We practically shouted our joy at seeing each other. And we rushed into each other's arms and hugged as close as we could. "Jane! It *has* been too long! Much too long!"
When our delight had calmed down, and we'd asked all the usual questions, and exulted together in each other's triumphs in the interim since we'd last met, the ones we knew about, a key question occurred to me.
"Jane, you remember one of the reasons you gave me in this very kitchen for why we have Marianne with us today, and not Marion, was that that you wanted to thwart your husband, and maybe spite him too? Whatever happened with him?"
Jane and Marianne glanced at each other and broke out laughing. Marianne leaned forward, eager to tell me, but Jane touched his arm. "No, let me. It was my plan, after all!" Marianne assented, just barely.
"It was later than we'd expected, only a year ago last January. He'd been busy stirring up misery and discord in other parts of the world I suppose, but finally he served notice that he'd be coming here, ready to pull Marion out of college and take him into his company and teach him the ways of the world, and that Marion should pack his things and stand ready. He had his lawyer deliver the message to forestall my throwing up barriers. I suppose he'd lost track of the years, and it didn't occur to him that Marion was over 18, no longer a minor, and could now make decisions about his own life whatever our original divorce agreement."
"Well, it was then that Marion and Ronnie were first talking about perhaps getting engaged, and that gave us an idea. I wrote that bastard inviting him to dinner on New Year's Day, to discuss arrangements for shipping Marion's things to him if Marion wanted to go, and for him to explain to Marion what he had in mind, and to explain it to Marion's fiance -- I told him Marion was now engaged, and he would need to speak to the two of them. That's 'fiance' with one 'e' not two, the French word for an engaged man, not 'fiancee,' the word for a woman. So I was scrupulously honest with him, as well as thoroughly deceitful. But he's an ignoramous as well as a snake, and I suppose he never noticed.
"Marion came home from college especially to take part in this reunion with his father, and Ronnie was invited as his fiance. Marion bought himself an especially lovely dress to wear, all tulle and lace and chiffon, and I must say, dear you looked exquisite. Like a fairy princess! And Ronnie got himself a new dinner jacket to wear, because nothing he owned fit properly once he began pumping iron in earnest for the statewide Mr. Muscle contest. I must say, he looked great, as if he were built out of granite. He took second place, you know."
"Third, mother," Marion interrupted. "He deserved first, but the entire board of judges had just been fucked in their singular and collective asses by the first and second place winners, and I suppose the board felt an obligation to reward them. Ronnie'd been invited to join in and make it a gang bang, but I'd told him to decline."
"Anyhow," Jane resumed, "When Ronnie's father showed up, he was more vicious than ever. He thought Ronnie was his son, of course, because Ronnie looked overwhelmingly like the man in the family, and he then took over the conversation so we couldn't correct him. His real son, my gay transvestite daughter over here, gave him the most affectionate daughterly kiss, as was his due, but he merely wiped it off while admiring Ronnie's physique and saying how proud he felt to have sired it. He then made insulting remarks about women in general, and me and Marianne in particular. Finally he looked directly into Marion's eyes, our dear little fairy princess here, his son, sitting there as demure as right now, in her pretty dress and fresh-from-the-salon hairdo, and that son of a bitch had the gall to advise Ronnie -- his son, supposedly -- to break off the engagement, because she didn't look fit even to suck cock."
"At that Marion piped up with a flat denial. He said that he was as fit as any girl or any man at sucking cock. He had sucked hundreds of them, and was ready to be put to the test. He said he hoped some day to be as good at it as Ronnie was. Well, this addled my ex a bit, who turned to Ronnie, and asked what she meant, his supposed fiancee. Ronnie said, 'Sit down and we'll show you.'
The miserable prick of a man sat down, and Ronnie and Marion immediately handcuffed his hands to the chair behind him, and his legs to the chair legs.
Then before the shit's horrified eyes, Ronnie lifted Marion's skirt and dipped under it while Marion unzipped Ronnie's fly, and in another moment the two of them were slurping and humping away on each other, sprawled over the couch. They deep throat each other now, you know, so it was a moment or two before all the cloth and crinoline was to one side, and that vicious animal could see that there were two dicks involved, that they were cocksucking each other. He could't see Marion's at all at first -- it *is* rather small. 'Marion,' he called out to Ronnie, 'Take your mouth away from that filthy woman's cunt this instant! Real men don't lap a woman's pussy! Disgusting! Women are here on earth to serve us, not the other way around!'"
"'Sorry, Dad,' Marion said, with his beautiful lipsticked mouth sliding up and down Ronnie's long cock, pausing to lick it now and then. 'I knew you felt that way, so Ronnie and I decided to leave women out of our lovemaking altogether. Disgusting creatures, women. Except for Mom, of course. Ready to cum, Ronnie?' Ronnie answered from deep inside Marion's muff, 'Ready!' and then the two of them spritzed their goo all over each other's faces. And then rearranged themselves and stood up.
"Then Marion stepped over to his father and said, 'Welcome to the family gene pool, Dad. I'm your son. Ronnie here's my fiance, maybe. Here's how to tell us apart. We're different. Taste us.' And then he wiped some of his own cum off Ronnie's face with his hand, and smeared it on his father's mouth, and then Ronnie's cum off his own face, and did the same. 'See?' he said."
"Then we left that miserable shit there and went back into the dining room for desert and coffee. When we went back out to see how he was doing, he wasn't there. Neither was the chair. It turned out later he'd gotten a hand and a leg loose, and managed to drive to a police station, where he claimed that his son who was dressed like a woman and his son's ponce who looked like Arnold Schwartzenegger had handcuffed him and then sucked each other's cocks and then subjected him to unspeakable perversions. Well, the cops know that handcuffs on a civilian mean bondage and domination games, and cum on the face means only one thing when bondage and domination's involved, so they charged him with sodomy and other unnatural acts and threw him into the clink. His lawyer got him out, and advised him to jump bail and never return to the State. We're rid of him."
"Can you stay for dinner, JayCee? I promise you, no cocksucking unless you really want to."
I told Jane sure, and the three of us together started to prepare dinner. For a moment I thought I was hallucinating, that there were three women in the kitchen cutting and chopping and lining the broiler pan. That's what I saw, and that's what we were at that moment. It was a lovely moment. Marion may have felt himself to be unalterably a man, but he had all the virtues and graces of a woman. All of the easy superiority. I guess I'd taught him well.
Jane asked me what I was planning to do when I graduated. I'd left her that message about some kind of partnership, she said, and she'd like to hear more.
So I told her. After graduate work and licensing I mean to set up as a professional sex therapist. It seemed to me to be the life'e work I was destined to perform. I meant to specialize in gender conversions. Sometimes of a husband at a wife's request, if she wants control over her husband's will, or his money, or is just plain kinky. Or at a man's mistress's request, for her own reasons. Sometimes at a man's request, if he has the money to indulge a secret desire to be a woman, or to look like a women. That's often all they want, usually, the guys I've worked with already, but if they look worth the effort I always see to it that they end up buffing their manicures in some secretarial pool somewhere, or wearing suits with short skirts and pantyhose and cutting deals in whatever their former business, out in the open as women with their manhood lost and gone and irretrievable. I told Jane I wanted to offer a complete service, with fashion consultants living with them, for example, until they can manage their new lives as women altogether on their own.
Jane thought I was thinking too narrowly. Why not open a chain of therapeutic clinics where men who wish to be feminized, humiliated, or dominated by women may have their wishes fulfilled for a fee covered by routine medical insurance. Replace the amateur dommes who dominate the market with well-trained and seasoned professionals. Franchised mental health clinics are already everywhere, she pointed out. Franchised sexual fulfillment clinics of all kinds may well be only just over the next horizon.
We talked about it, and new ideas emerged. Chains of different kinds of Gender Change Clinics. "Femme Incorporated" for example could be for genuine transsexuals and for dominant women who want to place their men permanently under them, offering a one-stop service from the necessary psychological counselling through cosmetic modifications such as beard electrolysis, all the way to Sex Reassignment Surgery. Then there were other services we could offer. The "TLC" or "Tough Love Corporation" could set up franchised dungeons around the country, to train husbands and wives how to achieve the most meaningful relationships available to them, and offer a full line of whips, chains, leather goods, rubber and vinyl, stocks, and other apparatus under the "TLC" rubric.
There were other possibilities, too. Jane said she was ready to commit to a partnership just as soon as I had the necessary professional credentials, in another two or three years, because she had no doubt whatever that I would succeed at something like this. Meanwhile, she would look into the advantages over a partnership of issuing Stock and going to the public for the necessary capital. We decided we would make an excellent team, with me in charge of the gender change services themselves, and Jane managing the business end. We shook hands on it.
Conversation then relaxed, and I decided to share with the two of them an observation I'd made only a couple of years earlier. I had realized that the best part of my sex with Marianne had been that it was sex with a woman, or at least with someone I thought was becoming a woman. I had found that men were far too easy, too easily manipulated. The main reason why it's more desireable to be a woman than a man, I'd learned, is simple. Women are more desireable than men. Just as Marianne had learned that she's gay, I'd learned during the past few years that I'm by preference a lesbian. I've used men, I commented, but I can't say I've enjoyed them as men. Both Marianne and I have probably been homosexual since birth, I pointed out, though it takes a while to find out things like that, and meanwhile we do a lot of things we think we're choosing to do, even though we're not really.
"Really," Jane said, looking at me with new respect. Suddenly she broke off and stood up, and turned her back to me and went to the kitchen window and looked out, down the street back toward our house, where she'd first seen me waggle my ass at her son by way of introduction, five years ago. "You know, after Marion's father left me, and good riddance, I was so turned off men I lost all interest in them. I tried one or two, and I still mean to do so, especially when Marion's entry into the firm gives me more free time. But mainly, I've been bringing home more women. I prefer sex with women now. Women are so much more...sensuous, if you know what I mean. More sensually aware, more artful. More tender and caring. Men are crude. It seems almost demeaning now for me to have sex with men." She seemed a bit embarrassed by that confession. "I think we must be about ready to serve dinner now."
I stood to help carry out dishes and help set the table, and I looked at Jane with renewed interest. "I know what you mean," I said. "How interesting that you feel that way too. I mean about men. About dinner too, of course."
I looked her over more carefully. She was still trim, a slender woman with clear smooth skin, and she still had nice curves top front and bottom rear. Previously it had seemed to me that she moved like a dancer or at least an aerobics instructor, but now for some reason she also reminded me of a cat. She saw me checking her out, and she looked back at me, and smiled.
"Yes, isn't it," she said. "No 'stuff' between us, ever, JayCee? Same as before, five years ago?" I nodded, and held out my hand, same as before, and she started to take it but instead began to hug me, same as before, and I hugged her. She smiled even more broadly at me. We both started to giggle, then to laugh, still looking steadily into each other's eyes. I'm sure mine started to gleam, and I know hers did.
"What's so funny?" Marianne asked, looking from one to the other of us.
"You wouldn't understand," I told him. "You'd have to be a woman to understand!"
Copyright © 1997,1998,2000,2009 by Vickie Tern. May be archived and single-copied, not sold.
Vickie [email protected]
Authors foreword: Everything here is fictional except the Web Site cited. Log on to it or this story only if of age, and only at your own risk.
And meanwhile, a happy and deeply satisfying New Year to all of you!
I think you should know how my signing on with you has changed my life. I know I'm happier now by far, but that isn't up to me any more. My girlfriend now owns me and she's so satisfied with me that finally she has decided to marry me. But ours hasn't exactly been a typical romance. I'd better tell you about it.
I've always enjoyed imagining what it would be like to be a girl, to look as pretty and dress the way girls do. I've downloaded lots of stories about it from the Net. But I've never had the courage to try it myself, not even to try on a pair of panties. The thought always got me trembling. My urges got so powerful they frightened me -- I couldn't tell where they'd lead. That's why I joined up immediately when I saw your web site instructing me how to become a virtual girl. It was fun obeying your orders, and pretending I was doing all those feminine things, and then reading your encouraging messages.
Well, it happens that a couple of months ago I was reading where you explain to sissies how to please their men by sucking their cocks, when suddenly I heard my girlfriend's voice just behind me.
"Oh, my!" she said. "How fascinating! But you read so slowly, Andy! Scroll down so I can see which they advise you to do first, lick the pre-cum off the tip of the man's cock or just take the whole head into your mouth! Which do you do?"
I was shocked! Never so embarrassed in my life! There behind me was my girlfriend Kate calmly reading the screen over my shoulder! How long had she been there?! What must she think of me!? That would never have happened last year when she was still doing office work, and wore perfume and clicked around all day on heels. I always knew when she was home, from her scent and her sound. But then she finished her nursing degree and took that job in that downtown clinic, and now between her rubber-soled shoes and her silent ways she could be anywhere! Like, just behind me!
"Is this what you dream about when you're not working?" she asked. "Becoming a girl? Tell me, sweetie, right now is that what you are in your own mind? If that what you want to be? Do you want to wear pretty clothes, and look cute, so boys will like you? I mean even when you aren't giving them head?"
"I e-mailed a long report in this afternoon," was all I could think to say. "My boss says he's happy with it. I thought I'd just look around a little," I finished vaguely. My face was flushed deep red because now the screen was illustrating the best ways to slide your bright red lips up and down a cock so a man will cum in your mouth.
"Let's see what this place is, what the web site is where you like to just look around a little."
Before I could reach for an off-switch she leaned over and took the mouse and began clicking her way back and forth through the whole Sissify web site. I just sat there, humiliated. There was no escaping even the name, "Sissify." That is what it was for. For feminizing men. She glanced at medical papers on hormones and stories about wives and girlfriends converting men into their sisters or whores and different domineering women demanding that their sissies wear panties and brassieres all the time and pictures of men fully dressed as women with real breasts and real cocks too, and many appreciative letters to the staff thanking them for their help. Now and then she glanced at me, a slight smile curling her mouth. In no time she'd seen it all.
"Well," she said. "Very interesting. I see you didn't just stumble into this garden of delights. You had to join up, didn't you, uh, 'Annie.' That's your screen name, isn't it, sweetheart? That's so sweet! You even had to fill out an elaborate questionnaire, didn't you? You really want this, don't you?"
She remembered something. "Did you remember to tell them how once you volunteered to rinse out my soiled undies, and I let you? I thought it was an odd offer at the time, and I wondered about you. Did you sniff them? Did you try on some of my prettier panties afterward?"
"No, I didn't dare." I had nothing else to say. I sat there clutching my hands in my lap. Nowhere to hide! I felt devastated!
"You didn't dare follow out your little urges? You wanted me to tell you to wear my panties?" Her voice was no longer mocking, but it had taken on an odd lilt.
I said nothing. That was what I wanted, yes.
"You know, Andy dear," she went on. "I've been thinking about your proposal to me, your wanting to marry me? I mean, we do live together and all, but I'd had no idea you felt that way toward me, that you wanted to spend the rest of your life with me and all. I was really deeply moved, Andy honey, really, and I've been looking very deeply into my own feelings and needs since then. Into what I want in a husband. But this puts a different color on a decision like that, doesn't it? It does make a difference."
I got frightened. "Kate, please!!" I said. I'd blown it! She'll never want to marry me now! Oh, God! "Kate, this isn't me!" I almost started to cry. "I've never done any of these things!"
"Why not?"
A surprising question. I turned to look behind me, and found I was looking straight into her eyes. They were quite serious, curious, not at all scornful. I couldn't answer her. Because I'm a real man, not a sissy? Because the idea scared me? Would pretending to be a woman scare a real man? Any answer declared that I was either a wannabe sissy or a pathetic wimp! So I said nothing.
There was one pathetic wimp in our circle we saw socially now and then, and I'd always felt sorry for him. In fact just the previous week Kate's best friend Claire had brought him to dinner with her -- they were married. Claire is a strong-minded, no-nonsense doctor where they both work, stunning and self-assured, and Wilmer looks to be her complete opposite -- he's good-looking enough, and well-built, but very quiet, even timid. I think he's an accountant. And Claire keeps him that way. Wilmer spoke up only twice all evening and she put him down both times, and he looked apologetic both times.
After they left we talked about mismatched couples. Kate thought Wilmer an interesting choice in a man for a dynamic woman like Claire. "She likes to be in charge, I suppose," she said. "There's something to say for that."
I thought so too. "I guess Claire likes wearing the pants. Or maybe she enjoys Wilmer so much from the waist down -- he looks pretty fit, physically -- that she doesn't mind any deficiencies higher up."
Kate started to say something about that, then lapsed silent.
But now, I thought, she's surely thinking I'm another Wilmer! Oh, God!
Suddenly she came around in front of me and pushed my keyboard to one side and turned and leaned her round rump onto the edge of my desk and then lifted up and sat down right where the keyboard had been. There just under my face was her crotch, covered by her tight jeans, the deep crease between her legs visible despite the heavy denim. Her labia may have been swollen the whole length of her slit. Was she excited about something? I couldn't take my eyes off that crease. Was the denim dark there, because she was a little wet?
Now her body was blocking the screen. "Never mind these games you like to play with your imagination," she said. "Let's see what you're really capable of doing. Do you really want to be my submissive sissy girl, Annie honey? To do everything I tell you? Let's say I want you to kiss my pussy, right there where you're staring? Would you want to?"
There was safety in honesty. "Yes."
"But would you do it? Kiss it just the way it is, just because I tell you to? I've had no shower all day, and there's sweat and who knows what other kinds of dried moisture down there, maybe even some pee that never got wiped away. And who knows what else right now." She wiggled her bottom on the desk a few times, tempting me.
I thought about it. We'd never done any oral sex, just a lick and a promise once, right after we'd both showered and gotten into bed. She didn't seem to want it, at least from me. So this was a test of some kind.
"Yes," I said.
"What if I've just been with another man, and haven't had time to clean myself up. Would you kiss me there anyhow? Like right now?"
Now she was playing with me. There haven't been any other men. There couldn't have been. "Have you been?" I asked.
"That's not the question. The question is, would you if I told you to? Now that you're worried, why don't you ask me to let you kiss my pussy? Are you afraid to ask, sissy girl!"
"Please, Kate," I blurted out desperately, trying to show her I was a man, not afraid to ask. "May I kiss your pussy?" There it still was, that magical crease curving down below her pelvic mound.
"Please, who?"
I thought a moment. I knew she was a quick study, and I couldn't be sure what she'd absorbed while she was surfing her way through "Sissify." So I went all out. "Please, Mistress Kate, may I kiss your beautiful cunt? Please?"
"Maybe," she replied.
She sounded as if she were enjoying this new teasing game. I didn't dare look up and break the spell. It isn't polite to look directly at your Mistress's face when you are being dominated.
"Annie, I don't think I want you to call me "Mistress," except maybe when I need to be strict with you. But you can't call me 'Kate' any more. It isn't respectful from a sissy-girl. "'Kate' is for an equal, for a boyfriend or a girlfriend. And you aren't my boyfriend right now, and you aren't my girlfriend either. Not yet. So you'd better call me 'Ms. Katherine' or 'Ma'am' until you're one or the other. Are you willing to serve me unquestioningly, Annie dear? To do everything I tell you? To be mine? For me to own you?"
I was absolutely entranced! This was too good to be true! Here was my actual girlfriend playing my favorite fantasy game, and I never knew she even knew about that kind of thing! Maybe we could stretch this out through the entire weekend? "Oh, Yes, Ms. Katherine!" I replied. I glanced quickly up, then shyly back down to her crotch again. She was indeed grinning broadly to herself, delighted about something, and from the gleam in her eyes I could see that her mind was racing away at a mile a minute! "Yes, Ma'am!," I repeated for emphasis.
"Everything? I mean it, Andy! I really mean it! Are you sure you don't want to back away!"
What could she have in mind? I didn't care! I was ecstatic! "Yes, Ms. Katherine."
"Then in token of your new servile status you may touch your nose and mouth to my pussy and sniff me once, and then kiss me through my jeans. Later maybe I'll let you smell my naked slit and lick up anything you find there, if you can prove you're really sincere, and if you do everything I ask. Not yet."
She paused for a moment. I could tell that all kinds of switches were closing on plans in her head. "Then, Annie dear, I want you to go up to our bedroom and strip yourself naked and wait for me to join you there. I need to make some arrangements down here before we continue with this."
I hesitated. Had she finished speaking?
"I should have known about this streak in you, Andy, or now you're 'Annie,' aren't you? But I can't say I've ever suspected it! Well! It couldn't be more convenient!"
I waited.
"Go on, go ahead! Hurry up! Kiss me, then upstairs quickly, and wait! I'll want to look through other files in this computer of yours, too, and see what else has been on your mind. I want to see what else you like to think constitutes the good life."
So I closed my eyes and leaned forward and nuzzled her crotch. The denim was in fact damp, with a faint end-of-day body odor, like perspiration, a little sour, and a little musky, but nothing specific. I pushed my face deep into her, then kissed her gently. She responded by pushing her pussy back into my face ever so slightly, just once, as if nodding in acknowledgement.
Then not daring to look at her again I stood up and ran out of the room, up into our bedroom, and I stripped down. I was still terribly embarrassed, but now also terribly excited, and I had this incredible boner, the biggest and hardest I've ever had! Nothing like this had happened between us in the whole time we'd been living together, nearly two years! It had started out as a pairing of convenience, I had the whole house and she had money to share the rent. Then it quickly become a bedding down of convenience too -- we liked each other and we got on, and we slept together whenever either of us wanted to. Then after a while it looked as if we were going steady. She had other friends, and I did too, and we had no specific understandings and made no exclusive claims on each other, but there we were. Little by little my other really intimate relationships dropped away. Kate worked long hours, days and nights sometimes, and she took a girl's night out with Claire or some other woman from work now and then, to unwind with them. But otherwise we'd become a close couple.
Not long ago I realized that I was in love with her. I couldn't stop thinking about her. She's tall, with smooth dark hair that just barely curls in to hug her neck above her shoulders, and huge eyes and wide cheekbones, always with a grave but gentle expression on her face, and she always moves gracefully, perfectly self-assured. She's everything feminine I'd ever wanted! And she has this positive way about her, touched with playfulness. I realized I'd do anything for her!
So I finally got up the nerve and asked her to marry me. I wanted us to go on forever. She'd never suggested to me that she felt the same way about me, but she listened to me carefully, I thought affectionately, and then quietly she'd told me she'd let me know. It might take some time, there were things she wanted to think about, she said, but her answer for now was not 'No' and I'd have to be content with that.
But now, I thought despairing as I sat on the bed naked, waiting for her, the odds for a 'Yes' had dropped to zero. My cock shrank down.
After a long half-hour, maybe more, she came into the bedroom. In between I heard her make a couple of phone calls, and mutter some things in a low voice, and share a laugh with someone at the other end once, someone female I figured because she finished the conversation squealing in delight and giggling about something I couldn't quite make out. I was sitting on the bed waiting for her as ordered. No big deal, we'd seen each other in the buff almost from the moment she moved in. It was a matter of convenience, two people living together and sleeping together and working odd hours.
She shut the door behind her. "I see you haven't learned some of the things I've learned while scanning your interesting little collection of smut. First of all, what does a sexual inferior say when he's been permitted to kiss his Lady's private parts? You came here without a word."
"Thank you, Ms. Katherine," I instantly replied, making a mental note never to forget that courtesy when we next got to play this game together.
"Do you know how to curtsy when you say that, sissy girl?"
I stood up and tried. Right foot back, hands at sides, bend the other knee, and bow. Or something like that.
"And how does a sissy await a Mistress when she's told him to wait for her?"
I immediately fell to my knees and pushed my forehead into the shag rug that covered the floor. My cock became hard again, crammed between my belly and my thighs.
"That's better," she said.
Then for ten more minutes, not a word from her. She went into her closet and rustled among the clothes hangers, and she opened a locked cabinet where she kept different things related to her work, and closed it again, and she hummed to herself for a minute or two, I imagined she was doing something that didn't require her full attention. I heard her sit down on the bed behind me, and I worried that now I was presenting my backside to her, high up in the air, mooning her. That didn't seem very respectful. But I didn't dare raise my head or change my position.
"Annie dear."
My penis gave a little leap at that, and I settled in to listen very carefully, eager to play the submissive some more with her!
"I told you before that I was going to test your sincerity. I mean really test it. What I have in mind is not a game, though I'm sure you still think it is. I hope you'll like the new relationship I have in mind, and that afterward you'll truly appreciate what I've done. If you do, we may even end up married after all!"
My heart bounded up at that, and I felt it beat powerfully inside me! Hope!
"But not everything a sissy girl ends up doing is necessarily what she expected or wanted to do in the first place, is it, Annie?"
"No, Ma'am," I muttered, my mouth muffled by the thick shag rug. My knees were grateful for that rug at the moment. Kate apparently had a plan now fully ripened in her mind. Did it include whipping, or torture? I wasn't into pain of any kind, as my knees already testified. I hoped not. It surely involved the entire weekend the way I'd hoped, because she'd said "afterward," and talked about how we'd "end up." Maybe even married!
"I saw from all those stories you read downstairs what turns you on. Not cruelty, but humiliation. You really want to feel yourself being transformed into a woman. Any of your usual manly pride or dignity has to be melted down, made to feel uncomfortable, even intolerable, so you'll be eager to collaborate with me as I reshape you into what I want. That's what assures me you'll obey me in everything, isn't it? That my way becomes the course of least resistance for you. Not what you think my way ought to be, and not your way. My way!"
Kate had this incredible ability to get to the heart of things! I was enthralled! "Yes, Ms. Katherine," I said. "That's it exactly!"
"Your opinion whether I'm exact or not is not welcome, Annie!" Kate snapped. "I asked you for a simple 'yes'!"
I cringed even further into the shag rug, my mouth now filling with the yarn, but I dared not lift my head. "Yes, Ma'am," I said muffled.
"And you know from your stories that sissy submissives often get more than they bargained for, don't they? Mistresses go much further than their slaves mean for them to go, don't they? That's where the excitement comes in, doesn't it? From feeling that things are out of control, that control has passed from your desires to hers, that you're now helpless to resist her desires, that you've made yourself her creature. Don't bother to answer this time. I know this is so."
I writhed for just a moment to try to dislodge my mouthful of shag rug. It was effectively gagging me. But since my forehead had to stay plastered to the floor, my mouth filled all the more.
"All right, Annie, you've been warned. You know now that I understand not just the rituals of this game you want to play, but its soul. And that I understand your soul! That if you are to be my servant, you'll be my kind of servant, not your kind. My slave. That I'll possess you absolutely. And I mean for life!"
She paused. Was she talking about marriage? No, not exactly. Now I felt genuinely frightened. But so deliciously! She said she'd go even further than I'd dreamed! Was she serious? I really couldn't tell. But that's the way this game had to be played! She had such a marvelous instinct for it! I was so absolutely convinced she fully meant everything she said!
In the stories I'd read, whenever a sex-slave accepts his status, his Lady padlocks a leather collar around his neck, engraved with her name. Something like that. I waited for Kate to suggest something like that. And that's what she did next!
"Now Annie, you know that sissies owned by their Ladies always agree to wear some kind of symbol of their servitude. It's always more or less permanent, not easily removed. I want you to wear my symbol every hour of every day, at work, at home, in the shower, in bed, everywhere."
I was positively enraptured! Just as I'd always hoped! Sweet juices rose into my distended prick! In my extreme crouch, squeezed between my pelvis and my thighs, it was perilously close to exploding, and in buckets! I had to distract myself! I tried paying not-too-close attention to Kate's words, but it was hard. I'd been dreaming of this moment much of my life! Would Kate now fasten a dog collar around my neck? Wrap leather thongs around my genitals? Lock a chastity tube onto my cock? I was trembling!
"Now Annie, you are going to wear a special pledge to me that's unmistakable! So you'll never forget who owns you, and how I own you, and for what! I know you still have to function in the real world, so it won't be too visible to the casual eye. In most circumstances you'll be able to hide it. It won't be part of the way the world sees you, or how you think they see you. Not unless I tell you to reveal it, as I probably will soon, not right away. So for now it'll be something just between us, and of course anyone I may choose to tell about it. You'll feel too ashamed to tell anyone about it at first, I'm sure, too humiliated. Until you've re-centered your identity and become what I want you to be. Then you'll feel proud of it, and then I know you'll want to display it openly."
Mysterious! Not some kind of cock-binder? A very thin slave collar to wear under button-down dress shirts at the office? An ear ring in a pierced ear? She seems to expect I'll wear it all the time. Well, all right, clearly she doesn't mean to disgrace me with anything obvious, some massive restraint on my neck or my ankle that would raise embarrassing questions. She wasn't cruel. I felt utterly devoted to Kate at that moment. She knew my needs, and I knew she wouldn't betray them!
"Once again, Andy! 'Andy' for the last time. Think of this as the most crucial moment of your life! It is for me too, because whether you know it or not, and I'm sure you don't, you here on your face with your ass in the air in absolute surrender to me happens to be just perfect for me! It solves a big problem I've had for some time! So! Andy, do you accept my guidance in all things from now on. As you would put it, will you obey me as your Domme, or Mistress, or Dominatrix, or Lady, whatever you call such women? As your owner? Do you offer me your most precious gift, your absolute obedience? Whether or not I choose to care, or even seem grateful? Am I the one person you will love, honor, and obey, and have and hold in sickness and health for as long as you live?"
Was she marrying me? Was she agreeing to marry me? No, but I was delighted anyhow. In her mind I was marrying her! That's half of it!
Now she was silent, waiting patiently for my answer. All this only an hour or two after she'd walked into my study and discovered my secret fantasy life! What other sexual games could she conceive for next weekend, or whenever we both became weary of this one, I wondered. What an incredible woman!
"Yes, Ma'am," I remembered to say despite my excitement. "Yes, Ms. Katherine. Yes, my Lady! I do!"
"I heard you, but this is important, so I want to ask you yet again. And to warn you yet again. For the third and final time, Andy. I have in mind some things you may love in fantasy but not like in reality at all. Not until you become the creature of *my* fantasy. Are you willing?"
Pain? Torture? I hoped not. Fabulous tests of endurance, of my devotion to her, of my ability to hold up under enormous hardships for her sweet sake? I'd love that! I loved her!
"Yes, Ms. Katherine, I am willing!" I finally managed to say it! I never felt more excited in my life! My heart pounded! I was near fainting! "Please! Whatever you wish!"
And suddenly a rich joy rose up unbidden and uncontrollable from deep in my groin into the base of my prick! I couldn't help it! I felt a ravishing tension rise up in my bowels and become a rainbow glow, and suffuse itself through all of that part of me thrust closest to her, filling my thighs with exquisite bliss. My ass clenched and quivered over and over, and then a glory spilled out into a rapturous spurt after spurt of hot cum squirting all over my belly and chest and even in splats into my mouth, crammed as it now was with yarn from the shag rug! My penis was so squeezed so tight now between my thighs that I couldn't feel its spasmodic throbbing, but I felt my body go incandescent! The entire lower part of me went into orgasm!
Which may be why I felt nothing at all from Kate at that moment. I expected her to fasten the collar, or attach a lasso to my balls and lead me away for binding.
She did no such thing. In fact she didn't even know I'd just enjoyed the greatest climax of my life. As the glow subsided I realized that the whole grand process had been hidden in the deep folds of my belly and thighs, and my cum wasn't evident anywhere just yet.
She merely resumed speaking. But this time I heard a note of elation in her voice, even though she was trying to maintain the same controlled tone she'd used earlier. Not casual, though a touch negligent. Firm, the voice a Mistress should use when speaking to her servant. But now it also sounded exultant.
"Annie, there is no going back now. You're already changing! The two pricks you just felt in your rear end were two intramuscular injections to help get the process under way the moment I had your fully informed consent, tape recorded and repeated three times."
"Both injections are long term. One will really sissify you as rapidly as medicine knows how. It will pump estrogen estradiol and progesterone and certain androgen suppressants into your body for the next two weeks. Then after we evaluate your body's response to the dosage we'll implant patches in you so the process can continue and finish without anyone giving it further thought. It will give you a girl's way of thinking and feeling, and many characteristics of a girl's body. You're going to be a girl in your body, not just in your mind."
"The other shot was a tranquilizer-sedative, the kind we give to patients undergoing minor surgical procedures. I want to keep you mellowed out for the next few days, peaceably asleep, because I want you to remember this initiation with joy, with no associated pain or soreness. When you awaken, you'll be fitted with your pledge to me, my symbol of ownership. I've just arranged it with Claire, and she'll be here shortly to help me fit it properly. For now only you will know it's there, though you'll never be able to forget it's there. Until you want everyone to know, and that will be much sooner than you imagine."
"Annie, you are a dear! You'll know soon enough how very dear you are to me! When you wake up." Then she added, "Poor sweetie, you never did get to lick my pussy clean. Well, it'll be here, and you'll have lots of opportunities."
I remember she said all that, and that it felt increasingly good that she was saying all those things. What was her "symbol"? Maybe body piercings? Maybe a ring in my "frenum," whatever that was? Despite all that talk about shots and changing and all, everything she said was deeply satisfying, and I felt utterly content as I rolled over onto my side on the shag rug, asleep.
The next morning I opened my eyes. No! The calendar clock on our night table said I'd been asleep for three days! So three mornings later I woke up to sunshine flooding the room.
"There you are, Annie honey!" Kate said, drawing back the last curtain. Now the light seemed nearly blinding. "I'm on call now and I've just been called, but I'll be back to see how you're getting on in about two hours. Today is the first day of the rest of your life, honey, and believe me, that's not a cliche. You'll lead a very different life from now on. Just lie there and rest. Your incisions are practically healed already, and you've been completely depillated, and now there's nothing much for you to do but enjoy discovering the new you."
She came over and stood over me. Gradually I remembered. Kate. She'd found out I was into humiliation fantasies, loss of masculinity and so on, caught me reading files in Sissify.Com. And she'd taken over, she owned me. I stared up at her, still unable to find words to speak. The weekend was over? That must have been some scene, I thought! Where was I while we played it out? Then I remembered that talk about tranquilizers, and sedatives, and not feeling sore.
"Ah, I see you're with us again. Lie still a little longer. Remember, you're mine now, and you are not to put anything of mine at risk. I want you to discover how I own you all by yourself, and when you do I want you to just lie there and do nothing but think about what it means. You pledged yourself to me, remember."
I lifted my arms to inspect them, and finding nothing, reached down toward my crotch.
"No, there are no tattoos, and nothing fastened down there either. And no body parts missing. And nothing buckled or embossed or inscribed or punctured or pierced. What you're wearing is implanted, its now part of you. What I want for you. In time they will become what you want. Understood?"
I nodded.
She left, closing the door gently. I lay there for a moment to gather more of my wits. Then I rolled over to climb out of bed.
I saw I was wearing one of her frilly nighties with puffed out sleeves. She had a few, though mostly she wore oversized T-Shirts to bed. My own PJ's were all in the wash? This nightgown was left over from some feminization game we'd played while I was zonked, I guessed. My arms were hairless, absolutely smooth! My legs felt that way too! Well, I hoped she'd enjoyed the game! I felt sorry it was probably over.
Still leaning on one elbow and raised up, I felt a sort of pulling on my torso, as if something were hanging from me. A fold of the nightgown? No. Flesh that had been spread out across my chest while I lay on my back was now hanging down heavily from me in the form of two heavy pouches tipped with nipples, the nipples distended and brushing against the bed. Breasts. They were breasts.
My breasts! Large ones! Two of them! I stared unbelieving and abruptly put my legs over the side of the bed and sat up. Then I just sat there! With my shoulders slumped forward they sagged, though my skin was just firm enough to support them. Through the neckline of Kate's nightgown I could see their curves -- they were soft, hanging breasts! I pulled my shoulders back, and they became ripe, rounded globes jutting away from me, their areolas and nipples like small brown teacups projecting outward. I reached to heft one. Heavy! My fingers touched one of my nipples and a delicious tingle shot through me, spreading down to my crotch. I touched the other nipple. The same! O God, it felt so good! But I was a man! These were a woman's breasts! This wasn't one of my fantasies! Maybe one of Kate's, but not mine! Well yes, having breasts had been one of my fantasies, but not in reality! Kate wasn't playing just for the weekend! Had she tried to warn me of that?
She had! These were these the badges of my servitude. Kate meant to disintegrate my manhood, to really change me into a female. So it seemed. She'd said as much, I vaguely recalled. And I'd been so eager to submit to her! Now, by daylight it didn't seem to be as good an idea. I glanced down further, and felt momentarily reassured that my cock and balls were still there.
I picked up a breast in each hand and then dropped them. They each jounced once, then hung there. Implants. Huge. Part of me. They were there all right. But they weren't mine. I was theirs. And they belonged to Kate. She wanted me to take care of them for her. I held each in my hands again, gently this time, and stroked their nipples again with my thumbs. The most delectable feeling rose up in my groin, deep, sultry, luscious, as erotic as if my penis were being squeezed and stroked. Yet it stayed soft. I just sat there and caressed my new self with my thumbs. It felt good!
ii.
After a while, not quite as shaken as when I first sat up, I looked across the room. There on a chair within easy reach was a luminous blue satin dressing gown, a brighter shade than Kate usually wore, and a large, heavy-duty bra. Then as if to make up for the utilitarian massiveness of the bra, a teeny pair of delicate rose lace hi-leg panties. And a note.
I sat back on the bed and opened the note. Kate was going all out -- the paper was perfumed, that floral scent I remembered from before she went to work at the clinic, that she still wore when we went out somewhere fancy. I breathed it in and opened the note, and read:
"My Darling Annie, or if it's Andy reading this, my poor bewildered Andy. First, I want to remind you, whichever you are, that you are *mine*, not your own person. You pledged yourself to me knowing that I intended to do things you might not like, however deeply a desire for some them might be implanted in your psyche. I think you know now what I intend. I intend to make a woman of you. A real one, not a simpering transvestite concoction of one, which is probably all you'd have managed to make of yourself without me, and not a Drag Queen either. But also, not the kind of woman you'd be if you'd been born a girl and raised in the same circumstances you've enjoyed as a boy, not a restrained, educated professional woman. Not even a woman like me, more venturesome than you are, more of a take-charge kind of person. No, someone different.
"Brace yourself, darling. I want you to become my kind of woman, the kind I'd love to spend time with, and go out with, and make love with. And date men with. The kind I find exciting, as you've never been as a man. Impulsive. Playful, even silly at times. Instinctive and generous, warm hearted. Physical in many ways, most of them feminine -- tender and demonstrative when you feel affectionate, which will be often, and sexy when you feel a yearning for that kind of pleasure, also often. Not too inhibited. In fact, a little smutty in pursuit of your pleasures. The kind of girl men are happy to find they've been fixed up with on a blind date, because attractive at first glance. The kind men remember the next day with smiles on their faces. And don't be shocked dear. The kind of girl women can remember the next day with smiles. The kind I've always wanted to remember with smiles.
"If that isn't you now, and I know it isn't, that's what will be you. You are mine. I've always wanted that kind of girlfriend, so that's the kind of girl you will become. You'll try with all your heart, soul, and might to become that girl. I know you will. You have no other future.
"When you've succeeded, when you like being that kind of girl, then you can be my friend as well as my servant, and we can enjoy that relationship too. You are already married to me, as you know. I may then be willing to marry you. But only then. We'll see.
"Love, Ms. Katherine
P.S. You see in front of you the first intimate wear of the kind you will wear for the rest of your life, your first bra and panties. Congratulations, sweetheart. Also a rather lively gown, the kind Annie will soon love to wear as the truest expression of her own lively nature. I'm sorry the bra looks something like a washer woman's, but your breasts, your pledge of servitude to me, need that kind of support right now. I've tried to make up for it by giving you panties a whore might blush to wear. Put them all on, and splash some of my cologne on too, and some matching scuffs from my closet. While you wait for me to return I want you to begin browsing through some of the women's magazines I've accumulated downstairs, ads and all. They're your kind of magazines now. They're the sole occupation of your mind from now on." * * *
With my nightie off I saw Kate was true to her word, the only fringe of hair anywhere on my body was neatly trimmed around my pubes -- the rest was smooth. I dressed as Ms. Katherine ordered. The bra felt heavy on my shoulders until I realized the weight was in my hanging tits, eased when I remembered to stand up very straight. But then they protruded out, way too far forward. I doubted even a loose sports jackets would cover them, much less a tailored suit jacket. How would I go to work? With a weight on my shoulders, or else with a lot of explaining. The panties were indeed teeny, designed to curve below the curve of my belly and across the curves of my buns. I didn't have a woman's sexily rounded buns yet, but I knew I'd get them, if not by hormones then by more implants. Kate would see to it.
I inspected myself in the mirror, and I saw a man with straight long hair -- that's how I liked it -- wearing a large bra and skimpy scanties. Boobs nicely proportioned for his shoulders, which were a little large. The breasts would swell up even more when the hormones got hold of them, I realized, no doubt as part of Kate's plan for me to look like a sex pot at anyone's first glance. Waist a bit thick -- I should diet. Then I realized that was a girl's thought, Kate's scheme was getting to me. Hips narrow, but that's true of some women, I knew. Big bulge in my panties so far, thank God! Could I become the kind of girl Kate wanted? Possibly, with diet and the right makeup and gear. And the right temperament. It could be fun. My face was small-featured, and I had an unassertive chin I'd always regretted. Now I could see it was a dainty chin. Or might become one. Did I want to become Kate's kind of girl? Did I have a choice?
I wriggled my hips at the apparition in the mirror, and immediately felt silly, even indecent. So I took a full-figured blouse and a wide skirt out of Kate's closet almost without looking at them, and I put them on. The bottom of the skirt brushed my calves delicately. The blouse was short sleeved and nylon or something, so when I put the satin dressing gown on over it I felt incredibly slippy all over, like wearing liquid. With another glance in the mirror I saw that its bright iridescent blue seemed to light up the room. That's me, life of the party, I thought ruefully, and went down to the living room.
There I picked up a copy of "Cosmopolitan." I noticed immediately that my breasts were already larger than on most of the women photographed in that magazine, even the "Cosmo" girl. I started reading an article on how to keep *him* interested in asking you out again. Some of the advice was excellent -- ask him to tell you about himself, and admire anything you can that he's accomplished -- I wished girls would do that for me. I wished girls had done that for me. I realized that I was expected to do that, now. But a pang of panic struck my midriff! With guys? No, I wouldn't! I was Kate's!
Some of the advice was practical -- "If he seems excited to be with you, help him sustain that level of excitement by caressing him in sensitive areas. You can find out quickly enough if he's sized to your needs. And being kissed by a smooth, wet, deep mouth is sure to please him!"
Now I shuddered. To kiss a man? Did Kate mean that? Before this was over did she want me satisfying men with hand jobs? Worse, with blow jobs? Real ones on real men, not idle fantasies? Swallowing real cum? "Smutty" was what my Mistress wanted, and she'd see to it that's what she made me! Even more, would I as a woman need to let men -- I tried to imagine it and couldn't, and felt a little queasy -- enter me?
And pump me? And cum in me? Deep inside me? Oh my God!
That was as much as I could take. There had to be a way out of this! This was only a game, a scene we were playing, and I was taking it too seriously! Then I realized I had no safe word. Kate had started me off with the injected hormones and breast implants so the road back would be harder than the path of least resistance, so I'd go with whatever she wanted, like it or not, and learn to like it. I was already part way where she wanted me. Dressed like a courtesan and reading up on how to get laid.
I decided to read the ads instead of all the distressing no-brainers on "How to Get Real Hunky Men to Fuck You Senseless" There were hundreds of ads for make-up! Eye liner and shadow and pencil and mascara in varying shades were individually mysterious, and as I realized when I studied page after page of superbly blended eyes on gorgeous models, how those powders and brushes and pencils could create the mysterious seductiveness of those eyes was beyond any male comprehension. I'd never learn how to use them! Still, I had to please Kate until I could persuade her somehow to give up her plan for me but marry me anyhow -- my only apparent way out. Applied Lipstick looked like a course I could teach myself. I read an article on the new shades, and figured out the uses of lip liners and upper-lip shaping, went back to our bedroom, and applied a dark maroon to my mouth. That would show Kate that I was trying.
Now a glance into the mirror revealed a man in a bright blue satin gown wearing lipstick. Neatly, though. I went down again and read on, wondering why I wasn't getting increasingly resentful. Was I really a wimp? Look what she had done to me! Did I really want it? I suspected there were more tranquilizers in me than I knew.
A few hours later Kate returned. I was back at the computer when she arrived, originally to get some more advice from Sissify.Com about make-up and how to cope with my new situation, but now looking at different e-mailed reactions to the report I'd turned in. I saw I had to go into the office to talk to some associates.
"Looking for some new games to play, Annie?" she said when she saw me staring at the screen. "Remember you're my plaything now, and I make up all our games. Any time you forget that, just fold your arms across your chest to remind yourself."
"No, this is business," I said a little morosely. "I have to talk to some people downtown. Tomorrow." I turned around and stared at her. I was now in no mood to play, but realized that for a servant I had spoken out of line. "Ms. Katherine, Ma'am?" There was a faint edge of sarcasm in my voice. "Do I have to kowtow to you all the time from now on? Can't we just talk?"
She didn't seem to mind my asking. "Any time there are other people present, certainly we can just talk, Andy honey. Then we'll talk the way we've always talked. Of course you'll always agree with everything I say, and I look forward to hearing the reasons you'll give for agreeing with some of my the things I'll say. I'll say some outrageous things sometimes, just to keep you in line. At first you'll agree with me any way you can, but when you've become the woman I want, I'm sure you'll agree with me sincerely."
"When nobody's around it'll always be different. I'll expect you to remember your place and my place, and to address me appropriately. This is a process, a journey, and we're only just beginning. When you finally arrive where I mean to take you, when you're the kind of girl I want you to be, then maybe we'll talk as equals sometimes. I expect that by then you'll be so pleased with yourself you'll want to thank me. Are you resenting me a little right now?"
I hesitated. "Yes, Ms. Katherine" was all I said.
She stared at me a moment. "I appreciate your honesty. And also
your effort to please me by wearing lipstick. You did a good job there for your first time. The shade's a bit too maroon for the color of your robe, but you'll learn about things like that." She smiled. "That's the favorite shade of a girl I went with my last year in college. I loved seeing her lips that color while they tugged on my nipples and nibbled on my clit. I'll love seeing yours there too. If you really like it, we'll build your outfits around it, honey. It's still fashionable."
Kate a Lesbian when she was in college? No, probably experimental, bisexual. And now me too?
Then Kate commented further. "That's a pretty blouse you picked out, even though I didn't ask you to. I'm glad you like it. It's yours now, and I think that's what you'll wear when you go to your office tomorrow for your meetings. Just a touch of lace on the collar ends, and it billows beautifully, so no one has to know about your new breasts. They're a 'C' cup now, incidentally. Your hormones will soon make you at least one size large still, really a knockout, though of course we don't want to overdo anything."
She waited. "Yes, Ms. Katherine," I replied. What else was there to say? The humiliations were beginning? She was punishing me for my lack of enthusiasm earlier that I was being turned into her slut girlfriend? What else she was planning to do to me?
"When you go in for your conference, select a nice gold chain for a necklace and wear that too, tucked under that collar, so no one can miss seeing the lace. I don't care how you explain the blouse and chain if anyone asks, but I think afterward you'll feel a little more grateful to me for what I'm doing. Remember, you agreed to all of this, wholeheartedly and repeatedly. And I saw when we were prepping you for your breast implants that you had sealed your agreement with an orgasm all on your own!"
I swallowed hard. "Yes, Ms. Katherine," I said a lot more sincerely.
She waved her hand to say that gratitude was unnecessary. "Don't worry about what people think. If you feel like it, flash your tits at anyone who mocks you. They're real conversation-stoppers already, those breasts, believe me. Some women would kill for a figure like the one you're going to have. Finish up the project you're on, and then turn in your two-weeks notice, and tell them you're taking off those two weeks as accrued sick leave. I need to change you utterly, Annie, and I can't do that if you're spending all your days in some cubicle worrying about people who have nothing better to do than insult you for obeying me."
"Yes, Ma'am."
"That's better. You should know that one more insolent innuendo in your responses would have sent you to work tomorrow in a skirt too. Any questions?"
"Yes, Ma'am. How will we get by without my salary?"
"Don't worry your pretty little head about that, Andy honey," she said. "Maybe you'll work for me in the Clinic. We need to make our records more accessible. You can do that for us. Maybe later on I'll get you to turn tricks -- it would help you develop the right kind of sluttish personality. Which reminds me, we need to make your pretty little head pretty as soon as possible, so you can begin being a girl in public right away without disgracing either of us. Learn by doing! So day after tomorrow we get you a new hair style and makeover."
The next day's meetings were arduous, but we got all the understandings ironed out and concluded that I could fine-tune the project completely from home in no time. I thought at first everyone was pointing fingers at my blouse, but I suspect most never even noticed. I suppose they thought I was affecting some mod style, or a pirate or an 18th century grandee.
Only Becky Davis, our whiz kid from Sales, commented on it. "Very pretty blouse, Andy," she said. "Looks just like one I once had. I didn't know you leaned toward my taste in clothes."
I didn't know if that was a compliment or not. Becky was thin as a plank and as starved as a model, but she wore her clothes with great style and panache. So I looked pleasant and said nothing.
"It's so full in front you could grow tits in them and no one would ever know," she added. "Have you thought of doing that? Have you found yourself a boyfriend who likes big tits on guys?" So her remark *was* intended to be an insult.
I straightened my shoulders and thrust my chest way forward, and my bra poked unmistakable mounds into the front of the blouse. Becky stared! "I already have grown them," I said. "You should try it some time yourself, and get some guy interested in you for once. Or some girl!"
It was her turn to say nothing.
When I got home Kate was stretched out on the couch in a robe, obviously through with her own work for the day. I changed into the skirt and medium heels she'd laid out for me, and then told her about my interchange with Becky. She was both pleased and amused.
"See, I told you," she said. "Accept yourself for what you are, right now a man with big boobies, and later a woman with generous boobies, and no one can reach you. So what are you?"
"Right now I'm a man with big boobies, Ma'am, and your property."
"That's right. My sissy girl property. I'm very pleased that you're through working downtown. Those breasts aren't a mere whim, they're very important, they're your passage into a new life. I mean for you to become a passable woman. It will take time and effort, on your part especially. But there will come a moment, you'll see, when the sissy man disappears in your own mind and the girl of my dreams replaces him. That's where I want us to end up. When I saw you playing girlie-girlie fantasies at that computer, lots of things fell into place for me. You're going to become a girl very soon. Now listen closely, Annie. Do you want to become a girl as soon as possible?"
"Yes, Ms. Katherine," I said. I realized that wasn't enough of a response. But I wasn't really persuaded. And I had one serious reservation. "Ms. Katherine, may I ask you a question?"
"Yes, of course."
"Ms. Katherine, when I'm a girl, will I still have my...my...male parts?" I was afraid to name them, for fear she'd suddenly be reminded I wasn't already gelded, pick up the phone, and order up a castration and penectomy to go.
She just smiled. "You poor dear. That's the last vestige of masculinity a man reaches for, isn't it. Well, your female hormones will soon render them useless, but you can keep them as long as you want them. I suspect there will come a time when you'll prefer a cunt, if only because by then you'll like being attractive to men, and men adore cunts. When that happens we'll have your "male parts" as you call them turned inside out into a cunt. It's done all the time these days. Does that ease your mind?"
"Yes, Ms. Katherine."
"Learn your girlhood lessons well, and I'll let you masturbate a little, while that thing still provides you pleasure. On rare occasions, when you accomplish something I find impressive, I may even allow you to masturbate until you cum. But your main sexual pleasure from now for a while to come will be from your new nipples -- caress them all you want, whenever you wish. It'll help you appreciate them. Enjoy your femininity! And right now, Annie, it's time for you to enjoy mine. Here!"
She pulled back her robe, and I saw that she was wearing nothing underneath. I saw the furry triangle of her crotch, and her slit. and her creamy white thighs.
"I promised you could kiss my naked pussy. Now you shall. It's exactly the same way it was when I brought it home from work a few days ago, a little sweaty, a little pissy, maybe even a little lubricated too, because feminizing you excites me. Is some man's cum in there too? You don't know, do you? Well, you'll just have to work it out on your own." She smiled to herself and went on, "With your tongue. Come here and lick me now, Annie. This will be a regular reward for you whenever I come home, as long as you do your other work well."
She shifted her hips slightly and dropped one leg to the floor, then raised the other high onto the back of the couch. There it was! Her pink slit was now perched on the edge of the couch, wide open. I fell to my knees and again buried my face in her crotch, this time slathering my nose into its musky, fermy, sour center, and I began to lick her. She tasted slightly acrid, but sweet, and salty, and fishy, and creamy, and -- she was the woman I had sworn to serve with all of the manhood in me, and now all of the femininity too, and I began to lick and suck and tongue and kiss her more passionately! Was there a love potion in that twat? Really some man's cum? I didn't know! It was divine! I loved her! My tongue probed way down and became a prehensile snake. I buried it in her and started to tongue-fuck her.
Almost immediately she started to moan. I ran the tip of my tongue up one edge of her slot and down the other, then up onto her clit, and again into the center line where there lurked, I knew, a deep and mysterious hole fit to entertain a small man's five inch prick or a large man's fist and wrist. Then I moved back to her clit again, where I loitered and licked and loitered and labored. She moaned louder, and shook, and screamed, then began to make strange animal sounding growls, and then screamed again. No woman's cunny was ever cleaned more thoroughly or enjoyably.
When I lifted my soaked face I felt proud. "Very good, Annie honey," she said, still breathing hard. "I knew it! You will make the sweetest girl anyone can imagine. Next time would you wear that dark lipstick for me? Now fix me dinner."
I did that too. It was easy. I was in love again. Before I sat down to eat with her, I tried to make my whole face up like a woman's, as a gift to my precious, my darling Ms. Katherine. I failed, but she looked at it and smiled, and said nothing. That night we slept in the same bed, and in the early morning when she was returning from a visit to the john and the moisture of her piss was on her like rank dew, I kissed and licked her crotch to yet another orgasmic spasm. My own prick was pulsing fit to explode the whole time, but she wanted me to hold back, she said, so she could redirect my sexual energy. Toward who? Toward what? I maintained iron control, and nothing came of it.
iii.
My first visit to a beauty salon the next day was a revelation, all those unguents and mirrors and rollers and comb outs and blow driers and paints and powders and pills. I assumed I'd go in my own clothing so as not to attract attention, but the reverse was true. Kate insisted that morning when we left the house that I should look like the woman I was becoming.
"There will be other women there," she said, "And I don't propose to look foolish, coming in with an obvious sissy, a man who wants to be prettied up as a girl! I'd do that to humiliate you of course, but you've been a sweet dear so far so there's no need for it. You're not perfect, Annie -- you should brew my coffee darker tomorrow when you bring me my breakfast in bed."
She waited. "Yes, Ma'am," I said.
"But I love it that you thought of breakfast in bed for me all by yourself. And the Eggs Benedict were a nice touch. Today you'll go to your first beauty parlor appointment already looking female, and we'll see if you can keep up the illusion while you're there for. For your own good."
So she had me wear my undies and a dress she picked out that showed my breasts as distinctly large mounds thrust way forward. She showed me it had "darts" sewn in to allow for them, and told me I'll need to know all about such things from now on.
"Shirt Waists and unfitted tops won't do for you," she said. "No understatement. You're a girl who believes if you've got 'em, flaunt 'em!"
And she insisted that I wear make-up, but not brazen, just light liner and mascara, and a pale lipstick. And that I wear my hair in a pony-tail gathered on the crown of my head instead of as usual at the nape.
"That's enough. If you move with dainty steps and hold your shoulders back, you'll pass. Your beautician will know of course."
When the front door was open and I was about to step outside into the sunlight, I suddenly felt a deep pit open in my stomach, and I tried to move my legs -- they were in pantyhose and low heels -- but they wouldn't lift off the floor.
"Is something the matter, Annie?" Kate asked just behind me.
"I'm frightened, Ma'am," was all I could say.
"Big strong mans is frightened to look like an itty bitty girl?" she mocked.
"No, Ms. Katherine," I said in a small voice. "I'm not a man, I'm a sissy, who is trying to be a girl because that's what you want me to be, and I don't want to look ridiculous. I'm afraid, yes."
There was silence. "Tell me again what you are, Annie. Several times."
I repeated it. "I'm a sissy, trying to be a girl."
"Good! Now out the door, sissy girl. You're dressed appropriately. Be proud of it!"
Still muttering my mantra, I stepped outside. The air felt strange on my legs. A neighbor walking his dog glanced at us and walked on. I felt a little easier and got into the car. Kate drove. The same thing when we arrived. The place was full, and the receptionist didn't even look up. "Yes," she said, checking off my name. "Just have a seat, Annie, and Joanne will be right with you."
We sat down, and I remembered to smooth my skirt under my bottom as settled onto the chair. "Elbows in," Kate muttered to me as she handed me "Beauty Culture Magazine." I glanced at the cover. More articles for women on how to get roundly boinked. "Just the ads, dear," she said when she saw me starting in on one. "I'll decide when and how and whether you'll have any sex life at all."
A neat, short, cheery woman in a purple smock approached. "Annie?"
I nodded.
"I'm Joanne, sissy. Oh, don't look so mournful! This is the nicest day of your life! Come on, Sis, over here. You can come back for him in about four hours, Kate. We have a lot to do. But you're right, there's a lot here to work with."
Joanne really was nice! I just sat there, and as she snipped and poured and combed and rolled and dried and primped and called over the nail specialist and the ear-piercing girl, she explained everything she was doing, and in between, she told me gossip about other customers. She knew the most intimate things!
"Now this will feel cool, but its a cream you'll use on your own face every night from now on, Sis. Starting tonight! See how I rub it in with circular movements, just my finger tips? Well, this customer of mine, her name's Susan but she likes to call herself Suzette, she's such a petite, dainty, precious little thing, and her husband thinks her ass is made of candy. But really it's got to be cast iron, because every afternoon while he's off at the office with his clients earning the money she spends on herself, she's home in his bed with three, four, five guys from the Truck Depot. Big guys, my dear, and every day! She likes toofers, one in her butt and one in her pussy, you know? Lean back, dear. I don't know why she's never been crushed when they hump up against each other with her in between. Well, she told me she was giving up toofers for Lent, but these guys bring each other over to her house, and if a newcomer wants in while the other's pumping away in her, she never says no. She says afterward she feels like a sewer with all that jism puring out of her. She loves it! And her hubby still thinks she's practically a virgin, he never suspects anything! See how I brush it, Sis, up from the neck, never down? You'll do that every morning. Then I hear Mrs. Eldridge is getting divorced, but not from her husband...."
So the time passed.
I emerged that first time a blonde, with darling little curls clustered all over my head and the sweetest tendrils pulled down in front of my ears to soften my face -- that was what Kate taught me say right then and there when she returned and smiled her approval. My nails were long and red and I had been taught how to keep them that way. My eyes were deeply shaded from their black liner and heavy mascara through to their blue shadows on my lids and their silvery gray highlights under my brows. It was as complex a procedure as I'd imagined when In was first looking at the cosmetic ads, but Joanne taught me the basics and a few tricks. And Kate loved the effect -- I looked wide-eyed and bright-eyed, staring everywhere at the world as if a little perplexed. "Perfect!" she said when she saw that!
During the next few days I learned to do day and night versions of eye-look on my own, until I could fix any defect even while still at the table of any restaurant, with only a slight flourish of a wand. My beard had disappeared during the three days that endowed me with breasts, electrolysized out of existence while I was asleep on tranquilizers and sedatives. So almost immediately my face became what Kate wanted, cute, sprightly, doll-like, the face of a girl who is amusing but not threatening, maybe a girl who'd be a challenge to get into bed but one who might be hard to stop once she got there. She kept training me to look fascinated by anything said to me. And to make perky little movements. And to smile and look a little grateful and a little hungry when I was complimented.
By the third week I took great pride and pleasure in the fact that I could maintain my looks by myself. We shopped whenever Kate could spare the time, and I had lots to wear. She always chose clothes that were slightly brassy and provocative. My new bras and panties were strange lacy whisps of things with oddly shaped openings, mostly from Fredericks of Hollywood, "just this side of whorish, Annie, because that's how you'll want to feel." Each day she had me walk about only in my underthings and high heels for a few hours, so I'd always see myself wearing them in my own mind no matter what I was wearing on top. My blouses and dresses and skirts were a little tight. "They're for showing off your body to strangers," she said, so she had me practice sashaying through malls and parking lots in clinging clothes with hips that moved like a pendulum, and I got used to being stared at. Even began to like it!
I practiced my high voice -- she wanted a near falsetto from me, though many women don't talk that way, and lots of tonal range. Each day after I'd moved my bowels she had me use a "Summer's Eve" douche down there, and then work my finger into my anus coated with KY jelly. "A girl can't be too dainty down below," was all she said in explanation. "And besides, doesn't your finger feel nice moving around in there?" It was a fact, once past the anus my colon felt silky to the touch. The TV game shows and talk shows and soap operas and the women's magazines began to get to me, until by the second month of my new life when I was back at the salon for retouching I was only one more woman leafing through style books under the dryer and gossiping in my newly trained, slightly squeaky voice, about nails and hemlines and unfaithful wives and cute guys on TV.
It was clear from the start, Kate wanted me to feel kept, dependent. Being attractive the way she wanted was the reason for my existence, and I did work at it, very hard. I really tried! A few times when I forgot some simple feminine thing -- I sat knees apart when wearing a dress, or I sat knees together when I was wearing jeans -- she would criticize me and punish me by denying me access to her sweet, dear pussy. Around the fourth week I started to cry when she used a rough tone with me -- I couldn't help it, I'd forgotten that she wanted me to be forgetful, and silly, and sprightly, not a real ditz but the kind of girl even a shy guy could admire close up and feel manly with. Kate credited it to my hormones and forgave me when it happened, and I was so grateful that I crawled between her legs and licked and sucked and kissed her sweet cunny all night long. And she let me, too!
One evening during the fifth week we were both putting night cream on our faces when she looked over at me and said, "Annie honey, you have made marvelous progress, by leaps and bounds. I'm sure that in your heart you really wanted this."
"Yes, Ms. Kate," I said. "I'm sure now too!"
"I think it's time you enjoyed some of the distinctive pleasures of being a woman," she said.
An odd statement, considering that I was that moment wearing my softest, laciest nightie, pink and black, and had put up my hair, and was removing the makeup I'd worn all day. I said nothing.
"So tomorrow you won't prepare dinner for when I get home. We'll double date and go out for dinner."
I felt a shocked and distressed, both at once! Kate with another man? Me with...a man?
"But I'll go easy with you this first time. With Claire and Wilmer. We'll meet them at the Pavilion for dinner, and then come back here afterward. Your red mini with all the flounces will be just right. If you can walk and move through the dining areas with just a touch of dignity, they may not take you for a provocative tart and throw you out at first glance." She smiled at me.
I was nervous all the next day, and kept adjusting my make-up, but at the actual dinner I was a great success. Claire looked at me with a sardonic expression, delighted and slightly mocking!
"Andy darling, you never were much of a man, but how you've changed!" she said, as we clasped both our hands and leaned forward to touch cheeks to each other, as women do who don't want to mess their faces. "You've taken to all this so well! Don't tell me you haven't wanted it all your life! I never understood what Kate saw in you, when you were still playing at masculinity. Probably that you were really a closet fag!"
Kate had reminded me when we were walking from the parking lot to meet them that Claire was often insulting, but Annie was brassy, lively, and incapable of feeling offended by insults.
"Why thank you, that's a very sweet compliment," I gushed. "Oh, Claire, I haven't had a chance yet to thank you for these wonderful titties you gave me that first weekend! They're really all anyone needs to be happy, whether a man or a woman! And aren't you lovely tonight! Is that the dress you were wearing last time we saw each other? It looks even better tonight! And Wilmer, how nice to see you again! I've really wanted to get to know you better!"
And I smiled at him, a restrained but unmistakable come-on Kate had made me practice repeatedly, even though I was thinking meanwhile that there was nothing much in him to get to know. Wilmer smiled back, nervously restrained with Claire close by, but I sensed he relaxed a little when he concentrated his attention on me.
Encouraged, I took his arm, thereby claiming the only male in the company for myself, and we followed the Maitre' d to our table. I saw at once that my red mini really was a sensation for this restaurant, and decided to walk on Wilmer's arm as if everyone in the place was applauding. Every other woman including Claire and Kate was wearing black or subdued shades, with hemlines below the knee while mine barely covered my buttocks, and my flounces exaggerated every movement of my breasts and hips. Far from embarrassed that I looked so flamboyantly feminine, I felt pleased. Attracting Claire's husband was a kind of petty revenge against Claire, who had been part of the conspiracy to make me into what I was. Of course I didn't dare feel that way toward Kate. Or want to.
I looked back, and was surprised to see that the two women walking together behind us were watching us with wide grins on their face, Kate delightedly telling Claire something, Claire giggling in response. As Wilmer led me to our table and held out a chair for me, I realized with a shock that I'd been set up! They'd wanted me to resent Claire, and to try to steal Claire's husband from her! They'd wanted me to set up a liaison with a real man! And I'd done it! Just how far did they want me to go? I was suddenly frightened. But I just clutched Wilmer's arm tighter, and then as I sat down I trailed my fingers down his arm. I'd started it, so I'd finish it! As he sat down too I looked into his face the way the magazines had advised me, eyes wide with interest, and asked him what he liked most about his work, and what he'd done he was most proud of. And marveled with prettily pursed lips as he told me about some obscure accounting practice he'd reformed.
Kate had to cue me a few times to remember my training, be very delicate with my hands when holding my silverware and wineglass, primp my curls up in back with my palms now and then, be very bold while looking around the room, and look the waiter up and down with hooded eyes when he bent over me to take my order, as if I were sizing up a delicious slab of beef. Now and then, shoulders back and shake my breasts back and forth -- I did that once in Wilmer's face, and he almost went catatonic!
We went back to our house in separate cars, and Kate established her authority over me again as soon as we were alone. "You enjoyed being a woman tonight, didn't you, Annie?" she commented.
"Oddly, I did, Kate" I answered affably. "It felt almost normal, and what was new, like teasing poor Wilmer, was actually fun."
Her face darkened. "'Kate'? You call your Mistress 'Kate'?"
I immediately started apologizing. She cut me off angrily.
"You know what you are going to do tonight when we get home, Annie?"
"No, Mistress Kate." I was suddenly fearful again.
"You are going to seduce 'poor Wilmer.' You are going to go all the way with him! You remember those cock sucking lessons you were studying when I caught you at it? Final exam time! You're going down on him, Annie, and by tomorrow morning you'd better know what he's like in your asshole too!" She sounded furious!
I shrank down in my seat, terrified. She glanced over at me, and suddenly broke out into a sweet smile. "Don't look so scared, honey! That's what all girls do when they get guys interested in them. Because it's fun all around. You'll see. You knew it was coming, didn't you? Well, sweetheart, with you, it's coming sooner than either of us had thought. Being a woman felt normal to you? We'll see! Maybe those hormones are acting on you more powerfully than we'd anticipated. Go with them! The moment we get into the house, start working on it!"
We pulled into the driveway, and she pulled the parking brake forcefully, then looked at me with a level gaze. "Annie, it's this way. Tonight you will seduce Wilmer and get him to sleep with you, and tomorrow when he wakes up he'll have a smile on his face. Then maybe I'll feel I want to marry you before too much longer. Or if you fail at this simple feminine task, then tomorrow you'll begin parading yourself down by the railroad station, learning how professionals do it until you're as good at it as any of the others. That's if you want to have anything more to do with me."
I said very seriously to her, "I'll do whatever you say, Mistress Kate. With all my heart! Anything!"
She sounded pacified, and patted me on the leg. It felt nice on my nylons. "Enjoy it, sweetheart. This is what it's all about."
So I just thrust away from me all thoughts of humiliation or macho pride. Here was a man and I was a cute woman who wanted into his pants, and no other feelings applied! When Wilmer and Claire arrived and I'd gotten us all nightcaps I settled down next to Wilmer on the couch and snuggled into to him. I didn't dare look at Claire or at Kate, and it didn't seem odd until later on that they both left us alone, watching at first without saying a word. I remembered some things from my magazines, and while I asked Wilmer to tell me more about his wonderful bookkeeping innovations, I trailed my fingernails up and down his thigh. Now and then, as if absent-mindedly, I caressed his chest in the vicinity of his nipples. Once I reached across him to pat him on his far cheek to console him when he sadly told me his supervisor didn't fully appreciate him, and when I had turned his face toward mine with the palm of my hand, I leaned forward and opened my lips slightly, and closed my eyes, and waited.
And then opened them again. He was looking at me bewildered. "Claire told me that tonight I should be on my best behavior," he said. "I don't know what that means."
"I do," I said in my huskiest woman's voice. And I moved my hand from his cheek to the back of his head and pulled his face toward mine. He kissed me. I could feel his beard stubble against my smooth lips and cheeks, and his tongue went into my mouth and I began to lick it with mine, and I gently put one of his hands on my breast, and he began to caress the nipple as it rose up, through my dress and bra. Again I began to melt from that exquisite feeling in on the tip of my breast, and a yearning began to build and spread through my groin. I moaned and twisted to press my whole body against his. We embraced passionately, and we writhed against each other, while I tried to swallow his tongue. Then he took one of my hands and put it on his crotch. There was an enormous bulge there! Huge! It crossed my mind I was right, why Claire kept him on, and I unzipped him while my mouth still clung to his, and then pulled out an enormous weight of meat! My eyes still shut, I began to stroke it as if it were a large puppy. And I heard Claire's voice behind me,
"You were right, Kate. They really are going at it. What in the world did you tell him?"
"The same thing you told Wilmer, that he'd better, however he really felt about sex with other men, or else! But I must say, I didn't expect there'd be this much heat between the two of them. I really think that right now Andy's convinced he's a real girl!"
"Just look at Wilmer's face. I Know Wilmer's convinced of it! You've done wonders with Andy, Kate. And he looks so cute! That darling dress! I'd love to see the rest of his outfits. Shall we get to bed now? Let's go upstairs now, sweetheart! The way they're behaving is making me feel hot to put my hands on you! And other things!"
"Just a moment, love," Kate answered. "I want to see something else first!"
By this time I realized I had better get down on Wilmer right away, or he'd blow his wad and tomorrow night I'd be hustling tricks downtown on a technicality. So I said, in my most seductive voice, "Just a moment, sweetheart. Just relax!" And I disengaged from him with a sigh and another erotic squeal, and slipped down on the couch so I could take his prick into my mouth, and looked for the first time at Wilmer's equipment.
My first thought was, if that's a man, I've got no business imagining I'm one too. The thing looked longer than a tennis racket handle, nearly! There was no way all that could fit into my mouth! A huge purple helmet with a single eye stared at me, my fist barely encircling the shank just below it, my deep red fingernails pressing their tips lightly onto the underside. There was a large drop of pearly white liquid sitting on top, almost obscuring the piss hole opening. I leaned over and lapped it up. It tasted sweet, salty, creamy. I kissed the eye, then tongued it, then settled Wilmer's whole cock head into my mouth and began to move down on him.
"That's what I wanted to see," I heard Kate say. "That was what I asked Andy way back when I first caught him dreaming about this moment at that Sissify web site, would he want to lick the precum first, or just head straight for the main action. Now we both know. He's a natural cumsucker, even before he's a cocksucker. He'll be very useful to us!"
"Yes," I heard Claire say. "With practice he may get to be as good at sucking cock as you are. And at drinking cum out of you, the way we make Wilmer do it now as a punishment. This is a much better arrangement. I'm really so glad you thought of it, sweetheart. Between the four of us, look at the possibilities! Now we have three usable assholes not counting Wilmer's, assuming that Wilmer gets into Annie's tonight and opens it up."
"He will," Kate said. "Annie will see to it. I've seen to that! And I really do think that when it happens he really will love it. He really is a slut! Just look at him!"
Claire continued her inventory as I began slipping my dark red lips up and down Wilmer's shank, sucking gently, licking the underside, and hearing him groan deep in the back of his throat. "And between us," she said, "we have three functioning cocks until those heavy doses of hormones reach Annie's, then two. And one real vagina for servicing with Wilmer's cock or mine, whichever you want, the way we've been doing it since we first met. We have one submissive straight male, Wilmer, with a dominant transsexual wife, me, now getting deep into an affair with a brand new transsexual woman, your submissive boyfriend. So Wilmer's happy too, I should say!"
Wilmer began thrusting up at me, and I tried not to choke on his meat. I gripped with both hands the part of his prick below where my lips could reach, and gently jerked him off as my lips continued to pulse and rise and fall on the upper part. I heard Kate's voice,
"And now I've got two good looking women to sleep with whenever I want, one of them proper and well bred, you, and the other getting on to be a wonderfully flirtatious hussy, Annie. I have your cock to fuck, Claire, or Wilmer's when I want a real man. And that cock of Wilmer's is a prize! Just look at it! Annie can barely get the top half of it into his mouth! And I can have Annie's cock too, if I want it, for the time being. But I think I'll leave it alone -- it would interfere with his feminizing if he got used to using it again. Anyhow, I'm sure he'll want it to be a vagina by the end of the year."
Wilmer put both hands on my head gently, and held me over his giant prick, and began to move me up and down in his own preferred rhythm. I pulsed my lips as rapidly as I could as they slid along his shank, and meanwhile continued to jerk him off.
"Kate, do you have any idea how Annie's desires will settle down when you've finished with him, when he's finally a her? Certainly he can be our house maid, what with the three of us working and earning good money. And you say he's a data base expert too? That'll be useful at the clinic. You should plan to marry him soon I think, while he's still a man, while it's still legal. He's slipping fast. Just look! Now he's doing Wilmer's cock like a starved animal!" There was a long silence, and then I heard Claire add in a subdued, almost fainting voice, "Oh, Kate, that was so wonderful! Do it again to me? Or can Annie do it to me now?"
I could feel Wilmer begin to tense, and his huge cock swelled until the veins up and down it stood out like cords. I began to suck deep, with all the pull my cheeks could muster!
Kate again. "No, let's leave him alone with his very first boyfriend. Just look, isn't that sweet? And I did promise him his first assfuck too with that glorious thing of Wilmer's. And you know Wilmer's tongue is magic on anyone's tits, and Annie loves that sensation -- she plays with her nipples all the time. I'm sure she'll be in love with Wilmer by morning. Let's just go to bed now, baby! I want to feel you in me, Claire, pushing deep, deep into me! That wonderful cock of yours! I'm so glad it's still functioning!" Kate's voice that sounded nearly hoarse.
I heard their footsteps on the stairs, with shufflings and silences, when I suppose they were gripping and kissing each other. Then the door to our bedroom upstairs closed.
At that moment I felt Wilmer's pelvis rise up out of his seat and his prick thrust deep into my throat and begin to pulse. Cream filled my mouth, and I swallowed it as fast as I could! It was so delicious! I'd never dreamed a man's cum would taste so good, and feel so satiny on my tongue and lips! It was so glorious at that moment, being a woman!
When he'd finished pumping and I'd swallowed it all, and licked him lovingly, I smiled up at him, then sat up to kiss him on the cheek. I remembered from what Claire said that he wasn't crazy about the taste of cum, not the taste of her cum in Kate's cunt, anyhow. His cum? I put it out of my mind. "Come on, lover," I said. "There's lot's more! Let's get to bed." He was still breathing hard, and he looked at me. Then he smiled, shyly, and the two of us got up and headed for the guest room.
The next morning when I woke up, there were Kate and Claire wearing negligees, hair pinned up and arms around each other, standing in the doorway looking down at us with smiles on their faces. I was curled up on Wilmer's hairy chest, and he had one long leg draped over me, and I still had an arm encircling his neck, where I'd hugged him to sleep. My rear end felt terribly sore, well-used, but somehow wonderful! My breasts too! I saw that Wilmer was smiling too as he snored gently. And I know I was.
"Honey," said Kate. "You two look so precious together! We've brought you your negligee -- I know you'll want to look pretty when Wilmer wakes up. But meanwhile, we need to talk. There are some things you may not know. I want to tell you what they are, and put a proposal to you. I still own you, but this involves more than just your relationship with me. So I have to get your free consent. If you can agree to what I'm about to say, I'll accept you as my husband and my steady girlfriend, and we'll get married as soon as we can decide on our bridal gowns and make the other arrangements. And find a larger house, because there will be four of us living in it. I'd better explain."
And she did.
So, dear Sissify Staff, there's where I am now. I love my new life! Somehow during my month or two of living as Ms. Katherine's submissive sissy, I really did turn a corner and became a real woman. A real transsexual woman. I live now with Claire, a shemale transsexual woman who is also my fiancee's girlfriend, or sometimes her boyfriend, and is also my doctor. And I'm beginning to get to know her intimately myself. Then there's my fiancee Kate who is my beloved Mistress and owns me, a born woman. And there's sweet, darling Wilmer, an ordinary man with exceptional gifts -- as I understand it, I'll have to share Wilmer with his wife and my wife, but that's OK, there's lots of him to share. So my life is full, and my other openings are too, often. I feel so pretty, being wanted by so many people, and so satisfied too! And I owe it all to you. I just wanted you to know that I'm grateful.
Yours sincerely, Annie
Copyright © 1998,2000,2009 by Vickie Tern. May be archived and single-copied, not sold.
Vickie [email protected]
Authors foreword: Don't read this if you can't, or can't claim you can.
All comments welcome -- [email protected]
She'd sat me down and told me the whole thing was arranged, never mind thanking her, there was nothing for me to do but enjoy myself. I would be spending the whole of my birthday downtown, doing wonderful things all Saturday long dressed as Jenny. Being Jenny. And all of the evening too! Then she'd added as if an afterthought that we'd see about afterward.
First a five hour appointment at the Transformation Salon, all morning and into the afternoon, where they'd make me over to look as pretty as I could be, "I mean really, not the way you usually look when you dress up," she'd said. Then I'd go shopping for some really nice clothes to replace all the second hand leftovers I usually wore, with a professional shopper from the Salon along to advise me. Then the whole of Saturday night I would revel in a formal gown at the Annual Beaux Arts Ball, again escorted courtesy of the Salon, looking gorgeous and dancing into the small hours and not expected home until the next day. Jessica encouraged me to stay up as late as I wished, sleep in Sunday morning in a hotel she'd already booked, and only then think about coming back home.
Astonishing! We hadn't been getting on at all well, not for the past year or so, anyhow. And until two nights ago Jessica'd wanted no part of any of this! Yet yesterday morning she'd awakened just before I left to keep my appointment at the Salon, and wished me a happy, happy birthday, and kissed me goodbye. This despite the fact that I was already wearing just a touch of mascara and lipstick. Usually she despised seeing me in any kind of make-up, and she made no secret of it. Yet, this time she said that she couldn't wait to see me done up properly by professionals. And she specifically asked me to drive home still dressed. "Wear something especially pretty for me," was what she'd said. "You'll love deciding what. Women do you know!" Then as I left the house, "Have fun, honey. Come back looking gorgeous. I'm curious what kind of a woman I live with!"
So that's what I'd done. Driving home, I wore my brand-new pastel flower- print silk mini, with the cute, crystal-pleated skirt that came only halfway down my thighs, barely covering my stocking tops but still generous and clingy enough to preserve decency. I wanted Jessica to see me looking a little sexy, and my legs are one of my best features.
And wearing my new blonde hairdo, that had altogether changed my appearance! The girls in the shop had handed me a man's wig in my usual hair style almost as an afterthought, after spending hours coloring and cutting and primping and fussing my long hair into these sweeping high curls. They assured me the wig would cover their work if it had to. "But don't pretend to be that dark-haired man who came in here, except maybe when you must," they'd said. "Your hair's been permed and styled now, and it's such an attractive shade, and it's really very flattering. And easy? Whenever you shake your head, you'll find that it shapes itself beautifully, every hair curling back into its proper place! You won't really want to hide it!"
And wearing the new, subtle facial make-up they'd taught me to apply quickly but appropriately for whatever the occasion or time of day, and with my new long red nails glistening.
All of this the incredible birthday surprise arranged by my darling Jessica! A complete turnabout for her! Only two days earlier, she'd hated my crossdressing! Or she'd said she did.
I suppose I should have told her about it before we were married. I should have told her that my big sister and her friends had dressed me up like a girl when I was only 8 years old, just for fun. That despite the tears and humiliation I'd loved it and had cried when they decided they shouldn't have done it and wouldn't ever again, and that they'd often done it for me afterward, with my heartfelt cooperation. That I loved feeling I was one of them, one of the girls. That hardly a day had passed since then without my doing something to express the feminine feelings they'd awakened, by my wearing secretly some near-natural shade of lipstick, or some delicate lace panties, something to please the girl in me.
Women's clothes always felt deliciously sexy, though my wearing them had nothing to do with attracting men. In fact, when I dressed to look really pretty, it made me feel all the more desirous of other women, those marvelous creatures who look that way as their birthright. I'd wanted to tell Jessica that this was one of the advantages my crossdressing would bring to our marriage, that when I was dressed and made up I'd be an especially ardent husband, and of course always her loving sister and best girlfriend.
But when we first decided to get married, Jessica thought that neither of us should discuss any of our previous sexual experiences, that we should both begin fresh. "There are things about both of us, I'm sure, that neither of us wants to know." That sounded sensible enough. But some months later when she came home early and found me wearing a plain blouse and a denim skirt, long hair pulled back in a bow, perfectly presentable I thought, she was shocked and disgusted. She decided she'd married an effeminate man, and felt betrayed. I told her my past history, about the joy I felt when I when I was pretending to be a girl, about my desire to be more than a husband to her. But that didn't help at all.
After much grief we did reach an understanding. I could prance and flounce as if I were a woman at TV conventions elsewhere and out of town if I had to, but I should never show myself to her as anything other than her husband. "My so-called husband," she'd added, and there was always a faint mockery in her attitude toward me from then on. When I'd tried to discuss it, or to soften her edict, she'd only gotten firmer, even contemptuous. "I don't want to know!" she'd said adamantly. "And I don't want you ever to remind me!"
Over the next few years our sex life diminished to very little. Her "so-called husband" could mount her when he felt he had to, but she gave him very little encouragement or satisfaction, and fell asleep almost immediately afterward. She did ask me to lick her cunt to orgasm, quite frequently, and that's what I did whenever I found her lying back on a pile of pillows looking at me, waiting for me to dive onto her clit and her slit from down below. Jessica knew I would. That was what women did with each other, she pointed out. "That's it," she'd say. "Yes, there, that's it, Jenny, is that what you call yourself? That's what would-be girls like you can do for real women like me. Never mind trying to be a man!" Humiliating me must have turned her on, because she'd get juicy almost as soon as my tongue reached into that part of her. I'd swallow slick juices even while my licking elicited more. "Oh, yes, drink it out of me!" she'd hiss, and I would. Then as she rose to orgasm, her heaves and spasms would engulf me, and she'd crush my head between her thighs while even more secretions poured into my mouth.
"Yes, that's what you're good for," she'd say afterward. I had the feeling that if it weren't for my oral servicing she wouldn't want me physically at all. Maybe there was some unacknowledged lesbian tendency repressed in her? She welcomed my mouth to her crotch often, but remained quite uninterested in my cock.
Anyhow, that's how it all was until only two days ago.
And now I was driving back fully dressed, looking rather lovely, I thought, wearing the cute dress I'd bought yesterday just for her. My birthday was over, but I'd had such a good time I couldn't bring myself to end it. And I loved it that she didn't expect it to end yet either. That she wanted to share my pleasure. And I wanted to show her everything her thoughtfulness had purchased.
Nearly everything. I couldn't tell all. That escort she'd hired to take me to the ball, for example, Eric! Someone had to accompany me, she knew, no woman ever goes to a formal dance on her own. But I'd resented Eric when he first showed up at my hotel room exactly on time, because it was obvious at first glance that he was a magnificent hunk and he knew it. I'd thought Jessica was mocking my own manhood when she'd selected him to take me to the Ball from the Salon's list of eligibles. I'd thought she was using him to remind me of my own inadequacies as a male in her eyes, especially at that moment, dolled up as I was when I let him in, my hair perfected, my eyes and lips alluringly painted, my earrings dangling down toward bare, powdered shoulders, and my figure set out in the most beautiful long ball gown, creamy taffeta with tiers and tiers of ruffles. When he smiled the most charming of smiles at me and introduced himself, and even kissed my hand, holding it just a moment longer than necessary, I felt downright hostile.
But it wasn't an act! Throughout the evening Eric couldn't have been more caring and attentive. He watched me as I whirled in the arms of other men to whom he introduced me, nice men every one of them, none of them the dilletantes or oddities you'd expect to meet at a Beaux Arts Ball. It felt peculiar at first, being held and embraced by men, but I tried deliberately to make myself feel fragile and helpless and ladylike, and that helped. I quickly got used to it. I even began to enjoy the power women seem to have over men, the way my partners tried to flatter or amuse or dance attendance around me.
Eric also introduced me to some women he knew too, and they swept me giggling into their circle to ask me how well I knew Eric, and for how long, and was he as cute in bed as..., and wasn't he, well, you know.... I didn't know, but I replied with a vagueness they found all the more provocative. His affectionate respect for me seemed to grow more intimate as the evening faded into the small morning hours, and I really began to feel cherished as a woman, not at all what I was, one of the Salon's male clients!
By dawn, when he brought me to my door, I was half in love. He felt so comfortably familiar, and I felt so wonderfully feminine, that I spontaneously kissed him good night! On the lips! He pulled my body into his with his powerful arms, and I could feel his male sex hardening in his pants, and the thought crossed my mind that he must be bisexual, and I wondered what it would be like....
But no, I wasn't bisexual, and I was married, and that was that! I broke off, and kissed him again and smiled gratefully at him, and twisted my body into the hotel room in a single deft hip movement, and closed the door. Girls had done that to me when I'd dated them, and now I'd done it! Even that felt so deliciously feminine! Still, his steadfast conviction that I was the most beautiful woman at the ball had made me feel that I was just that. It felt wonderful. I really was grateful.
I could tell Jessica that much by way of thanking her. That I now understood how women especially appreciate feeling cherished. I hoped that whatever the reasons for her sudden change of heart, if she could see me looking really nice, tastefully dressed, well-groomed, delicately feminine even in the way I moved, sensitive in my feelings, she'd be more willing to accept me that way more often. Maybe finally she'd be willing to go out with me as if I really were one of her girlfriends. She'd started attending different events with one or another of the women she knew when she'd lost her respect for me, when she no longer liked being seen in public with me.
Or maybe she could think of me as a sister. Maybe even as a real lesbian lover. I imagined us undressing and caressing each other slowly, tenderly, our eyes locked adoringly, embracing, small smiles flickering on our faces. Me kissing and licking and sucking on her breasts and her pussy with gentle delicacy, while she did the same with me, whatever parts she could reach. I did so desperately want to live at home sometimes as Jenny! That thought held me so entranced that I turned into our driveway before I came back to where I was.
Which may be why I didn't notice until I was parked alongside it that there was already another car in the driveway. A BMW. Who'd be visiting us this Sunday afternoon? Did any of her girlfriends drive a BMW? No, the women we knew all drove sensible little cars, or if they were mothers they drove vans. Had I asked our lawyer, or our insurance man, or someone else, to look in on us on Sunday, and then just plain forgotten?
A problem. What to do?
I sat there feeling helpless, suddenly a little frightened. I was a man ridiculously made up to look like a woman and dressed a little like a tart, a so- called man who didn't dare leave his car to enter his own home. If the BMW belonged to anyone who knew me, would he recognize me? Was it likely? How long would it then take for the news to get around town that I had spent Sunday driving around looking like a flaming pansy with my hair done up blonde. Could I live with that reputation? I realized there was no way I could wash off the cosmetics I'd so carefully rubbed and brushed and stroked onto my face a few hours earlier. Nor change to male clothes and the dark- haired male wig, and walk to the front door disguised as myself. I realized that I didn't even have a pair of pants with me -- I'd left the house yesterday dressed like a woman headed for her Beauty Parlor appointment, no compromise, and I'd never looked back! Was our back door open or locked? Could I sneak in that way? I didn't even know -- I almost never used it.
A glimpse of my face in the car's rear view mirror reminded me that what I looked like was an unknown woman come to visit, well-turned out and quite at home with herself, a virtual stranger to the house and the neighborhood. My courage began to return. No one would ever recognize me as this blonde in pretty curls and a cute dress. If they did, I could pretend to be my own sister.
That's what I'd do. Most of this game, I'd told myself repeatedly in the early days, is self-confidence. Persuade yourself that you are what you seem to be, act that way, and others will always take you at your word. Often enough.
I opened the car door, swung my legs onto the pavement, stood up, straightened my skirt -- it really was rather short, I thought, but now there was nothing for it -- and began to click my way toward the front door in my new heels. At the last minute I remembered to tuck my purse under my arm. I was my sister, or maybe a friend, come to call on my wife. Unpacking and showing Jessica all of the pretty purchases she'd gotten me for my birthday would have to wait until the mystery of the BMW was solved. Maybe there was no one visiting, only someone using our driveway to visit one of our neighbors? Before I realized I shouldn't, I mindlessly unlocked the front door with my own key and let myself in. What if anyone inside had noticed?
No one did. There was no one there! Not in the downstairs hallway, anyhow. Nor in the living room, though someone had been there -- the couch cushions, normally plumped up, were punched way down, and there were a few used wine glasses on the end table and on the mantle. Had Jessica held a birthday party for me here last night, and not invited me? I looked in the kitchen. An ice bucket with water in it sat on the counter, and two empty pizza boxes were tucked next to the trash. A six-pack of beer in the fridge, and a few more of empties on the back porch. Jessica'd had some people in all right, for an informal party. OK, that was fair, while I was dancing the night away at the Ball. Could it have been such a late party that she was still asleep? I went upstairs and quietly cracked open our bedroom door.
There she was, a gentle smile eased across her sleeping face, lying on her stomach atop the bed covers, completely naked, the cleft of her ass lifted high up by some pillows tucked underneath her hips, her left arm sprawled and dangling down over the edge of the bed, her right arm lying lightly across a long bulge next to her. I looked more closely in the dim light. The bulge became a sleeping man. Also naked. No question, that's what it was. He was. A man lay there on his back, a strange man, his hair mussed over a handsome forehead, snoring gently.
I looked down and saw that his legs were spread across the bed and over hers as if he owned both. There was dark, curly hair across his arms and chest and belly, concentrated on his crotch. There they were matted and drenched with milky clots and glossy smears and stains. Love-juices, lots of them, some still shiny in streaks on his belly and spread like salad dressing along his thighs. Lots of it! And there was a huge cock, fully exposed. It lay diagonally across that wet haystack of pubic hair and spent cum, relaxed and at ease with itself for the moment.
I stared down at it and began to feel very peculiar, tense, strange! That thing had been inside my wife, my own Jessica. To judge by the mess of thick cum surrounding it they had had sex repeatedly, quite a few times! It was a gigantic sausage, that cock, massive in length and bulk, and even though for the moment it was soft, it remained plentifully plump. I looked over and saw that Jessica's rear end was streaked with the same sticky, shiny stuff, that there was a pool of it between her cheeks and running down her thighs! She'd been fucking him! How long had they been at it? How many times? I couldn't take my eyes off that enormous prick of his, my enemy, my betrayer! I felt shocked! The bottom dropped out of my stomach, and my bowels clutched! My knees momentarily buckled inside their nylons.
My nylons! I was still Jenny! A woman! Trapped! I had no choice! I was shocked but I didn't dare play out the role my instincts demanded! I didn't dare enact the outraged husband of an adulterer, a victim of infidelity who has just caught his wife and her lover in flagrante. Not dressed and looking the way I was! Like a woman! It was too shameful! Too ridiculous! Jokes at my expense would spread out from this bedroom and across the city in no time at all! And if I attempted any kind of high dudgeon, Jessica would take one look at me and collapse into hysterical laughter. I knew it! No, I didn't dare indulge myself. There could be no fury, no jealous wrath, no indignation, and no sorrow nor tears either. No presumption of injured innocence. Instead, I needed to hide myself behind the way I looked and hope I wouldn't be seen! And hope to deal with it, even the score in some way.
What would a woman like me do walking into a scene like this? She'd be a worldly-wise, sophisticated friend, because what was I doing there at all if that isn't what I was? All I could think of, instinctively, was that she'd feel girlishly intrigued and amused! She'd giggle and make a joke! My eyes were now wide open, and my mouth too! I covered my red lips with my red- tipped fingers and just stared at them! No joke occurred to me. Was it too late to back out?
The man opened his eyes and then lay there, looking at me calmly, mildly, with not the slightest change of expression. We looked at each other. Then Jessica opened her eyes and saw me, and her eyes widened slightly. A moment's pause, then a slow smile spread across her face. She lay there without moving, appraising my appearance. Her smile became a welcoming grin!
"Why hello, Jennifer, honey," she said. "Don't you look nice? That new hairdo is everything I'd hoped it would be. So feminine and becoming! You'll love taking care of it."
A perverse streak in me suddenly felt pleased to hear this, that her reaction was exactly what I'd hoped all the while I'd been driving home. I actually reached up and touched the curls on the back of my neck a few times with the palm of my hand! I couldn't help it! Why wasn't I furious?
"Thank you, Jessica," I replied in the smallest voice I've ever heard come out of my mouth. Then inexplicably I heard myself add, "I already love it!"
Now that this potential confrontation was a scene between two women friends, one of them me, Jessica seemed to relax. "I really wasn't expecting you for another few hours, Jenny. I thought that maybe you and Eric would still be...busy with each other. No? You dated the fabulous Eric and yet managed to come back with your virtue intact? Remarkable! But why? Well, no matter. As you can see, I've been busy too, in other ways."
She'd set me up with Eric for more than just a date? She'd planned for me to be away from home and involved with...a man, so she could spend her whole time here uninterrupted with this man? My mind tumbled in upon itself!
"I see you've finally met Hal. Isn't he gorgeous? Hal, this is Jenny, my husband's sister, and I guess at the moment she's also my nearest and dearest girlfriend! You remember, I've told you all about her."
Hal just continued to look at me impassively, his face composed. "Hi, Jenny," he said ingratiatingly in a melodious baritone. "I've heard lots of good things about you. I'm glad we're finally getting a chance to meet. Pardon me for not getting up, but you can see the way it is."
I found my voice. It was high-pitched and strangled. Stay calm! "Yes, I can see the way it is," I said. "You don't have to get up for me." Then, "It looks like you've already been up most of the night." Did I mean that dig? Was my tone bitter? Jealous? I hoped it sounded teasing. Forcibly I shut myself up!
"Yes, doesn't it," Hal said, amused. "But that's the way it always is when I'm with a beautiful woman. It won't quit!" He began to smile, comfortably charming, pleased with himself, obviously trying to sound pleasant. He looked me in the eyes directly, as if we were meeting alone with each other across a crowded room, not across the naked body of another man's wife, my wife, his lover, with himself alongside her equally naked, Did he know who I was?. "I'll be downstairs," I said weakly. It was all I could think of saying.
"Oh, don't go, Jenny honey" Jessica said, her face still smiling broadly. She tried to turn onto her back and failed. "Hal, I love the weight of your legs on me, any time, baby, but....?" He shifted off her obligingly, leaning over to kiss her shoulder at the same time. She reached back to run her hand up his neck and ruffle his hair. "You are such a dear," she said to him, articulating each word with a restrained ferocity I'd never heard from her before. Then she turned to lean on one elbow and stare again at me.
"Jenny dear, this is the marvelous man I've been talking about for months now! Everyone knows about him. Nearly everyone." She looked at me, now somehow vastly amused. "But somehow you've never met, have you? Well, now that you have met, aren't you the least little bit curious to find out more about him? Why don't you just sit down over there" -- she indicated the overstuffed slipper chair she kept next to the bed -- "and we'll just visit and get acquainted. Please?"
She looked at me levelly. The smile had gone from her face, and her brows were now drawn closer together. Was she threatening me? To expose me? I couldn't take the chance. I'd lost any initiative I might have had anyhow. Utterly. I came into the room meekly, smoothed my skirt across my rump primly, and sat down. Now I couldn't look at Hal, so I just looked at Jessica. I was confused and angry with myself as well as her. They'd been seeing each other for months? But what could I have done? What could I do even now? Hal was so...physical compared with me. That dong lying across his crotch was bigger soft than mine ever gets even when it's hard! And standing up he'd have towered a full head over me!
"I can't get over how nice you look, Jennifer," she said. "Better than I've ever seen you! Your cheeks are positively glowing! And that's a wonderful dress, it suits you so well! So sexy! Are you sure that Eric...? No? What a pity? Well, maybe we can...?"
"Maybe we can," Hal broke in suddenly. "That's not a bad idea at all!"
"No, I don't think so," I blurted out. But what didn't I think?
"Maybe we can double-date some time," Jessica finished. "Hal is all mine, Jenny. I don't mean to share him." She said this firmly, and there was no doubt about it. "There are a lot of other guys out there eager to amuse women who've recently gotten rid of their husbands the way you have. Are you rid of yours for good, Jenny? I know mine won't dare to show his face around here ever again if he knows what's good for him." She sat up stiffly and looked me directly in the eyes, until she saw that her point had been hammered home. Then she relaxed. "You really need to loosen up a little, Jenny, now that the man in your life doesn't matter to you any more. Try out some new things. See how you like them. See how much better some men are than other men, doing some things. Better than some women in making someone like you happy."
She tensed and stretched herself, and the lower part of her body began to writhe reminiscently, as if Hal's cock was somehow back inside it. "Pardon me a moment, honey. The john! I feel so full! I'm leaking front and rear, no matter which way I turn! I really must tidy up a little. This time there's no husband around to do it for me!"
She smiled a deeply satisfied smile and stood up, still stark naked, clothed in her self-satisfaction, and she swaggered into our bathroom and closed the door behind her. I realized that she had been speaking to Hal, not to me, reassuring him that there was no chance of an unexpected confrontation while she was gone from the room. I suppose there wasn't.
Now Hal turned toward me and propped himself on his elbow, and looked me over closely. A flash of teeth gleamed as he turned on a radiant personality and beamed it at me from close range. He seemed so utterly self- confident, so powerful! I shrank back within myself, my eyes widening, a little fearful.
"Jennifer," he intoned in a lulling, rich voice. I had to listen. "That's an absolutely ravishing name, Jennifer. Jess will be in there for a while, Jenny. There's a lot of me way down deep inside her she'll want to clean out. Her husband used to do it for her, she told me. I suppose it was her way of getting back at him for something or another. Or maybe he liked doing it. But that was all the more reason for her to want me to fill her to overflowing."
What was he talking about?
"I can cum quite a few times before I need a rest, did you know that, Jenny? Quite a few! Jessica loves to use those pussy muscles of hers to squeeze cum out of me again and again, till nothing's left. But I always have more. Have you ever done that, Jenny? Squeeze a man, over and over until there's nothing more he can squeeze into you?"
He sounded so persuasive I almost nodded 'Yes.' It was terrifying, the force of his questioning! I just shook my head.
"Jessica's husband used his mouth. Have you ever cleaned out a woman with your mouth, Jenny?"
This time I nodded. I don't know why. Because I had? It was none of his business. But I couldn't help myself.
"You like the way women taste? I'll bet you do. How about men? Do you like the way men taste?"
I didn't like the way this interrogation was going, but I couldn't turn it in another direction. I had to be Jennifer, a woman, Jessica's girlfriend, comfortable enough about sex to walk in on a naked couple and then sit down and chat with them. I was a woman. I had to persuade myself or no one else would believe me. If Hal caught on that I was Jessica's despised husband, the ridicule I'd have to endure from both of them would be unbearable. Yet, taste a man? I couldn't reply.
Hal sat up like a great-maned lion rising from rest, and slowly swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Now his face wasn't three feet away. He leaned slightly forward and reached over and grasped my shoulders as if to reassure me. Then gently, ever so gently, he began to pull me toward him out of my chair. I found myself down on my knees in front of his knees, looking up into his eyes.
"Do you like the way men taste, Jennifer?" he repeated, looking into my eyes with a kindly, mild expression on his face. "I see you do. Would you like to taste me, Jennifer? Would you like to use your pretty red mouth to squeeze my juices out of me, until they're all inside you?"
He gave the faintest tug to my shoulders, and my head nodded. His cock was just under my nose.
I looked down at it, and at his black, tangled pubic hair, coated and streaked with my wife's dried cum. And with his. All this time his prick was growing, and it now stood tall between his legs like some massive tower, its foreskin slipping back even as I looked down on it. It was now as fat as my wrist! Its plump purple cock head brushed against my lips. I tried not to flinch away.
"My God!" I said. I'd never seen such a cock! It was more like a horse's than a man's!
"Yes, Jennifer. Many women make this their God! Taste me, Jennifer. Lick me, Jennifer. You know you want to. Open your mouth and lean forward."
Could I rebel at this point? Make a scene? I leaned forward.
"That's it! Ahhhh! That's it, Jennifer! Lick me again. Now take the head of my cock into your mouth, Jennifer. Your pretty red mouth! Open wide! And take hold of my cock with your pretty hands, with your pretty red-tipped fingers, Jennifer, both hands, and pull on it gently, gently, Jennifer. That's it! And begin to suck on my cock, Jennifer. Purse your lips around me and suck. Ahhhh! That's it!"
I did it. I couldn't help myself. I didn't seem to have a mind of my own. My cheeks sank in, and for the first time my tongue felt the strange velvety texture of a man's cock head He tasted familiar. I puzzled it. Of course. This prick was covered with Jessica's cum. He tasted like Jessica.
Then all of a sudden it hit me. He tasted like Jessica. But he was also soaked in his own cum, the cum this very cock had been pumping into Jessica's pussy over and over, all day today and probably yesterday too. The smell and taste was blended with Jessica's, and they smelled and tasted so very familiar! What had Jessica done? All the while I thought that my own skilled mouth and tongue were exciting her vagina to prodigious lubrication, it was never her cum, it was their cum! She'd come home fresh from fucking him, and it amused her to allow me, her proper, lawful husband, to clean him out of her! What a sucker I'd been! Their juices were spread over his genitals even now, I could see, clotted and matted on his shaft and his groin and his balls. The slick gouts of their secretions squished as I began to pull and push on his prick with both my hands.
Once again I was licking up the evidence of her infidelity, his thick cloudy sperm laced with her clear secretions, but this time directly, sucking his cock at first hand instead of at one remove. That was all I was good for, she'd told me often enough. "Oh, yes," she'd moan, as my tongue sank deep into her pussy and slurped at the slick sap it found there. "Suck on it! That's what you're good for!" To give lip service to her betrayals.
I'd thought she felt affection for me each time I buried my face between her legs. But it was really only spite! She'd been avenging herself on me, because she'd decided I wasn't man enough for her.
I felt cheapened, cheated, used. As my resentment grew, a bleak anger began to rise from deep within me. And as that anger began to feed on itself, I half- forgot what I was doing. The outrageous injustice of it! The petty maliciousness! The gratuitous humiliation! Did I deserve this? How can I get even? Tense, furious, I began to clench and pump and suck on Hal's massive prick.
Hal felt something profound happening, and began in turn to push at me with his hips, to headfuck my mouth. In a mindless fury I brought my mouth down onto his massive prick as hard as I could, to push him back, and he then thrust into me even more strenuously! His breathing and mine both grew shorter.
That bitch, I was thinking! My birthday present! Sending me away to get a Makeover and then to the Ball like Cinderella, eager to geld myself into a lady by my own desire, to dream of grace and beauty, all so she could feel free to fuck her brains out uninterrupted in this very bed! With a stud who even now thought he was getting a great head job, I was sure of it, from Jessica's best friend, the sister of the husband he had cuckolded how many times whenever they met, how many times met, over how many months? Could I count that high? I now pulled on that monster staff with my mouth and with both hands! It was now huge, practically a baseball bat. Infuriated, I sucked down deep onto the thick head and as much of the shank I could reach. My jaw ached wide open, and my lips stretched full to contain and then pulsate on him. I couldn't help myself! That nasty, spiteful bitch! Hal's whole body stiffened, and he half-lifted himself from the bed.
And then all of a sudden spurt after spurt poured into me. He came! He deluged into my mouth. I scarcely noticed! In a blind rage, I swallowed him mindlessly as fast as I could to keep from drowning or choking. His spunk leaked all around my stretched lips even while I milked even more out of him with my fist! It was Jessica's taste all right! My own wife! Using me with such contempt! I couldn't blame Hal, he was as he was, a hot prick with an easy pussy to plunge into. A vindictive pussy! But even as I was gulping his sperm and swallowing it and then gulping air, and Hal kept spouting more into me, ten, twelve, fifteen pulsing gushes with no end yet in sight, I was thinking, how can I get even with her?
And it came to me! I was a woman now. As far as Hal was concerned, anyhow, and Jessica wasn't ready to expose me. How can women avenge themselves on other women who betray their trust? They can return the favor and steal the other woman's man! Hal was an incredible man, with that cock of his, but still, only a man, easily led by that same cock. From the way he came on to me the moment Jessica left the room, I knew I could seduce him away from her at least long enough to empty his balls and deprive her of any more pleasure this weekend, thank you! Two can play that game!
I glanced up at him, and saw that he had no idea my furious paroxysms were about Jessica. He thought all that intensity was passionate devotion to his prick! He was leaning back now almost in a trance, his eyeballs rolled back. I realized only now that with each spurt of cum he had been crying out guttural noises of unspeakable joy. He still hadn't caught his breath, but as he glimpsed me looking up at him, he looked down and managed to gasp "God, Jenny! God! You give great head! The greatest! The greatest ever! Never like this before! Lady, you do get into it!"
Then while he was still floating in his euphoria, my wet lips still sliding along his long cock, his breath returned. He said, "My God, Jenny! You suck cock like there was no tomorrow, no more ever again. Your mouth is absolutely insatiable! Whatever can you be like when you fuck?"
I took my mouth from around his huge tool, and as it melted back to become a fat sausage once again, I said in the most suggestive, overripe voice I could muster, "That's for me to know, Hal baby, and for you to find out if you can!" For the first time since I'd arrived home, was it hours ago?, I smiled.
Then as I slowly got up off my knees and sat down again in the slipper chair, I had the satisfaction of seeing Hal reach for my hand to assist me -- he was such a gentleman. But there was a new light gleaming in his eyes. And I noticed that the extraordinary tube of meat in his lap had reversed itself. Incredibly, it was rising to my new challenge. Freshly slick and shiny, smooth and slippery with my saliva and with his own fresh cum, it was once again growing. In fact it was already huge, judging by ordinary standards.
But I'll handle it, I told myself! Somehow! I am going to fix that prick so Jessica's quim feels like a slab of sloppy supermarket liver when he next gets into it. She'd tried to fob me off on Eric while she was fucking this man? Well, right now I have a neat, tight, virginal ass, never entered, and I'm wearing my prettiest panties. For Jessica, I'd thought when I put them on this morning, but now they're for you, Hal. And my cock and balls are well hidden under that sanitary pad I put on this morning in sisterly solidarity with Jessica, so my secret's safe enough. Now I'm going to get back at Jessica! For the next hour I'm going to make my ass a cock-hungry slut to this stud! I'll empty those balls so he needs at least a week to refill them! Whatever it takes! That bitch! I've got to do it!
I was about to reach for the growth in Hal's lap, to lift him gently by it, and turn him, and mount the bed so he could mount me. It was a wonderful power I felt at that moment, that of a woman who knows she's desired. But just then I realized I'd heard no sounds from the bathroom for some time. I paused and listened. There came a click on the door, and then it opened. Jessica had returned. I muttered aloud "It's me now for the next hour, Hal baby, not that cunt Jessica! Can you deal with that?"
Hal heard. He broke into a slow grin, glanced at me and saw the intensity of feeling in my face, decided it was for him and should be rewarded and enjoyed, turned to Jessica, and said in a slow drawl, "Well, honey, you sure took your time. I'll bet there's room for lots more of me in there now. I figured you'd gone downstairs to call Janice to set up something for tonight. Shouldn't you? Or will your husband be home by then?"
"You're right," Jessica replied. "I forgot! I'd better now. But I'll be a while. You know how Janice loves to talk."
Who was Janice? One of those friends she's always seeing when I'm paying no attention to her comings and goings?
"You two'll be OK for a while?" She glanced at me, a little sternly I thought. "Getting to know each other, are you?"
"We'll be fine," Hal said, a little complacently I thought. "It'll be a while anyhow." He was telling her he wasn't able to fuck again right away. I knew better.
"All right," Jessica said, now looking at me directly. "Magnificent, isn't he, Jenny dear?" She came down hard on "dear," sounding exactly the way she did whenever finding fault with me as her husband. "Remember, look but don't touch. If you have to, pick on someone your own size! You have to work up to someone like Hal, honey. And you'll never really be woman enough for him!"
That's what you think, I thought, looking back at her calmly. I batted my eyes at her a few times but said nothing. Hal chuckled. Jessica looked at me a moment longer, trying to reinforce her warning I thought. "Fix your lipstick, honey!" was all she said. "You've smeared it!" Then she left.
A moment later we heard a phone dialing down below in the kitchen, and Jessica began to talk to someone, her words indistinct but her voice playing arpeggios and tinkling with laughter now and then. She'll be some time, I thought. She always is when she's in that good a mood and talking that way. I suppose she thinks Hal needs to recover some more before she can resume with him.
"Is that true, what she said about me?" I asked Hal?
"It could be, Jenny. Your cunt doesn't open real wide? It's never celebrated itself with someone like me?"
I'd better begin fast and not look back! "Hal, forget my cunt for now! I want my ass wrapped all around that cock!" Sound really horny, I told myself, and he'll be all the more eager. "Right now! I want to suck all of those juices into my ass. There's lots of room in there for that thing of yours, and for all the spunk in the world! But the opening's a bit tight. Do you think....?"
He was eager now all right! "Sweetheart, trust me, when we're through your ass will feel as loose as a bed sheet. Anything slipped into you will feel like it was born there!"
Still, I felt a little apprehensive. How exactly did this even the score with Jessica? Would I get torn up? Who was revenging himself on who? Or herself? Was this worth it?
Hal took my hand tenderly in his and placed it on his dong, which had finally become fully erect, and stood out like a young stallion's. I gripped it gently. "That's it, little lady," he crooned. That mellifluous, persuasive voice of his had returned. "Feel familiar? This is your old friend. Ask your hands and your mouth, they already know, don't they? So does your tummy, doesn't it? Now all you need to do is slip off your panties and pull up that pretty skirt and lie back here on this bed and relax and enjoy yourself."
His other hand took mine and lifted it as if he were a gentleman about to lead me into my first dance at a grand ball. Just as if it were still last night. With the same feeling of enchantment, I rose from my chair. He turned me and settled me on my back on the bed, and then leaned over me.
"Now, this cream I've got here will soothe you and help those muscles relax. Once it's between your cheeks I'll slip right past those panties of yours and into your rosebud with no fuss or trouble at all, Jenny honey. Do you want to massage it in yourself?"
I shook my head. I felt helpless to move. It felt warm and slippery as he slathered some onto my anus. Then I felt a full feeling, "comfy" was exactly the word for it.
"You see, Jenny. Already three fingers inside you, and all you feel is nice, isn't that so? Limp and loose as a goose. I'd fist you, but my cock 'll stretch you the same amount anyhow. Ready?"
He lifted my legs to his shoulders gently, and snugged my knees alongside his ears. Then gazed down at me reassuringly. Suddenly I felt so vulnerable, so helpless. I had to trust him. There came a dull poking on my anus. then more pressure, then more, then suddenly the most overwhelming full feeling I have ever felt in my life! Was that him already inside me? It was as if the most enormous turd in the world were in there trying to get out, or get in, and I groaned aloud.
"Now I'm in you, sweetheart, but just barely. If you feel like pushing, Jenny baby, just push! That's how I'll get more of me into you. Just say when."
His cock was in me! I felt an unexpected rapture suddenly blossom out from it! I'm a real woman! I said to myself. I've got the biggest cock in the world in me, and I've stolen my wife's lover away from her, and now I'm going to fuck him to death! It felt marvelous!
"More!" I said in a choking voice, as if it were my throat and not my ass that was now filled to the brim. "More, Hal baby! Fuck me!" I pushed my whole bottom toward him as best I could. He leaned forward, and then like a long freight train slowly moving into a tunnel that giant prick entered me, little by little, slowly, interminably it seemed. Finally at long last I could feel his thighs pressing against my rump.
"Aaahhhhhhhh!" I sighed out in deep satisfaction. "Full" was no longer the word for how my bottom felt. My whole body had expanded around him! Now I was complete! Altogether a part of him, and he was a part of me! What bliss! He began to withdraw, as gradually and majestically as he had entered me, and I felt myself becoming myself again. But empty, because now I knew that I was no longer full.
Then it began again, the return to that marvelous fulfillment. Of a promise of ecstasy to come. My anointing! I groaned. Then again, louder! When all of him had entered me and snugged into me, I cried out my desire and joy!
That monster cock then set up a slow, sedate, steady rhythm, stroking into and out of me, in and out. Now at the furthest reach of his in-stroke Hal's shoulders pressed heavily against my thighs and lifted my hips even higher up, my ass pressed even closer against his groin, and he plunged even deeper into me. Then with the outstroke the whole lower half of my body came down onto the bed, and I felt vacated, emptied, but nostalgic with the knowledge of his departure. Then it happened yet again. He returned, and as he reached into the deepest part of my bowels and I felt him pressing his whole groin against my ass I pushed as hard as I could into him, with the most delicious little wiggle at the end of my thrust, seeking...something nameless just beyond. My cock stayed flaccid underneath my sanitary pad, but I could feel further down, deeper, that I was beginning to approach a climax I could not have imagined. It was as if my anus and bowels themselves were knotting up and squeezing into my whole body the juices of pure pleasure.
We settled into that ecstatic rhythm, our two bodies become one, glorious! I opened my eyes. All I could see at first was his head between my nylon- stockinged thighs, his eyes tight closed, his hair hanging damp over his forehead, his face concentrating intently. Then I caught a movement from the corner of my eye, and turned my head, careful not to break my body's enchantment.
There, sitting in the slipper chair alongside the bed was my wife Jessica! She was watching the two of us with relaxed curiosity, altogether undisturbed by what she was seeing.
At that very moment Hal began his magnificent progress back into my bowels, and I had to give him my full attention. But when he began to withdraw I looked over at my wife again. She didn't seem irritated or jealous at all! In fact there was no mistaking it, she was gloating.
Could I be wrong? This wasn't at all what I had planned! Nor what she had planned for her weekend? Was I misreading a scowl of jealousy? Was the pleasure her boyfriend was now finding in my body, and I was finding each time my cheeks and hips spread wide to accommodate that cock, was it bitter to her, a thorn in her side?
Not at all. To my shocked amazement, as she watched us in relaxed ease, she smiled. She was happy for me?
"He's really into it now, isn't he?" she said, apparently to me.
"Yes, he is," I said in between my sighs and cries and grunts of satisfaction. That wonderful feeling was now building and building, reaching closer to...something nameless! I didn't want Hal to stop, not now, not ever. I didn't mind rubbing it in. "And he's wonderful!" I added. The more green- eyed the monster gnawing at her, the better.
Which may be why I didn't hear at first that Hal, on the deepest pressure of his in stroke, my ass cheeks high up and pushing into him, said on a wheezing grunt as he slammed that meat a last fraction of an inch further into my vitals, "Yes!" In fact I didn't realize Hal had said "Yes" at all until he added, "He sure is!"
"He bought it!" my wife responded to Hal. "He really bought it!"
I was about to answer her "Yes" again when the full meaning of Hal's unnecessary remark entered my understanding. I opened my eyes again, after wriggling the last excruciating deliciousness out of the last ounce of pressure from Hal's sweet cock and balls, my last wriggle of gratitude pushing into him, my last effort to prolong my delight before Hal withdrew and the whole cycle began again. I was shocked when I saw that Jessica was sitting there looking into Hal's eyes, not mine, that she was talking to Hal! In this exchange I was no more than a piece of meat Hal was fucking, as far as she was concerned. It was as if I weren't even there. She was talking to her lover. "I told you he'd buy it!" she added.
Hal pulled back and paused for an infinitesimal second before resuming his fucking rhythm. I couldn't help it, my asshole lunged at him, unable to wait. He then began his long slow re-entry yet again, and I was almost out of my head with joy.
"Yes you did, sweetheart," Hal said as he concentrated on re-entering me, his eyes fixed in some middle distance. "And he feels just great! Just great! I'd never have believed you could pull this off!"
"He was easy," my wife replied. She leaned back and looked up at the ceiling, her hands now clasped behind her head, in a reminiscent mood. I stared at her a little wild eyed, though my mind remained between my hips. "He's always been easy. Half the time I've gone out he's never looked up to ask why I'm so dolled up just to visit friends. He's so predictable! But now we can both get dolled up to visit you together whenever you'd like a three- way. I'm so glad you're enjoying him, Hal, and I'm even more glad he's enjoying you! It makes everything so much easier!"
Glad? I didn't want her to be, but I was pinned helpless now, and had to ride this thing to completion. Hal increased the pace, driving his body into my ass repeatedly, over and over, reaching for that intangible trigger that would fire off his orgasm. My hips were thrusting more wildly too, around and into that marvelous fat pole, faster and faster as a yearning built up in me.
Suddenly there I was! I reached up and achieved a high plateau, tense with desire, and then I felt some deep set of abdominal muscles begin to throb in glory, and I couldn't help it, I began to moan and then call out and finally to scream, and my still-soft prick began to throb somehow, and then to leak some kind of fluid into my napkin and my panties just as I felt Hal throb within me, and give a last mighty lunge, and I felt his hot sperm shoot high up into my guts. And shoot and shoot and shoot, until finally he began to ease off. I realized only then that my knees had been pushed all the way to my own ears during this last cataclysmic double orgasm. He hadn't yet begun to shrink and withdraw, but already his sperm overflowed my ass and my crotch, and mixed in with mine, and began to soak my panties and my skirt. We both began breathing a little more regularly. It was over. And deep within me, I regretted it. I wanted more.
"Well, you did it, honey," Jessica said to Hal, looking impassively at my round eyes staring back at her. "I knew if there was any woman in him at all he'd never be able to resist getting that big thing of yours inside him once he saw it. I never could resist a really big cock myself! I can't begin to count how many big guys stuffed themselves into me before I got married, or how many afterward, come to think of it. So why should he be able to hold himself back?"
Hal still loomed over me, looking down into my face. I looked up at his, my legs high up, resting on his shoulders and back. I couldn't move. But I didn't want to move!
"Well, Jessica," he said. "Maybe because he's a man? Not every man feels gets turned on by a large cock up his ass." He smiled down at me. "Present company excepted, of course. I think it was your other idea that did the trick, depend upon him to get jealous when he sees me, his resentment that his wife has been fucking another man. Other men, I suppose I should say. And of finding out that for months he's been sucking other men's cum out of his wife? That kind of thing can get a guy's head fucked up! Not just his head!"
"He loved your taste inside me!" Jessica said. "Same as I've always loved it! As long as he didn't know what it was, that is! How did you break the news to him?"
"No problem. He figured it out while he was sucking my cock. Then he couldn't wait to get even with you, and that did it!"
"You got him to suck your cock?" She looked at me still pinned beneath him, with what seemed new respect. "So I'm right too. It wasn't just resentment. A cock like yours can bring out the girl in any man, I bet!"
She grinned at me and went on. "Well, a Makeover is what I wanted for him, and that's what happened! If he looks like a woman, and sucks cock like a woman, and fucks like a woman, what do we call him?"
She turned to me, while I just lay there. My legs were still high in the air and my ass was still impaled by Hal's cock, which hadn't yet deflated enough for me to slide free of it. His cum was leaking freely out of my distended asshole now, though. In this position I couldn't easily comment on anything they said. I just listened.
"You know, Jenny," she said. "I'd hoped that Eric would take your cherry and teach you what it feels like to be a woman, so you'd stop playing with your skirts and lipsticks whenever I've gone somewhere else to fuck a real man, and fish or cut bait. I mean, join with the rest of us girls and go all the way, or else quit pretending and give it up and try to be a man after all! But now you've chosen, haven't you? I can tell just by looking at you. Who wouldn't want to be a woman after that cock of Hal's has been pushed deep into him? For that matter, now that you've seen what a real man's cock looks like and you've felt what it can do, you can't really claim that you're also a man, can you? Not any more you can't. Especially now that you've taken it up the ass and loved it!"
Thinking about Hal's meat heated her up a little. "It really is gorgeous, Hal! I see it there crammed like a long cork into Jenny's bottom, and I still can't help myself! Is there anything left in it for me for right now?"
Hal turned, his face regretful. "Not right now, Jess. You know well that after a few days of steady screwing it can take me as long as a half hour to get it up again. I can maintain that pace for weeks probably, the way I did last Christmas, when your husband was out of town? Remember? But I do need a half hour's breathing space now and then." He grinned. "Of course mouth-to-mouth resuscitation helps too."
Then he changed the subject. "Did you and Janice set it up for tonight while Jenny and I were up here getting it on?"
"Yes," Jessica answered. "In fact, her brother's in town, and Jenny'll be just perfect for him. It'll be wonderful, now that there's no chance any husband of mine'll ever discover what's going on and break in and make a scene and spoil the fun. I should have done this years ago."
She toward me again. "Jenny, welcome to the club. For some time now Janice and I and some other friends have been liberated women who love to take vacations from our marriages now and then, and kick up our heels by wrapping them around different men. Especially around Hal, this sweet man here with the prize cock that won't ever quit. And now you're one more of us!"
"He is indeed!" Hal commented, now finally pulling his softened sausage out of me and sitting back, then swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. My bottom felt...deprived! "I don't doubt that he'll want to join with you two any time we want to do a threesome! Dolled up like this, Jenny is one of the hottest pieces of ass I've ever fucked!" Then slyly, "I'll bet she misses me already."
Why did I feel complimented?
"You know Jenny," Jessica went on. "Our marriage is over." Her voice was kindly. She wanted to be helpful. "I don't want you for a husband. But now that you're not just playing at being a girl any more, I'd love for you to be my live-in girlfriend. Didn't you once say you wanted that?"
I was listening.
"You see, I've had only two options. Divorce you, or give you a birthday present that might make a difference. You may not know it, but you're not who you were. The girls at the Salon didn't tell you, but that blonde hairdo is now you! It's way too elaborate to cover with that little wig they gave you. That thing won't cover anything. And you know now that your face is much too feminine when it's made up for you to wear it plain and unadorned, the way you did when you were pretending it was a man's face. And I know you're happier in skirts than you are in pants -- that's why you wear them so often."
"But above all, you can't tell me that you'll never again want to have sex as a woman. That you'd rather fuck your life away as a man when you could keep getting royally fucked like a few minutes ago, like a woman. Not from what I just saw."
"So it seems to me that these are your options. Tomorrow you can go to the office dolled up in your blonde perm, or you can shave your head and go bald, and either way you can face all the talk. Or tonight you can go out with us and have fun, and sleep in tomorrow with Janice's brother. You two are all fixed up. From what we hear, he's hung like Hal here, and he's a charmer, and Janice tells me you've lucked out with him, because his taste runs especially toward girls just like you. No need to worry about the office for a long time. The guys we know always seem to have enough for us, if we treat them right."
She sat back and waited for my response.
I'd been set up! All along! I tried to be angry with her again, but I failed. I tried to resent Hal for being in on this conspiracy with her, but I couldn't. I tried to hold myself in contempt for not standing up and walking out and leaving my slut wife to her infidelities, but I couldn't even do that. Jessica and Hal may have done this to suit their own convenience, but I can't say it was only their own convenience. I thought for a moment how much further this thing could go. Then I decided I'd think that through some other time.
I sat up and surveyed the ruins of my new silk dress, stained and sticky with cum from all three of us, and I began wondering what else I had to wear that would do, among other purchases still in the car. I wondered what Janice was like, but I figured I'd find out soon enough.
"Tell me more about Janice's brother," I said. "Is he cute?"
Copyright © 07/12/1998, 2009 by Vickie Tern. May be archived and single-copied, not sold.
Vickie [email protected]
Mommy
By: Vickie Tern
"Isn't she a dear? So utterly precious! Look how her little rosebud mouth works while she sleeps! As if she were still nursing. Blowing those teeny bubbles. And those teensy perfect fingers curled up by her ears, with those mini fingernails! Oh, honey, she is so very sweet! I'm so happy we decided to have her. I'm so happy you agreed! I love you for it. Did she nurse well this time?"
"No problem. In fact she was so satisfied with one breast she just dawdled over the other and then fell asleep. I held her for a little while, just watching her sleep. She's so cute! I put her down only a little while ago, just before you came in. That's how come I'm still up. Maybe she's getting ready to quit this middle of the night feeding? What is it now, past two in the morning? That'll be a blessing! Then finally I'll be able to get some uninterrupted sleep."
"Maybe. Most babies do sleep through the night after two or three months. Did you use your breast pump on the other breast, honey? We want to be sure your milk keeps coming. Emily'll need all of it when she weighs a little more and has a bigger appetite, and that's only a few more months, I think. Did you ask Phebes about it? Dr. Phoebe?"
"Yes. When I was leaving her office. 'Very soon,' she said. 'Soon she'll soon be taking both barrels. So hang in there!' She had an odd grin on her face when she said it. I think she was mocking me!"
"Oh, she likes her little jokes. She was amused way back, remember, when we first came to her and proposed this arrangement. She liked the idea more and more, the more she thought about it, but at first she thought it was a joke."
"Yes, I remember all right. She laughed and said, 'That'd fix him!' and then she said, 'He doesn't deserve the satisfaction! Why don't you just let me cut it off!' I remember that part well enough! She doesn't like me, Heather, she never has. She knew something about me and Deirdre, didn't she."
"Yes, of course. All about it. Phebes is one of my oldest friends. My husband stepping out on me, I didn't know what to think, I didn't know where to turn. I was going to leave you then and there. In fact she's the one who talked me out of it. 'Wait,' she said. 'Give it some thought. You'll think of something better than that!'"
"You know, Heather, sometimes I think it might have been better if you had just left me. This situation is so awkward in some ways, what we've done. It's ...well, I don't know!"
"Oh, sweetheart, you can't mean it! Regret all this? Just look at her! You love what we've done! You wouldn't have missed any of it for anything in the world, would you? Feeding this sweet baby your own sweet milk five, six times every day? Devoting your every day just to keeping her comfy and happy? It must be the greatest feeling in the world! It's everything I'd hoped for you. Isn't it? Isn't it?"
"Yes. I have to admit, it can be quite wonderful. It is wonderful! She's so helpless, so very sweet! And now that she's learned to smile, when she looks into my eyes I...!"
"See? I thought so. Let's let her sleep now, and get to bed ourselves. I'm exhausted! I'm glad you're glad. You know, I'm surprised I had to persuade Phebes to do this for us, almost the same way I had to persuade you. I know it sounded crazy, but it made such good sense. She did see the advantages almost immediately, and that overcame her scruples I think. It saved our marriage, that's certain!"
"I guess."
"Would you hang these up for me while I remove my make-up? The way I showed you? You're a doll. No, I don't think Phebes meant to call your breasts barrels. They don't look the least bit like barrels. Two large flasks, maybe. Those leather bottles they use in Spain for carrying wine, 'botas'? Maybe there's some resemblance there. But now they're so smooth and pearly white! Gorgeous, really, so full and plump now that your milk's come in, they practically glisten! I'm tempted to sip from you myself! And they're swollen all the time. Even your nipples stay engorged I've noticed."
"Yes. Your Dr. Phoebe gave me shots just for my nipples around the time you were getting ready to deliver. 'So your baby'll have no problem finding you,' she said. And Emily doesn't, I've got to say that. They fill her mouth. They're huge. Almost the thickness of my thumb! But they're so sensitive all the time!"
"Sensitive hurts, or sensitive feel good?"
"Sensitive feel very good, honey. I mean, when that little baby's gums are nibbling and squeezing me and she's sucking away with such ferocious concentration, I could go wild! Its ...exciting! I think I may actually have cum from the pleasure once, though there was hardly any ...wetness down there to show for it afterward. It felt so intense!. I didn't quite know how to feel about it! I mean, my own baby daughter making me...."
"Yes. You may have had an orgasm. I'd told Phebes that I especially wanted you to enjoy nursing Emily. So you'd be an utterly devoted mommy, and look forward to every feeding. And also to compensate you so you won't miss your erections, what with all the hormones we've been piping into you -- oh, yes, of course I've noticed, though you seem a little ashamed of it, and haven't said anything. No more than to be expected! Also, with that little extra sensation you can start thinking about what you might want to do once Emily's been weaned off the breast. You will need a new career of some sort by then, you know. I'd suggest more of this kind of thing. There are lots of other mothers out there who also can't spare the time to breast-feed their own babies. We could keep you quite busy for a long time to come."
"Oh, God, Heather, no! No way! I'm not a nursemaid! Well, maybe I am right now, but when I quit my job to do this full time it was only for us! For Emily, until Emily no longer needs me! That's what we agreed! And anyhow, just look at me, I can't leave the house, bulging in front the way I do!"
"No hurry, darling, no need to decide anything now. What you'll do when Emily no longer needs you, we don't need to talk about that for a long time to come. But let me assure you, by then you'll look quite presentable, quite fit to be seen by other people. You're almost there now. See for yourself, your hair's already long enough to hang neatly past your ears, it's getting to be time we did something with it. And your skin is clear, in fact satiny smooth. Where there was once chest hair you now have only that lovely womanly cleavage I see above the decollete of your night gown. 'Generous curves,' my romance novels call them. You should read some. Lots of helpless heroines who turn out to be quite strong in the end. "
"They did grew a little large, my breasts."
"They have to be! I'm really very pleased with them. And so is Emily, obviously, and she's the girl you really need to satisfy. If you're worried that they're ...prominent, well, you do have a large frame. They'll look very attractive when you're able to go out again, when we can get you dressed suitably."
"How do you mean?"
"I liked it, when we were growing big together, the two of us. Especially those last months when I was carrying Emily, and you were developing up top while I got bigger in my middle! Now there's someone who resembled a barrel, that last month! Thank God I've slimmed down now. I got some very nice compliments on that dress earlier tonight. And not just on the dress. Do you think by now I've now completely recovered my figure?"
"Yes, you have, Heather. It's beautiful now. Come away from the mirror and put on your nightgown, so I can turn out the light. The baby'll be awake again before long. Yes, I agreed to grow breasts, and they grew the way they grew, and I've accepted them as they are, even though I can't let anyone see them. But it is a little embarrassing. I think your friend Vivian knows. She once told me that I bobble and should do something about it. And that was some time ago, when I'd been growing them only six months or so, and they weren't very big."
"Big enough to need a brassiere. I hadn't noticed, myself -- she had to point it out to me. Yes, of course she knows, honey! She's my other closest friend, besides Phebes. We often talk about what to do with you."
"Well, all right, the breasts are necessary. But some other parts of me hurt! My testicles really ache sometimes. And I'm sure they're getting smaller. When I told Dr. Phoebe, she just laughed and said, 'It's natural, they're losing the struggle,' and then she asked me about Emily. She didn't seem to care. I'm sure she doesn't like me."
"Who? Emily? Darling she loves you! You're her mommy! You're her every joy and comfort! Her very own, very sweet, loving mommy, as far as she knows! She can't help but love you! As far as her little heart knows anything, you're her everything!"
"No, I mean your Phebes. Dr. Phoebe. My endocrinologist. Maybe it isn't only me. I just realized it today, I don't think she likes any men."
"Phebes? No, she doesn't. She never has. Even though she's a little butch herself. But don't you remember? That was why we thought she'd be willing to help us out when my gynecologist turned us down flat. I thought Phebes might get her own special pleasure out of doing this to you. And I'm sure she does. Did she give you your shots today?"
"Yes, of course. All sorts. When she finished, she told me I was 'coming along nicely!' Now what do you think she meant by that? Coming along where? Do you have any idea? I mean, we agreed I needed boobs to feed Emily, but that was all. Didn't we? Remember? You wanted to abort because you'd gotten pregnant just as your career was finally taking off, you couldn't spare the time?"
"Of course I remember. I'd just brought two huge new accounts into the firm, and then doubled their sales. I can be pretty persuasive. But no way while looking after a newborn!"
"And I wanted the baby, because I thought it could bring us closer together again after my ...lapse with Deirdre. I pleaded with you. And you said you'd keep it only if I'd take care of it. Because you didn't have the time, but you didn't want to feel guilty that any baby of yours was any way deprived. Any baby of yours had to have all the advantages, breast feeding and a full-time mother included, even though you meant to keep working."
"And no nannies. It had to be you. I never thought you'd actually buy the whole package. But you did agree. And that was the deal."
"I thought you were just mouthing off at me, that it was a crazy idea, but your Dr. Phoebe sure corrected me on that score! No problem, she said. Men grow breasts all the time, she said, men who want to be women. And with one more hormone, those breasts can make milk. Same as any woman's. Did I want to be a woman? She'd oblige me, she said. I told her, 'No way!'"
"Yes. You were so vehement! I had to break in to remind you what we'd already agreed. No more Deirdres. Our marriage would become a full partnership or else nothing. We'd share everything. It would be an equal partnership all the way. Including all the burdens of raising a child. And since men can't go through pregnancies, I'd have to do that part. But then you had to take care of everything else! Everything! And you agreed!"
"All right. But that was it! That was as far as we were going to go! I didn't realize then exactly what it meant, taking care of everything, that I'd have to quit my job, and there'd be all the diaper-changing, and so on, but I did agree to the tits and breast-feeding for as long as it takes. But that was it!"
"Yes, certainly. That was as far as we were going to go! But lots of other things you didn't realize accompany the tits and breast- feeding for as long as it takes. Let me ask you this, for example. Are you happy with the way things are right now? Here you are stuck at home all day and all night, a man with big boobs leaking milk who can't ever leave the house because there's no way to disguise them? I mean, when your milk lets down those breasts get heavy! Huge! So you have to wear a bra all the time, or they'll sag down to your belly! And when your bra is supporting you properly, they stick way out and there's no way to hide them! You've already torn so many buttons off your shirts we had to pack them away! Men's shirts aren't cut to accommodate breasts like yours, not unless they're the size of tents. And then when you tried to wear oversized stretch T-Shirts, you remember how they looked? Obscene! A chest like a porn star's! I couldn't stop laughing!"
"Yes."
"So we had to get you some women's blouses to wear. And they do fit you. But of course blouses are made to flatter a woman's figure. So they end up making your breasts look very attractive, and you didn't want that either! Because any man who sees you now would have to notice them. And of course any woman would notice that they are blouses, not shirts, and would naturally assume you were wearing them to enhance your breasts, to attract male attention. So here you are all the time, unable to go out the front door!"
"I suppose. I guess I didn't think that part through. About being house bound. That I'd look a little odd if I went out to a bar or a restaurant with you or our friends or with my buddies. Where did you go tonight, by the way? You and your friend Vivian. You said you'd tell me all about it when you came home."
"I'll tell you. But first let's finish this, now that we've started. Do you realize it'll probably be two years or more before Emily is weaned? I mean, our mothers moved us to solid food and a bottle in less than six months, but pediatricians these days want women to breast-feed for as long as they can. Because the babies turn out much healthier that way. And most babies take years before they give up the breast!"
"Years! No way! That's not what I read!"
"You read an out-of-date manual, baby. I told you that at the time. There's no question. We'll have to keep your milk flowing for at least two years. And what do you think two more years of high-intensity female hormones will do to your body? Look what they've done already! Here we are, not even a year after you started. Big, beautiful breasts! Ask Emily if they aren't! And your testicles are disappearing you say? And your penis too, I've noticed. Already you can barely squirrel that thing out of your pants to pee through it! If it gets hard lately, since Emily came, I haven't seen it!"
"Heather, I figured I'd do this thing for a few months, then wean Emily onto a bottle and stop the hormones, and get the breasts taken off. Six months tops, and then we'd be back the way we were before this Deirdre thing, only better, full partners this time, with Emily added to make us complete. I figured we'd finish up way ahead!"
"A few months? Honey, as you like to say, no way! Look around you, sweetie! Look at yourself! This is your life for the next two years at least, if we don't do something about it. And there's another thing. Have you thought about sex? What're you planning to do with your shrinking balls and that marginal penis?"
"I figured I'd wait it out."
"For the rest of your life?"
"No, for the few months, the time I thought it would take for Emily to quit breast feeding. Then I'd get some shots to reverse the effect of all these female hormones, and...."
"'For the few months'? Beginning to catch on? Well, you wanted to know what your endocrinologist meant when she said that you were "coming along nicely," so I'll tell you. You're on your way to becoming a woman. The changes to your manhood are irreversible. What's gone is gone! Your body is developing lots of subtle secondary sex characteristics, surely you must have noticed. Breasts are only part of it. There's that nice, rounded butt, too, and those padded hips, so you're starting to stretch out the seams in your pants. It's very attractive, but it's very feminine. You already need pants cut like women's slacks now, and frankly, with your problem getting your thing out to pee through, you'd be a lot better off and a lot more comfortable wearing skirts! Face it! Meanwhile, your skin is a lot smoother, and your face is much softer than it's ever been. It's even pleasant. A little make-up and I'm sure it could be attractive."
"Heather, what are you saying?"
"I'm saying, if you expect to have any kind of a life outside this house for the next two years at least, or any kind of a sex life, it'll have to be looking the way girls with large boobs look, and that means it'll have to be the kind of sex that girls with large boobs attract. I'm saying that you'd better get used to the idea. What kind of sex life do you think girls with large boobs attract?"
"I...don't know."
"Oh, yes you do. You're just afraid to say it. Is it that terrifying? Sex with men who like large boobs? Well, let me tell you something else. I don't want you to feel terrified. I don't want you worried about anything. Emily's the most important factor in this equation, and she needs a happy and contented milk supply for the next couple of years. And that's you."
"Heather, how do you propose to make me feel happy and contented under these circumstances?"
"Oh, stop moping. You know perfectly well what we need to do. We'll do it slowly, and you'll love it. Don't worry, I intend to make it as pleasant for you as it can possibly be. It's all arranged. As soon as you give the word, there'll be some women coming in to see you almost daily, starting tomorrow if you can agree to it. They'll be with you while I'm at the office. Experts in femininity. They're going to teach you how to look and live and think like a woman, what to do, and how to enjoy it! I do want you to be happy. If you aren't happy, your milk won't let down, and eventually it'll dry up, and then Emily will be deprived, and this will all have been for nothing. And we can't have that."
"Oh, you look so sad, right now! And a little angry? Don't be! In no time at all you'll love it! They're going to teach you how women enjoy each other as well as how to be attractive to men. You'll especially enjoy that part of it. How a new woman like you with an impressive figure like yours can find satisfying partners either way, using whatever equipment she's got. How to dress, make-up, behave, everything you'll need to know. When they're done with you, you won't be the same person at all. Better still, you won't want to be!"
"And if I refuse to cooperate?"
"Phebes says she has some new tranquilizers that just about remove all the higher brain functions, so you can be as contented and mindless a cow as any of us would want to live with. She thinks we should start you on them now anyhow, so when you're through being a mommy to Emily we can rent you out to other women, and you won't mind. You'll hardly even know."
"Would you do that to me?"
"Would it be necessary?"
"I thought my doing my part with Emily was enough! Are you still trying to punish me for what I did with Deirdre?"
"Sweetheart, I can't help it if you didn't think it through for yourself. That agreeing to grow breasts and nurse Emily meant agreeing to do what only women can do. That doing something only women can do pretty much means you have to become one! You signed a paper accepting that, remember, the one Dr. Phoebe's nurse handed you when we came in for your first shots? And I've accepted it. I even like the idea!"
"I didn't read that paper. I thought it was health insurance or something."
"You think you were tricked, somehow? And you resent it? You do know that for Emily's sake, we can't allow you to stay resentful and depressed all day, no longer a man but not willing to become a woman! We do have to consider what's best for the child. It would ruin your milk!"
"I suppose it would."
"Let's just see. Mmmmmmmm. You like it when I caress your nipples with the tips of my fingers, don't you? Like this?"
"Yes. Oh, yes!"
"Shall I do it some more? It gives you delicious feminine feelings down deep inside you? That you want to feel soft and beautiful?"
"Yes. Deep down. Oh!"
"No more resentment?"
"No, honey! Not right now."
"You see? There are certain advantages to breasts, aren't there? There's no reason for you to refuse to cooperate. Why should you? It's wonderful, living the life you've been preparing your body to live! And there's more! We're also going to get you something every girl yearns for and very few ever find! A live-in boy friend devoted to your every wish. So you can practice being a girl with him until you're ready to go out and find others on your own. So by the time Emily's weaned and you're free to be whatever kind of girl you want to be, you'll know what kind you want to be!"
"You're taunting me now, Heather. Where would you expect to find a live-in boy friend for someone like me?"
"Oh, I already have found him. He'll come by as soon as your new girlfriends have had a chance to teach you a few things and can tell me you're ready. Vivian's already told him all about it. You know him. Patrick, Vivian's husband."
"Are you out of your mind? Pat? He'd never agree to that! He's a tough egg! All-State Varsity football when he was in college! As macho as they come!"
"He was, you mean, maybe. Now he's as cooperative as they come."
"How so?"
"Sweetheart, how do you think I found out about your little affair with Deirdre? Vivian was downtown one afternoon and she saw your old buddy Patrick disappearing into a hotel with an out-of-town buyer, a woman. She saw him go up to her room. She waited in a coffee shop across the street and she saw that they didn't come down again for three hours."
"Vivian saw that? Did she ever tell him? That must have been some scene, his wife accusing him of something like that! I mean, I haven't seen Pat for months, ever since I've been house bound with my boobs and taking care of Emily. But I know he'd have flattened her if she'd said something like that to his face! Spying on him? He'd be outraged! Told her they were only going over sales prospectuses or something! Maybe they were. When was this?"
"A little over a year ago. Just before I confronted you about Deirdre. You pretended to feel outraged too, I remember, but I've got to say to your credit, at heart you're a decent man, and when you confessed to that affair you had with her you really came apart. Remorse? Contrition? I remember, tears, begging me not to leave you."
"Yes. The worst day of my life."
"Well, I didn't leave you. And neither did Vivian leave Patrick. We talked a lot about what to do with our unfaithful husbands. She'd already decided and done it with hers, of course."
"Done what?"
"Well, Vivian did tell him what she saw. And what a detective she hired saw a few more times afterward. She showed him photos the detective took from a fire escape. Do you want to know how she told him?"
"Maybe not."
"One evening she took him to a gynecological clinic your Dr. Phoebe knows about, staffed by some fairly stern women doctors. I forget the pretext. They got him up on an examining table and locked his feet into the stirrups and buckled his hands out of harm's way, and then one of these Amazons stood between his legs and held up a scalpel where he could see it. Then Vivian told him what she knew. He went through all the stages they say people go through when they're told they have a terminal illness. Denial, negotiation, depression, the whole nine yards, but finally acceptance, in his case full confession. During the 'denial' phase he tried to convince her they were looking at invoices in her room, or something. Just as you said."
"Couldn't it have been true?"
"Naked? She had photographs, remember. Then Vivian told me all about his "negotiation" phase. What he negotiated with was information about his buddies -- he spilled his guts about every one of you. He even told her how you all jeered at Ted because he never wanted to do afternoon quickies with his secretary when she was trying for him. You'd ask him why, and he'd answer simply, "I love my wife." And you'd mock him for being so simple-minded! So there was a good example you had right in front of you the whole time, sweetie. But you didn't follow it. Too bad. Though maybe it's for the best."
"Anyhow, your friend Patrick couldn't babble fast enough. Then when he ran out of information, and he finally confessed his own little escapades, Vivian told him she intended to neuter him anyway, and she left, and then the medical staff did it."
"He never mentioned anything to us about this! Around that time he seemed to be avoiding us. He could have warned us!"
"Are you kidding? A man's man, one of your own tribe, confess that he's squealed on you? You'd tell him he lacked balls, and under the circumstances how could he deny it? No, Vivian told me that he stopped seeing all his old friends. But also that inside of six months he became quite docile, even accommodating. He tries to be as helpful to her as he can, nowadays."
"What does that mean?"
"It means that when we can pretty you up enough not to be a disgrace to our sex, he's willing to be your first real boyfriend. He'll come over to the house, and the two of you can get to know each other in a new way, and be... intimate together when you feel ready. Of course his thing doesn't work any more. It still has feeling, though, so I'm sure you'll both find ways to make each other happy. You both have hands and mouths, whatever else, and you'll soon find out what every woman knows about dildoes. A boy and a girl left alone together will always find ways. Between your new women instructors teaching you how to enjoy your new sex, and Patrick providing new ways for you to practice heterosexuality, you'll come along very nicely indeed I should think. Just as Phebes said."
"Your Dr. Phoebe knows about this?"
"We all three know, sweetheart! It's been such fun, talking about it! Almost from the beginning! But it's all for your own good, and of course Emily's! It's also good for Emily that your first man will be someone like Patrick. He's very gentle and considerate I hear, so he won't upset you. We'll save the more extreme delights of womanhood for later, with other partners. But right now I want everyone to be gentle with my sweetheart, my Emily's mommy, until her femininity becomes second nature to her and her manhood disappears altogether!"
"You have this all figured out, don't you, Heather."
"Yes, I think so."
"Except for one thing. With Patrick unable to function as a man, and me made into a woman, what kinds of sex lives can you and Vivian possibly have?"
"The same as always. I don't understand."
"I mean, if you're such moralists about marriage vows and fidelity and everything, with what you've done to us, what's left for you?
"Oh, sweetheart, surely you're not that naive! To begin with, Patrick's already been told to help you learn what he knows. How to give women massages, and how to use your tongue and your fingers on them when that's all you've got. And the women we've hired will teach you ways and places to kiss a woman that can drive her wild, and then you can teach Patrick. You're both going to get a lot of practice on each other. Sucking simultaneously on each other's limp dicks is only the way you'll say 'Hello!' each morning. Then when you've both learned to do marvelous things with lips and tongues and noses and hands, Vivian and I expect to reap the benefits."
"The Pat I knew would never cooperate!"
"Well, Vivian already has him "serving" her between her legs! That's what she says to him, 'Serve me!' and he drops to his knees and starts with her toes. It gives her great pleasure to see her macho stud -- he still has a marvelous body, you know -- grovelling down there hoping this time he'll be allowed to lift his head and be allowed to suck on that juicy place higher up. When you're more of a girl, I'm looking forward to seeing your own pretty red lips nibbling on me between my legs while your beautifully shadowed eyes look up wistfully into mine, hoping I feel pleased. Oooh, I'm wet just thinking about it. Here, feel. Mmmmm, that's it. Just rub there gently, lover!"
"You'd both be satisfied with oral sex?"
"Well, you and Patrick will have to be, pretty much, won't you? Satisfying each other and your wives orally should pretty much use up your need for any other kind. For a while. Unless you take right away to the feel of a dildo pushing into your plump tush."
"No, I mean, your need for... other kinds of sex?"
"Lovely, sweetheart, oh, yes, now put your finger into me. Two of them. God, I'm wet! You feel how slick I am, deep in there? Way in I bet it's still really juicy! Deeper! Yes! Oh, I'm leaking! Now just move your hand really slowly, gently, baby doll!"
"Other kinds of sex? You mean, since you're both disabled, what will we do we do when we want to feel real men shove hard, hot, thick cocks into us? What will we do for old fashioned swivel and pivot sex? Will we use dildoes too maybe? Well, you're taking all these revelations pretty well, sweetie, so I think you're entitled to a few more. Ever since you and Patrick proved undependable, you should know that we've also been undependable. Where do you think we've been going on our evenings out together? Why do you think we get home so late? I mean, look, here it is nearly three in the morning. We have our boy friends!"
"No, don't stop now, keep those fingers working! Yessss! Of course we have our boy friends! Lots of different ones, so every time with one of them can be a new adventure, and we're in no danger of becoming emotionally involved with any one of them. The way I am with you. I felt terribly hurt when I heard about you and Deirdre. You have no idea! And I'm still emotionally involved with you, sweetie -- not exactly the same way as before, but I just can't help it, I still love you. And we both share our love for our beautiful daughter, don't we? Oh, God, yes, now use all four fingers! Yessss! I didn't douche tonight, that's why I'm so slippery! The guy I was with earlier cums like a firehose sometimes! I don't suppose you feel like going down on me now, knowing that? No, it's probably too soon!"
"More with those fingers! Oh, sweetheart, despite everything, I do love you! That's why after I decided to find pleasures and consolations elsewhere, I started sleeping with you again too! You were so grateful! You thought I'd forgiven you! But really, it was because I was grateful. Thanks to you, I'd discovered that I really enjoy all kinds of sex, doing different things with different men, and different things to them too. Sex without complications. That's why I've always been available to you, darling, any time you wanted me. You know that. Haven't I been? Every time?"
"Now, now, now babybabybaby, oh, OHHHH, YES, ohhhhhh. Ah, yes. Yes. Oooooh, that was so good, lover! Now will you lick your fingers for me? Just once? Can you smell what it is? It's so good! Go ahead! I want you to! Please, don't make me mad! That's it! Delicious, isn't it! It's a beginning! You do love me, don't you!"
"Well, I admit I did feel a little sorry for you when this plan went into effect, Phebes putting all that girl juice into your bloodstream so you could be Emily's mommy. I knew that you'd be getting fewer erections, and weaker ones, and that you'd be feeling more and more embarrassed about it. That you wouldn't want to mention it, especially once your little thing couldn't perform at all any more. But the timing was about right. We couldn't make love anyhow during my last month, your thing was already too short, and we couldn't again until I recovered from giving birth to Emily, and that was nearly the past two months. So you had over three months of forced abstinence as an excuse. But now I'm all healed, and I've started seeing my boy friends again, and I've noticed that you still haven't tried to approach me. Not even once. You're completely impotent now, aren't you. Say it. Aren't you?"
"Yes."
"That's my baby! That's why I'm quite sure there won't be any more Deirdres in your life. There can't be. You're not a man any more, essentially. You know that too now, don't you?"
"Yes."
"I really want to hear you say it, honey!"
"I'm not a man any more, Heather."
"No. You're a woman now, baby, so erections don't matter. Not your own, anyhow. But you have lots of compensations, meanwhile. The way your nipples feel are two of them. Cheer up, honey. I had to do without real sex for a long while too. Some of my men love to slam their things deep into me, and it can get pretty rough in there. I didn't want Emily's doorway pounded open by some bruiser with a huge cock before she was ready to come out on her own. So I took a few months off too, toward the end of my pregnancy. That was when I really appreciated your mouth licking my pussy. You weren't very good at it, but it was always comforting, and when I wanted really hot oral sex I could always call on Vivian or Phebes to do the honors. Women stick together to help each other out in times of need. You'll see."
"Now I want you to be a good girl and tell me it's all right. Now that your cock is useless. Your hand is really very nice, but it isn't a man's hand exactly any more, and it certainly isn't a cock. So I want you to tell me it's all right for me to use other men to please me. That you don't mind."
"Awww! You have nothing to say? Are those tears on your cheeks? Well, sweetheart, may I point out that there's another girl who needs you too now? Isn't that Emily I hear waking up? Don't you take orders from her now? Sweetie? Shouldn't you go in to her?"
"I will. I.... In...."
"Swallow and take a few breaths first, darling."
"In ... a moment!"
"That's it. Now, no more sobbing! Your two girls want you to be happy! Becoming a girl like us is no reason to feel sad!"
"Heather, can I ask you something first."
"I already know what your question is, honey. Take your time. I'll answer you, and then you'll answer me. We have no more secrets from each other any more. There's no more Deirdre. From now on we're a loving couple on the most intimate of terms who share the love of a beautiful daughter. We couldn't be closer than we are now!"
"Is Emily ours? Yours and mine?"
"Ours? Oh, yes, baby! You better believe it! But you mean is she yours, don't you? Of course she is. Your devotion and care and love and your sweet mother's milk pour into her every day and that makes her yours. She's no one else's, not even mine, if you think of it that way."
"No, I mean...."
"You mean biologically, is she your natural daughter? Is that what you want to know? Well, you still did have semen back then, and we had already begun making love again just about then, hadn't we, just about the time when Emily was conceived. I wanted her, but you didn't know that, so you were willing to agree to all kinds of humiliations in order to keep her. I knew that this was how to keep you from straying ever again, and also how to have a baby and yet maintain my career path. And I admit it, how to get even with you. Taking up with all those other guys was fun for me, but it didn't really punish you, because you didn't know anything about it. "
"No, I didn't. If I had I...."
"But you didn't. And now you'd like to know if you're Emily's real father, meaning, was it your sperm that penetrated my egg and then made that gorgeous darling girl who's crying for her mommy right now. Well, what do you think?"
"I don't know."
"Well, I have to confess it, I don't know either, honey. Why does it matter? There's a chance it's you. I kept count. Eight men left their calling cards in me the week Emily was conceived, and you were one of them. I really wanted to get pregnant so I could start the ball rolling with you. I took on two, sometimes three men each day, sometimes a few times each, and their sperm was all sloppy and sloshing and stirred and sticky inside me the whole week. I remember I seduced you four times that same week, a record! So any one of you could be her natural father. You don't remember? I was soaked all the time, oozing that goopy glop men make!"
"I thought you were hot for me, and that was why you were soaked!"
"Oh, I was! All of those little liaisons all that week are blissful memories for me. Little by little I'll tell you about each one, so they can be memories for you too. So you can share the experience with me, and begin to imagine that you're also Emily's mommy in that sense. I'm sure it'll give you a deeper feeling for what it is to be a woman, knowing how Emily got started. Do you see now why you'd best forget about biology and being a daddy, and settle for what you've got? Why I wanted lots of men to be Emily's daddy, but for you to be the one mommy for all of them?"
"Yes. I see now."
"I imagine now you do. Now you do, angel, you certainly do!
"Do they know what ...kind of woman is taking care of their baby, if she is their baby and not mine?"
"You mean, do they gloat? You men, always worried about what other men think! Some gloat, yes. They all know that you're my husband, and that I made you into a woman in order to take care of their daughter. They think that makes you wimp of the year, dupe of the decade, and Cuckold of the century. But honeybuns, why should you care? You aren't really a man any more, you just confessed that yourself. Would a woman care what some men think of sweet Emily's devoted mommy? Why should Emily's mommy care?"
"Feeling sorry for yourself? Just keep in mind that you can't really complain. You started it, you know, you and Deirdre. And the upshot is, now you have the joy of being a beautiful baby's mommy with none of the grief of carrying her, none of the morning sickness and distended bellies and endless backaches. Just tell me when you want the rest of your life to begin, maybe even tomorrow, and I'll arrange for some lovely ladies come to play with you who'll teach you all about how to be a lovely lady yourself. And soon after, there'll be a handsome man for you to practice on."
"And that's not all. We need for you to be the happiest mommy imaginable, for Emily's sake. When you and Patrick tire of playing with each other, I'll want you to learn how to appreciate some of the more heavy duty men I know. Like Roy, the hunk I was with tonight. Practice very diligently with Patrick, sweetheart, because you'll find you'll need everything you've got, every wile and skill and opening, when you're trying to satisfy a man like Roy. But you'll find it's worth it. Because men like Roy can be enormously satisfying to any girl. You've already had a taste just how satisfying."
"That was Roy? I see."
"Not yet you don't. But you will. Do you understand now why I intend to keep seeing these lovers?"
"Yes."
"And you don't mind, now?"
"Would it matter, Heather?"
"No."
"Then why should I mind? You'll do whatever you feel like doing anyhow. For yourself, to me, for me, it makes no difference!"
"That's right, sweetheart. I certainly will. But you'll see how much fun we can have together. Meanwhile you do have a daughter, and she's calling you. She needs you. Go to her. Bring her back here when you've changed her. Please?"
* * *
"Oh, you darlings. Now I just want to sit here in bed with the two of you and watch her nurse on you. Honey, it's so wonderful, seeing the way you fold your arms around that adorable little thing, and press her against you so lovingly, and the way her teeny pink-lipped mouth fastens so sweetly onto your nipples and she nestles into your soft globes and begins to suck. You can't imagine the love I feel for the two of you, watching you hug my precious baby while you nourish her out of yourself, watching you smile down at her. You just can't help it, can you? I know what you're feeling. My heart just swells up when I see that! It's the greatest joy of my life. You do know that, my dearest, don't you?"
"I know, Heather. I do know that. She's worth everything, this little creature. God, I love her! But I only wish that you'd... oh, never mind. I would never have agreed to it. And I guess it's all for the best. So why talk about it?"
"We won't, any more. It's done. Now I just want my two girls to be happy! Sweetheart, you're going to have everything I want for you. And like it or not, I know you'll love it!"
FIN
(c) 2000 by Vickie Tern. May be copied to any free archive, but please. let me know.
Authors foreword: Though people in this story mean well, or claim they mean well, they do things you would not wish to see done in your own home at your own dinner table. Neither would I. So please protect the underaged at your dinner table from reading about such things. And if you are underaged, please protect yourself. That's what the law in its wisdom requires of you. Good luck, and bon appetit!
All comments welcome -- [email protected]
On top of it all my brand new hairstyle. You know what they say, change your hairdo and change your life. Well, I liked my life, but even so, April had asked Joanne to cut it a lot shorter, so Joanne had shaped it radically in back and then fluffed it up into a cute flip. She'd promised me it would be a lot easier to care for than my old big-haired, down-to-the-shoulders layered cut. I'd never again need to set my hair with rollers when I want people to notice me, she'd said. Just blow-dry and go, and when you think of it, comb it with your fingers. It was the kind of cut women favor after their second or third baby, when their families demand all their time and they can't fuss, women who nevertheless want to look devastatingly feminine. And she'd given me bangs. I'd never before worn bangs, but they made my face smaller, more pixieish. Joanne told me my new look was fabulous. I wasn't so sure at first, turning my head from side to side in her salon mirror. It didn't seem to be me at all, but someone more pert and capable, cute but with her own mind, an independent woman with her own goals.
It was all rather sudden. April had called my office only a few hours earlier and told me Joanne had just found an opening in her schedule, and I should leave work early and stop by her salon to get the sassy new hairstyling she'd wanted for me. "Then go home and make yourself beautiful, sweetie," she'd told me, "so I can admire the whole new you. When I get home I'll change too and we'll have an intimate little candlelight supper at Le Cirque. So change to something dressy. I've made the reservations already. I'm dying to see how you'll look. Also, I have something wonderful to tell you."
I'd had to push a lot of appointments into next week to get to Joanne's in time for my appointment and then get home and get ready. I was thinking that whatever April had on her mind, it better be worth it. In fact I was still figuring out how to handle next week's schedule when April arrived home, called for an immediate display of the new me, told me I was gorgeous, and then told me to grab my purse, we had to leave for the restaurant right away.
It was still early, the last traces of sunset visible behind the bank tower when I gave the car to the valet parking attendant and smiled at him to encourage him to be careful with it. He smiled back. I still hadn't gotten used to the notion that young men are eager to please any woman who looks well turned out. They're so impressionable. And the night was still young. I wondered what April had in mind for us afterward. She'd been getting me accustomed to flirting with men lately, taking me to bars with small combos playing dance music, showing me how to accept invitations from men and then laugh and accept their flattery while I danced in their arms, April watching us from our booth and sipping her one drink. She wanted me to feel comfortable with them, she said, though she herself always refused invitations when asked. She just didn't feel sociable, she'd say. But we'd giggle delightedly enough afterward, when I'd tell her what seductive line this man or that man had tried on me, and she gave me even more pointers about fending them off and yet still seeming attractive to them. It was harmless entertainment for both of us. She called it my "finishing school."
I forgot about work when we entered Le Cirque's exquisite little waiting area, off the rather grand lobby of the our best hotel An hour's pampering at the beauty salon is supposed to be restorative, I know, but my mind had been so busy with rescheduling that I hadn't even bothered to watch as Joanne sculpted my new style, nor had I listened to her chatter about it, "coy but not too innocent, you'll see" I think she said. Nor had I heard anything at all about who'd gotten divorced or seduced since my last visit. I glanced again at April while we waited for the Maitre d' to find her name on his list. She was looking straight ahead with a strange look on her face, solemn yet exultant, like a cat preparing to pay a condolence call on a canary.
Her mind was partly elsewhere, but she tried to seem attentive now and then. "That's a new design for your eye make-up too, isn't it, honey?" she asked. "That wide-eyed, little girl look? It does look fetching with your new hairdo. Contrasty. Joanne's idea?"
"No, mine," I told her. "I thought with my new hair style I should change everything else too. Become altogether a new woman." I flourished both hands with a little wrist flip, to signal a display completed and waiting for applause.
"Yes, I suppose," April replied. I wasn't sure she'd heard me. Then, "Yes, that's what I had in mind for you too, dear."
We'd were seated at an intimate little corner table, knees tucked under snowy tablecloths, napkins decorously draped on our laps, leaning toward each other, fingernails and silverware gleaming, our dinners ordered and our second cocktails just arrived, when April finally dropped her bomb.
"Comfy?" she asked?
"Yes, of course, honey. Why do you ask?"
"Because I'd like you to be. I'm about to say something to you you won't like, but I have to say it, and I don't want you to feel any needless discomfort."
She used words like "discomfort" to her patients when she knew the surgical procedures she was about to perform were painful. The word helped to minimize their suffering in her own mind.
"Out with it!" That's what I'd say to clients when they waffled about something they didn't quite want to tell me. It sounds abrupt, but it shocks them into talking and saves time. I suppose April's professional language prompted me to reply in kind. She once told me that no woman would ever be that inconsiderate. A woman would always let a person say whatever needs saying in whatever time he or she -- usually she -- needs to say it. It's only men who are more direct. Dressed the way I was, looking the way I knew I looked, I knew immediately that the statement was rude and regretted it. April meant to be kind.
"I'm sorry, April," I apologized, patting my lips with my napkin, thinking vaguely that I should have had Joanne re-do my nails for tonight, to use color rather than the clear polish I wore weekdays at the office. My mind still wasn't fully concentrated.
"Don't be, for once. What I have to say is also harsh."
"Must you say it, then?"
"Yes."
I waited.
"Les, this will come as a shock to you. I know you've done everything you could to please me. Gone along with my every whim. So please understand that this isn't your fault. It isn't anybody's fault, I suppose. It's just the way it is."
"The way what is?"
I began to feel uneasy. She'd called me "Les." When I'm dressed and made up to look nice she always calls me "Leslie" or "darling girl," so I'll feel relaxed and reassured. But this was "Les." The name people called me at the office. My business identity. My male name. She hadn't used "Les" in a long time, several years, not since I'd agreed to live at home with her as a woman, not a man. To be a woman everywhere except my office.
"Les, I'm divorcing you. I've already started the proceedings. You'll get your formal notice in another day or two."
"What!!"
She sat silent now. It was said. She watched my eyes, done up in that brand new baby-stare look. She knew how to look through them and read my real feelings. She also knew my "What!!" was filler, a stall for time while I felt for a suitable response. Of course I'd heard her.
She also knew I knew that whenever she reached a point of decision, further argument was useless. That decisiveness was what made her a superb surgeon, one of her colleagues had once told me. She'd first consider every contingency, then decide what to do, and then do it and never look back!
"Why? Why, April?" My heart sank down deep into my gut. My tummy, I corrected myself. I could scarcely breathe!
"Why, Leslie? Why? My dear, just look at you!"
I was bewildered. "Look at what?" I asked. She glanced around, and I realized I'd better lower my voice. That that was why she'd chosen this place, this time, to tell me. "Look at what, April?" I repeated, in a softer, more appropriate tone. "I'm beautiful. You said so yourself just now, with my new hairdo and all. And I am, I can feel it! I'm what you've wanted me to be!" She didn't respond. "April honey," I added, as if to attract her attention. I realized I was beginning to plead, and that pleading was pointless.
"That's true, Leslie. And that's the problem. You're no longer a man!" She spoke as if to a child, explaining the obvious. "I married a man, and you're now something else. So it's time we went our separate ways."
"I'm what you made me!" A desperate cry, also a little indignant. "You remember? Arguing and urging and pleading for me to consent to this almost as soon as we were married? For how long, over a year it was, until I agreed to the first step, I still remember it, lacy panties and clear lipstick, that was all you wanted, that I wear them until they were second nature! Then a bra, just to feel what that was like. Then hormones to help fill it out. Always, with each new step you were so happy, how could I deny you the next? And for the past two years living with you as a woman full time, exactly what you wanted all along, in a neighborhood where none of our neighbors think I'm anything else! So I'm a man now only at the office. Otherwise I'm what you've always wanted! You've said so hundreds of times!"
"Well, yes, Les, sweet Leslie, but you're wrong about one thing. You're no longer a man even at your office. No more than when you're in bed with me. You haven't been for at least a year. Your secretaries all know about you. They're only waiting for you to say it, to tell them you're now a woman, not a man, so they can congratulate you and welcome you as one of their own kind, one of the girls, even if you are their boss."
That was crushing news! "But how could they know?" I asked her, subdued. "I've been so careful! You told them?"
"You know I'd never do that! It wasn't necessary to do that! There's no mystery -- just look at yourself! Your jaw and your nose trimmed by surgery to look diminutive, dainty! Your eyebrows raised, and your lips puffed just a bit. Even without make-up you look adorable. No hair anywhere apart from what was heaped up on your head until today. Your chest thrust way out -- you can't hide breasts as large as yours, you know. When your men's shirts pulled and strained I had to put you into women's shirts cut for a woman's figure. Did you think no one would notice those Peter Pan collars, and darts, and gores, let alone the flaps that button the wrong way? Or the lacy tracery of your bras and slips under the shirt material?"
She leaned forward. "Especially your hairdo, that bouffant look you wore until today, the one you fancied when we first decided to go out in public? No, I'll be honest, I fancied it for you then. That was a dead giveaway. Do men put their hair up in large rollers every morning, then come in with it combed and curled and spritzed up to form an alluring halo framing their faces? Unmistakable, honey!"
"And the way you move now? Not that you swish, nothing so vulgar. But so neatly! So daintily! Always so ladylike! The way you drape your wrists when you're comfortable, or wave them in the air when you think you're you're being persuasive, forgetting altogether that your hands and nails now look more slender and attractive than any man's hands and nails ever could!"
"Then you yourself decided that a touch of eyeliner at work would make your eyes seem more dramatic, remember, and you had to pencil in your eyebrows when you tweezed away too many hairs! And above all, when you decided you'd wear seed pearls or large danglers in your earlobes instead of small hoops, the kind men with pierced ears wear? In both earlobes? I didn't want to say anything when you lost perspective and began doing those things, but you did want to, and by then there was no mistaking what you'd become anyhow. Whatever did you think people would think?"
She sat back again, her expression incredulous as she saw that it was all news to me!
"I just wanted to look nice," I said lamely. Then, "April, has anyone ever mentioned any of this to you?"
"Of course. Your secretary was concerned. She told me everyone at the office was concerned, because they all care about you. You're a very nice man. Or you once were, she said, but now you're more a very nice lady. I told her not to worry, that you'd explain yourself to everyone in your own good time."
This was distressing. Also a little bit liberating. It was sometimes stressful, trying to maintain a normal appearance at the office. To no avail apparently.
"Do you think my clients know?" I asked, worried?
"Of course, honey. Your secretary told me the new ones all assume you're a woman. A little butch, with your voice, but they figure the woman you live with likes it. That I like it."
There was nothing more to say about that. April sighed and returned to her core revelation.
"I'm really sorry, Leslie sweetheart. I truly am. But the fact is, I no longer want to be married to a woman. I did want to, but not any more. So I'm leaving you. Tonight, as a matter of fact. When we're finished here, we'll leave here separately. You'll go home, and I've made other arrangements."
This was utterly stunning! April had been my life for five years! Longer! We were always together, every spare moment, nearly. Especially as I became her "Dearest Girlfriend." We shared so many more interests than most married couples. Shopping, styles, getting our nails done, theater, gossiping about people at work, everything! And now, soon, nothing?
I sat there with my wrists still draped. I wondered what I might conceivably say to change her mind, but I was sinking deeper and deeper into depression. I knew there was nothing to say. But at least I could try to understand it. What had gone so terribly wrong?
At that moment the waiter brought our appetizers. Crab salad for April -- she loved sea food. Just a small chicory salad for me, no dressing. As always I was concerned to maintain a girlish figure. I'd fought to get down to a size twelve from my original eighteen, and as I got more svelte April had given away my old clothing, to box me in so there'd be no letting down or turning back.
The waiter looked at me. I must have looked just terrible, because he asked, concerned, "Is something wrong, ma'am? Can I help you in some way?"
That broke my spiral downward. I forced a smile and looked up at him. "No, dear, thank you, I'll be just fine! It's nice of you to ask, though." He left, reluctantly.
"See?" April commented, a little amused by the exchange. "Spoken like a true woman. Gentle and considerate. You'll do just fine without me, honey."
"I'm the way I am!" I said. My voice tightened, a little angry, though I tried to keep it low. "I'm what you wanted! The way you made me! In all these years, yours! Absolutely faithful to you!"
"I know, dear. You're what I wanted. You indulged me, and worked very hard to achieve it, and gave up so much, and I'll always be grateful. You'll always be my dream girl!"
"But if I'm now what you wanted, why don't you want me?" Near despair, but still in my hushed, ladylike voice.
"That's a good question," April replied. She tasted her crab salad, then set the fork down and again looked gently but very firmly at me. "It's difficult to explain. Understand, sweetheart, I still do want you the way you are, as a friend. A good friend. My dearest friend. You're a far more fascinating woman than you were a man. And I think you're much happier now too. More serene and relaxed, even more playful." She smiled. "Certainly prettier." She smiled at me this time, inviting my assent. "And you know you love making yourself pretty! So I really don't have any regrets, leaving you now, and I don't think you should either."
She settled back and looked serious again. "You see, honey, I've changed my mind about what I want from a marriage. That's the nearest explanation I can come up with. You were a wonderful man for agreeing to become my even more wonderful best girlfriend instead of merely my husband. You've been wonderful about all of it. But lately I've been thinking that there's something missing from my life. Male companionship. Being with a guy, living with the decisiveness, even the feistiness of a guy. Anticipating his moves, primping before a date so he'll find me attractive, special. Flirting with him, so there's no doubt in his mind at all that I also find him attractive, that I may have something in mind later for the two of us."
She smiled to herself, and took another bite of crab. "And then there's that part too. What happens later. Feeling his strength embrace me even while it pushes deep into me. I miss that too! More and more, lately!"
"April, we discussed that! Years ago now! When you started my hormones, those heavy doses you told me would grow titties in no time, but probably weaken my erections, and they did, and it did! When I couldn't penetrate you any more you remember you told me not to give it another thought, you preferred sex the way women have sex together. And you made such passionate love to my new body, kissing my nipples and rolling my breasts around in your hands. I was in heaven, but so were you! I remember how delighted you were that I'd responded so 'generously' you called it, that I'd gone to a C-cup inside of a year, and it was all me!"
She nibbled at her crab, and said nothing.
"How many times did you tell me you much preferred me kissing and licking you down there, so very sweetly you said, while your orgasms rose slowly, and exquisite feelings rose with them, and then finally overwhelmed you! You loved it that I couldn't invade you, that there was no threat of thrusting to ruin the mood. You said that so often!"
I paused. April said nothing. She just looked at me sympathetically, and took another forkful and chewed it slowly. Obviously she knew I had to vent, and she was allowing me to vent. All I was doing was venting. There was nothing she intended to do. There was nothing to be done.
I noticed that her lips were closed, as always when she chewed, except when she opened them to take in a teeny bite with a flash of teeny white teeth. I saw that her lips were made up perfectly, and with a stray thought I hoped mine were too. Lately I'd wanted to look more and more like April, and she'd encouraged it. Suave, poised, a woman with a mind of her own. Since I could no longer look like me, except at the office, I'd thought. But no, apparently not even there.
"I learned how to make love to you those other ways," I went on, knowing that I was only reciting history, not arguing with any hope of persuading her. "Your ways. You said my face between your legs was heaven, that my tongue was magic when it was inside you. That you could never get enough of me down there. That's why I still sleep that way most of the time, with my head between your legs! I love feeling the strength of your thighs on my shoulders, and breathing close to the smell of your pussy."
"That's true," was all she said. "And I still can't get enough of your tongue. But it's no longer enough, Leslie. I know that this isn't fair to you, that you've done everything I've asked you to do, that you don't deserve this, and so on. I began by saying that, didn't I? Right from the outset? So now I won't repeat myself, and it's no use your repeating it. The loving we've shared has been beautiful, memorable, sublime. But it's no longer enough. I now want a real man who can take care of a real woman's needs."
She hesitated, then came out with it. "You're neither. You're neither a man nor a woman. Not any more. Not yet."
I sat quietly. The waiter came again and glanced at me while taking away our appetizer plates. I hadn't touched my salad.
"April," I said gravely.
"Yes, Leslie," she replied.
Was her tone now a touch mocking? She'd known all along that I had to arrive at my next question. She stalled it, maybe for her own amusement.
"Or 'Les', if you prefer," she went on. "But you're not much of a 'Les' any more, are you. Even back then, you were less of a 'Les" than you thought you were." She smiled at her accidental pun, then smiled to console me. "I think you kind of like what I've done to you. You didn't at first, I grant you. But now? Don't you? Don't tell me you don't!"
I ignored that question. It disturbed me, because she wasn't wrong. But I had to know. I tried to be indirect, at first.
"April," I said. "How do you know you'd rather be with a real man than with another woman." I paused. "A woman like me, I mean."
She looked seriously at me again, indulgent but no way apologetic. Her banter had failed to distract. So she began the preliminaries of an answer.
"I don't want to hurt you any more than is necessary, Leslie. You're my dearest girlfriend, and I love you. We've shared so many desires and secrets. I've wanted to share this with you for so long. It's the kind of thing real girlfriends share all the time. But I just couldn't. Not because it's wrong. Not because I thought you wouldn't understand, or that you might take it the wrong way. My best girlfriend would be happy for me, I knew that. But my husband would not be happy, not at all. Not Les! He'd be terribly jealous, and he'd feel so inadequate, he'd feel like such a failure. And then I'd feel sorry for him, poor man, I just know it. What little there is left of him, I mean. And where's the point of that?"
"Tell me," I said. I took a deep breath. She was stalling. Then on impulse I took up my purse, and opened it, and took out my compact and lipstick, and looked at my reflection. My face was smooth, nearly inexpressive. No need to touch up anything, not even my lipstick. Perfect. I replaced all that female paraphernalia and snapped my purse shut and smiled conspiratorially. "I'm your best girlfriend, honey. You can tell me!"
It worked! After a moment April leaned back relaxed and asked me playfully, "How does a woman know she'd rather make love with a man than with another woman? You answer that for me, Leslie love!"
"We learn by doing," I said rather vaguely. I didn't want to put words into her mouth.
"Exactly!" April said. She propped her elbows on the table, and her chin on her hands, and she looked at me mischievously. Her eyes were dancing. Maybe also gleaming. "Leslie honey, it's been wonderful! Really marvelous! You'll be so happy for me when I tell you! I'm so glad I can tell someone, finally!"
Just then the waiter brought us our main courses. Curry for her, and a small Roulade for me. My figure, you know. I sat very still, hoping her new mood wouldn't be dispelled.
It wasn't. I took a small bite, and as she did the same, I forced another smile. "Tell me, honey," I said. "How you met, what he's like, what you two do, how you feel about it, everything." I leaned forward as if eager for her to dish the dirt. I noticed irrelevantly that her hairdo was a lot like mine. My new one. Curlier, because her hair was naturally curly. But I knew I could get the same effect with a tighter perm. "This is so exciting," I tried to add. But only a squeak came out.
April hesitated only a moment, then spoke. "His name is Scott. He came to the hospital about a year ago, and we began talking almost immediately about revising our surgical procedures with children -- he's a pediatrician. His idea was, gather them all together in a big room and throw them a big party, then the next day do as many as possible all at once. So they could be miserable together and then gradually get well together. And keep each other cheerful when their parents couldn't visit them. It was such an imaginative plan, so considerate, so very sweet. But that's how he is."
I cocked one eye at her. My arched eyebrow went way up.
"No, I don't suppose you want to know that sort of thing. Well, we got on beautifully from day one. We'd smile at each other at staff meetings, and we began to have lunch together. After a while he started telling me things. Personal things. We began to feel a certain ... attraction. But we never touched each other. Other people thought we had a thing going and made jokes about it, but we didn't. Not then."
"Is he married?" I asked. For some reason I wanted to remind her of our solemn estate, not to be entered or left lightly.
She looked pensive. "He had been. His wife died shortly after giving birth, if you can imagine such a thing in this day and age. A combination of things, uncontrolled diabetes, radical hormonal imbalances, some rogue infection brought on by AIDS. Their baby was stillborn and she died two days later. He was devastated."
"I can imagine," I said, to break into her silence.
"No you can't. He'd cared for her devotedly. No man more attentive or tender. He'd known that her pregnancy could be dangerous, so he'd tried to deny himself the "consolations of her body" he called it, except for a very few times when she'd begged him for it, seduced him shamelessly, really. Then those times he took every conceivable precaution. It was just as well, since she was HIV positive and she hadn't told him."
"Well, she got pregnant anyhow, and refused to abort. 'This is a love child,' she told him. 'And you're its legal father, so I want to bear it and to see you raise it.'"
"So?" I asked. I'd heard of worse marriages, if more fortunate ones.
"You don't understand, sweetie, any more than he did then. A 'love child' is a child out of wedlock. Someone else was the father. After her death he found out there was no knowing who. It seems that his wife had been unfaithful for years, sexually insatiable. All day long while he was at work there was a parade of lovers passing through their apartment and into her bed. Every day when gobs of their semen overflowed her snatch she never bothered even to blot. She took no precautions at all. When the afternoon domestic came on duty, her first task was to run a bath so this wife of Scott's could soak off the sweat and cum and saliva, and douche herself thoroughly, all the while the cleaning woman mopped up the mess and changed the soaked bed and got the stained and sticky linens out of the apartment so Scott would never know. Scott's wife could take on a half dozen men daily, he found out. And did. Long before her pregnancy, and all through it."
"Anyhow, between the mother's marginal physical condition and all those dickheads knocking on her door that baby never stood a chance! When his wife found out the baby was dead she told Scott it was no big deal, it wasn't his anyhow. That she'd never loved him. That she'd married him only because she'd tried everything else, and he was as boring as everything else. Then she died. That's why he felt so devastated. His whole life had been a lie. He left town and moved to this city to get away from everything that reminded him of her."
I looked sympathetic, but said nothing. Then, "You said you never touched each other. How long before you did?"
April grinned at me. "You want me to cut to the hot part, don't you, sweetie. Well, all right! It's pretty hot. About a month after he'd settled in, when we were seeing each other daily, he told me about his wife -- 'if she ever was one,' he said. And he asked me to perform a vasectomy on him. If anyone he cared about ever got pregnant again, he wanted to know for certain that the child couldn't be his. He didn't want children. His patients would be his children. He'd be a better pediatrician for it."
I'd heard enough about this Scott's nobility. "So?" I said. "The touching?"
"It's a simple procedure, I arranged to do it in my office. I put him in a gown, and set him up on a gynecological examining table I keep there, and I fastened his wrists so he couldn't interfere or thrash about, and I strapped his legs into the stirrups and spread them wide apart. That gave me plenty of access. He looked so cute, spread out like that! So helpless! Just like a woman!"
She smiled at me, and then looked away.
"But down there he didn't look at all like a woman. Not with that equipment! Leslie, honey, you've never seen anything like it! I'll bet not even when you were dating all kinds of boys back in college!"
She was so entranced she'd forgotten who I really was! As her best girlfriend, I nodded, trying not to break the spell.
"So I injected him with a local, and cleaned him up, and when I thought he couldn't feel anything, I took up the scalpel and prepared to cut in, to resect his vas deferens. But I teased him first. I said, "You know, with a flick of my wrist I could emasculate you right now, the way I did my husband."
"His voice came from the other side of the sheet we use to isolate our work area, 'You have a husband? I thought you lived with a woman. A lawyer, good-looking if a little butch is what I've heard.'"
"'Yes,'" I told him. I didn't want to keep any secrets from this man. And I wanted him to believe my teasing might not be teasing! "He's a very good-looking woman now," I said, "You could say pretty. But he wasn't when I began with him!" The same feeling I get with you came over me. I felt so powerful! "Would you like to join him? Join my little harem? You might end up as pretty as he is!" I waved my scalpel high up, where he could see it. I imagine no man ever felt more helpless than he did at that moment.
His response was unexpected, Leslie. Because unlike you I'd never sensed anything compliant or submissive in him. But it was so very moving! "'April,'" he said. "'If you must, I want you to. I hope you'll leave everything there. I guess this is as good a time as any to say it. I have very special feelings for you. I want to join myself to you. I want to become part of you. I want to make you happy the way only a man can make a woman happy. I'll need what's down there to do that. I love you. But because I love you, I want your happiness above all! So you do whatever will make you happy!'"
"Well, Leslie, that was so sweet I started to cry. He'd submitted all that manliness to me absolutely, to accept him as a man or to unman him forever, whichever I chose. Greater love hath no man! Right then and there I couldn't help myself. I felt so grateful! A gift like that? I leaned forward and I kissed the very balls he'd offered to me. Softly. I thought that with the anesthetic he'd never know. But his cock swelled up immediately -- he hadn't gone numb yet. So I came around the other side of the barrier and I looked him straight in the eye. That rugged, handsome face. He had a broken nose from his college boxing days, but that only made him more handsome. Tears, I was crying, they flowed down my cheeks and they fell on him as I leaned forward and kissed him on the mouth. He kissed me back. He must have tasted my tears. I opened my mouth, and he thrust in his tongue. It isn't as long as your tongue, Leslie, but it tasted so very sweet!"
She'd finished with her main course. I'd finished mine earlier. Now she set her silverware aside and seemed to be day-dreaming, as if seeing it all again.
"I told him that no one had ever trusted me so completely before, not even my husband. That I had to love him for that! And that I wanted to kiss him some more, while we waited for the anesthetic to kick in. He interrupted me. 'May I kiss your breasts, April?' What a proposal! My smock and my bra just flew off, and there were my breasts with their nipples protruding, rock hard. I decided not to release his hands, though I desperately wanted to. You know what it's like, Leslie, when you're aroused and want to feel your breasts caressed and cupped and held passionately. I gave him just a few minutes apiece of each breast dangling over his face, my nipples hanging into his mouth. His lips closed on the ends of each breast, and his tongue tickled and caressed the tips, and shocks of pure bliss shot through me deep into my vagina."
"I don't remember when I climbed up onto him and inserted him into me. I know we were both soaking wet when I came to myself and found I was astride him and he was inside me and I was banging and riding and writhing and twisting on top of him for all I was worth, and my pussy was squeezing itself into one spasm after another. Glorious! Chain orgasms, I'd heard of them! I've had them so often with him since then! Most often when he's on top of me, that gorgeous thing of his banging into me as ferociously and brutally as he can slam it and pound it at me! God, I do love hard fucking!"
Her voice had risen, and I looked around. She noticed, and ducked her head. "Oops!" she said.
The waiter came and removed out plates and went away. He then came back with dessert menus. April handed them back to him. "Maybe later," she said. "Maybe not at all. Wait, and we'll let you know. Is that all right?"
"The waiter mumbled 'Of course, madam,' or something like that. I don't know why, but at that moment I turned toward him and gave him a great big smile, perhaps of gratitude for his tolerance that we could stay a while longer. Perhaps it was something else. To reassure myself that I still was sexually attractive myself, as a woman if not as a man? To overcome my jealousy of Scott, of that cock hammering my wife's pussy as mine never would again? I touched my hair a few times, fluffed it up a bit in back, and looked the poor man in the eyes just a bit longer than I needed to. He was startled at first, but he returned a grin as he turned away. April noticed, but said nothing.
"I never did perform that vasectomy. When we were both fucked out and my thighs were stiff from riding and bouncing on him, I just climbed off the table and picked up the scalpel again, and grinned wickedly, and said to him, 'So you trust me, do you?' 'Yes,' he said, and he closed his eyes. So peacably! 'I do. I love you. What you want is what I want.' Leslie, I had his balls in the palm of my hand, and a knife in the other hand. But what I said to him was, 'Scott, I want your baby! I want lots of them. And lots of doing what we've just done! A lifetime of it!' It surprised me! Amazed me! Him too!"
"But from that moment I've known that one day you and I would be sitting here talking like this, Leslie honey. That I'd need to tell you I was divorcing you to marry Scott. Because Scott opened his eyes and he looked at me and he said in the most earnest and intense voice I have ever heard, 'April, that's what I want! All of it!'"
"So of course I set down the scalpel. And then with his cock erect but absolutely numb, I gave him the best blow job I have ever given anyone, while he watched. He couldn't feel a thing, but he knew I had to, and he watched me do it with such understanding and gratitude and devotion and fondness. We spent the rest of that afternoon cuddled in each others' arms, kissing, spooning, loving each other. My heart felt so very full. It still does."
"When was this?" I asked, a little bitterly.
April didn't reply. She just looked at me. I remembered my proper role.
"That's so exciting, April!" I said. "I'm so happy for you both! But for how long have you two been ... making each other happy? And is it ... very often? You can tell me!"
She resumed chatting with her girlfriend.
"That was maybe a year ago. We've gotten together whenever we could since then. Never often enough, never more often than four, maybe six times a week! Our schedules are pretty tight, so it's not easy to free up the time and place. We're quite an item around the hospital. Hardly anyone hasn't opened a door and found us humping each other standing, sitting, lying down, crouching, you name it. Or me blowing him. We do little things for each other. We love it. We love each other. There's no getting around it, Leslie. That's why we want to get married."
"But you've loved me this past year too," I reminded her. "For our kind of sex. You've come home eager, and crooked your finger at me and said 'Come upstairs to bed with me quick, honey, I need you badly.' And when I'd get upstairs you were already lying on our bed with your skirt and panties off and your slip pulled up and your legs spread wide, and you'd say, 'For God's sake, Leslie, please! Your tongue! I need your tongue!' And you were already dripping wet, really soaked down there sometimes, by the time I could get my lips rounded and clamped over your slit to begin to suck you and spoon those sweet juices out with my tongue. Some days you were really filled to the brim, secretions pooled in every crevice. I loved it, that you'd get so aroused just from anticipating me!"
April was silent. Daydreaming again?
She looked at my face. "Yes, sweetheart. Sometimes Scott and I didn't have time for more than one fuck before we'd be interrupted. Phone calls, patients, something. And then I'd feel so frustrated, unfinished! Now and then we'd both fly out of town for professional meetings, and then we could spend three or four days plastered together. That was always nice, my body always as full of him as my heart! But at the hospital he'd get called away sometimes before we could satisfy each other several times. I'm really grateful to you that then you helped him out. I do hope you enjoyed his flavor. I think he's delicious!"
She paused, and glanced again at my face, and saw the expression there. "Oh, good heavens, honey! Did you think all that pearly stuff in me was me? Good heavens, no! Some of it. Your tongue still excites me! But not all of it! Not even most of it! You've sucked and swallowed more of Scott's cum than I have during the past year, Leslie. Much more!"
She suddenly stopped. She'd said too much? "That's what girls do, honey," she said a little defensively. "And I do want you to experience everything girls do!"
She sat a moment, then sat back. Then looked at me. The spell had worn off. I was again her husband, not her girlfriend, now that she'd told me as much as she meant to tell me. Maybe I was Scott's jealous rival?
"We have to talk more, Les," she said.
"Yes, I suppose so," I replied. "Separation agreements, property settlements, and so forth. But not now, April, please."
I was near tears. That bleak feeling was descending on me again. Outside it was pitch black. Soon she'd leave me and I'd have to walk out into it alone.
"Yes, now," April replied. "We need to talk. But not about those things. Not exactly."
I just sat there. What else was there to say? I felt helpless. I'd done everything she wanted. Sacrificed everything, nearly. And now I was losing her! Could I begin my own life again? As what? To cover my misery I took out my compact and lipstick and began touching up my mouth yet again. I'm sure I was starting to cry. I could barely see myself in the mirror. A teeny, forlorn sound came out of me despite myself.
"Leslie," April said suddenly in the sprightliest possible voice. I looked up. Her head was cocked vivaciously, and she seemed buoyant, grinning. She wanted to cheer me up. "Let me ask you the same question you asked me. How do you know you wouldn't rather make it with a man than a woman? Have you ever tried?"
I appreciated her effort to jest.
"Of course not. You know that." I couldn't look at her.
"No, you've never even had a dildo inside you, have you. Even though that's what women often use with other women. You never knew that? It never occurred to you? " "No."
"Nor to me. I must be pretty straight, I suppose. I never did feel like penetrating you, it was so nice just doing what we did. And because I've been getting fucked so frequently by Scott, and he stays hard so long and recovers so quickly, I've never needed for you to use a dildo on me. But recently I've been wondering how you'll get by, when I've gone off to live with Scott."
"I'll get by," was all I said. "I'll survive. Don't let me slow you down!" I tried to be sardonic, but she wasn't buying it.
"I'm sure you'll survive," she said. Then, "You know, there's this woman at work, Fran, she's another surgeon, abdominal mostly, she said that she's cleared all kind of things out of men's bowels that women have pushed into them and then couldn't get out. Or other men have pushed in. Golf balls, soda bottles, light bulbs even, you name it. Lots of wives have done it to their husbands. So one day Fran decided to try something like that on her own husband. But safely, with a dildo."
"Well, she said it was overwhelming! Really empowering! She loved being the dominant partner! She loved violating his ass with her own thrusting torpedo, at will or whim, whatever her pelvis felt like doing, all the while he lay there helplessly and grunted and just took it. She liked being the man. Being in charge. He hated it at first, she said. But in a way he must have loved it too, because his cock was a wooden pole the whole time. And when she orgasmed just from the raw animality of pounding into him, he came too! 'It was different' was what he said when she asked him how it felt. 'I'll bet!' she replied. 'I heard you moaning for more!' She found that when she was wearing the cock and he knew he had to take it into his body, he'd submit to other ...ahh... indignities as well. Even against his will. And be grateful afterward."
"Well, I told Scott about Fran and her husband, but that's where it ended. Scott would never let me bugger him, not in a million years. He has the tightest asshole in Christendom. I can't even get a finger in! A real anal compulsive, anal retentive personality. An uptight asshole, you'd probably say, if you were a man. But he does have the tightest buns, too! I love them! Yours got so plump when your hormones rounded them out that they're even a little flabby now. I've been meaning to get you some exercises to help you shape them up a bit more. 'Buns of Steel,' you've seen the videotape."
"Anyhow, Fran asked me if I'd ever used a dildo on my girlfriend Leslie. When I told her 'No,' she just looked at me and said, 'What are live-in girlfriends for, April? Good heavens? The woman has a cunt, and you don't fuck her? She must be feeling terribly deprived!'"
'"Yes,' I answered her. 'She may well be feeling deprived. I'll have to ask her.' I couldn't very well tell her that my girlfriend doesn't have a cunt, and that may be the reason why she's feeling deprived."
"What?" I asked? "What was that, April?" Her last statement hadn't at all gone where I'd expected it to go. I hadn't felt at all deprived, not until tonight! I began to pull out of my depression, to listen more closely.
"Leslie, tell me. Wouldn't you like to feel for yourself what it's like, what I've just been describing about my affair with Scott, or what Fran's husband feels these days? How it feels to be on the receiving end. To give while receiving? To be really and truly fucked?"
The obvious remark occurred to me, but I said nothing.
"I've been selfish, I suppose. All take and no give. But I do want you to experience the ultimate pleasure a woman can have. I owe it to you. You need to know why it is that these parking attendants and waiters dance around you hoping for a glance and a smile. Why those men pick you up at those clubs we go to, and whirl you around the floor. They hope, they dream, vaguely, that somehow you'll let them sink themselves into you, so they can feel the pleasures a pussy provides. Could provide, if you had one. And they hope for an opportunity to give you pleasure too!"
"April, cut to the chase! Are you telling me to take up with dildos, or with men, or to let you equip me with a vagina?"
"Honey, I really and truly feel guilty about all this. I love you. You know that. I don't want to just walk away and leave you neither here nor there. I want my girlfriend to enjoy being what she is. I certainly don't want you to resent that I turned you into a woman, nearly, and that now I'm divorcing you for a real man, the greatest fuck I've ever had, the love of my life!"
She hadn't answered me. She noticed that I'd noticed, and then she went on.
"Honey, I guess yes, that's what I'm telling you. I don't want to press you or anything, but give it some thought. You can only go so far with dildos, or with satisfying your men with your anus, if that's what you think I was thinking. The best sex between men and women is what happens when a man's cock is inside a woman's vagina. With no vagina, you can't experience that. Right now all of your erogenous nerve endings are still in that useless penis of yours, most of them down toward the base. I want you to think about turning the whole assembly inside out. About having a sensitive clit and a vagina that throbs with joy when a real prick strokes in and out of it! Feeling heaven between your legs!"
"And there's something else. You know that Scott knows about us. He isn't jealous of us, exactly. He isn't jealous of my relations with women. I don't think he understands them. But we've talked about you. He likes the idea of my spending time with someone affectionate who shares my interests. A woman. With an intimate girlfriend. He'd feel reassured to know there's someone I can be with when he's not available."
"And I want him to have that reassurance. I'm now married to a man who's nearly disappeared, and I'm divorcing what's left of him, but that doesn't mean I can't still share things with my dearest girlfriend. We won't live together the way we do now, of course. You'll have your own place, the house we're in now, and you'll lead your own life. Have other friends. Get to know the neighborhood wives. See other men maybe. But we can still see each other. There's no reason not to! You can still be my dearest friend. We can still giggle together about everything!"
She paused. "Isn't that so?"
I nodded. It was so. I almost sobbed at the pity of it. A friendship was all that remained of our marriage! But at least that much! Maybe more!
"That's if you're a woman. If you're no way a man. You have to be a woman. Scott has to be satisfied that you're a woman."
Understood, I suppose. She'd sort of said that. Then she leaned forward to say more. "Leslie, Scott and I want you to be my Maid of Honor at our wedding."
My mouth fell open.
"More than that, I want to do this for my Maid of Honor! I want my bridal gift to you to be a pussy. I want to share everything with you, the way girlfriends should. Nearly everything! Please think some more about it."
"Think too about how much fun we can have picking out our gowns and everything! I'd be so happy! Arranging different couples at different tables. Maybe mixing up the husbands and wives, to see what happens?" She threw me a wicked glance. "Honey, I don't want you left all alone, after everything we've shared. And think about after the wedding! There'll be lots of Scott's friends there, and some of them are between wives, and some of them are roamers, and I should think looking the way you do you'd have the pick of the lot. I know you would. There are some wonderful experiences out there for you, waiting to happen! If you can accommodate them!"
"April, you keep saying it. But I don't want to be intimate with men. I really don't." I was appalled by the way she kept returning to that notion!
"Honey," she said. "You think so now. But looking the way you do, feeling the way you feel about yourself, it's only a matter of time. Take it from me. I know that when you first try a dildo you'll love it. It's like Fran's husband said, it's different. He wasn't the least bit feminine when she started with him, but now when she comes toward him he can't open up to her fast enough. Then sooner or later you'll find that men are a lot more satisfying than dildos. You already love the way they fall all over you for a smile. Don't deny it. Well, you don't know it yet, but in bed men can be very warm and loving, and when they're horny they have moves and desires that can take your breath away. You'll see."
"Leslie sweetie, you're the woman I've taught you to be. That's the next step! I have no doubt at all that soon your mouth and your anus will be baptized with real sperm, sooner than you think, and you'll be thinking about getting a pussy. I may not be moving from man to man any more, the way I did before I met Scott, but you'll be. You'll be checking out lots of the merchandise. The way you behaved with that waiter? You must know that!"
I paid no attention to her reference to the waiter. "You've been moving from man to man? For how long now?" I was shocked yet again!
She looked at me narrowly. "Oh, Leslie, I've been thinking you were my girlfriend, and I forgot you still think you're my husband too. Of course! Practically since we were married! With lots of men. Right away I missed the way some of my old boyfriends felt, different from you, so I started in again with one, then with another. I missed my old girlfriends too, the things we used to do together, but they'd all moved away. That's why I wanted you to fill in, to be my new girlfriend. And that's what you've been!"
She sighed, reminiscing. "Why do you think I found it so easy to do without your cock? Why do you think I didn't care when you lost your erections? On the other hand you know how I absolutely adored those darling little titties of your when they first began to come in, especially when your nipples got so erogenous that all I had to do was touch them and you'd squeal, and then you'd do anything I asked you to do. It all got a lot easier then!" She was lost in reverie for a moment.
"When we moved to this neighborhood I quit with other men for a while. We were women living together, and I tried hard to be faithful to my partner. But then when you had your facial surgery, you were laid up for weeks, bandaged? Remember? How you couldn't go down on me? Well, I felt horny one night and went out and picked up a stud at a bar, and we fucked all night. And I've done that now and then ever since. Until Scott. I'm faithful to Scott. I always will be, I think. He's all the man I need!"
"You made me ... what I am just because you wanted a live-in lesbian partner to play with along with your men?"
"Honey," she said patiently, a little wearily I thought. "I wanted a girlfriend, yes. Someone who shared my interests. And I wanted the sex too, of course. But the main reason why I made you a woman is fairly obvious now, isn't it? Soon after we were married I thought I could get better fucked elsewhere. A lot better fucked. And that turned out to be true."
That settled me back down.
"You really are my best girlfriend, now. But you were never much of a man."
She reached out and took my hands and clasped them in hers. "Aww, now I've hurt his feelings. But you shouldn't have those feelings any more, baby! You're what you wanted to be! You've practically agreed with me again tonight that you like things this way. That you love what you are. Your new hairdo, for openers. And don't you love the feelings that rise up in you when I'm suckling and licking those plump breasts? The way those feelings melt and merge into your whole body?"
"And the other things, not just sex! Don't you love choosing what outfits you'll wear, and what accessories, so you'll look just right for any occasion? You're very good at it, you know, and you enjoy it, I know! Isn't there special satisfaction in knowing you're as nice looking as you can be? And don't you love giving full vent to your deepest, dearest, most heartfelt emotions, the way any woman can, instead of suppressing them the way men feel they must? You're a woman in your heart now, Leslie, nearly. That's why I feel so close to you! That's the closeness to you I've wanted from the beginning! It's special! Very different from the way I feel about Scott."
"Suppose I go back," I said resentfully. "And have my breasts removed, and get testosterone shots, ramp up my natural production, be more of a man again. More the way I was."
She looked at me a little reproachfully. "Honey, let me say it in the plainest of plain words. You can't. It won't happen. Your testicles have shut down. They're almost gone -- why do you think they tuck so easily these days? And your penis is now what, the size of your little finger -- you've seen it. Could you be a man now? If you could, you'd hate it. But you can't. There's no going back."
"That's why I'm urging you, sweetheart, go the other way! Really, you're only one step short of the goal. Have a vagina installed and be done with it. One of your very own, to dispose however you wish." She looked intently at me. "To use the way I've used mine. The way any woman can, and no husband can ever really tell. You'll be so much happier! Complete yourself, honey!"
Oddly, at that moment she sounded like my wife, the woman I married, concerned and caring!
"All right, I'll think about it," I said. "But I don't think I'm ready for it. I'm willing to be your Maid of Honor, but I can't promise you anything else."
I disengaged my hands from hers and looked down. It was time to part. I felt sad. Sorrowful, in fact. "I guess I should go home now, April. When do you think we can see each other again?"
"Honey, no, not yet. There's just a little bit more we need to talk about."
"What?"
"Two things, really, First of all Scott. I told you he has no objection to our keeping up our friendship, as long as it's a friendship between two girls. Well, his agreement to all this -- our continuing to see each other, your being my Maid of Honor, everything -- is conditional. He knows you'd never agree to a vagina right off. But he wants proof positive, absolute assurance, that you're now my girlfriend and no way my husband."
"He knows you're no rival physically. He can tell that the way I react when that fat cock of his shoves into me. I shriek, and my moaning comes to crescendo almost immediately. It's obvious to him I get nothing like that at home. But he needs to know you harbor no bad feelings toward him. That there's no jealous husband left in you. That you don't feel competitive in some way. That you wish him well. That you're truly my girlfriend wishing us both well. So we've thought of a test."
"What? For me to place your wedding band around his cock and guide it into your pussy with my own hand? Is that it?"
"Oh no, that won't be necessary Leslie. Just to do something for him no ex-husband would ever do for the rival who's replaced him. Though a girlfriend might."
"What's that?"
"Now hear me out, Leslie!"
"All right. What? What do I need to do?"
"Not a lot. A gesture, really. A blow job. Just for you to give him a blow job. To swallow his sperm from the source instead of from my pussy. It really isn't much more than you've already done. It's what girls do. To show him unequivocally that you want him to be happy, by making him feel good. To show you bear him no animus. To show me that you desire his happiness too. To prove it to me!"
She grinned maliciously. "Then again, I do think you'd enjoy it, sucking his cock. Once you get past the idea of it. I do."
I couldn't believe what I was hearing! "While you watch?" I asked sarcastically?
"Oh, no, that wouldn't be decent. You two need privacy for something like that. But he does need to know who you are and who you aren't. A girlfriend, not a man at all! He doesn't think any man would be willing to wrap his mouth around his wife's lover's penis. Of course Fran's husband does it, she tells me, with several of her lovers. But he's a special case, and it took her a while to get him there."
She paused, looking across the restaurant, back toward the lobby. I followed her eyes. There was a rugged looking, rather handsome man in the entrance hall now talking to the Maitre D', who pointed at our table. He started toward us, but April suddenly held up a palm to him. He stopped short, nodded, and then sat down at the bar, looking over at us now and then.
"That's my man, sweetie! Don't you just love him? Feel a teenie bit tempted to flirt with him? I want you two to meet. We both want to get this matter settled now, tonight. But first, there's one more thing. Please listen, it's serious."
"What?" I asked her. "He wants to fuck me up the ass, too? To assure himself there are no jealous feelings hidden up there either?"
"No, he doesn't want to. In fact he made a face when I suggested it. But he's willing, because I want him to. And I want you to let him. That's my test. That's what I need to know my girlfriend knows. The joy of fucking while being fucked, of submitting to a man while he pleasures you. The man in you won't want to do it, of course, but I think the woman in you will love it! You'll need to know how it feels if only to make a fully informed decision about turning in your prick for a functioning vagina."
I was silent. I couldn't look her in the eye.
"It's such a weenie, you know!"
She wasn't taunting me. Just stating a fact.
"Just look him over, my gorgeous man over there! Isn't he a dreamboat? If as a woman you can allow him into both of your openings, if that's at all possible, then we have no problem, Leslie. Because you'll have proved that you have no problem. So I want you to go with him. Now. Is that clear?"
I was silent.
"Is it?" She looked grim, and picked up her purse. "Is there a problem? Leslie? Is this how we say goodbye to each other?"
"No, April. Please!" I sounded as anguished as I felt.
"I mean now, upstairs, in this hotel. We've reserved a room for the two of you to use."
I said nothing. She looked for a long time into my eyes, while I struggled to find something to say. Then she just said, "Good!" and raised a forefinger, and gestured to the man seated at the bar. He stood up and moved to join us.
"I think I'll pass up dessert, honey. I'll stop by the hospital to check on a few things, and meet you both in the Jockey's Bar off the hotel lobby in about an hour. Let's say two. That should be time enough."
She rose and headed for the Ladies' Room. Her man grinned to her in passing. Then as he approached me, he smiled gently. I looked up at him, wide-eyed, and I nervously touched my hair. I tried to smile back, but couldn't. "So you're Leslie," he said. "I've heard so many good things about you!" He held out his hand.
The longest two hours of my life later, I stepped out of the elevator into the hotel lobby and waddled toward the Jockey's Bar. I stopped first at the Ladies' to pick up a tampon, so my favorite black, silver threaded shift wouldn't get as soaked and stained as my panties despite the Kleenex I'd stuffed into them. And I fixed my make-up. Sure enough, my mussed hair fell into place when I combed it with my fingers a few times.
I hurt. My jaw a little, and my rear end a lot, but my pride most of all. Now, as April would have said, I'd graduated from finishing school.
That man had fucked my mouth twice in quick succession. The first time I'd rounded my mouth and cloaked my teeth with my lips -- "Don't bite!" he'd cautioned me in a strained gutteral at one point -- and I'd closed my eyes and I'd sucked on his pole until I felt his pelvis rear up and pump cum into the back of my throat. I tried to feel dainty doing this, to feel like April's girlfriend, but all I felt was a little soiled.
Then during the second blow job I found my mind was wandering, it had begun to seem so routine, so ordinary. So accustomed. Not thinking much about it, I slid my lips up and down him while his large hands pressed tenderly at the sides of my head, holding my new hairdo tight against my ears while he headfucked me. My tongue slipped past the irregular ridges of his veins, and the rubbery edge of his cockhead. I scarcely noticed when he came this time -- I'd gotten accustomed to the salty taste and slick feel -- and I quaffed it down almost absent-mindedly. And resisted feeling grateful that he'd finished, that it was done with. In fact as he'd approached his climax it had crossed my mind that if I were to slow down and hold him off just a little bit longer, I could get him to do ... what? Something April might not find forgiveable, when she heard about it. But instead, as he speeded up, I picked up the pace myself, and when the time came swallowed his squirtings effortlessly
I suppose now I'm qualified, a full-fledged woman, I thought to myself. So Scott now can't object to my seeing April. He looked satisfied enough with me as he helped me up off my knees and asked me now to lie face down on the bed with my rear end raised high on pillows.
As he explained, he was low on juice, so I should expect that he'd be working his short but incredibly thick cock in and out of my asshole for quite a while. He suggested I enjoy it, he knew I would, but to be sure to let him know if anything hurt. In fact it was nearly an hour before he finally shot his sperm into me a third time.
He'd been lavish, slathering on the jelly, but no turd as thick as that swollen penis had ever passed through my anus before, so his lovemaking hurt at first, going in both directions. But it did feel a little like lovemaking, especially when he reached around me and grasped each of my breasts and delicately tweaked my nipples in rhythm with his thrusting. A strange stirring in my groin grew stronger, and I began to wriggle down on him repeatedly in search of an enticing feeling that almost-but-not-quite eluded me. That pleased him. I could tell. Each time I snuggled my cushiony rear into him, he responded with greater ardor. This felt so ... feminine, wiggling and teasing his cock with my pussy. Desireable, vulnerable, yielding, yet aloof and somehow in control, calling the shots. I don't like to confess it, but when he came pounding into my ass and I could feel his cum impregnating my bowels I felt sheer joy. My prostate gave way and I squirted my own clear juice into the sheets. I remembered how April had exulted that she loved hard fucking, and I understood. I really was a full-fledged woman! There was no doubt about it! My mind wandered again, but this time to thoughts about how men's hips moved when I danced with them, those times when I'd gone out with April.
"You won't have any trouble fitting anyone else into your ass from now on, little lady," my lover told me as he pulled his slackening cock out finally. "That hole and those muscles back there are now stretched out and relaxed for good. Just what the doctor ordered."
"You mean Dr. April?" I asked him coyly. "Or you, Dr. Scott." I was feeling flirtatious! Smiling! It was a kind of triumph! It was over and I'd serviced my first man, I'd lost my virginity at both ends, and despite the supposed humiliation it had felt good! Better than that, once I'd gotten into it!
"Is April her first name? Your wife, ma'am? That's who I mean. I don't know any Dr. Scott."
"What?!!"
I was still pressing pads of Kleenex into my distended and leaking rear end, but I had to turn to look at him closely.
"You aren't Dr. Scott?!"
My voice sounded high yet relaxed, not at all the way I felt! I even stretched myself in a feline kind of way.
He flashed me the same broad, gentle, grin with which he'd met me in the restaurant. "Babydoll, no way! I'm Ken. I should have introduced myself, but I thought you knew. I'm from Stallions, the escort service. I hope you found my cock pleasureable in your mouth, and the fucking satisfactory, ma'am. 'We are always eager to please' is our company motto." You sure did sound pleased toward the end, the way you squealed each time I rammed into you! It must have hurt you, your first time and all, but when we got to that part you didn't sound in pain at all!"
"I suppose not," I replied. Maybe I had enjoyed it, a little. More than a little? What had April done to me? And why? Where was Scott? Why didn't I feel resentful?
Ken threw on his clothes and waved goodbye to me while I was still trying to blot myself, wondering where he got all that cum after I'd swallowed so much already. His nose wasn't broken, I realized. I should have noticed that. It was a rather nice nose.
I located my heels way under the bed, and found my panties draped on the champagne bottle we'd emptied quickly when we first arrived in the room, and then I got dressed too. All the while wondering why my wife of five years who was my girlfriend of four years and my ex as of a few hours ago, why she'd set me up this way, with a stud, not with her fiance. How would this reassure Scott that I wasn't still his rival?
I still had no answers when I wobbled into the Bar, resolving never to wear really high heels the next time I get my asshole reamed, and sat down gingerly at a table.
No sooner was I seated, carefully, than a waiter brought over an envelope with "Leslie" written in April's physician's hand on it, barely legible.
"Miss, are you 'Leslie'? A woman left this with me to give to you when you came in."
I sighed, and opened it.
Dear Leslie,
I'm writing this note ahead of time, because I know you so well, and I know how things will go tomorrow when we have our little talk in the restaurant, and I know how you're feeling right now as you sit on one haunch in the hotel bar and read it. You're a dear, but you're so predictable!
But now you're all Leslie, not Les, and now Leslie is her own woman! You're no longer my husband turned into my girlfriend and dependent on my whims and wishes. Like me, I think, you're now capable of leading your own life unafraid, even with a sense of anticipation, not with the helplessness that made you so miserable when I left you just a short time ago.
It's been true in your case, what men are always saying about one woman or another, that all she needs is a good stiff dick to straighten her out. You've been ready for a stiff dick ever since you lost your own. The problem was to get you to accept it.
Well, now you have. I'm happy for you. You're now so much closer to the end of your journey. After all I've asked you to do, and all you've done for me and for yourself, I couldn't leave you still hesitating about taking that last step. But now you will. Because you have no where else to go now!
I have some terrible confessions to make. I tricked you.
First, I know that everything you've done since our marriage, you've done for me. That you couldn't conceive of life without me. That you had to believe that even after I left you you'd continue to be what you've been to me, my dearest girlfriend. So I told you that's what you'd be.
But we won't be seeing each other any more. By the time you read this, I'll have left town to take up a post in a hospital a long way from here. I've known for months that when we ended our marriage it would be better for us to make a clean break. And *crack* -- that's what we've done!
Another thing. I told you that for us to continue our relationship, you had to have sex with Scott. And you believed me. Well, you should have known better. Any future husband of mine will want no part of any kind of sex with any man. Or with any other woman either. He'll have to be mine and no one else's. Faithful, the way you've been. Until now, that is.
I knew you had to have sex with a man to strengthen your new feelings about yourself as a woman. I knew that sex with a man would mortify your manhood into disappearing altogether. So I had to arrange it. But why didn't it occur to you that of course I wouldn't ever share a new husband, even with you, no more than I was ever willing to share you? I'll answer for you. Because the woman in you wanted so badly to bed down with a man . To enjoy what I was enjoying. Maybe also, to get even with me by taking my man for a ride of your own? The man in you was appalled by the idea, I'm sure, but the woman in you knew! Honey, you seduced yourself!
That's why, when I realized that you were useless as a man, that your future was as a woman, I decided to end our marriage and let you move on. For your sake. It was a sad, hard decision for me, a sacrifice, but it was for the best!
And I knew that the man in you would never cooperate. Not old Les! Think of the humiliation! You had to be finessed into it. And you were. And now you know why. You do love it, don't you? Just a little? The freedom to be yourself? The freedom to enjoy this altogether new kind of sex?
There's one more little deception too. I've told you all about my affair with Scott. But there is no Scott! No one Scott, anyhow. I'm seeing a man now, all right, but I don't think you need to know anything about him, except that he isn't a doctor, and he's never been married and won't be, and how we met and what we've done together for how long is our affair, not yours. Maybe you've tasted him when you've gone down on me and maybe you haven't. Maybe you've tasted others, sweetheart! But that doesn't matter to you any more, dear, does it? Because you're now a woman with your own past, aren't you? We've both enjoyed extramarital sex now, haven't we? I just got started earlier than you, is all.
But you'll catch up I'm sure. Because I'm not abandoning you, honey. I haven't left you alone. I know you'll still want a close girlfriend of your own, an adviser, a good influence to help you over other little hurdles as you live life as fully as a girl can. Someone to guide you into some new paths. When you've read this letter, just put it back into the envelope and lay the envelope on the table and wait. See what happens.
I'll send someone to pick up a few essentials I've left at the house. Everything else is yours. Even my clothes, sweetie, enjoy them! I mean to begin my new life with a whole new wardrobe, and I'd invite you to come shopping with me if you were any closer -- I'll miss your advice, you have such good taste! But I'll be too far away, and I suspect you'll be far too busy anyhow, getting to know your new girlfriend and some of her friends!
Enjoy your life, sweetheart. Don't do anything I wouldn't do, if you find there is such a thing! I'm sorry you won't be my Maid of Honor after all. But you aren't a maid any more anyhow. Of course I hope you and lots of others will soon be enjoying a new space between your legs the way my current man and I enjoy mine. Who knows, you may even develop some maidenly modesty in the use of it! Even I may some day!
Love, April
I realized that April had now completed what she'd begun with me way back, when she'd first found that her new husband bored her. As a challenge, an entertainment maybe, she'd set about making me into a woman despite myself, and making me want to be one, before she dumped me as she knew she would. She'd now done just that and sent me on my way. I didn't know if I wanted any more girlfriends like her.
I decided not really. But probably I would take her up about getting a new pussy. My asshole hurt!
As directed, I put the letter back in the envelope and set the envelope on the table. Within a minute, a waiter appeared carrying a drink for me and set it down next to the envelope.
"From the lady at that corner table."
He nodded in that direction, and my eyes followed. A tall, well-turned- out woman in a very expensive beaded cocktail dress rose up and began walking toward me with a willowy movement of her hips. I thought, that's very attractive, I should try that -- but not tonight, not the way my rear-end feels. When she arrived at my table she paused, and her smile dazzled me. Her face was beautiful, jewel-like, she was so impeccably made up. I felt privileged that this stunning woman had sent me a drink. And I felt a little intimidated by her, too, as she stood over me!
"You're Leslie?"
I nodded.
"Yes. Do you know anyone named Les?"
"No," I said. "I did once, but he's gone."
"Good! April thought that would surely be the case. A pity in a way, because I know so many delicious games I could play with Les. The kind I play with my own husband, and with some of his lovers, and with some of the other people I let use him now and then."
"Oh?"
"Yes. April asked me to look in on you, to see that your life doesn't grow dull. She tells me you've just lost your best girlfriend, that you might want another. Someone to share all kinds of new experiences with.
"That's possible."
"Well, I could certainly do with some help myself. Wives come to me all the time with men who don't know how to satisfy their needs, some of them their own husbands. To train them. You've been through it. You know how a clever girl can make a man submit to learn anything. Wouldn't you enjoy helping me with these? In your spare time, I mean. I suspect we'd get along beautifully."
She leaned over me. "I'm Fran. April may have mentioned me. Mainly I do surgery on people's lower parts. She tells me you're a candidate. Well, I always ask the wives if that kind of surgery is something their husbands want, or something they want their husbands to have regardless. When I asked April, she said that you really craved castration and a cunt but you didn't yet know it. So we'll just have to help you find out, won't we?"
More tests, I thought to myself. More entrance exams. But I didn't say anything.
"I love your hair, Leslie! I'm told a cut like that doesn't muss. We'll see. Often, I expect!"
And she bent down and kissed me full on the lips, resting one hand lightly on my breast. I opened my mouth, and her tongue entered into me. Delicious! I breathed deep and closed my eyes. And as I gave myself to her, I wondered what her husband might be like.
Copyright © 1999, 2009 by Vickie Tern. May be archived and single-copied, not sold.
Vickie [email protected]
At first it seemed an utter disaster. I heard the door slam and something glass smash in the hallway, and before I could call out asking what it was there stood Helen in the doorway of my study, an avenging angel, livid, her body one huge clenched fist, eyes glaring out of her head.
"Is something wrong?" I asked.
I already knew the answer. She had finally found out. Nearly a year ago. I'd never altogether forgotten it, though I'd tried to bury it in my mind with all those other lapses and indiscretions people mean to make up but forget about after a while, because there's nothing to be done about them, really, and anyhow no one knows about them. All those debts never repaid, and promises not kept. But here it was. The big one, now found out. For me the big one, anyhow, because I was never a great sinner, just an average well-meaning kind of guy, brought up to be decent enough, to keep my word no matter what, not to lie, or cheat, or steal.
Well, anyhow, not to steal. A year earlier I had cheated on my wife, and for a while I'd done a lot of lying to her to hide it. Understand me, that was the only time I ever fell off the monogamy wagon into a real torrid no-holds-barred affair. I've never been a great seducer, just one more account executive worried about middle-aged flab though still fairly thin, a nice guy, always polite to everybody. To get along, go along, was always my motto. I never understood why Estrella picked me out to be her sex partner while she was in town. I guessed it was because she knew I'd be no problem for her. And I wasn't, not at all.
One afternoon there she was, Estrella, this ripe, sultry Sales Manager from downstate somewhere, sent up for a six-week training course she said. She was related in some way to Dora, our across-the-street neighbor and my wife's dearest friend, though it didn't appear they ever spent any time together. Apparently it was Dora who suggested that Estrella drop by my office to meet some people, and to ask me about the available after-hours entertainment.
Which turned out to be me.
When Estrella stood over my desk to introduce herself I went weak in the knees, even though I was sitting and it didn't matter. I couldn't take my eyes off her.
"You're Dora's friend's husband?" she asked. "This is where you like to play with yourself?"
I looked up and my mouth gaped open. Her lips were moist, red, and curled all over themselves. Her eyes were sparkling black smudges, looking down at me amused. Her slender red fingertips clicked lightly on the top of my desk, and when I glanced at them I saw her crotch just behind, sheathed in form-fitting spandex slacks tucked tightly into her slit, rubbing and pressing against the corner of my desk. I looked back up embarrassed, and saw that she had just reached some kind of decision about me. She smiled to herself and leaned forward, and her cascading brown hair tumbled down over me. My field of vision closed over and became a fragrant tent filled with shadowy dark tips on the peaks of the lacy bra I could see she wore under her transparent chiffon blouse.
"I haven't even checked into my hotel yet," she was saying, "Do you think you'll have time to show me around first?"
I suppose I was ripe for it. My sex life had gone quiescent, because I didn't want to violate my wife's desires, and she didn't have too many. Helen had never gone in for gratifying physical appetites, or even encouraging them. No bingeing of any kind. She ate moderately, and never indulged with junk food, chocolate, or second portions of anything. Not that she was thin -- there were some curves there, but she thought their purpose was to fill out the trim suits she favored wearing. She was gentle, never stiff or prissy but never provocative either, even by accident. Not exactly shy, but no way assertive. I sensed early in our relationship that to ask her to do something she didn't want to do would violate something within her she valued deeply, her innate sense of tidiness, or neatness. It wouldn't have been nice. She might have accommodated me, but it wouldn't have been fair. It would have been taking advantage of her good nature.
So our sex life leveled down to what she liked, and that wasn't much. It was pretty tame. She didn't care for oral sex, or anal sex, or most of the time any sex at all. She liked to cuddle, and to kiss gently, and she liked me to stroke her hair, and just hold her. After lights out, when other couples turned to fulfill each others' desires, she liked to settle down and just "make nice." I think she decided to marry me because I was so considerate, never insisting we make love all the way, settling most of the time for gentle caressing. She seemed to want full scale sex with me only occasionally, to recharge some moderate libidinous energy within herself perhaps. Some nights she'd let me know it was all right, and I'd penetrate her, and she'd have a small orgasm after a while, then she'd wait for me to finish, and then she'd turn over without a word and go to sleep, and that was that for another few weeks. Or longer. I can't say she was ever really passionate. No. Then in the morning, when I began to renew my affectionate stroking of her in the hope that it would lead to something more, she'd wait me out, and after a while I'd get the message and ease off. "That was nice," she'd say when I'd stopped nuzzling and caressing her. Then she'd get up to dress for the day.
But she enjoyed hearing me talk about who at the office was doing whom, and to hear any speculation about how they were doing it. In her imagination she could deal with any kinds of sexual coupling, no matter how raunchy, any numbers and combinations of matings. She liked sex at one remove, I suppose because then it was safe and undemanding, and had nothing to do with her. She's the only woman I've ever known who liked not only Harlequin romances, where sex is a blurred fusion of stars and floods and explosions and things, but also liked hard core sex novels, the kind that inventory specific peculiar and perverse cravings and body parts and then let rip. She kept a stack of them by the bed. I suppose for her it was like reading science fiction or the National Geographic, depictions of other people's strange folkways, novel and interesting, maybe even educational. But it never touched her behavior, or her attitudes. In her real world there was very little physical desire.
Even when we were making love I always had the impression she would rather be doing other things altogether, like planning menus or vacations, or keeping the family finances at her little spindled desk. She could be relentless following out and making sure that workmen around the house did what they had said they would do. A deal was a deal, and she expected that everything promised would be fulfilled. Once when a house painter overbooked himself, as they like to do, and started our job late and finished it much later still, she wanted to sue him, to return what she conceived was injury with injury, to "get even," to re- establish a balance in her moral universe. It was only with great difficulty that I persuaded her to forget it, and I'm still not sure she ever did.
Above all what she loved doing was lunching or shopping with Dora, whom she saw all the time. Dora lived close by, was divorced and childless and well-off, and had time on her hands. My wife managed the Art Shop at our local museum, where Dora was a Docent and would often drop by to chat. They had a lot in common. Dora also didn't seem much interested in sex. She didn't date that I ever noticed, or talk about men other than her ex-husband, whom she had left, as she said, for good and sufficient reasons she didn't find interesting enough to share. We were also childless. But then we'd only been married a few years, and I can't say we'd worked frenziedly at making babies. As I've said, when sex did happen between us, it was...well...nice. That's the word, nice. Helen liked hugging and snuggling, and the other less messy ways to be nice.
Not Estrella. Sex with Estrella was always frantic, and never merely nice. I couldn't stop her from overwhelming me, and after a while I didn't want to. She became an obsession. So far as my wife was concerned, I spent the next six weeks working nights and weekends, called out-of-town overnight repeatedly, with scarcely enough time to stop at home to pick up fresh shirts and socks. It was glorious. Estrella led the way, and I followed eagerly. We began by climbing all over and into each other all night, night after night, juiced up and overflowing and sucking from each other in a kind of wet frenzy. It was madness. I couldn't get enough of her. She was a tease, always testing how far she could go with me and then goading me further. By the end of the first week she had me drinking any fluid she could produce from between her legs, my own or hers, nursing at her crotch like a baby for hours at a time, and by the second week she had me begging to let me nibble at her rear no matter what. I wanted any part of her around me and inside me.
By the end of the third week she was entertaining herself by looking for something I wouldn't do for her. I never found out what that might be. She had me jumping through hoops, once literally, in order to get to her, to be allowed to kiss her, or lick her, or swallow her, or express myself inside her. Whatever she asked me to do, soon I craved it. Toward the end we were into some pretty kinky stuff. Once on a whim she brought in a pair of cocker spaniels owned by a friend, she said, and her delicately manicured fingertips stroked my penis while touching my nipples, while she crooned into my ear what she wanted me to do. To screw the female was what it came to, so I did, lying on my back and working the little dog up and down my belly until she finally admitted me and we both got hot. Then when I was myself unable to stop, and the bitch was pumping my crotch like a vibrating piston, yipping and whining, both dog and man out of control, when my head was thrown back and my eyes were closed, and my mouth was wide open, she set the other dog down on my face with his hind legs straddling my jaw and his thin red penis extended into my mouth, and said "Suck!" In no time at all that animal was turned on too, his forelegs wrapped tightly around my ears and his hind quarters fucking my face in a fury. I glimpsed Estrella watching with a wicked smile, sprawled in a chair and slowly working a huge dildo into herself, sliding it in and out while the dog was working his prick in and out of my mouth. A day or two later she saw to it that I got to know that dildo very well, and I learned to beg her for it.
Half out of my mind, toward the end of our affair I asked her why she never brought in other women, or other men, to share our pleasures. She never did answer me, but smiled broadly and patted me on the top of my head, as if I had earned special approbation just by asking. "Yes, you'll do very well," she said. "You'll see." That night she took some special metal and leather contraptions out of a bag she kept in the closet, and said, "This is to reward you for wanting to share with others." Then what she did to me with those things, for two sleepless days and nights, well, I'd better not talk about it now.
Part of the craziness was its danger. I lost all sense of caution as well as dignity, and given Helen's instinct to get even whenever anyone failed any obligation to her, this was doubly crazy. In between our entanglements we went to clubs and restaurants and shows where friends might see us, and some did. A male associate from work winked at me in a gay bar she took me to once dressed in black stockings and hot pants (that was the same night she lifted her breast out of her scoop-necked top and again commanded, "Suck!", which I did blissfully, though we were both perched at the bar in full view of everyone). At a concert once some friends came over during intermission, and I introduced the gorgeous girl on my arm in the green sequined mini as my business associate, and tried to remember where I had told Helen I was supposed to be that night. Estrella admired a pendant on one of the wives, and managed to touch a fingernail to the wife's nipples while lifting it to look more closely. The men smirked, and the women made polite noises. Then as it turned out, they did plenty of talking about me when they got home, and later at each others' cocktail parties. Mostly they were amused. Mostly they thought Estrella should put a leash on a ring in my nose to make it even easier to lead me around. They didn't know the half of it. Not even half.
Once in a restaurant I thought I saw Dora and Helen sitting at a table across the room. Maybe not. Neither came over, and when they finished eating they left without a glance back. The next day I stopped home briefly, and Helen showed no sign of anything. I was relieved we had gotten away with it, if we had.
Helen never did find out what we were doing while we were going at it hot and heavy. Not then, anyhow. When Estrella's training ended -- and mine, she said jokingly -- she wound down and undulated her way back home, and our great flame died down and went out. And that was that. She never even wrote to me. I had closed out an incredible, frantic fling, gone deranged and risked everything, found dark places in myself I've never been near since then, but there was no harm done. In a way I was glad, even relieved to return to hugging my little Helen to sleep and doing very little else. If anything Helen seemed even less interested than ever in sexual activity. She and Dora kept each other company when I was really away on business, and talked about art exhibitions evenings when they visited each other, and planned trips to visit some gallery or other, and that seemed to fill her life. I was usually inattentive as they chatted away over tea or coffee or dessert or drinks, and often went into my study to catch up on unfinished work. I once asked Dora if she had ever heard from Estrella, her cousin or something, and Dora was puzzled. It seemed she hadn't known Estrella was still in town, all that time we were crawling all over each other.
But now, a year later, came what I correctly surmised was the aftershock. The day of reckoning. Helen had obviously finally found out that last year her nice little hubby had been another woman's sex fiend.
"Did something made you angry?" I asked Helen as she stood glaring at me in the doorway. Mistake, I thought immediately. Much too ingenuous. She knows I know the answer to that question. If I were innocent I'd be bewildered and concerned, because just look what she looks like right now, her body twisted and her face knotted up. I'd be getting up and going over to try to console her. But here I am sitting here asking questions, and the moment when I could have convinced her it never happened has already passed. Damn!
"You!" she said in a loud, shrill voice, as if she needed to get my attention. "Dora told me!" Then she hissed "About you and that ... woman! I can't believe it!" She believed it all right. "You worm! You snake! Bastard! You sneaking, two-timing bastard! "
"Helen, that was a year ago," I said, trying to put the best face on it I could. "It was nothing. Not really. There was nothing before and there's been nothing since! Not ever!"
"Oh?" she said. "Is that supposed to make me feel better? You've been MOSTLY faithful to me? You've NEARLY kept your marriage vows? You're ALMOST my husband?" She suddenly burst into tears and stomped away. I could hear her upstairs in our bedroom, where she threw herself on our bed and screamed, then started to sob aloud, piteously.
I felt terrible for her, and not so good for myself. But I knew better than to go up and try to say anything. These things have to follow
their course. I spent that night in my study, stretched out on the floor. The hard surface reminded me of a time when Estrella tied me...well, never mind. Once or twice the phone rang, and I guess Helen answered it upstairs, because it stopped ringing almost immediately.
The next morning I avoided Helen, and she went to work without saying a word. I got a glimpse of her eyes, red, heavily made up as if to cover deep circles, and her mouth was clamped as tight as a purse someone had squeezed shut. I didn't dare try to speak to her, though my heart went out for what she was suffering. I was bitterly sorry to have caused my gentle wife such misery. But what could I do? I spent all day trying to think of ways to make it up to her, and the more I thought about her anguish the more desperate I got. It was torture.
That night she stayed out late, and just when I was starting to worry that she'd done something serious to herself she came in and went straight to bed. I guessed she'd gone to Dora, or to another of her friends, for advice what to do now. I heard more sobbing, then silence.
The same thing the next morning, and the next night.
The next day was Saturday, and I was distraught. I couldn't take it any longer. "Please!" I said when she came down to breakfast, and I handed her a cup of coffee. "I know how you feel! But tell me what I can do! I can't stand to see you so miserable! I'll do anything to make it up to you! Anything! Just tell me what to do! Please! You can't know how very very sorry I am!" I went down on my knees, and tried to put my head in her lap. But that's where she had the cup of coffee.
She just looked at me, and her face began to break up into tears again, but her mind went somewhere else instead. She looked away, then she looked back at me again, and didn't say a word. Good, I thought, she's already feeling more sorry for herself than outraged by me. She even pities her hubby a little. I've got a chance!
I pressed what advantage I had. "Believe me, there's been nothing since then! Nothing! And there never will be! Ever! I never really wanted to in the first place! It just started up, and then it was over in only a few weeks!" Bad move. She might know it was longer than that. But she picked up on another word.
"Oh?" she said. "Only a few weeks? ONLY a few weeks! ONLY? You wanted more time to spend screwing that bitch, cheating me, making a mockery of our marriage, betraying and lying to me, you miserable macho fraud? You dare to tell me you wish it had lasted longer? I hate you! I hate you! ONLY a few weeks?"
Better. A mistake the way I had phrased it, but better. If she can express her anger, then as the marriage counsellors say, she can dissipate it. "Please," I said again. "I beg you! How can I make it up to you! Just tell me what to do. I'll do anything."
"Everyone knew but me!" Helen began to sob again. "I'm so humiliated!"
Thank God! It was out! The worst of it wasn't rage that I had betrayed her, or sexual jealousy, or insecurity that she might lose me, or the knowledge that I had granted intimate favors to another (in fact, no one ever granted Estrella anything -- she took whatever she wanted, and it was never enough!). There had never been a strong physical relationship between Helen and me, nothing Estrella could alienate from Helen and appropriate for herself. Again, that may be why Estrella saw I was so easy. I never felt I was depriving my wife of anything.
But here it was. Helen had suffered a loss of respectability. The worst of it was shame! Loss of the respect due her by the supposedly respectable people in her circle, because she had been credulous, and trusting, and other things wives should be, and had been deceived, duped, and other things wives should never be if they were to remain respectable.
"How can I humiliate you the way you've humiliated me?" she asked. "How can I get even with you, you bastard." And she started to cry again.
"Helen, please," I said, still on my knees at the kitchen table, wondering if we should adjourn to the living room, where there were rugs and soft chairs. "I want to help you. If you want to get even, that's what I want too. I want us to be the way we were. Tell me how I can help." Even to myself I sounded oily, and I decided I had to be more sincere. Really sincere.
"You can't! I can't!" Tears started to brighten her eyes again.
I reached down into myself and offered a real sacrifice. "Helen," I said, "Now don't be shocked at what I'm about to say." I was a little shocked myself, but it was the only thing I could think of. "You want to get even. You want to hurt me the way I hurt you. Suppose you were to have an affair too? Suppose I didn't know about it? Or suppose I did know, but promised not to interfere? Would you want that?" I took a deep breath. "If that's what you want, then that's what I want for you."
Talk about kinky? Estrella really had activated some weird places in me. Would I end up advising her to avenge herself for the Cocker Spaniels by taking up with a Great Dane? But I plowed on. "What if you were to disgrace me the way I've disgraced you, the way I've disgraced myself?" I asked her. I was sounding pretentious again, but I really did want to offer her some kind of retribution. I knew it would be important to her.
"I can't! I tried!"
I was shocked. I listened attentively.
"Those nights after Dora told me about you and that...that whore, that Estrella, I tried. I tried to get even. I went to a bar where people pick up other people. Dora told me where. And I met some men. But I just couldn't bring myself to do it. They wanted to, and I tried to make myself, but I just couldn't! They started to act like animals with me, each of them. It wasn't at all nice! So both times I ran away. Then there's this man in our office, an impossible man, propositions everyone all the time, tries to get into everyone's pants, thinks he's God's gift, and I thought about him, and about starting up something with him. But even the thought of him disgusted me! I couldn't do it!" And she started to cry again, this time loudly, beginning to wail.
I stood up, and stood her up, and wrapped my arms around her and nuzzled into her hair, and said "There, there, Helen!" over and over, and she clutched me and cried all the harder, her shoulders wracked. When she had calmed down she continued, while I still held her.
"And the worst of it," she said between sobs, "is that everyone has been feeling sorry for me, or gloating over me, or feels contempt for me because everyone knew about it, and I didn't know. You made me a laughingstock. For a year now!" She buried her face in my shoulder, and for some reason she clung to me as though she were drowning.
"Oh my dear," I said, hugging her. "That's not true." But it was, of course. "Just tell me how I can make it up to you. I want to make it up to you." I returned to that theme, now that it seemed perfectly safe.
There was nothing I could do to make it up to her. She was prim, sexually timid, unadventurous except in her reading, and that was that. In fact I was feeling enormously relieved. A burden of guilt had been lifted from me. Now she knew. At last I had no more secrets from her, about the past or the present. A year after that torrid time I was again being honest with my wife, in the clear. "I owe you," I said sincerely. "I'll make it up to you. Breakfast in bed for life! Anything! Just name it!"
She knew I barely knew how fix instant coffee, much less prepare breakfast. But the intention was there. She could respect that. I hoped. I felt generous. I was out of the woods.
Or so I thought. For a week afterward we seemed altogether reconciled, Helen and me. She returned to her regular life. She no longer hated me, and I returned to our bedroom to sleep, and she scarcely seemed to notice. I reached for her one night, and she said "Please, not yet!" and turned away with a nearly regretful look, as if to say, "I'd like to, but you know how it is." I pretended I knew.
Then one night after dinner, she said to me, "Come into the living room. I want you to know how things are."
Not especially concerned, I went in and sat down.
"Do you love me?" she asked.
"Yes, of course," I said, wondering where this was going. "I told you that."
"And you said you'd do anything for me to make up for that affair of yours? Anything? Anything at all?"
"Yes," I said. "I told you that too."
"Well," says my quiet little wife, "Would you be willing to go into a singles bar and seduce someone for me?"
I was astonished! I knew that some men get off on that kind of thing, setting their wives up, getting them into bed with other men, watching them fuck away. Not me. Not my thing. Not Helen's thing either, from what I knew about her. She just didn't have enough sexual drive to carry out a night in bed with another man, even one I set up for her, with or without me helping her, much less with me watching. But obviously she was still thinking about some way to even the score. Her notion now seemed to be, if she couldn't bring herself to pick up a man and get him into her bed, maybe I could arrange something so that all she had to do was make love to a man who was already there. That seemed a lot to ask of me, I thought, though for some reason a corner of me felt a little stirred. No matter. I had promised to help her, in effect to help her revenge herself on me, so I just nodded cautiously, signaling understanding but not necessarily agreement. And I waited.
"The problem is this," she said. "You had an affair. You went at it hot and heavy for more than a few weeks, from all I hear. For more than a month. For six weeks you made love to her."
The phrase sounded quaintly old-fashioned. For six weeks Estrella used me as a novelty sex-object. She did things to me, and with me. But I didn't try to correct Helen.
"Then it ended, she moved away, and I never knew. You've deceived me for the past year, when everyone else seems to have known. They've pitied me. I've been duped. I've been playing the fool, the trusting innocent. A week ago or so I made a harmless comment to Dora about how we don't entertain people as much as we did, because you're so busy with your affairs. And Dora says, 'Oh, he's having another affair?' So I ask her what she means by that, and the whole thing comes out. Six weeks! And then a year more when I still didn't know! I trusted you! You were my husband! You should have been protecting me, and defending my reputation. Instead, you made me everybody's joke!"
I guess I couldn't disagree. Again, I felt just terrible. But I had done this to her. It was awful. I couldn't speak.
"So now our relationship is tainted by two things. One is, I resent you. You deceived me. You violated my trust. I don't really hate you, you know that. I love you. But I have to get even. I need to get even, to clear my feelings for you. You owe that to me."
I looked down, mortified. And then tried to look mortified.
"The other thing is that you embarrassed me in front of our friends. You played me for an idiot while they watched. You conspired with them to keep me looking like an idiot. They shared with each other an intimate secret about my own husband, for a whole year, while I remained ignorant. That's unforgivable. I have to get even for that too."
It all sounded forgivable enough to me. Even forgettable. But not to her. Not at all. And that was what mattered.
"Well," I said, returning to the old theme. "Let's consider this. You could have an affair for a few weeks, and go at it hot and heavy, and let everyone know about it but not me. That would even the score. Maybe you've already done that?"
I felt safe enough suggesting it, now. The idea of my dull wife in some passionate man's arms now seemed ludicrous. Helen was no temptress. No. Not Helen. But if she thought I thought maybe she HAD had an affair, she could be consoled that I felt helplessly jealous and demeaned, and disgraced, if only because I didn't know for sure. That would be a kind of revenge for her.
But she didn't pick up on that cue.
"No, I can't," Helen replied. "I told you I tried, and I just can't take up with another man. I'm just not that kind of person. I'm just not made that way."
"No, you're not," I said smugly, trying to sound sorrowful.
"But you're exactly that kind of person," she said. "You've proven that. You're like those horny men in the books I sometimes read, who can sleep with anyone, anytime."
"I guess so," I said, beginning to lose her drift. Had she lost it?
"So you could have the affair for me."
"What?"
"Just what I said. You said you'd do anything to make it up to me. Anything. You said 'Anything!' You begged me to tell you what to do. So now you'll do whatever I tell you to do to even things out between us, won't you."
"Yes, of course," I said. I started to worry about her sanity. "A promise is a promise, and that's that," I said. I looked at her closely. "But I can't have an affair with some woman to make up with you for my little...uh...fling of a year ago. How would that even things out? It wouldn't make sense."
"No, dear." Helen leaned forward. "Not for you to have another affair with some woman. Only for me to have an affair with some man. Only that would even things out, right?"
"Right," I said. I didn't dare say anything else.
"But I'm incapable of having an affair with some man, as I've already told you. It just isn't in me to do something like that, right?" She seemed now to be talking patiently to a small child who was slow to understand. Was that small child herself? Me? I was getting more uneasy about her.
"Right."
"But you could have an affair with some man for me, couldn't you?"
I looked at her narrowly. She had gone off the deep end. She waited for my response.
"Let me understand you," I said. "You mean, my punishment would be that I find some gay man and er...be intimate with him, to make up for my affair last year? Helen, come to your senses. I'm not queer. Besides, that would only be another act of infidelity on my part, going to bed with some man, the same as a year ago I went to bed with a woman."
I tried to pull her back to reality, and myself too. "I do regret what I did, Helen. I really do. And you know it'll never happen again."
Helen looked at me with perfect composure. I began to get a strange feeling.
"You're not listening," she said. "I don't mean that you should have another affair as yourself, even to punish yourself. I mean, you could have an affair for me. As me. Pretending to be me. As my surrogate. My proxy. My representative. As me by mutual consent. You like bedding down with strangers. I don't. But you can pretend to be me bedding down with a stranger. That would fix things."
I stared at her. She was off the wall, but she thought she was making sense.
"Think about it. You can be my hero, my knight in shining armor, and avenge the injustice you did me, by dressing up like me, even wearing my clothes, and taking up with some man while pretending to be me. You could right the wrong you did me. You could have the affair I can't bring myself to have. You could be your own wife fucking the ears off some man the way you fucked Estrella, screwing him the way Estrella screwed you, only this time doing it to get even with your unfaithful husband. But I'd know all about it this time. Each night you would come home and tell me what new things you did together, you and your lover, you being me. Each night you'd be unfaithful to my husband in some new way, and loving it. Each night you would humiliate yourself watching me fuck someone else, as you, and then again humiliate yourself as my husband by listening to yourself tell me how much you enjoyed it. And when you told me about it and I saw what you had done in my own mind, that would be my revenge. My vicarious revenge!. Like those novels I like to read. Only real! The wilder and more passionate you got, the greater would be my revenge on you! And the more you'd suffer as my husband, because you'd know all about it, even while it was happening. And then, afterward, you'd deserve all the more to be forgiven."
Understanding seemed to dawn. "Helen, I can't do that!"
Now Helen leaned way forward, staring straight at me. I flinched. "Look at me," she said. I did. "You thought you'd get off easy. Promise her the world, since you don't own it anyhow, and since you have no intention to deliver it."
I nodded, my throat choked up, staring at her.
"Well, you promised to do anything for me. Anything. Remember? And this is what I want you to do. And you will do it. You have no choice. I want you to dress up like me, make yourself look like me, become the most attractive woman you can, and then have an affair with some man as if you were me. At least one man. Maybe more. I want it to be hot and heavy and horny, like yours was, and to go on for a long time. If being unfaithful to your marriage vows violates you in some fundamental way, then good, because your affair with Estrella violated me in a fundamental way. And if you feel humiliated to have sex with a man, if your manhood feels demeaned, then good, because you humiliated and demeaned me. You, my dear husband, will be my champion, and with your body you will avenge the injury done to me by my dear husband. Then we can talk about resuming our marriage."
"Helen," I began. "Now let's be sensible."
"From my point of view there's nothing more sensible. You've already given me your word, and pledged to do anything to make up for the injury you did me. Anything. And this is the only way we can make up for that injury. So there's nothing more to say."
She paused, and then spoke very slowly. "I see I had better emphasize what's at stake here, so I don't have to keep reminding you over and over. This is going to cost you, and cost you dear, over a long period of time. For the six weeks you betrayed me, I want you to suffer. The way I would have suffered if I'd known. Then for the year that everyone knew but me, I want you to do anything I ask you to do, anything, to make it up to me."
Now Helen looked directly at me, unblinking. "Say it. Tell me again now that you'll do anything I want you to do to make it up to me."
I said it.
Then she asked me to repeat "Anything," so I did.
She asked me if it was necessary for us to put my promise into writing, in case there was some question later on what we were agreeing to. I told her no.
And she said, "Now come over here."
I did, uneasily.
And she kissed me.
That much felt good. I agreed to her terms, and she forgave me. I couldn't get out of it, now. So I had better look at what I've gotten myself into. As I thought more about what she wanted, I found myself thinking, this isn't too bad. It could be a lot worse. It seems a little kinky, but I can go along with it. Heck, it's a lot kinky, but not worse than some of the things Estrella had me do. Her notion that I should dress up and pass as a woman, and have an affair with some man somewhere, isn't altogether far-fetched. I'm not a large man, and my features are regular, though no one would ever call them pretty. Not without makeup, anyhow. She wants me to dress up and go out on dates and get laid, to act as if I were bisexual and enjoying myself. OK, not too bad I guess. She wants me to prepare for these dates by spending a certain amount of time trying on makeup and costumes for the part. Well, actors do it all the time -- I can manage it. She wants me to pick up some hapless dope who can't tell a woman from a man, and to deal with him somehow, maybe all night, and then to tell Helen different juicy stories about my night's true romances. That's the kind of sex she likes, and that's what she really wants. It could be a lot worse. This revenge of hers will kill my weekends for a while, but I wasn't doing much with my weekends anyhow. And in six weeks it's over.
But I was wrong. Helen had a different sense of the time line from me.
"No," she said, when I described what I thought she had in mind, "It'll be closer to the full year you owe me. And then some. You'll be living like a woman the whole time. You have to become a woman to do this."
She drew a deep breath, again as if she were talking to a slow-witted child, and went on. "Just think about it a moment. We aren't talking about dressing you up like some crossdresser to take a sashay down the street, or through the Mall, or over to Burger King. We're talking about sex. We're talking about real bodies, close up. For example, just think about breasts. What did you do with Estrella's?"
I remembered. "Felt them. Caressed them. Lifted and kissed them. Squeezed myself against them." I remembered, but didn't say, titfucked them. And I remembered that every night Estrella had me go to sleep suckling on them, and then wake up still suckling, so my waking and my sleeping were as surrounded and filled by them as any nursing baby's. I didn't tell her I had become addicted to those gorgeous soft mounds, with their delicate pink stubs of nipples I couldn't take from my lips once I had closed on them, so Estrella had to gently tug me away when she wanted my mouth and tongue for other purposes. I didn't tell her how all Estrella had to do was deny me her breast while she was teasing my cock, and I'd do anything for her. Anything. That word again. That was how she had gotten me going with those dogs, and that night when I was already licking and sucking on her asshole, when she...well, never mind. I didn't tell Helen most of it.
But Helen already knew the essentials. "That's right. Squeeze and lift and kiss them. And more. There are no bras with prosthetics that let a man do that. You'll need real breasts. What you did with Estrella, I want some man to do to you. And some man will. So you can tell me all about it, how it felt, and then he'll be doing it to me, to my breasts, in my imagination. That's how I'll be unfaithful to you. I'll also want to know how it feels for a husband to watch another man fondling and kissing what are understood to be his own wife's breasts, even though they're his own breasts. No. You'll need your own boobs, dear, if you're to be me. Now, we'll start you on hormones, but hormones are slow and unpredictable, so we'll need to get you an operation for implants. There's no way you can argue yourself out of having real tits for other men to feel, and caress, and lift, and kiss.."
I reached for an argument, but I couldn't find one.
Then came the zinger. "And then, of course, for the main event you'll need a vagina, and that means getting rid of those things you've got dangling now between your legs. You did stick them into Estrella's pussy once or twice during those six weeks, didn't you. And then do other things with her pussy? Well, for this you'll need the same equipment. And your genitals are in the way, so they'll have to go." She sat back, having patiently stated the obvious, and waited for me to understand there was no argument here either..
I was horrified! But all I said was, "But how can I carry real breasts around in the office? And how can I get my genitals back again?"
"Oh, you'll be transitioning, as they say, my dear. You'll have to become a woman for keeps. Till death do you part, like with our marriage, remember? Kiss your penis and your testicles goodbye, if you can reach them. But don't worry, there'll be lots of other pricks trying out your crotch for size."
"Here's how it'll be. You'll work at the office as if you were still a man for as long as you can, and your breasts won't be much visible under your shirts and vests. You'll have had all the other operations by then anyhow, except maybe some cosmetic enhancement of your lips and your jawline -- I love a woman with pouty lips and a small chin. The main operations will be the difficult part for you, the six weeks of pain you owe me. But when your testicles are gone your female hormones will have their own way free and clear, without having to overcome opposition from your male hormones. So will your female attitudes toward things, once you no longer see any reason to think masculine."
"But don't worry, dear. The doctors will turn your penis inside out to make your vagina, and leave all the nerves intact, so it'll still feel good when someone's making love to you. You'll love getting fucked."
She smiled to herself. "And anyhow, within a few months there'll be no more need to keep secrets. If anyone at the office wants to know what's happening, you'll explain that you always wanted to become a woman like me, out of some deep-seated need, and that's what you're doing. That's what you will be doing, dear. Hundreds of men become women every year, maybe thousands. There won't be any problem that way. Maybe you'll keep your job, and maybe you'll find another. "
I was still speechless.
"I'll start you off. You'll need lots of lessons, as well as the hormones and the operations. You know nothing about being a girl, much less a woman." She began to look determined, now. "You'll need a lot of help, and if you're going to be me you'd better understand that I'm going to decide how you look, and how you behave. Maybe even who you'll let kiss you, and who you'll kiss back, and whose cock will be the first one you'll suck, and whose will be the first live meat to be buried between those rosy cheeks you only use now for sitting down, and finally, who gets to take your cherry when your vagina is open for business. Tomorrow we begin equipping you to carry on my affair with my lover, my love. My proxy affair. Tomorrow begins my betrayal of you by you. Tomorrow I am going to begin fixing you good."
She was perfectly sane. I was shocked. "You seem to have thought all this through," I said. I couldn't think of anything else to say.
"Oh, we've had plenty of time to think this through," she said.
I started to ask her what she meant by that, but she suddenly started speaking much more rapidly.
"I want your affair, our affair, to be glorious, delirious, passionate, all of the things I would want it to be if I were the woman. And you'll tell me everything, and do everything my heart tells you to do. I know that once you're in the right state of mind you can be made to do anything. I've heard all about that. Estrella's told me about you, my love. That's why I know you'll do this. It'll be marvelous. And in your own twisted way I'm sure you'll love it."
"And that's how you'll make it up to me for your wretched infidelity, your betrayal of our marriage. You asked me what you could do? There's your answer. You'll do it. I will get even with you by proxy! You're mine for a year! You're me for a year! And you know something, my Knight in Shining Armor, willing to endure any embarrassment to rescue your Damsel in Distress? You'll do this, and I'll really love you for it. I really will, darling!"
She leaned over and kissed me passionately on the lips. This was something she had never done before, even in bed. But somehow something felt wrong with that kiss. As if I were already a woman being kissed by another woman, or as if she were some man I would have to sleep with if I were her. Or as if she was kissing herself.
"Helen," I tried one last time. But she simply got up and left the room. There was nothing more to say.
She went upstairs and I heard her pick up the phone and dial someone. I went to the foot of the stairs and listened. She didn't bother to lower her voice. It no longer mattered.
"Dora?" I heard her say. "You were right! It worked! He agreed to everything! Tell Estrella I didn't even need to mention those disgusting pictures she took. But she should keep them handy, just in case. All of them. No. All right. I think Estrella was right, deep down he really does want this and doesn't even know it. Not necessarily to become a woman, but to do anything any woman wants him to do, no matter how humiliating."
She began to make plans. "It was worth waiting out the year before we started this phase -- the year he owes us will give us plenty of time to get him straightened out. I'll bet it won't take six months. Tomorrow we'll get started on him, first thing. His operations first, right away, this week, I should think. Will you set them up? All of the essential ones. So there'll be no turning back, or thinking things through differently afterward. And then we can feminize him much more rapidly.
"Yes, certainly I'm looking forward to it. Tell everybody who should know. And make sure all the husbands know -- it'll keep them from straying for the rest of their lives, I'll bet. They can always enjoy some good laughs among themselves while they watch it all happen, you know, all that macho bonding they enjoy so much when they're ridiculing other people. When he's finally a woman, he won't care what these men think of him any more anyhow."
She listened a moment. "I love you too, honey. Of course you'll move in here while he's in the hospital. And stay afterward, when he's recovering, and there'll be just us three girls. He'll need all the help he can get, I'm sure. Oh, wonderful! It'll be like last year, when Estrella was keeping him busy so you could come over every night and show me how much nicer women are in bed than men, and we got around to talking about how much nicer my loving husband would be if he were a woman. And now it's really happening! Oh, Dora, I'm so happy! 'Night, lover. Tomorrow."
When I got up to bed, she was already asleep. For the first time since she had supposedly found out about me and Estrella, she was smiling. I suppose that was worth something.
Six months later I was standing on the front steps of our house, right by the door, and Helen was kissing me goodbye, tenderly, devotedly, with more affection than she had ever shown me in our years together. Even more fervently than she had kissed Dora that next morning, when Dora came over to help Helen begin feminizing me, and there was no longer any need for them to keep their relationship a secret. Even more passionately than Dora had kissed me that same morning, as she said, to welcome a new lesbian into the world.
It was a little embarrassing now, though. Not because I was wearing heels and my little black cocktail dress, and the diamond drop earrings Helen had bought for me after my voice operation, when I was hurting and feeling a little blue. I had on a precious little rhinestone necklace, and my face was beautifully made up, and my hair was perfect. That wasn't embarrassing any more at all. In fact I was quite pleased with the way I looked. I was now finally a passable woman. No one on the street ever noticed me any more, except to smile at someone pretty passing by. I had gotten used to that.
But I realized that if anyone was watching us, what they were seeing was my wife kissing another woman in an unmistakably amorous and sensual way. It wasn't right. They might think we were lesbians.
"Helen," I said. "The neighbors can see." I was not the best spokesperson for this kind of domestic propriety, but still, someone had to maintain decency. This whole thing had made Helen very strange!
"Let them watch!," she said, her arms tight around my neck. "The neighbors already know all about you. That neighborhood cookout last month, when you tried to get away with wearing just a T-Shirt and no bra, and your C-Cup jugs were bouncing around in front of you? Five minutes after you showed up even the children knew everything there was to know about you."
"I feel like kissing you! I feel very good!" she said. "Tonight is so special!" Her voice took on a certain ferocity. "Tonight is finally the night we fuck our brains out with a real man, my dear husband. After all the preliminaries, tonight I really do get even with you, my love! Tonight you'll deny your Tommy nothing! No more talk of periods, and tampons. Your pussy is fully healed and well-dilated, and the doctor wants you to use it. Tonight, I want you to give it to Tommy on a platter! You can tease him a little, of course. Girls don't just lie down and spread when they want to get laid, you know that. But when you lose your real virginity tonight, I want it to be as beautiful for you as when Estrella took your asshole's virginity last year with her dildo, while you whined that it hurt and begged her for more. Oh, she told us all about it. After tonight I want Tommy to know from repeated experience that your pussy is as free and eager as your ass and your mouth have been!"
"Tonight, I want you to do everything with him you ever wanted to do with Estrella, or Estrella ever did with you. I want him to want to do it to you. Make him crazy! Tonight I want you to prove how much you love me by tumbling into bed with Tommy and fucking and sucking his cock off, and doting all over him, and doing anything else he wants, too. Do anything even for his friends, if he wants you to. For me! The way I would want to do it myself, if I were really able to cheat on you myself, to even the score. I can't, so you will. And I want us to enjoy it! After tonight I want you to have "slut" written all over you, for everyone to see. So you'll know it whenever you look in the mirror. Then we'll arrange for everyone to see this new you, often. Oh darling, It'll be so marvelous!" Helen hugged me again, so tightly our breasts were mashed together, and I could feel her pelvic mound pressing hard against mine. It was getting very embarrassing.
"And make sure we both know that Tommy's the better man!." she went on. "Better than you were! You already know it from the way you've learned to make love to his cock with your mouth and your tongue. Now I'll want you to know it from the moment he stuffs himself into you, and I'll want to know it from the stars in your eyes when you tell me about it. You already know that his cock is far more satisfying in your rear end than yours ever was in my vagina. Now we need you to know that your proxy wife is enjoying him up front far more than she ever enjoyed you. And more than that. I want you to know that you're yourself watching your own wife with another better man and getting off on it!"
"But most of all, darling, my dearest love, I want you to know that you're yourself, a man who cheated on his wife and then felt guilty enough to let her cut off his balls and make him into a whore for a year and a woman for life, someone who spends every night dressed in women's clothes and getting fucked in the ass, cunt, and mouth by other men, all for his wife's vicarious pleasure. I want you to know what an utter disgrace to yourself you are, to feel utterly humiliated by what you're doing. That's my revenge, sweetheart! I want it all! And tonight I get it all! Tonight you give me all of it! I just adore you!"
And she plastered herself against me and pushed her tongue so deep into my mouth I couldn't breath, and squeezed my neck so tightly I couldn't move my head, until finally she eased off a little, and finally with a few more kisses let me go. I made a mental note that I had better fix my makeup before anyone saw me.
What could I say? She was right. I was also looking forward to this special night with Tommy, with the same deliciously fearful anticipation in the pit of my stomach that Estrella put there night after night, when she was planning some new game to stretch my sexual endurance and desires way past my own imagining. "Yes, dear," is what I said.
I tripped down the walk in my four inch heels, then opened the car door, perched my well-rounded taffeta-clad bottom onto the driver's seat, and swung my pretty, hosiery-clad legs into the car, in a single pert, dainty motion, my thighs snuggled up tight against each other now that there was nothing between to separate them. I closed the door and started the car, checked the mirror, waved at my wife, and started backing out of our driveway toward her planned climactic tryst with my lover, the first of many to come it would seem.
Now that she didn't have to perform sex herself, Helen had become insatiable. For her I was a heroine out of her best sex novels, beautiful, but unlike her fictional heroines also live, interactive, improvisationally adept, and fully responsive to her desires. She couldn't hear enough about the men I went with, and how they had liked doing some of the nastier things she thought of. She had been sending me out every night, to meet Tommy if Tommy had arranged a date, or to pick up a stud in a singles bar if Tommy was busy somewhere else. She was always disappointed if I wasn't walking stiffly when I came home at dawn, with my jaw aching, my lips bruised, my hair simply a mess, and my rear end still leaking cum into my panties. Then we would get into bed and get cozy together, and fondle each other while I told her what had happened, what I had done and what had been done to me, and she would get more and more excited. There was no humping her any more, of course. But there was a lot of deep breathing while Helen brought herself off with her hand, or asked me to do it.
It was deeply gratifying and it was also terribly humiliating. But it was exactly what Dora and Helen had planned for me over a year earlier, when they had first set me up with Estrella. When Dora had first moved into the neighborhood and seduced Helen, and their affair was blooming while I had no idea of it, Helen like a good wife had felt uneasy that I was being left out of the fun. It wasn't nice, she thought. Dora had then proposed to Helen a way to prepare me to join in with them. It was a little intricate, but Helen had agreed to it, and it had worked.
It was only last week that Dora told me about that original scheme, while we were lying in each others' arms in the little apartment we shared together that Helen knew nothing about. I went there each morning instead of going downtown, and Dora paid me a stipend in lieu of a salary, and Helen thought I was still an account executive, only a woman executive now. I cleaned and bathed and perfumed myself and made myself beautiful for Dora when she came to visit me, and by the time she arrived I was usually beside myself with eagerness to see her. Our lovemaking was as wild and passionate and obsessive as it had been with Estrella. Dora had ways to make me feel so voluptuously feminine I thought I would burst through my skin.
Then recently, while we were coming down from one of our magnificent orgasms together, I told her I regretted that Helen was being left out of our fun, and in fact didn't even know about it. Dora answered truthfully enough that Helen had always preferred hearing about sex to performing it, and that some day one of us should tell her how we were in fact spending our afternoons. I thought that was a nice idea, and that was when I began to think about writing this story.
Dora then paid me a supreme compliment, one that brings tears of happiness to me even now, as I remember it! She said that she had always wanted to get my head between her legs, ever since she first saw me soon after she moved into the neighborhood, even before she had met Helen, and even though I was then still a man and utterly faithful to Helen, with no thought of ever being anything else. There was something so passive and female and graceful in the way I carried myself, she said, and something so delicate and pleasing in the way I had shaken her hand and told her my name, she said, that her panties had become moist and she'd needed to rush back to her house for a session with her dildo. I told her that was marvelous, and then I couldn't stop hugging her. We moved into our favorite lovemaking position, each head dipped between the her partner's legs, and arms embracing each other's waists. Dora added, "I thought it was rather clever of me, the way I used Helen to get you into my bed completely reshaped, now become my very own darling girl, looking just the way I've always wanted my lovers to look, looking the way I wanted you to look from that first day. That's what really took some doing."
"So we've each gotten what we each wanted most," she went on. "And there's still more to come. Ohhhh, that marvelous tongue! Oh, my precious! That's nice! That's so nice. Don't stop! Not ever!"
And she closed her thighs over my both my ears and began writhing her sweet clitoris into my mouth, and she began licking the slit of my lovely pussy, and there was nothing more we needed to say to each other.
Copyright reserved by the author
Vickie [email protected]
I know so. Who am I kidding? Especially when I look at the alternatives, the other paths I might have taken, or the places on this path where I might have drawn a line and called a halt. But then I'd have regretted all sorts of lost opportunities, one after the other. And this is so much lovelier! So perfect!
How did I get here? I'd squandered my adolescence with computers instead beating out other guys in sports and bedding down girls like other guys. Well, there was this one girl, but after a while she got tired of me and took up with a big beefy guy, an ox, which I definitely am not. Anyhow, I'd just gotten my MBA and my first real job, and summer was ending, and I was new to the city. No friends yet, and no girlfriends, still looking. Work was challenging during the three weeks it took me to learn it and then it got boring. And the people at the office mostly'd been there a while, and they did their own things. Office talk was mainly sports or sly insulting of each other, and neither of these things were ever my things. So I was pretty much alone.
To keep busy and maintain an edge I took a short course at the local community college, Inter-Personnel Management, how to talk to employees, set them at ease so they'll tell you their problems, so you can decide whether the real problem is their situation or them, so you can fix one or the other. Faking friendship for fun and profit. The Japanese do it all the time, the boss goes drinking with the "team" and they all pretend to be drunk and squeal on each other, and the boss listens.
I sat in the front row, and the few times I didn't come up with the right solution for some casework problem, something tactful that would do the job, this marvelous babe in the back row came up with them. I remember the first time I turned to look at her. A stunner! One of those gorgeous girls with cool gray eyes and a doll's face, the kind that almost makes you wish you were a little girl so you could play with her. After a few days I got the impression she was checking me out in her own way, that she'd decided she'd set the class straight only when she saw I couldn't. Set me straight too, that way, demonstrate how she could match me step for step when she chose, even step a little ahead of me.
I liked the competition. And that's how it happened that we already knew we liked each other, respected each other too, when we finally met. It was by accident in a nearby coffee shop after class one evening. I was draining a latte and gloomily contemplating my boring work at the office.
"Hi, I'm Gayle," she said, standing over me. "Spelled with a Y. It's time we got to know each other. You?"
"Allie," I replied, suddenly cheered by her presence and attention. "Spelled without a Y. 'Alan,' really, but if I tell anyone that then I have to spell it out for them. Care to set for a spell?" God! The dumb up-country quip was out before I could bite my tongue!
She didn't seem to notice. Maybe she was used to guys turning stupid in her presence. And I've got to confess it, as she lowered that pear-shaped rear onto the little wire chair at my little formica coffee table, never taking her eyes off me, I could scarcely breathe. Then, all the while we talked about the class, and the professor, and whether women solve problems different from men, stuff like that, and all the while she held her little espresso cup to her perfect red lips and sipped, she watched me.
I was hopelessly smitten. And after a few more after-class sessions I could sense real interest, maybe even affection on her part too. A meeting of hearts as well as minds, maybe. Mine with hers, anyway. I wanted to follow up with a meeting of bodies the worst way. Sometimes she'd come dressed direct from her office in a business suit, her large breasts subdued into a bulge under her gray pinstripe jacket, all very proper. But sometimes she'd show up in a leotard fresh from some kind of dance exercise, supple, her skin rosy and glowing, each breast waving in my face like a plump flag. I was dying to bury my face between them. But I was shy about pushing the relationship.
She appreciated that, I think, so we built our friendship slowly, and she took all the initiatives. Eventually we made a date to go jogging in the park, four miles first thing Saturday. She turned up slender and lithe and longlegged in teeny running shorts, the lower curves of her cute tush exposed, wearing a cutoff satin slipover, no bra, those breasts now bulging with nipples that poked through the satin like pencil stubs. I'd done track in college but I'd gotten out of shape, a little, so I ran the whole distance behind her with my mouth open, watching her legs churn, following that bobbing round rear end. Her whole body beckoned as she ran on, and I tried but I couldn't close on her. She stayed ahead all the way until toward the end, when for some reason she dropped behind me, then finally pulled alongside. We finished together in a dead heat, me utterly winded. She'd barely broken a sweat.
"Nice ass," she commented while my face was still buried in a towel and I was bent way over trying to hide the fact that I was struggling for breath.
"It sure is! God, Gayle, I couldn't take my eyes off it!" I gasped. When I lifted my face off the towel I saw her staring amused at me. She'd meant my ass! I would have flushed an even deeper red if it were possible.
"I'm glad you think so," she said. "A girl should feel proud of her assets. How about you show me yours more often? Three times a week from now on? First thing before breakfast? It's easy for me, I live right over there." She pointed at an apartment building fronting on the park.
"Deal!" I said, still breathless, from her compliment if from nothing else. A girl's assets? Hers? Mine? A vague thought evaporated before I could grasp it.
I learned later that immediately afterward she'd gone home and broken up with a guy she was seeing at the time, quite clear in her mind that I was to become his designated replacement. Her friend Gretchen told me much later that the guy she'd been "turning" just before me was "unpersuasive, so it wouldn't have worked out anyhow." Which made no sense. But I didn't want to know what she meant, so I never asked.
We ran together a few times the following week, and each time she showed up in cutoff short shorts and a satin elasticized top that wrapped snug around her thin waist and slim chest and held her extended breasts and long nipples way out from her chest. An incredible girl! By Friday I'd recovered enough of my old track meet shape to pace her whenever she tried to pull ahead, but only just. So when we finished we were both soaked. As I blotted myself I couldn't help but stare at that figure of hers with its protrusions. There they were, those curvacious boobs, her shirt so wet she might just as well have been naked. Though she was still breathing easily!
"You're lucky girls weigh less than guys," I said stupidly, thinking that maybe I had to use more muscle to push myself the same distance she'd practically flown over.
"Usually girls weigh less," she said, unbinding her hair to shake it loose, blot it, then re-tie it. "But not where you're looking. Jealous? You'd like a pair like these?"
In my hands and mouth at that moment? You bet! But I was too embarrassed to say anything. Jealous of what? What had she said? Again an insubstantial thought faded out of sight. Then she continued, "Of course I weigh less. So should you! Maybe you don't eat right? Let's have dinner tonight and talk about it."
I nodded,
"My place?" she pointed.
I nodded.
"Want a cup of coffee right now?" she asked.
I nodded.
We went there. It was a neatly furnished two bedroom apartment on the ground floor, lots of space, the other bedroom her workplace, an office of some kind. Soft stuffed chairs, stuffed animals sitting in them, an overstuffed sofa in the huge living room, and a dinette set in the kitchen. Two mugs were already set out on the table.
Here I was on familar ground, formica and coffee and chatting while seated. We talked about my job, how quickly what had seemed exciting had become dull.
"Work doesn't have to be dull," she said. "I have an idea."
"What?" I asked.
"In due time!" she said, glancing at her watch. "Time to shower and get to work. You OK now?"
"Yes, couldn't be better!" I meant it.
"Good!" she said. "Let yourself out then. Seven tonight. Bring a suitable wine, it'll be sea food."
And she disappeared. I heard her turn on the shower, and imagined her stepping under it, naked, water splashing off those protruding ripe globes, spraying her jutting nipples and then in rivulets running through her tuft and then trickling below her thighs and down her legs. Fluids trickling down her legs! I wanted to lick up every drop!
My dad had fancied himself a wine expert, and I'd picked up some of it. A Brut Champagne wouldn't impress her, I sensed -- too obviously always correct. So I brought over a chilled Graves from a good Chateau, a better choice I figured than a bone-dry Chablis, something with body in case she was planning something spicy. She nodded brightly at me when she saw it -- it was just right for the scallops in garlic butter she'd prepared.
"Weren't we talking about losing weight?" I asked when I saw the fat scallops glistening in their rich yellow butter sauce. I was finally feeling at ease with her.
"The secret is portion control," she said. "Look at me. Do I look fat?"
"No way, Gayle!"
"You can look like me in no time." She mused to herself a moment. "As thin as I am, even in the waist, and still eat well. You have a slender figure. I bet you'd end up real cute. A charmer! No problem. Want to?"
"Maybe," I replied. I wasn't much into cooking, and I ate a lot of high-carb junk food.
"I'll arrange it," she said. "Just put yourself into my hands."
I couldn't refuse that offer! And then the most marvelous thing happened! The bottle of wine was empty and we were dawdling over dessert, an incredibly rich low-fat mousse, and I was feeling no pain. And this incredible girl suddenly asked me to move in with her. Just like that. In a calm, low voice. "Would you like to live here? With me? I can shape you up easily, I'm sure! I've been looking for someone like you for a long time." She was staring straight into my eyes as she always did, as if she saw something there even I didn't know about. She was serious!
"Yes!" I said emphatically, as mindless as ever in her presence. "When?"
"Wait!" she said. "There's one condition. You have to agree to it first. It's absolutely essential. Don't say 'yes' just yet."
I just stared at her. What condition could possibly affect how I felt about an offer like that?
"I'll regret it if you say 'No,'" she continued. "A lot! But I'll understand why, and I'll still respect you, no hard feelings. In some ways maybe I'll respect you even more than if you tell me 'Yes' and agree to it. But if you aren't willing to do this, we'll have to go our separate ways! Even jog separately. I don't want to get deeper into a relationship that's going nowhere."
Her perfect doll face was staring solemnly at me, those gray eyes shadowed to look even larger, wide-eyed, those delicate red cupid's bow lips pursed speculatively. I knew from our coffee talk that she'd deliberately cultivated that blank little-girl expression, knowing that it hid her thoughts and masked her intelligence. "Give nothing away," she'd told me was her personal management mandate. "Keep 'em wondering. Then surprise them with a gift, something just perfect for them, and they'll love you for it. Even if it's something they didn't know they wanted. Or more than they bargained for."
Her face registered nothing, and her body held utterly still. She was serious, intent. She meant every word. Agree or end it.
I looked back at her dazed, elated, absolutely entranced. Just looked. Her full blonde hair was curved over her forehead and then gathered at the nape of her neck, tied back with a huge velvet bow that matched her velvet jacket. There was a simple silver chain around her neck. And no blouse anywhere I could see. She could have been naked under those velvet lapels.
I was simply blown away. Again, breathless! The curves of her breasts parted in a deep, shadowed cleft. I wanted to unbutton that jacket the worst way! Face the bare truth of her!
"I agree already," I said. "What condition?" There were no problems. How could I not agree? This girl was glorious, a prize beyond anything I'd ever dared desire. Anything!
"I have parents," she said.
"So?" I replied. "Who doesn't?"
Again, dumb! Me, for one, and she knew it. Mine were a memory. They'd died in a car accident a few years earlier. Knowing I'd be alone in the world if something happened to them, no brothers or sisters or aunts or even distant relatives to gather round me, they'd put considerable money in trust for me to use to complete my education and then reserve for emergencies. The trust produced substantial income, I didn't absolutely have to work. But I wanted to. I like feeling useful, and I like doing things I know I do well. Computers and personnel management are two of them. We'd joked before about how I was an orphan, a waif. Little Orphan Annie, she called me sometimes.
"No, you don't understand, Allie. My father's a minister in a small town, very staid, very proper, very visible, a leader in the community. Very old school. And my mother's a pillar of social respectability and reponsibility in that town, even more proper than he is. You know the kind of thing, she's on every social and charity committee. The two of them impeccably respectable!"
"So?" I asked. If she wanted to keep me out of sight when they visited the apartment, that was OK.
"They're apt to call me here at odd times. Maybe some time when you're in and I'm out."
"So?" I asked again.
"They'd never understand why a man's voice was answering the phone. Never! They'd be here as fast as the speed limit allowed, upset, outraged, terrified, devastated, and they'd never quit trying to drag me back home with them, trying to redeem me from this city, this cesspool of vice."
"So?" I said earnestly. Here was an opportunity to play the man. To counsel her! "You're an adult. Tell them it's time they became the parents of an adult who lives her own life."
She smiled so sweetly at me that my heart melted straight into my shoes! I was trying! And that smile built in intensity, sustained, irradiated me until I glowed! She was so utterly utterly beautiful!
"God, Gayle! You are so utterly ...!" I burst out before I realized I was off topic and shut myself up.
She saw, heard, and understood anyhow, and she reached over to clasp my hand in both of hers, pleased.
Then with my hand still enclosed in hers she went on. "Allie, I know your parents are both gone, and I'm sorry for it, and maybe that explains why you don't know it doesn't work that way. My folks are too old to learn anything. Too committed to their small town proprieties. Too old-fashioned in their thinking about boys and girls and marriage. I'm an adult now, yes, grown up, so they expect me to be married soon. They'd approve of you, I know they would, if you and I were ever to get that far in our feelings for each other. Though understand, I make no promises or demands -- this is strictly an arrangement for living and loving, for getting to know and enjoy each other's company. No more than that." She paused. "For now," she added.
"I understand that," I said solemnly on cue. "Nothing assumed or implied by me either."
"No way would they ever approve of us or anyone living together before marriage. Their own daughter? Can you imagine the hassles? The crying, the lamentations? I know my father, he'd feel honor-bound to preach to the whole town about his family's depravity. He'd deliver some anguished sermon about a prodigal daughter or a Jezebel or something, and then he'd fall to his knees and resign his ministry. The disgrace would crush him. And my mother? Don't even ask!"
"I see," I said gently, being mature about all this even while my heart was still beating wildly. I took my hand out from under hers and grasped both of hers instead. "How can I help?" I asked. "What can I do?"
"Just one thing," she replied. "It shouldn't be too hard. It's simple, but it's absolutely essential. You have to be willing. Can you sound like me whenever you answer the phone?"
"Just like you? No, Gayle! Your voice is the original magic flute! It shames songbirds into silence!" A little flowery, but I'd prepared those remarks way in advance and here was an opening for them.
"Oh, Allie, you are a love! I know I'm not making a mistake! But really, I'm not joking, either! No, I mean can you make yourself sound like a girl when you answer the phone? Not like yourself."
"I don't know," I said. But I did know. When I'm nervous my voice gets tense and rises a full octave. Sometimes in college when I had to ask a question in class but was afraid to sound like a fool, I'd chirp out the words and the professor would have to look closely to see if the voice had came from me or from the girl sitting next to me. "I guess so. I could try."
"Let me hear!"
"I guess so!" I said again in falsetto, like Minnie Mouse.
"Same idea, but lower," she said.
"Like this?" I asked.
"Better!" she said. "But with more tonal range? More highs and lows? More delight, more enthusiasm? There are reasons why girls squeal sometimes, you know." I looked up. She was looking straight into my face and her eyes never wavered once. "And why girls moan!" she added, in case I doubted my own ears. She still didn't look away.
Oh God! This marvelous woman was telling me that if I could just get past this one entrance exam I'd be set! We'd head straight for her bedroom and she'd squeal and moan all night!
"Of course, Gayle!" I squealed in a high, tense, melodious crescendo, extending the vowels of her name by rising to a squeak and then sinking deep on the last sound. Then I almost sang in a rich, lilting, reassuring contralto, "Anything you want, Gayle! Anything!"
She grinned. "That's perfect. Perfect! To whom have I the honor of speaking?"
"Allie," I replied mellifluously. "This is Allie, Gayle's roommate! Her dearest girlfriend! May I take a message?"
"Yes, dearest girlfriend," she said in an urgent voice almost as low as my former masculine voice, but steady and tense. "Take me into the bedroom and get rid of those clothes! I want you! Now!"
It was fabulous. Beyond any wild fantasy. Our clothes flew off. She opened her legs and arms and heart and mouth and gave me access to all of her, any part, everywhere, eagerly, wherever, insisted on it in fact! Smooth and warm and soft and slick and wet! I was still sucking, licking, kissing, stroking, plunging into her and embracing her with my lips, tongue, cock, and fingers as the first morning light revealed what a shambles we'd made of her bed. Finally we simply grinned at each other, then fell asleep still tangled together. When we woke again and were still drowsily, snugly hugging, she asked me sweetly if I'd mind speaking only in my new "Allie" voice from then on. So it would be instinctive, habitual. "I need to feel secure that it's always there. That it's as natural to you as breathing. No forgetfulness or slip ups ever."
"Always? No matter where?" I asked, pitching my tones high and sweet, like some girl delighted to be given a new party dress.
"Everywhere, lover. Always! I love it! That voice is you! It needs to be you from now on! It's so beautiful! So seductive."
This took a little thought. I hesitated. She wriggled her hips as if she were remembering the sound of my voice in the silence, as if it were a penis moving deep inside her. "Promise? For me?"
I stopped thinking. For more nights like this last one, anything! "Yeah, sure," I said in that delicious girly crescendo. "As long as you're seduced, I'm seduced! I promise!"
"Not 'Yeah, sure', Allie. That's too manly. Too butch. Say 'Why, I'd love to, Gayle. I really would! I'm so glad you think my voice is attractive!"
I did. Whatever!
It was a strain at first, until I added a hint of southern belle breathiness to it. All day she kept giving me other little hints to enhance the effect, mainly about what to say. Never to tell people what I want, but instead to ask if I might have it. To be sure people know how dear, how darling they are whenever they offer me anything, and how precious whatever it is they're offering! Stuff like that. All day we practiced when we weren't in each other's arms finding new ways to appreciate each other. She was the dearest, most darling, precious girl imaginable! And she thought I was absolutely adorable!
By the next day, when I moved my things into her place, my femme voice had become the way I spoke routinely to everyone. I simply stopped thinking about it. The building superintendent looked at me oddly as he helped me carry down the few books and bags and boxes I'd accumulated, and he stepped back when I smiled and told him he was a dear man, refusing both the tip I offered and the handshake. I realized why afterward, and had to grin. He thought I was making a pass at him. No matter, I'd never see him again anyhow.
II.
A phone test came almost at once. One of Gayle's girlfriends called and I happened to answer. A simple, sweet "Hello?" produced immediately, "Oh yes, you must be Allie, of course. I'm Gretchen. Is Gayle there, please?" Surprisingly, Gretchen wasn't in the least surprised to hear my voice, and she knew my name. I wondered what else she knew. When I asked Gayle, she told me "Why, everything, lover! Gretchen's my closest girlfriend, next to you, and I hope you'll soon be hers!"
Though Gayle's words didn't quite chime, my heart rose. I'd never had a girl for a friend.
Some guys called too, and I merely took their messages and passed them on. One tried to come on to me, and I hesitated whether to lead him on in order to embarrass him or just cut him off. In the end either way seemed complicated, so I was properly polite, no more. It was a little unsettling though, hearing that man's ingratiating voice inviting me to tease him back. In fact I did, a little. I figured that much would be expected of Gayle's roommate. A little daring, a little jesting playfulness. I felt strange yet self-assured. It was like playing a hooked fish.
Then one day came the anticipated call. Gayle was out shopping, and it happens I was in a cheery mood when I answered. Baking low-fat cookies as a matter of fact, to surprise Gayle with when she got back. "Hellooooo?" I said, making the word into five luscious syllables chanted across a full tonal scale.
An older woman's voice declared immediately, "Why, how lovely! You must be Allie! I'm Gayle's mother, you know, Gayle has told us so much about you! How nice to hear your voice! And how good of you to keep her company, look out for her, help her with her computers and everything, she tells us. You must be such a lovely girl! And all alone in this world -- Gayle told us that you've lost both your parents, you poor dear." She paused.
"Yes, I'm afraid so," I said, even more afraid of what might be coming next. "But that was some time ago." I remembered that I was speaking to a minister's wife. It was corny, but it couldn't hurt to say it. "I'm sure they're in a far better place now."
"I'm sure," she said, pleased. "And I'm sure they're still looking after you where you are, keeping both you and Gayle from temptation. Gayle's father and I pray as I'm sure they do for your safe passage through all those iniquitous things we hear about in that city you're in. Are any of them troubling Gayle, do you think?"
She was asking me to squeal on Gayle, just as Gayle had anticipated. "No, ma'am," I replied. "No iniquities. Your daughter is just fine! She's an angel! I love her already." I did, too. "We take good care of each other." We did, too, sometimes all night long.
"Yes," her mother said, a little disappointed that I wasn't dishing dirt but gratified that maybe there wasn't any. "Well, you be sure to keep well. Tell her I called. I'd like for you to think of us as your family now, Allie, and for you and Gayle to think of yourselves as sisters, not just friends. Sisters watch out for each other, don't they?"
"Yes, I imagine they do," I replied. "Thank you, that's sweet of you." She hadn't quit. Instead, she'd promoted me to family spy. Well, I couldn't find fault with the impulse behind her tactics. Gayle was right. Parents worry.
"Goodbye now then," she said. "I'll see you both this Thanksgiving, in just a few months. We're all looking forward to the big event. Everyone's coming! All of our family! It'll be wonderful to meet you then finally."
Thanksgiving? Meet her family? How could I go to a Thanksgiving family celebration with Gayle ever, as Allie? Allie's supposed to be a girl! One look and they'd know what we were up to, and I'd have to move out! It was all over! "Yes," I said. "Wonderful!"
"Tell Gayle Chris sends his love! He's looking forward to it the same way she is!"
"I'll tell her that." My mind registered that her father's name was Chris, and that they considered a family Thanksgiving a big event. I supposed it was. But mainly I was overwhelmed by the terrible realization that we'd be lovers for only a few months more!
A moment later common sense returned, and I realized that no such exposure was necessary. I'd invent some relative with a prior claim on my presence for Thanksgiving and send regrets to Gayle's family. That was all I needed to do. No problem. Maybe I could even come as a different Allie, the guy Gayle knew from her night school class.
"Her father sends his love too!" her mother said.
"I'll be sure to tell her, " I said automatically, not yet recovered from the crazy scare that Gayle and I might have to split. Her father sends love twice? Who was Chris? She didn't have a brother, I knew, and until a minute or so ago no sister. We had a lot to talk about.
"Allie dear, I'm so pleased you're now part of our family. Welcome! We'll talk more before Thanksgiving. B'bye!"
She hung up. "B'bye," I said to myself, staring at the phone for a moment before clicking it off and setting it down.
I told Gayle everything when she got home. She was amused but unconcerned. "Don't worry about anything, you sweet darling!," she said. "I can handle it! So now you're my sister? We're in an incestuous lesbian relationship? If only they knew!"
She wrapped her arms around my neck and pressed close to me, and kissed me so very sweetly. "You can be my girlfriend any day of the week, all week, baby," she said intensely. "I'd like that!"
"I like whatever you'd like," I said, not really paying attention. "I love what we are. But who's Chris? And Thanksgiving's a 'big event' at your house?"
"Big for Mom, I guess," Gayle replied. "She's an arranger! But don't worry about it, honey! Parents always make problems. They aren't our problems. Mine once, but not any more. I've got it all worked out! Are these scrumptious cookies really low cal? You are such a dear!"
That night, since we were incestuous lesbians, she proposed that we try making lesbian love just for fun. "You can be my girlfriend for real tonight," she said. "And I'll be yours." So she sucked my 'clit' and I licked her pussy, and we fondled and kissed and tongued each other's breasts, that was all. But over and over, and then again. Each time either of us woke up, that's what we did to get back to sleep. In the morning we each declared that the night had been altogether satisfactory, serene but passionate. We did it now and then afterward too, often in fact. I couldn't have been happier.
It was odd, though. Clearly it pleased and amused her to think of me as her girlfriend. It was so much less problematic than having a boyfriend with her parents looking over her shoulder.
Probably it helped ease some of the guilt she felt that we were living together, knowing her parents could never approve of it. Of course! There'd been all those little allusions to me as a possible girl, even the first day we'd jogged together! I remembered them now, references to my wanting a bust like hers maybe, or about showing off my ass. All part of a little game she liked to play. Now she did it routinely, and I realized I'd been taking it for granted. She'd compliment me on my grace when I jogged with her, and she'd warn me to watch my figure when we were dining together ("a girl's excess calories go straight to her hips, honey"). And as girls do, we'd touch and hug often, and press our cheeks together when we met and parted.
Whatever, I thought to myself. What she needs to imagine about me doesn't change me. I felt complimented.
At work though everyone was looking at me peculiarly, from the moment I first arrived and said "Good morning, everyone" in my new voice, just as Gayle had requested as a gesture of my devotion to her. It was sometimes embarrassing, talking that way in the office. But I'd remember her ripe breasts cupped in both her hands and offered to my mouth, amd my lips closing on those long nipples, and then I'd have no problem with it at all. Or I'd remember that sweet smile on her face when she came down from an especially deeply satisfying orgasm. So even though I knew what the whole staff was thinking when they heard me lilting and lisping breathily, I didn't care.
Gayle called me at the office each day that first week, just to remind me how she was looking forward to the evening, to being together, just the two of us, or just to tell me how she'd bought an exquisite satin nightgown "just for you" as she said. I knew she was really calling to make sure I was using my feminine voice whenever I answered the phone. And she never failed to appreciate it. "Lovely Allie," she'd say, "You sound so wonderfully girly, my sweet sexy-voiced darling! From the way you sound, no one would dream you weren't a girl!"
No, I suppose not. A few customers who knew my old voice thought maybe I'd developed a cold or something. Maybe I overdid the gushing -- one asked me point blank what the hell was wrong with me. He didn't pursue it when I told him things couldn't be better. But I noticed that everyone at work began to avoid me. I'd never been one of the "in" crowd at the office, but now I sensed outright hostility. I began to overhear nasty cracks. I did my work and turned in my reports, but by the end of the week I realized that I was coming back to my new home with Gayle as if to a sanctuary.
That first weekend Gayle held a housewarming party for me. She invited all her friends to meet me and hear my new voice, so there'd be no deception when they called and I answered. Besides, they all wanted to meet her new "precious" boyfriend. They all thought I sounded just wonderful, unmistakably feminine, and they admired me for it. It had to be true love, they said, for me to be willing to do this thing for Gayle.
"Not every guy would go swish for a girl," one of the girls at the party told me. "You're really something else!"
"Oh, Allie has a long way to go yet," Gayle told her. "This is just going girly a little. He hasn't begun to swish! But you're right, as a guy he really is something else! I'm proud of him."
I finally met Gayle's closest friend Gretchen, who turned out to be a stunner in her own way, tall, domineering, sultry, and dark-haired, head of the Art Department of a major advertising agency with lots of talented people working under her. "I wish I had someone like you to live with," she told me. "Then my boyfriend would never know I've got another boyfriend at home, someone I keep as a spare."
She smiled at Gayle, who smiled enigmatically back. Now what did that mean? Well, they go back a ways, I thought to myself. Gretchen was once caught two-timing someone, I'll bet.
An earnest girl's voice behind me disagreed. I turned to see. "Oh, Gretchen, Allie's fine on the phone, I'm sure. But the moment your real boyfriend saw him I'm sure he'd know there was something wrong! I mean, Allie looks like a boy! You know?"
This from a short, earnest blonde girl named Evelyn who had come to the party with an old home-town boy friend who had just moved to the city to join her. They were engaged, Evelyn had announced on arrival, showing everyone the ring he'd just given her. Gayle thought the announcement and the ring were both tacky.
"Oh, I don't know," the boy friend said tartly. He sounded pissed. Maybe a little jealous that I was getting all the attention? Maybe resenting it, thinking that by changing my voice's gender just to get laid I'd let the male side down? He sounded disgusted. "Allie here looks like he'd be pretty safe with women. He looks a lot like he sounds. Maybe he's already one of the girls?" That last he said emphatically eyeball to eyeball with me, a direct, man-to-man challenge.
More gay-bashing crap, like what I was starting to overhear at work! Well, I'd had it! I squared my shoulders and glared back at him. Then hesitated, wondering whether to punch him out right now or to call him into the corridor first.
Gretchen stepped between us before a decision could lock us into a mean-spirited brawl.
"You're right! Allie does look as good as he sounds!" she said. "A few touches here and there and I bet he'd look exactly the way he sounds! So what? Should he be ashamed to look like a girl, someone like me and Gayle and Evelyn, like half the human population? Does he have to look like an asshole Lord of the Universe like you? He isn't ashamed at all, and I think that's to his credit! I admire him for it! He's not a chauvist pig like lots of men! And anyhow, what Allie sounds like or looks like is Allie's business and Gayle's, not yours. Isn't it?"
Evelyn's fiance glanced at Gretchen while she stared wide-eyed at him, and that broke our eye-combat duel. I looked at Evelyn, who looked apologetically back at me and then annoyedly at her fiance. She quickly led him off toward a snack table in another room. I flashed her a rueful grin, signalling no offense taken.
"Do you think so, Gretchen?" I heard Gayle's voice ask behind me. Gayle had witnessed the whole incident! I was glad of that! She'd seen how manly I was, how quick to defend my honor. But she'd also heard testimony from Gretchen about how admirable I am, how free of male chauvinist superiority. Score two points for me.
"Think what, Gayle?" Gretchen turned attention toward her. I stepped back so they could talk face to face and I could listen.
"That Allie here could look the way he sounds with only a few touches here and there if need be," she said. "Because that could solve a problem I've got at work."
The warmth of Gayle's smile stifled any embarrassed objections I might have to all this talk of me being touched here and there, made to look more girlish. For the moment I was a bona fide hero to her, a rare man, altogether unashamed to be thought a girl. I smiled back non-commitally.
"Because fair employment practices and all that to one side, we have a job opening that needs a woman. We advertise that it's an 'equal opportunity' position, but it's definitely an 'affirmative action' position. What do you think, Gret? Could Allie qualify if he had to? If the front office ever checked up on us?"
Gretchen not only supervised mobs of photographers and artists and beautiful models for her agency, she'd taken beauty salon courses to help design the chic hairdos they wore. She was often called on to advise about make-up before they were photographed for picture spreads. She knew.
Gretchen glanced at me again. "You mean make Allie really look like a girl, not just sound like one? So if some vice-president came through expecting to see an office full of women, Allie'd be wearing his blush and lipstick and the usual protective coloring, like all the others? Sure, I see no problem. His features are regular, and his nose and chin are small for a man, rather cute in fact. He has plenty of his own hair, so he wouldn't need a wig. Pin it up like so, and a few dabs here and there, and I bet that in ten minutes I could hide Allie in plain sight among any group of women. He'd never be noticed. But Gayle, he has a great voice already! Why wait? Why not fix him up right now and be done with it? He'd be passably pretty with the right hairdo and the right morning make-up routines, I'm sure. His figure isn't too bad even now, compared with some women I've seen. We could do things with it. No problem!"
"Allie? Do you think you'd be willing?" Gayle was looking directly at me. Not smiling. She was actually serious! She was making some sort of administrative decision."
I was suddenly frightened, but also annoyed. At work I was being hassled for giving away a big piece of my manhood, and now these two women wanted the rest of it. "I just don't know, I'd have to think about it!" I said evasively but firmly. Speaking in my now-habituated girl voice, I realized I sounded as if I'd just been swept off my feet by a proposal of marriage.
Gayle was satisfied. "I'm just thinking about it too, honey, right now. There's no hurry. I'm not sure yet about a few things. So I'll just take that answer as not a 'No!' and we'll just see."
A week later things at my office suddenly got much more serious. My boss called me in and glared at me silently for a full minute, then asked me what the hell I thought I was doing. I explained to him why I was talking like a woman, about Gayle's parents and so on.
He was unimpressed. "You're telling me you're pussywhipped, that's your excuse? You've gone queer just so you can shack up with a piece of ass? Well, people are complaining. The women in the office think you're mocking them, and the men are all mocking you! It's bad for the business. I can't let you near the phones to talk to customers, they're all asking me what flouncy new product line we're selling these days. Maybe you better take the rest of the week off and think about whether this job means more to you than some asshole promise you made to some dumb broad! I don't want to lose you, but if you can't shape up you're gone!" And he turned abruptly away.
I felt flayed! It was infuriating, and for a moment I considered whether to quit right there or to wait and continue to torment everyone by talking in my lovely feminine voice, to force him to fire me. Just for the way I was talking? Outrageous!
When I told Gayle, she immediately advised me to quit and accept the job she'd had in mind.
"Gayle, you said the job required a woman."
"Well, maybe not necessarily! Maybe just a woman's voice and the right attitudes."
And she explained. Gayle oversaw Corporate Acquisitions for her firm, really a holding company with lots of smaller firms. There was a Phone-Marketing startup they'd acquired last year, with a three person office supervising several hundred part-time "associates" who worked from their homes all over the city, networked as if they were all together in cubicles. The firm needed someone with exactly my background to be the third person. Someone to modify the main record and book-keeping systems and set up sales analyses, and then to walk new associates through the different computer procedures. And along with the other two supervisors, advise the home associates whenever they had problems with their customers, telling them how to keep their sales pitches tactful and informal. That sort of thing. Personal advice too. Exactly what we'd learned in that Inter-Personnel course where we'd met.
I could begin by working at home myself if I felt uneasy about it, she said. But it would be better if I worked alongside the two other adminstrative supervisors from the outset. To get their input before I changed systems around, and also to learn from their example how best to deal with the associates.
"You'd be perfect, honey!" Gayle told me. "You have exactly the right background, and you have exactly the right voice, too! It's not at all like the job you've got now, where it's boring and they don't appreciate your gifts."
"Why might I feel uneasy?" I asked. "And what do you mean, the right voice?"
"Because this time you'd really need to act like a real girl, not just in the way you talk but the way you think and feel too. The associates are all women. To understand their problems with their customers you'd need to make all sorts of girl talk with them all day long, and really enjoy it, the way women do. You'd hear a lot about all sorts of things women only tell other women. And you might feel uneasy about that, abandoning your male reflexes and personality altogether all day long, really being one of girls on the phone while the other two supervisors listen in. They'd have to listen at first, to help you sound more authentic. In effect they'd be teaching you how to be a woman in everything but appearance. You know, I think you'd enjoy it!"
"I see," I said. "Why are the associates all women?"
Gayle grinned. "They have to be. It's a specialty marketing firm strictly for women's products. Pantyhose, sanitary napkins, lingerie, make-up, fashion magazines, you know. Things only women use. The associates' customers are all women. Women don't buy things like that from men."
She smiled to herself, then said, "I think with your empathy you'll do just fine! It's a stretch maybe, but you can imagine how a girl feels when she's wearing her new hot-'n-sexy panty-and-bra set for the first time, can't you, and then advise our associates how she'll feel, how to advise their customers. You'd be better than most women at it, I'll bet. Because it would all be new to you, a fresh challenge! And you come at it with no set ideas of your own!"
"Let me understand. The associates are all women who advise other women, their customers, who call them to find out what to buy or how to use something they've already bought, how to use it in some imaginative new way? It isn't just that they take orders by phone?"
"Exactly!" Gayle replied. "The associates provide a kind of a fashion and feelings help line, with flair. They pitch their sales while they're being helpful. They're big sisters and wise aunts and best friends. They're Ann Landers to the lovelorn and they're Eloise and Martha Stewart to the housekeepers. They do all the work with customers, and you work with them. Apart from maintaining the accounting systems, you'll be a kind of clearing house for whatever they need to know. And a morale booster. You'll design their in-house reporting and ordering protocols and so on, of course, but mainly you'll keep them motivated, and share any good advice you get from other associates about what works especially well. Things like that!"
I still didn't see why I had to be a facsimile woman when talking with the associates. "I can see why you need women at the base level, working with the customers," I said. "But why do all three supervisors have to be women?"
"Because of the kinds of associates we've got!" Gayle sighed. "Well, strictly speaking, not all of them. For some a male supervisor isn't an issue. They're the women who do our work but also take care of elderly parents, or babies, or want to be home when their kids get home from school. Or want to schedule their own time. Or want to work bare-faced in blue jeans -- a girl can save hours out of her life for herself each week if she doesn't have to set her hair and make up her face for downtown office work. Not to mention the time and money women spend shopping for 'career girl' outfits suitable for business. Lots of those associates are college grads, smart and under-employed. They're not our problem."
Gayle smiled, then added, "We direct-deposit a lot of their earnings into bank accounts with names different from the names they use at home. So they're likely to tell you all sorts of things about their lives they don't want their husbands to know! Some of it gets pretty racy!"
"All right," I said. "Then it's the other associates who're the problems?"
"Correct. The others come in two kinds. One kind is entry-level, recent high school graduates. They're young and they advise other girls their age what to buy and they do very well at it. Telling another young girl when a tampon's preferable to a napkin, for example, and which kinds of tampons. Even what their new boyfriend might appreciate by way of a birthday blow job! You can advise them how to do that part right, can't you, Allie?"
I said nothing.
"But they're young, and soaked in their own brand-new high-test hormones. Some are intimidated by men but most of them are ready to play the female seducer to any male behind a male voice. You know, they flirt instinctively. They can be all business when they talk to another woman, but they're easily distracted into silliness by men. If their supervisor is a woman, or if they think so, it makes for far greater efficiency."
That rang true enough. In college I was a work-study aide on a University Computer help line for a while. I found quickly that lots of girls practice their girl tactics on any guys on the phone who don't know them. It can get pretty harrowing when one of them aims both full-bore barrels at you! And then if one actually does develop a crush on you, or on your voice, she can waste an awful lot of your time. Some of the girls were probably worth the time, but who knew?
I'd often thought about flirting back, but I never did. I'd have been fired, they kept stressing that. On the other hand, one guy I know actually managed to talk a lot of girls into performing phone sex for his fraternity brothers. "They liked doing it, Al," he informed me. "Getting guys off! They'd challenge each other to speed and endurance contests, how fast and how often they can get a guy to cum with a single phone call. For how long they can string him along whenever he tries to hang up. They're unbelievable! I tell you, don't let the bitches of this world get the upper hand ever! Just try to think of them as pussies with tits, with mouths that talk too much and don't suck cock often enough! Then you'll get on fine."
I couldn't do that. I wasn't raised that way, I guess. I respected girls. Maybe that was why I didn't get on too well with them.
"And the other kind of associate?" I asked. "The other kind that can't handle a male supervisor, I mean?"
"The second kind, right! They tend to be women returning to the work force because they've gotten rotten divorce settlements. Some of them are looking for another guy to get in bed with right away, so there's the same problem with them as with the high school girls. Only worse, because they know the score. A sweet guy like you wouldn't last ten minutes with some of them. They'd eat you alive."
"Sounds good," I replied, grinning. "But I'm not that easy."
"Coulda fooled me, Allie," Gayle said, grinning back. "Anyhow, lots of our divorced women can't tolerate a male voice of any kind, no matter how helpful! One of them put it to me this way: 'No male supervisors ever again, Gayle! Not ever! One mother-fucking son of a bitch-bastard telling me what to do day and night was one too many for me and still is, and will be, now, whenever, and forever after, Amen!'"
Gayle paused, then said, "But you've got no problem that way, Allie. Your voice is perfect! Who'd think you weren't a girl, hearing you on the phone? With a little re-orienting you'd fit in perfectly."
We talked some more, and the idea began to sound better and better. Challenging! And I'd get in on all sorts of women's secrets!
So that Friday I called and told my boss I was quitting, that I was giving him my week's notice, that I'd been offered work better suited to my talents.
"I'll bet you've got offers," was all he replied this time. "Resignation accepted, and don't bother coming in at all for your last week, Nancy! I'm happy to pay you to stay away. We're well rid of you! Your girlfriend put you up to this, huh? Give him a kiss for me!" And he hung up.
That shook me! I'd never encountered a real bigot before. But it was done. I was well rid of him.
III.
The next Monday I went to work at Gayle's Phone-Marketing headquarters. It was just as Gayle had said. The other two supervisors, Connie and Meg, were already there when Gayle brought me into the firm's spacious one-room office to introduce me. Connie was an older woman, the office manager, smart and chic, who'd been around the block a few times and was whimsically ironic about it. What she says goes, I was told. Meg was also quick and sophisticated, enthusiastic about each of her new relationships with any man or any woman. They looked me over, and then each gave me a sisterly hug. "Remember, you're strictly a woman when you work with us, Allie!," Connie told me. "Be sure you park your cock and balls outside the door when you come in."
Both were impressed by my voice and my explanation how it got that way.
"We'd wondered how some guy named 'Alan' could possibly do this job, when Gayle first sent us your papers," Connie said. "We should have known. Gayle has that effect on some men." She grinned. Meg nudged her and told her not to tease.
They showed me various personnel forms for my signature. Some had been made out originally to "Alan" or "Allen" or "Allan," and then in all the spaces changed to "Allie." "'Allie' stands for 'Alice' if anyone wants to know, honey," Connie said. "You've just had your first sex change operation. I think it'll be fun having you here, Miss Alice! Let me show you the ropes."
I looked over their systems that first day and made a few suggestions and designed a few changes, then settled in seriously and began to reshape all of them. Within a week I'd made their billing, shipping, receiving, and payroll far more efficient, practically automatic. They appreciated me for that.
Then I began making calls to teach new associates the company's computer and reporting procedures, and tell the old associates about the changes I'd made. They were grateful.
And Gayle was right. They immediately began to think of me as family, or as their new girlfriend. Some unburdened all sorts of intimacies on me while I made sympathetic noises. I tried to be helpful the way women are with each other. I heard all sorts of gossip about boy friends and hairdos and kids and their husbands' infidelities and kinks. I sympathized with them all about their burdens, their anxieties, their private demons.
After a while they began to ask my advice about all sorts of things, and it could get pretty harrowing. One woman had been gang-banged three weekends in a row while her husband watched, that was how he got off. Now she wanted to watch her husband getting gang-banged just before she left him for good -- how could she arrange it? "I want to know cum is dribbling out of his ass the whole month I'm serving him his divorce papers!" she told me. I thought a moment, then suggested she trick him into letting her tie him up. Then she could invite as many men as she wanted to come in and use him for as many days as they wanted. "Maybe he'll want to see some of them again after the divorce," I said. "You never can tell."
Another associate called because she had to exult to someone about a pair of red leather Napa shorts she'd picked up for a song, what it had done for her rear end. And what that rear end had then done to her boyfriend when he saw her in them. "They're great!" she told me. "I can't keep his face out of my ass now," she said. I congratulated her. I thought about it some, and that night asked Gayle to let me burrow my face into her beautiful ass. She did.
Another couldn't resist telling me about her Donna Karen silk charmeuse top, you know, the full-sleeved style that's coming back? She wondered how it would go with her A-line skirt and a bolero? I waved to Meg to pick up, and Meg whispered to me what to say. "A bolero's perfect with full sleeves, honey," I told her as Meg mouthed the words. "It'll give you a commanding look But the A-line would make your outfit much too peasant-ish. Better a long, severe, narrow skirt that puts your torso on a pedestal! You'll be surprised what happens!" She was. The next day, she called back for advice how a husband on his knees could give her head while she was wearing that long, tight skirt. "He dropped to his knees when he saw me," she said. "But the only thing his tongue could get at was my shoes!" She sounded disappointed. I told her on my own to open a side seam to the top of her thigh, for a glamorous slit skirt look. Meg, listening, was impressed. I was learning.
Another wanted to know how to meet her customer quota despite severe monthly menstrual cramps, and with Connie's help I gave her some good practical advice ("Take a long, slow, hot, delicious, perfumed bubble bath, dear -- pamper yourself. No of course a tampon, not a napkin"). I also provided sympathy ("You poor dear, I know just how you feel, mine can be terrible sometimes too, it can go on for days and days").
A few weeks more and I'd learned a lot, and signalled for Connie's or Meg's help only occasionally. I began to have similar girl-to-girl conversations with Gayle -- it all seemed quite natural, and so much fun! She and Gretchen and I began to go out together as a trio, giggling and chatting and laughing and listening to each other's stories while people nearby marveled at the two women with one man who together sounded and behaved like three women.
In fact people who spoke to me in the street or in stores began to address me as "ma'am," maybe because of a lilt I'd developed unawares in my speech, or my gestures, or because of the way I carried myself. Gayle was charmed that I now moved my head and hands gracefully, and held them at intriguing angles when I listened, and that I tended to lift my chin ever so slightly before saying anything. All things girls do on the phone and off, she told me. She was delighted I had such an instinctive feel for my new line of work.
One day Meg overheard me handling an especially difficult problem, a married associate who was turning lesbian and felt so guilty about betraying her husband with her new girlfriend that she couldn't call her customers. "Just relax," I told her. "Let your girlfriend make all the moves. Enjoy them, and both of you meanwhile try to think of ways you can eventually include your husband! If you blindfold him when you're having sex, maybe you can get him accustomed to all kinds of things he won't even know about at first!"
Meg congratulated me. "It sounds like you're all set to be a woman yourself now, Allie," she said. "You're on our side! There'll be no surprises! Have you ever thought about it?"
I pointed out that nearly everything I knew was theoretical, imagined, by the book, books Connie gave me to read by day and Gayle by night. For example, I knew all the routine ways to blend the company's eye-shadows and to match them with lipsticks and blushes. I knew six ways to achieve a new Fall look, and several ways a girl can make a man excited enough to cum maybe without even touching him. But I could think of nothing practical to say one day when a young associate called to ask how she could persuade a young customer who never wears bras that she should own a few anyhow. I hadn't the foggiest.
"You don't know?" Meg asked, grinning. "We should get you a pair of breasts, honey, then you'd know soon enough! It's because even young girls bobble when they're active, jumping around. And sooner or later we sag, sooner if we don't have good support. Shall I ask Gayle to arrange some implants for you, so you'll know at first hand? Either hand or both hands, however you want to hold them?"
I didn't mind being teased that way. I liked it. It meant I was accepted, that the three of us were a team! I told Gayle what Meg had suggested, and she thought it a wonderful idea. She commented that it had crossed her mind that it was unfair that she couldn't enjoy my breasts the way I did hers. "You're mean, Allie!" she said. "Only giving me one thing to suck on when I give you two!"
I wasn't altogether sure she was joking.
The next morning Connie brought in a box full of panties and bras, the different brands marketed by our associates. All sorts of colors and materials, satin and cotton, nylon and spandex, wisps and pushups, front-hook, long line, and sports, and erotically lacy hi-legs, bikinis, and thongs. And some lines manufactured by competitors, I saw.
"They're all yours, babe," she said. "Wear them in good health!"
I lifted an eyebrow at her.
"You know our inventory pretty well, Allie," she continued. "But as you said yesterday, it's all theoretical. Time to get a real feel for these things. Here are assorted undies mostly in your size, but some a little small and some a little large so you can get to know how these feel too. The bra cups are all too large for you right now, of course. But put on a panty and bra set every morning anyhow, here if you're embarrassed to show Gayle, so you know what it's like for a girl to work in harness all day."
I stared at the strange garments uneasily. What did she mean by "right now?" I wondered. "Does Gayle know about this?" I asked.
"I report to Gayle regularly. There's nothing she doesn't know. She knows how pleased I am with your progress so far, how quick you are to improve your strengths and correct your deficiencies when we point them out. I think she's very pleased with you too. In fact I know so!"
I got the hint and nodded agreeably.
"Try this undersized little bra first, and this matching thong. So you'll know from tomorrow's set how a properly-fitting bra should feel, that it doesn't have to bind. Also so you'll appreciate how a regular pair of panties feels, one that covers your cheeks instead of tucking into your crack so you waggle when you walk."
I took the wispy things and dangled them from one hand. "Now?" I asked, a little anxious about all this.
"I don't know why not now," Connie said. "You go, girl!"
I went to the men's room by the bank of elevators and put them on under my suit and shirt. Nothing showed. The bra felt tight from the outset, and by the end of the day the band seemed to be cutting into my flesh! And all that day Connie and Meg grinned when they saw me moving about the office, twisting my hips constantly to ease the pressure of that elastic strap stretched deep between my buttocks, pressed up tight against my anus. "Very sexy moves, sweetie," Meg told me. "Has anyone ever told you you have a cute ass?"
"Matter of fact, yes," I replied. I grinned back at her, but my face felt strained.
I couldnt wait to change out of those flimsy instruments of torture when the day's work ended. But the next day's bra and panties were so comfortable I forgot to remove them and wore them home. I had to anyhow, I realized, all of them, so I could rinse them out by hand immediately after wearing them the way I'd advised so many other women. Gayle said nothing when she saw them drying on a towel rack in our bathroom. Nor when she saw the pretty pair I wore home and rinsed out the following day. But she complimented me a few mornings later when we returned from a jog and showered and then dressed for the day, and we found ourselves in our bedroom together wearing only our bras and panties. My set was maroon with delicate lace edging. Hers was a chaste white, her bra with wide support straps for her heavy breasts. We looked like two women dressing together casually, roommates, it occurred to me.
"Nice," was what she said. "Very pretty! Enjoy them!" Then looking more closely, "Are you developing a figure, honey?"
I looked down at my chest. "I don't think so. Some of my bras do gather up muscle and skin, whatever's there, and then the cups shape them. I guess these do look a little like breasts."
"They're darling, Allie. Really! Very becoming! You must be feeling very proud of them!"
She reached out and touched a nipple through the satiny material, and it instantly became a teeny erection. She smiled and glanced at me slyly, then as she slipped into her blouse she commented, "Maybe we really should start thinking about ways to fill you out. I'll bet you do enjoy wearing pretty undies. Most women do. They remind us how feminine we are. How desireable we are."
It hadn't occurred to me before, but all that day whenever I remembered what I had on underneath, I did enjoy the fact that I was wearing them. Gayle was delighted when I confessed it to her that night. A few days later I wore another thong bikini, and the snug band rising tight between my buttocks and separating them actually felt good! As I waggled to lunch, both Meg and Connie lifted their eyebrows and grinned at me. I grinned back, and waggled my rear at them even more exaggeratedly..
Two weeks later I'd worn all of my undies home, even the undersized ones, and they'd replaced all of the regular men's underwear in my drawer. A few days later a box of various styles and colors of teddies and slips and camisoles and chemises and bodystockings and leotards appeared on my desk, in lacy, satiny, and plain cotton fabrics. Without comment I took them home and added them to my morning wardrobe. Soon after, when Connie set up a half-price special lingerie sale, I was able to tell each associate I spoke to what features of each kind they might want to stress to their various customers, which helped a girl feel cute or naughty or proper or seductive. I already knew from the ways they made me feel when I looked in the mirror each morning. Connie and Meg and I alternated going to lunch in couples, one of us always on the phones while the other two went down to the coffee shop off the lobby to nibble a sandwich or a salad and then bring one back. Gayle wanted me even thinner, so we could pace each other on our morning jogs. I was already nearly as lean and swift as she was, though as full as ever in my hips and thighs because of all the jogging. My arms were almost as thin as Gayle's too, because she wanted them that way --she told me that male upper body musculature always somehow seemed threatening to her. So usually a small salad was ample for me. After two weeks of testing out a fast-weight-loss diet-drink product we were adding to our website, I doubt I weighed any more than Gayle.
So mainly I looked forward to lunch for the talk. More girl talk. Both women spent their lunch times with me briefing me on everything every girl should know, and I tried to remember it all. Some stuff was predictable -- Meg loaned me a book of recipes I could claim my mother had passed on to her daughter, and I'd dole out a few when that topic ever came up, along with advice about how to peel garlic cloves, and to remember to toss freshly cooked pasta in a bit of oil.
But there were always surprises. One of them finally tipped the balance.
I was in the office alone when the Connie and Meg came back from lunch to find me talking empty phrases into the phone and turning pages of fashion books almost at random. I motioned desperately for one of them to pick up. The problem was simple, A much-valued customer wanted to color coordinate a retro red evening gown with this year's make-up, but fashion had shifted from the bright reds appropriate to that gown to dark wine colors that weren't. She wanted a shade of lipstick and blush that could match the dress yet appear au courant. Moreover, it had to be kiss-proof even through strenuous lovemaking, because she and her escort were both married, but not to each other. Tell-tale smudging might prove disastrous. Connie mouthed me some suggestions and then threw in some additional helpful hints -- for example, ways a woman can phone her lover at any time without rousing a wife's suspicions. The day was saved, but when I hung up my hands still shook.
Connie then came over and sat down on the edge of my desk to speak to me seriously. "You're comfortable with what you know about lingerie, aren't you Allie?"
"Yes," I replied. "I'm also comfortable wearing them."
"Well, Allie, the time has come. You need to begin wearing make-up too. You need to learn more about matching, all sorts of little practical tricks girls work out for themselves, so you can extrapolate or transpose them and share what you know with your associates."
I waited to see what she had in mind. With make-up, I'd look like a woman, I was thinking. No doubt of it. That's what everyone will think I am. I'll have no choice, I'll have to live like a woman. And I wasn't ready for that. Despite my telephone identity and my professional knowledge of all things feminine, and my underwear, I was still a man.
"You're here eight hours every day, Allie, and there's no one here but us. There's no one here to see you. So here's where you can feel free to practice with the company's products, figure out what works for you and what doesn't. Then you can advise others from a deeper basis of understanding. Because you'll know more about what makes a woman look pretty, or glamorous, or whatever effect she's seeking. Are you with me so far?"
"So far," I said.
"All right then. We understand each other. Starting tomorrow you'll wear make-up every day all day, and learn for yourself the uses and the durability of every line we sell. Experiment with it. Play with it. The way we all did when we were girls!" She hesitated. Then said, "You'll look gorgeous! You'll love it!"
I sat there stiffly. I no longer thought of my new voice as feminine, just as, well, just as my voice. I no longer paid attention to the way policemen or supermarket checkout girls or strangers reacted when they heard me. I now related comfortably with women, and they all sensed it and appreciated it. The common bond I felt with them, our voices, the fact that we were hugged by the same kinds of undies, and shared the same daily concerns, these had brought out a femininity in me I sort of liked. I felt more open and spontaneous and gentle, more free to speak about my feelings with Gayle, or Meg or Connie. And it was true, where make-up was concerned, I'd always felt a little like a fraud when I gave girl-to-girl advice, even when I knew it was good advice. Because for all my sensitivity and understanding, what I knew was only by the book.
For things like that Meg and Connie had to carry more than their share. I couldn't speak from personal experience about lots of the products we were advising women to buy. Not about sanitary napkins and tampons, not about matching dresses or skirts. But make-up was the most frequently discussed of all our products, the most competitive, the most heavily purchased, and the one I knew carried our highest profit margins.
"All right," I finally said. "Let's say I start using make-up. Daytime only, here. What's involved, do you think?"
"Not a lot. We'll need to get your hair styled properly for the shape of your face first, so the shapes and shades of the make-up you need to wear will be obvious whenever you look into a mirror. You already know the basics. When you've adapted them to meet your own needs, everyone else's needs will make much better sense."
"I don't know..." I said, hesitantly. Some make-up didn't remove easily. One of our lines was practically indelible. Any color at all on my face when I was out being a man could raise real doubts about me whenever anyone looked at me. True, I was feeling less and less like a man each week anyhow. And Gayle didn't seem to mind! Far from it, she enjoyed my knowing and caring about her concerns as a woman. I'd even begun advising her mother about this year's fashions during her occasional phone calls -- her entire bridge club had listened fascinated when she reported on my say-so that little hats with veils were returning for formal afternoon wear.
"You don't know? Well, that's a good enough answer. I do know, so that's that!" Connie immediately stood up. It was settled, I saw. "I'll call Gayle and tell her we think you're ready and it's necessary, and I'm sure she'll agree," she said. "You ask her tonight."
I imagined the scene. "Gayle, I love my bras and panties, and I adore my teddies!" -- it was true, I realized, I was beginning to do just that. "But it's time I began wearing make-up. Could I borrow that darling mocha rose lipstick of yours tomorrow?" What would she say? I realized I already knew. She'd call Gretchen to ask her advice about getting me a complete makeover, doing it right. She wouldn't mind at all.
"Daytime only, here, like you say, if you're worried about what people on the street might think, Allie. You can always put your face on after you arrive here, and you can always take it off before you go home. Though I myself don't think anyone will think anything. The sandwich man downstairs already thinks you're a girl, just from your voice. A little lipstick or eyebrow pencil won't change that impression. Maybe it'll eliminate a little dissonance, the mismatch between the way you look now and the way you sound when you speak. To look a little more obviously feminine wouldn't be a big step for you. Your hairdo will carry you over the edge anyhow, chances are."
"I'm still dressed like a man," I said, still hesitating but trying to sound reasonable until I could find a tactful way out of this.
"Dress any way you like. Lots of women wear slacks and shirts and sweaters and jackets and suits to work, same as you. And as you know, we all wear big clunky shoes anyhow these days, just like men's shoes but with just a bit more heel."
"Connie," I started to say.. But she was gone. It was settled.
That very night I told Gayle what Connie had ordered up, from between Gayle's legs. My face between her legs, I mean. Gayle had the sweetest, freshest cunnyhole in the world, and once she'd told me she loved it I couldn't get enough of nuzzling its sweet delicacy each time we made love, always as a preliminary to the main event. I also loved the ripe, fermy smell of her secretions mixed with my sperm when she asked me to go down on her afterward, after my cock had lost its vigor but Gayle hadn't yet had enough. Anything I sipped from Gayle's pussy was nectar, even my own cum!
I told Gayle I wasn't sure it was a good idea, my wearing different kinds of make-up in the office, learning what kinds best enhanced my own ... ahhh ...appearance. My beautiful face. She smiled delighted as I nibbled her clit, and as her orgasm rose she bucked her crotch into my face and smeared it with our combined juices and cried out, "Yes, beautiful, yes, perfect, yes, do it, do it, Allie, sweet, sweet, Allie! Ohhhh DO IT!" Then she breathed deep and was silent, finally, utterly content.
I took that to mean she approved my wearing make-up, crossing the line and no mistake, appearing to the world as a woman. Only afterward did I realize that she hadn't necessarily, that she might have been responding randomly to her orgasm! That my thinking she'd approved maybe meant that deep down I wanted her to approve. Because it was easier than disappointing Connie and Meg. Because what they'd proposed made sense, and Gayle's respect for me depended on my knowing that it made sense. I cherished Gayle's respect above all else. And her appreciation. And her love for me.
So I supposed she didn't mind, and my impression was confirmed when I was leaving for the office the next morning and she said, "Enjoy everything, dear. I can't wait to see!"
En route to work, I realized that her last remark meant I'd have to wear my make-up home. I'd arrive home looking like a woman. And if I did that, I thought, could I explain why not all the time? Why not even on weekends? I did have a lot to learn about the durability of some of our cosmetics, after all, and about looking nice in all sorts of circumstances. Was I ready for this?
When I arrived Meg was already waiting for me. "Hurry, Allie! Your appointment's in ten minutes and it's two blocks away!" And she swept me away.
As we scurried along the sidewalk I asked how she already knew that Gayle didn't mind, and she flashed me a sidelong glance. "Oh, Allie, nothing's accidental in a large organization like this one! Connie cleared this with Gayle long before she raised the issue with you! Of course! It's really obvious and inescapable for someone in your line of work! Yesterday after you agreed, I called Gayle and we discussed exactly what changes in your hairdo and so on would do you the most good! She called Gretchen, and Gretchen made a great suggestion we're going to follow out. The idea is, we'll enhance your feminine appearance without pushing you way over into it. We'll stay near the border, so you can retreat if you feel panicky. But we'll go far enough for you to feel committed -- women are all committed to being women, after all, making the best of how they look. What you learn from that can translate into all kinds of practical advice associates can pass on to their customers."
"Enhance my feminine appearance?" I asked her with a wry smile, trying to project a manly, dignified reserve.
Another sidelong glance from Meg. "Oh, Allie, just listen to you! You're already more feminine than most girls I know. You certainly know more about feminine things! You're a role model for all those women who phone you with their problems! Masculinity is wasted on someone as sweet and sensitive as you! Give it up!"
IV.
Even though it was still early morning of a business day, the beauty salon was already filled with women of all sorts and ages, sitting and lying in chairs and getting brushed, combed, curled, rollered, blow-dried, waxed, manicured, clipped, wrapped, massaged, and sprayed. All the work stations were filled with other women at work or else standing and chatting. The female energy filling the air was palpable, overwhelming, intimidating. For a moment I felt genuine fear!
Oddly, no one paid me the slightest attention -- could Connie and Meg be correct that my face and temperament already read "female," and that my voice confirmed any doubts?
We were ushered past crowds of waiting women and I was seated immediately in one of the purple leather lounging chairs enthroned in each work station. Meg spoke to the attendant who was already studying me. "Dana, this is Allie!" she said. "Gayle says go ahead the way we discussed it."
"Fine!" Dana replied. Her name tag also read "Dana," I noted stupidly. I was out of it. The women were in charge. "Complete make-over, once over everything, but lightly. So she'll be reminded she's a girl even when she's fresh from a shower. But discreetly, nothing really shouted out loud!"
Reminded that I'm a girl? 'She'? Shout what? "That's exactly right," Meg replied. "Allie, you'll be most of the morning here. Don't worry, we'll cover for you at the office. Come back when you're done, and we'll all three celebrate the new you with champagne!"
"What do you mean, the new me?" I replied, fear rising in my belly.
"Oh, that's a lovely voice, Allie," Dana said, sincerely surprised and impressed, but also trying to calm me. I was obviously disturbed. Not that it mattered. If one not-quite-man misbehaved in a salon crowded to capacity with women, who'd notice?
I gave Dana a quick, scant "Thank you, that's sweet of you to say so, Dana!" but otherwise paid her no attention. "What new me?" I repeated to Meg, a little more loudly, tense.
"The you who'll know more about looking beautiful than any of the high school girls you talk to. If you get too worried, just remember that Gayle will love you for this! She's wanted this for you for a long time. Even before you moved in with her, if you must know! And I know even if you don't that deep down under you'll love it too! Ta ta!"
And with a triumphant smile Meg turned away, her hand high in the air, rotating it at the wrist in farewell!
I've got to admit it, they did do everything but didn't overdo anything. My hair was razor trimmed and then permed lightly for body, lightened, and then blow-dried into a fluffy layered style that barely covered my ear lobes. Bangs fell curving over my forehead, so my unusually small face -- for a man -- looked positively diminutive. When I tried brushing them back they fell forward again, trained to stay there. It was conceivably a man's style, but it looked distinctly feminine.
My body was hairless. I'd been taken in back and waxed and stripped painfully, and every inch of me was now bare and smooth, though clothes covered the fact everywhere but on the exposed backs of my hands. Dana handed me a schedule for the further electrolysis of my thin beard, three times weekly. My nails were now longer and manicured pink, almost their natural color but more uniformly, richly luminous and glistening. Anyone looking would know they were a woman's hands, though anyone glancing might not notice.
My eyebrows were -- as one of the operators said -- neatened. Trimmed, thinned, and arched, plucked but not quite as hairless as many women's. No longer a man's, even so. A foundation creme coated my face and smoothed away every blemish and covered what little beard I had, flawlessly, and Dana showed me how to make it resemble natural skin again with just a brushfull of face powder and some wisps of blended blush. I'd gotten both ears pierced on a dare in college -- they found the holes and re-opened them with teeny gold rings that were now glinting in my earlobes.
"See?" said Dana as I examined my mirrored image. "You can still swing either way, hon. Except for your eyes. We went all out there with your company's products. The eyes have it all! They're unambiguous!"
It was true. I checked the mirror. I now looked like either an incredibly effeminate man or a really cute girl, depending on my body English. Except for my eyes. My eyes were now exquisitely made up, deeply feminine, outlined and widened, my lashes extended and thickened into dense fringes and my lids and browbones shadowed with blended shades of eyeshadow, a streak of white just under my eyebrows. The rest of me could be called "cute" as a man or as a woman, maybe. But my eyes changed everything. Those deep, glamorous orbs were unmistakably feminine. They looked as big proportional to my face as a little girl's, downright attractive, innocent yet seductive. Even though I was shocked to see how I looked, I had to admire what Dana had done. I felt a strange, delicious apprehension! I'd entered a new world.
"That's the secret, Allie. Eyes. You tell the girls you talk to to tell the girls they talk to. Play with your eye make-up all you want and the rest will follow. A new sleek, smart you, with a romantic mystery men will always notice whenever you pass by. You'll get all the admiration any girl could crave."
Men? Listening to her, I was appalled. Excited, but terribly fearful. Something important had somehow slipped from my grasp! Something else had replaced it. As I studied my reflection in the mirror, I reached up to tuck a stray hair back into place in my coiffure. I saw myself do it!
"Your lipstick is rose beige, incidentally, perfectly appropriate for most occasions and not necessarily noticeable. But go darker at night, especially for any long-gown evening affairs."
I hadn't noticed, but it was so. In the perfection of my face, my lips were now also perfect. Rosebuds like Gayle's, smooth, even in tone, almost but not quite their natural shade. I was almost still a man. As I stood up, I didn't know what to think. Dana refused payment. "It's on the company tab, taken care of," she said. "Just as you are, honey. Remember your electrolysis appointments, now."
I walked warily back to the office, avoiding all eye contact with everybody but watching for signs that some people recognized how ridiculous I was. A few women smiled at me understandingly, as women do other women in passing, and a man stared in open admiration as I passed him by. I felt a little reassured. I wasn't freakish after all.
Back at the office the girls took one look and screamed joyously, and hugged me, and in their exuberance tried to dance with me. They'd ordered in a pizza, and now they poured champagne into plastic champagne flutes. "To our lovely Allie! To her long and happy life!
I wasn't too happy with that "her." "In the lobby, a man held a door open for me," I said worriedly. "And in the elevator another man tipped his hat." I was still trying to get used to this idea. What had I done? Why had I let them do this to me? Was it that bad?
It didn't feel that bad at all. It already felt the way my voice sounded to me, perfectly natural.
Both Meg and Connie looked at me with amused understanding. "That'll happen a lot from now on, looking the way you look, Allie," Connie said. "You should see your expression! Pretty but dazed, with such a fetching air of vulnerabilty! Men'll get stiff and maybe even cum in their pants when you walk by! Have a glass of this bubbly stuff and sit quite still so we can all get used to looking at you. Here, set this mirror up on your desk, so you can look yourself over any time. I'd say Allie's now quite pretty, wouldn't you, Meg?"
"I'd say so," Meg said. "Dana did some marvelous things with your face, honey! Study them. Those're the secrets your associates will be glad to hear about. Every day try to match them to the colors of different blouses and dresses."
"Wait a minute, ladies," I said as gallantly as I could. I felt very strange. I knew how I looked. I was embarrassed, excited, but also calm. My voice, as I listened to it, had a peculiarly wistful quality. "No one said anything about blouses or dresses. This is all so I can learn the uses of our products at first hand. And that's all it is. It all begins and ends at the office!"
"Honey," Meg said with a pleased glance at Connie. "Not your own blouses and dresses! Not yet, anyhow. That's what you'll tell the associates to tell their customers. Wherever did you get the idea I meant you? Though how you'll make yourself up each morning without reference to whatever the color scheme you're wearing that day escapes me. Your men's clothes are all a drab monochrome, I've noticed! We'll have to speak to Gayle about this."
"Well, one thing I know, I said. "I take my face off here when I go home and I put it on here when I arrive. That's all I agreed to do! There's cold cream in the ladies room for taking it off. I know that from when you brought it out that time I was on the phone with the associate who thought it was greasy, so I could reassure her it wasn't."
"Oh? Connie, should we allow Allie access to the ladies' room?" Meg asked. "Should she know all our little secrets? Can she use the tampon dispenser now when she needs to?"
"I think we'll have to let her," Connie replied gravely. They were now each finishing their second filled flute of champagne, and I must confess it, by now so was I. "We can't ask her to use the men's room any more. Think how anyone with a dick hanging in his pants would have to behave, seeing her there. Could he even pee through it? One look and it'd point straight up at the ceiling!" The two of them giggled.
Then seriously, Meg looked at me. "Allie, you can take your face off before you go home if you feel you must. Until you develop enough pride in the way you look now to be the way you want to look always. But not today! Today Gayle wants to see you at your best. "
That was true. I remembered her last words to me -- "I can't wait to see!"
"Don't worry," Connie consoled me. "There's no way you'll be embarrassed on your way home. No one would dream you were ever a man! Did you have any problems walking back from the salon?"
"No," I said, realizing for the first time that I hadn't. "Two women smiled at me. That never happened when I was a man. When I looked like a man, I mean."
"I heard you the first time, Allie honey," Connie said. "I'll phone Gayle and tell her what to expect." She stood and weaved over to her desk. "There's still a little more champagne in the bottle," she said to Meg. "I think it's Allie's. She's earned it."
"Yes, she has," Meg said. She smiled at me more warmly than any time since I'd known her.
"'He' has," I responded, one last effort. Meg didn't seem to hear.
"Here you are, Allie." She handed it to me, and she lifted her own glass. "Welcome to the other side! You'll love it, trust me!"
Welcome to what? But before I could ask, all three phones started ringing at once and our afternoon's advisory sessions got under way. I told several of the women I spoke to during the next several hours to stress eye make-up for their clients. "It's absolutely transforming," I said with my own face visible in the mirror Connie had given me. It certainly was.
When quitting time came, both of my fellow supervisors were sober again. They watched in silence as I walked into the ladies', their faces impassive. They looked visibly relieved when I walked out again with my face unchanged. They glanced quickly at each other and then a little hesitantly at me. Then they broke into laughter when I grinned broadly at them.
"Just checking to see what my new accommodation provides," I told them with a faint smile. "A lady's entitled to know! Not a single urinal! And why isn't there a condom dispenser alongside the tampons and sanitary napkins? And shouldn't we be keeping a full range of our products on that mirrored counter? How will I put on my face tomorrow? Good night, ladies!"
"Good night, Allie honey," they both chimed. "You look just great! Feel proud! Walk tall!"
So I walked out into the hallway and headed toward the elevators with small steps, my feet stepping close to an invisible centerline, delicately, head high. Now I had to move like a woman! It occurred to me vaguely that I should be carrying a purse. I attracted no more attention on the street or the bus back to the apartment than any other young woman on her way home from work. And as I realized this, I began to feel ... authentic.
When I arrived home, Gayle was already there in the living room, waiting, enthroned in one of her overstuffed chairs. I paused in the middle of the room and struck a model's pose, turned, looked over my shoulder at her, smiled a wide, inviting smile, then turned back and looked haughtily out the window, my shoulders twisted one way, my hips the reverse. All poses I'd seen in women's clothing and cosmetics ads. She looked me up and down expressionlessly, then suddenly giggled.
"You sweet, sweet thing!" she said. "Connie phoned. It's just as she said! I see how Dana did do your hair and everything so close to the line you could still pass as a man, if you were very careful about it. Maybe you could. But I love it that you now feel feminine enough not to bother. I love it that you're so sure of yourself you don't care what others think you are. I love it that my boyfriend is now also my girlfriend. Take those clothes off, you wonderful girl, you! Dinner can wait!
In bed she couldn't get over how smooth my hairless body felt. Her hands never stopped roaming and stroking and petting and fondling me, and her mouth moved everywhere over me, her lips and tongue testing and tasting the new feel of my skin. "I want this," she moaned barely audibly. "Oh I do so want this!" She seemed near fainting when I finally moved my face out of her pussy and up to kiss the hollow of her neck while I inserted myself gently into her. She came almost immediately. And then again lightly but continually as I languidly stroked in and out of her. Her hands cupped my chest and caressed my nipples as if they were full-sized breasts and teats.
I decided right then that if I could put up with what people thought of my voice, I could put up with whatever they thought of the rest of me. This was how I looked and this would be how I looked. While we were resting between rounds, tasting each other's lipsticks in soft little nibbles, I told Gayle just that. "Mmmmmm!" she said. "Perfect! You're such a love! More!" She left me in no doubt what she meant. In the morning she offered me use of her make-up, "just to get to the office, where I understand Connie's assembled what you'll need from now on." Arrived at the office looking thoroughly feminine, I found a large cosmetics case waiting for me on my desk, with "Nite Cremes" and "Fresh-from-Your-Shower" lotion and other things that left no doubt they were for home use. I brought it home and that found Gayle had bought me a new vanity table and mirror. "For before you go to work," she said. "I want you to look beautiful always."
Thus much for my plan to wear make-up only at the office. I nodded, and said nothing. I felt pleased, in fact. If Gayle wanted it for me, I wanted it.
It had been a game so far, an amusing game, but Gayle incorporated my new look into our relationship with the same high good spirits we both brought to making love to each other. In a way I was now a woman to her, but a woman with a wonderful warm dildo attached. And that was how I began to think of myself. We often made "lesbian" love as she still called it, like two women, all night long each of us devoted to the other's crotch, no penetration necessary. But whatever we did, there was nothing solemn about it. It was simply wonderful, fun, joyous, a natural extension of what we felt for each other.
Each day I played with my hair and my make-up before getting dressed. Despite the original plan, each day I left the house already altogether a woman, fully made-up for the day, sometimes rather elegantly. It was easier for me to keep my main array of cosmetics on my vanity in the bedroom alongside Gayle's, and only touchups in the ladies' room at the office. Once over the line, I didn't mind going further, trying now to look definitive. I no longer feared embarrassment, Dana had seen to that. It was still a game, but the same game many women play.
Meg and Connie said nothing the next day when I showed up for work with my face -- and especially my eyes -- unquestionably a woman's. In fact, knowing that I was now navigating the streets looking like a woman, no longer like a man, our luncheon conversations turned toward issues different from the earlier ones. Safety precautions at night, for example. And how to keep men from hitting on you, as they did all the time. And what to do when they did.
"The big question is always, first of all, Allie, do you want him to? You always ask yourself that, even if he's intrusive and annoying, but especially if he looks cute, or handsome, or you hear he's got a lot of money." She paused. "Or you hear he's well-hung." That was Meg speaking. She had considerable experience with cute or handsome or well-hung men, a different one each week it sometimes seemed.
"Not me," I said categorically. "I'm spoken for!"
"Well, sure," Connie replied when the same topic came up the next day. "But your ego isn't. Take that guy over there, you see him, the one sitting by himself, the brown tweed sports jacket and tanned face? The outdoorsman? Holding his fork like a tennis racket and his knife like a golf club? Do you think you could get him interested in you? Would it make you feel more like a real woman if a hunk like him was leaning over you and making his moves?"
I looked him over, for fun, playing Connie's game. I could see what a woman would see in him. I could even feel the force of it, a little. A very little. But intimacy with any man? The idea felt a little repellent. Still, I enjoyed looking attractive now, the same way women did who used our products. It would be nice to feel that's what I was. Attractive, I mean. Well, that I was a woman too, in a way. An attractive woman. It might help me understand better the appeal of our products to women, if I could understood better how women use them to appeal to men. Somehow. It was so deliciously confusing!
"Yes, I think so, Connie," I said with a little wonderment in my voice, still looking at him. "Would I feel more like a real woman if he were interested in me? I think so, Connie! Isn't that remarkable!"
"Isn't it, Allie?" she said, now openly amused by my response. My honesty. "That's why we flirt, honey. It makes us feel good, whether or not we want the poor wretch we're flirting with to grovel at our feet. Mostly, we don't. Well, maybe Meg does, she loves men who grovel. Let's try something though. Just keep looking at him. Sooner or later he'll notice, and when he does, keep looking at him, straight into his eyes, until he turns away or breaks off contact. Don't you look away first, under no circumstances! Then when he looks again, be sure he sees you chatting with me, utterly indifferent to whether he lives or dies. Because that'll clinch it."
"Clinch what?" I asked, though I did what she'd suggested. The man was two tables away and happened to look up. At me. He'd felt something? He saw me, and he stared back blankly for just a moment -- I could see the browser behind his eyes seraching his memory to see if he knew me. It came up blank, and he looked away for a moment. I kept my eyes on him.
He decided something and stood up. As I started speaking nonsense animatedly to Connie, he came over, and actually leaned over me! "Pardon me," he said. "I don't mean to intrude. But do we know each other?"
I thought fast. "I don't think so," I replied. "But I'm sure I'd remember if we did." I smiled up at him.
"Any chance we can get to know each other?" he responded, encouraged. "I'm in town only for today, and I'll be gone tomorrow morning early."
"That would be perfect," I replied -- Gayle's favorite word. I kept my eyes looking into his now despite my incredible temptation to look away as I spoke my next line in this old, old scenario, a real whopper! "Except that my husband's in town too, and I hate to leave him alone with our two kids while I'm out on the town with another man. It might give him ideas of his own."
The man grinned a devastating grin! "I bet it would! A pity! He's a lucky man. But I hope you don't mind my asking."
"Not at all," I replied. "Thank you!"
"No, thank you!" he said, and with a sigh he returned to his table.
Connie was beside herself. Ecstatic! Unable to repress her mirth! "See?" she said. "Now don't you feel better than you did? And he does too, I'll bet!"
"I have to say 'yes,'" I said. "But because of a man? I'm damned if I know why!"
"No, you're 'quite sure' you don't know why, Allie. Only men are 'damned' in this world, the poor dears."
I accepted the correction. "You know something else, Connie," I said as I reached for my purse alongside my chair -- I now carried one, even though I was still wearing men's clothes and pockets -- and we both stood up to leave. "I also feel a little regretful."
Connie's smile broadened. "Because he's such a nice guy, and you had to disappoint him?" she asked.
"That too," I replied.
At that Connie went into such spasms of laughter that we had to run across the lobby to the elevator to preserve minimal decency. Once inside with the doors shut, she almost choked. She couldn't stop! The rest of that afternoon she couldn't look at me without spluttering all over again. It was a while before she could pull herself together long enough to tell a puzzled Meg why all the glee. "Our new girl here actually felt attracted to a man!" she spluttered. "A keeper, too! It's really a pity she had to throw him back!" Then she exploded again! I maintained an aloof dignity through all of it.
V.
It was Meg who suggested the next stage in my journey. One day when I was wearing a T-shirt around the house it seemed all too obvious that my figure was too flat for the women I resembled. Gayle brought home some breast forms for me. I didn't especially care for them, because my own nipples had become sensitive, and I liked their feel projected out by my bras. The breast forms compressed them under jiggly plastic. Still, it seemed only proper for me to wear them at the office under my shirt. They justified my wearing my brassieres, after all.
Meg noticed them immediately. I was in full daywear as well as makeup, and I'd clipped a barrette over each ear to hold my new hairdo back from my face. I took off my jacket to work on a new billing procedure, and my bra's lacy cups bulged out prominently under my white dress shirt. Meg looked at me, looked again, and then said, "Well! We aren't even a little bit androgynous today, are we?"
Connie was also intrigued. "This will certainly improve your rapport with our associates," she said. "Do you mean to get pregnant too, so you can advise them on our complete line of nursing bras?"
I just looked at her, and unexpectedly I felt a twinge of guilt. I was indeed a fraud, pretending to a reality that wasn't mine, trying to look like the woman I was not. But my fake breasts were for me and Gayle to think about, nobody else.
I think Meg realized that. "May I make just one suggestion, Allie honey?" she asked.
"Of course," I said sweetly. I did appreciate her tact at that moment!
"There are so many becoming blouses in all the stores, as you know. You advise women about mixing and matching them with skirts all the time. Why do you keep wearing those ugly men's shirts? And I notice you still aren't wearing hosiery. Whether pantyhose or stockings with a garter belt or girdle is none of my business, but I'll bet you have fabulous legs. Why not show them off under a skirt? Allie?"
"What for, Meg? I don't feel any need to show off my legs."
"Need? Why Allie, every girl wants to show off her legs, if she has good legs. They're part of the decor. Why don't you bite the bullet and show up for work in skirts or dresses and be done with it?"
She was teasing.
Finally I spoke. "I don't know. Maybe because I feel, somehow, that going all the way that way, wearing complete outfits of women's clothes, it's ... well, maybe that would be a one-way street. Maybe I wouldn't want ever to go back. It's scary to think about."
"Why should you want to go back?" Connie asked.
I had no answer.
"Have you ever worn any of Gayle's clothes?" Meg suddenly asked me softly.
"Yes, once," I confessed.
"Did it feel nice?"
"Fabulous!" I replied. The fact was, I couldn't take my eyes off myself that one time. I was home and Gayle was working late, and I'd gone into her closet wondering what I'd look like. I'd tried different outfits. It was terribly addictive, I'd concluded. So I'd carefully hung her clothes back where they belonged.
"Then enjoy being pretty, Allie. Be a pretty girl. That's what it's all about. You won't go any further than you want to. Certainly no further than Gayle wants you to go. There's a terrific sale going on now at Talbot's. You know Talbot styles, beautifully cut, tasteful, classics, never flamboyant but not too casual or conservative either. Clothes for girls like you, reserved and poised. Shall we look for a skirt and blouse for you there after work today? Then maybe some shoes? No clunky shoes, you have plenty of those. Something more delicate, a mid-heel pump maybe?"
I tried to say 'no.' Tears came into my eyes. "Meg, I do appreciate your thoughtfulness," I told her. "I really do. But ...." My voice trailed off. My resolve collapsed. They both waited. They knew where I'd end up.
"Yes," I told her. "I'd love to go shopping with you. More than anything." Now tears began to stream down my cheeks. I tried to blot them. "See what you've done? My mascara's running!"
As I stood up to go to the ladies' and repair myself, there was Meg, and before I knew it we were hugging, and I was pressing my wet cheek against hers as she cried too. "Oh Allie," she said. "I've suspected it for so long now. I just knew that there was a wonderful girl in you struggling to get out! Isn't it marvelous that now she's out! I know Gayle will be pleased! She's been waiting for you to come around, to decide you'd rather be a girl, to live as a girl! And you're right, there's no going back from it, because why in the world should you ever want to? The girl in you needs her freedom!"
I just shook my head, tears still flowing. I had no idea why I should ever want to go back either. It felt so much nicer here, being a girl with these other girls! But it felt a little poignant too. Some of my tears were for my lost manhood.
I came back to the apartment a little late for supper, wearing a near ankle-length pencil-pleated skirt, teeny patterns all tan and straw and burnt umber, with a simple sleeveless slipover blouse that displayed my breasts and thin arms without emphasizing them, and a light topper. Gayle was waiting, a little concerned. "I'm sorry I'm late," I explained simply as I hung my new topper in the front closet. "I was shopping. With Meg." There was nothing more I needed to say. She saw.
She looked me over slowly. My pretty new outfit, and the shy pride I took in how becoming it was. She saw that my eye makeup was nearly gone, for the first time in weeks, and she guessed correctly that I'd been blotting my tears repeatedly.
Then she threw herself into my arms, and couldn't keep from kissing my face everywhere she could reach it. "Oh, darling, darling Allie!" she kept saying. "I'm so happy for you. I've waited so long for you to come to this! And you arrived all by yourself!" And as we pressed our cheeks together, I could feel that hers was as wet as mine. Just like Meg's! Why do women cry so easily? We both felt so very happy. That night when we made love, I wore the exquisite satin nightgown Gayle had bought months earlier during the first few days of my new voice -- bought, as she had told me then, "just for you." It fit perfectly, and felt as exquisite as it looked. "Here," she said when she handed it to me. "I really did buy this just for you -- you notice I've never worn it? From now on you wear only pretty things. Right?"
I nodded. "If that's what you want, that's what I want," I said.
"I want," she said, coming toward me.
It was a whole, wonderful new world of feelings and appearances I was exploring now. Thrilling in some ways, not only because it was new but also because it was somehow a little dangerous. "Transgressive" was the word Gayle used when I described my newfound wicked delight in doing and thinking and wearing girl things. She encouraged me to move further into my feelings, to explore more of them. I told her about the tweedy man who'd tried to pick me up the other day, and my twinge of regret that he hadn't. We made love that night more gently, more tenderly, than ever. "My sweetheart feels the way I do," she crooned.
Sexual ambivalence began to enter into our sex play. Gayle told me she wanted to reinforce some of my very complicated gender feelings, the gender identity issues I'd discovered when I'd first talked on the phone as a woman would, then as if I were a woman, then naturally as a woman, then allowing myself to look like one, and now choosing to look like one. "You can be one gender or the other in your own head, Allie," she said. "Or one and the other. But I don't want you to be confused betwen them, a muddled effeminate man or a masculine woman who doesn't know what he is or she is. Do you know what I mean?"
"Yes, of course, Gayle," I replied. "When I felt I was a boy, I had to enact being a girl deliberately. As a girl, it's fun to pretend I'm a boy, though that's all I do now, pretend. I may look like either or both, but I feel like one or the other, not both. It's very strange."
"Which do you feel like right now?" Gayle asked.
"A girl," I said. "That's how I woke up this morning. That's how I want to wake up every morning. I love it! I really do! I hope you don't mind. It's so much easier when I'm working with the women on the phone when I can feel I'm one of them. I'm much more effective. And Meg and Connie now accept me completely as one of their own kind. I remember how much fun it was when Connie taught me how to pick up a man. Do you mind?"
"No, I don't mind at all, Allie honey," Gayle said. "I understand it and like it, that you prefer being one of my kind. It's a supreme compliment. But shouldn't we explore this further?"
"How?"
"Leave that to me!"
That night I made myself as beautiful as I could, at Gayle's request, and lay back on the bed in my satin nightgown with my heart beating hard, waiting for Gayle to appear from the bathroom. When she did, we just lay there, wanting each other but for the moment only embracing. We did that now and then.
The vaguaries of my erotic desires baffled me, and I mentioned it. "It's mysterious, yet there's no mystery to it at all," she told me seriously. "You desire the feminine. Me. You desire to hold me, possess me, enter me and make me a part of you." She smiled at that. "To share my every feeling, to become one with me. Isn't that true?"
I nodded.
"It's no accident. You desire the feminine in me, and you want to make that femininity a part of you. Passionately, as completely as possible. Isn't that true?"
"Yes," I said. It was true.
"You want to internalize my femininity? Possess it for yourself?
"Yes, Gayle, I do!"
"That's how you feel when you enter me?"
I nodded.
"The exact same way I feel when I want you to enter me? When I want to give myself up to you?"
"Yes. Yes, if that's how you feel."
"That's how I feel, Allie. And I want you to feel it too. To give yourself up to me, to feel how I feel when you enter me. Are you willing?"
"Yes, I am." I wasn't sure where this was leading, but I was with her all the way. It was a breathless exchange -- we were both excited by something ineffable we were revealing to each other.
"You do know there's only one way, Allie. Don't you?"
Was she talking riddles? Suddenly I saw where we were headed, but I was caught up in a momentum I couldn't stop. Nor did I want to. I wanted to give myself to my beloved woman. To feel her possess me as I took her deep inside me.
"Yes, I know," I said, a little awed at what I had just agreed to.
"I want that too," she told me, pulling me toward her finally and feeling for my lower parts. "First you do me. Then I'll do you"
My cock was hard as a rock. It slipped into her silkily, with no friction and barely any pressure, she was already so soaked. It was like dipping a spoon into a jar of honey. "I do want this for you," she whispered, as her hips began to move against mine. "I want you to know that what makes me what I am is being felt deep inside you too!" It was the sweetest lovemaking! We slowly rose together and surged, then subsided. And as we recovered our breaths she said simply, "Now you. Just lie still, love!"
She slipped out of bed to use the bathroom, as she usually did when we'd made love, though usually after I'd licked my juices back out of her and brought her off yet again. When she reappeared she showed up in the dimness with a strange silhouette, and I realized with a thrill of horror and anticipation that she was now wearing a strap-on dildo. A long one. Double-ended, she explained later, so we could both be pleasured by it at the same time, each of us penetrated by the same cock, as she put it, each of us sharing in the pleasures of penetration by that cock.
"Now you'll know, Allie darling. How wonderful it feels. So soft yet so stiff. I've made it slick with my own juices, sweetheart, and yours too, so you too can feel how it is to have a man's cum inside you. It will hurt you at first, sweetheart, because manhood never yields easily. But soon you'll relax into the pleasure of it, and feel what I feel. And that feeling will never leave you, ever again! You'll keep it deep inside you always as my gift to you, Allie. I'm giving you a gift of femininity,. Tonight you become a woman. And you'll always know that's what you've become.
And she bent over me as I lay on my back, and touched my legs under my knees so I'd know to raise them onto her shoulders. Then she crept forward slowly, and my legs went higher and further back, my rear hole turning higher toward her, exposed, vulnerable, until I felt a soft knob pressing on my anus. She pushed. Then pushed again. She was gentle, but it hurt me anyhow, a lot. She hugged me and crooned to me as she pressed herself against me, and then she was inside, just! The knob had entered me!
"Ahhhhhhh!" I said, relieved yet lamenting.
"Shhhhh, baby," she whispered to me. Her breasts were both hanging over my face. She offered one to my open mouth and my lips seized it greedily. As she pressed further and further into my rectum I sucked on her teat, concentrated on it hungrily, tearfully, seeking consolation, seeking to fill a hunger in my belly I could feel filled further down by that long penis of hers. A fulfillment slowly spreading through my body. My mouth stuffed full of smooth, soft breast, my ass filling full of stiff cock.
There was a strange burning sensation below from the spreading and stretching of my tight anus as she pushed deeper into me, kissing away my tears. "This is how girls lose their virginity," she told me. "This is how girls become women. I know it hurts, baby. But there's no other way. I'm sharing with you my most desireable gift, my femininity. I'm making it yours!" On and on her cock moved into me. Finally it was lodged all the way inside. I was complete!
Then she just lay still on top of me, my thighs propped up high on her shoulders, letting me get accustomed to how it felt, my lower parts filled to bursting, letting my sphincter slowly relax. I suckled her steadily, my mouth full of breast and my tongue pressed flat against her nipple, tensing and relaxing. I tried to lift my rear to change the angle of her penetration, and as she slid a little further inside me I realized I could grip her cock with my anal muscles. I did, like clenching and releasing a fist, and she felt it. She smiled. The original burning sensation was now gone, leaving instead a feeling of repletion. There was special pleasure in knowing that we both felt this way at this moment. Fulfilled.
Then slowly my lovely lovely Gayle began to rock back and forth, and I felt a warmth, a glow, a delicious yearning previously centered in my prick now spreading all through my belly. Her rocking grew more extreme, more impassioned, until she was plunging all the way in and out of me and I was loose and eager and ready and glowing, thrusting back with all my heart and soul and strength, joyous desire spreading all through me and rising like lava toward white-hot eruption. At last, I can't tell how long after, the throes of my orgasm seized me. It filled every part of my body, even my toes and my fingertips, with a gratified craving so intense I thought for a moment that I'd fainted! A moment later Gayle came too, and collapsed onto me. And then we fell asleep, her dildo cock still buried deep inside my new pussy, her breast still heavy in my mouth, still hugging each other. I opened my eyes for a moment and saw she was smiling, as satisfied as I was.
"My sweet girl," she whispered.
"Yes," I replied.
And we slept through the night like that. When she withdrew from me in the early morning, I felt empty.
After that I began to crave that dildo the same way Gayle craved my cock. After supper I'd move my hips suggestively just an inch or so, ever so expectantly, and I'd look intently into her face, and she'd understand my meaning at once! And smile. And I'd feel desirous and wanted, as I'd never felt as a man! We enlarged our regular lovemaking. Now we were women together. She used my dildo nightly for as long as I could get it up, sometimes only once or twice. Then when I'd gone soft for the night I used hers, and our lovemaking went on far into the night.
Some nights we practiced "lesbianism" in a new way. We curled into each other head to crotch, and she sucked on my penis all night whenever she woke up, and I sucked on hers. I loved falling asleep and waking up again with that soft, firm cock in my mouth. It was so comforting. I felt so secure, protected, nursing on it like a baby.
VI.
I was a woman. I wanted to dress and look pretty for my darling, always. I began to favor our "Everstay" line of cosmetics, the most permanent of them, the foundation that pefected my face with a tan glow practically a paint, the lipsticks and eyeliners all dyes. When I next went back to the beautician's for electrolysis I asked Dana to put a slight curl in my hairdo, just something to soften the effect and make my face prettier. "Of course, Allie," she said, and did it. "It does seem you've fallen altogether off the deep end. No going back ever, this time?"
"Whatever for?" I asked her, smiling. I was so happy!
Connie and Dana could see the difference in me immediately, of course. They heard me praise our Everstay line to the associates whenever it seemed appropriate. "The foundation never rubs off on sheets, or pillows, or cheeks, or hairy chests," I told them, "and not on breasts either. And the lipstick stays where it belongs. No telltale red markings on wine glasses or table napkins or collars or penises."
Nor on dildos. I told Gayle I wanted to suck her cock the way she sometimes sucked mine, just to know what it was like. It pleased her to look down and see me on my knees in front of her as she sat on the edge of the bed or on one of our soft chairs, or as she stood with a hand on her hip while I pleasured the soft rubber jutting from her with my mouth. The part of it wedged in her pussy knew. And her heart knew. Maybe because of that, I loved it.
My most ultimate commitment rose up from a seemingly inconsequential, even racy interchange. Meg came in one day wearing the lowest decolletage and the deepest cleft I've seen in a business office. Her blouse was so transparent it hid nothing of her bra. And her bra was "Seductress," one of our newer models, imported, uplifting each breast to a sweet curve but so flimsy that the colors and even the shapes of her nipples showed through, slightly pointy, haloed by a dark lace star.
"Got a date, Meg?" I asked her. "A breast man?" She'd told us how some of her guys were especially turned on by breasts, or legs, or shoulders, or necks, or well-turned asses, or shaved pussies. Once she knew, she'd know how to drive them to a frenzy through the earlier part of an evening. It paid off aferward.
"You know it!" she replied. "You were once a breast man, weren't you? How come you're not a breast woman now, enjoying yourself that way? You should try it, Allie."
"I lack two essential qualifications," I said.
Meg turned more serious. "Hasn't Gayle put you on hormones yet? Doesn't she want her sweet baby girl to grow up to have pretty knockers? Breasts that don't come off?"
"We've never discussed it, Meg." I felt strange suddenly in the pit of my stomach.
"Really? You should, love. You're enjoying your clothes and your new ways of feeling I'm sure, but you sure are missing out on the physical fun."
That evening I told Gayle about Meg's outfit and our conversation.
She thought a moment, then spoke gently, carefully. "Would you like to be on hormones, baby? We could arrange it. I want you to have whatever might strengthen your pride in your womanliness."
"Would you want me to start hormones?" I asked. This was terribly dangerous ground. Decorating my body was one thing, but changing it from the inside out, altering its shape -- that took careful thought. For Gayle I would do it. But for myself?
"Do you want to know what I think? And why?"
"Yes, of course."
Her next answer startled me. I'd traced our relationship back to its beginnings, and seen the pattern clearly enough. The little hints after class or after jogging that my feminine potential might exceed my masculine and might be preferable, her pleasure when she heard me attempt a femme voice, her approval of everything I'd done to qualify as a supervisor of women's sales, how I'd thrown everything into learning what women need, finally even myself. I'd begun to suspect she wouldn't be satisfied until I'd changed my sex altogether. That what she wanted from me wasn't a heterosexual relationship but a purely lesbian relationship.
But Gayle was now as wide-eyed as I'd ever seen her. And solemn. Staring straight at me. "My answer is 'no,' Allie. I don't want to see you on hormones."
I must have looked surprised.
She continued, "I know, they'd help you feel a little nicer about yourself, maybe help you feel even more tender about some things, sweeter, and they'd change your body for the better, soften your face maybe, give you slightly wider hips, and of course real boobs." She thrust out her chest. "Maybe even bigger than mine. And I know you love mine!"
We both smiled, then grinned at each other. We'd shared so much!
"But you don't need those things, sweetheart. Most of them. Your body's proportions are much like a woman's already, I noticed that about you almost as soon as we started talking after class, and they're even moreso with the jogging we've been doing, and the dieting. Your disposition couldn't be sweeter. And we both know you already have a pretty face, and you know how to enhance it to best advantage. You were lucky the way your male hormones came in -- they show in only one way, really, and that's hidden except when we're in bed. I love it, that you're living with me as a girl now. I wanted that. I want to live with you this way for a long, long time. But if you were to go on hormones, I doubt we'd last six months!"
I was shocked! "But why?"
"Because we'd neither of us want you to merely nibble hormones. We'd both want you to seize your womanliness with both hands, if that was what you wanted. And if you wanted hormones that's what we'd do. Heavy duty shots, estrogen, progesterone, testosterone suppression drugs. In six months your breasts would be budding, and you'd be shaping into a beautifully curved figure."
That didn't seem too bad, I was thinking. A little more than I wanted, but maybe it was like diving into a cold lake. Not at all something to look forward to, then shocking, but finally exhilerating!
"But at what cost, Allie? No more erections. No more lovemaking with that dear, dear dildo, not for me and not for you. Eventually, castration and reshaping of a useless penis into a vagina. If I wanted to live with a woman, I'd live with one. Gretchen's suggested it now and then. She's tried boy friends, and she likes them well enough, but for her a cock is no big deal. She can't at all see what I see in yours."
She paused. I was amazed to see that there were tears in her eyes. "That's why I don't want you on hormones all out, Allie! I love the way we are! I have plans for us the way we are! That's why we're the way we are right now!"
You can't imagine how I felt to hear her say that. She loves me! She has plans!
She continued then, after a pause, "Of course, if you like you can always touch up some of your better features, become a little more of what you are. Not with massive hormone replacement, but say only birth control pills. No more than I take. Just enough estrogen to enlarge your nipples and your milk ducts some, to round you out just a little, for me. Smoothe your complexion." She smiled. "Maybe enhance your girly feelings just a bit. But not to change you altogether!"
I have never been so moved. I choked when I tried to speak. I didn't know why she'd been encouraging me to take on more and more feminine characteristics, but I'd assumed after a while that she wanted to see me end up fully feminine, a complete woman. "All right then," I said finally. "I confess it, I'd been frightened by the prospect of hormones. I was afraid you'd want me to have them, lots. I'd take them, too, if you'd wanted me to. But I love the way we are too, and I'm not at all eager to go anywhere further if I can't come back. Certainly not without you alongside me every inch of the way. And in me, every inch of you. And me always in you too. I love doing what you do." Gayle tried to smile, her eyes glistening. She reached into her drawer, and took out a plastic compact, the same kind that contained the wheel of her birth control pills, but a bit larger. "Here," she said. "These are like mine, a bit larger because you do need to overcome your male hormones. Just enough to make a difference here and there, maybe. This one is yours. We'll take our pills together each morning from now on. It'll be one more thing we two girls do together."
I opened the compact and looked in. Twenty-one fat purple pills. Four pink ones. Three white ones. A complete menstrual cycle. They looked double the size of hers.
"All right," I said.
"Take one now," she said, her gray eyes watching me mildly.
I did.
For a moment she said nothing. Then as often whenever we'd reached some new plateau of understanding, she growled, "Take off your clothes, lover. Here. Now!"
No questioning that command! I took off my suit jacket. a short Chanel style flared at the hips, and my skirt, then my blouse. And kicked off my shoes, one of the mid-heel pumps I'd bought with Meg when she'd started me on my women's wardrobe. I was wearing a pretty pink slip that day, with a fitted bodice, though the small mounds gathered by my bra scarcely justified it. Gayle watched me attentively as I adjusted the slip neatly on my body -- it had twisted when I pulled off my blouse -- and as I reached for the hem and lifted it over my head. Now I was wearing only my bra and matching hi-leg panties, and today not pantyhose but a garter belt and stockings. My long-legged look.
Suddenly I realized I was putting on a strip show for Gayle, who hadn't herself moved. She was merely sitting there looking appreciative. I paused and cocked an eyebrow at her.
"That's such a charming expression, sweetheart, your eyebrows are so beautifully shaped. I see you aren't wearing your breast forms. Your little breasts are as cute as your ass, sweetie. And now, this moment, I love it that you're a woman from the inside out just like me, those hormones inside you doing wonderful things to your body. But your breasts will never be proportional to the rest of you. And don't tell me you aren't a breast man. I'll never believe it!"
"I wear my breasts at the office, Gayle. I suppose out of a feeling of propriety, to feel solidarity with the women I speak to. I'm not sure why I take them out when I come home. Because they inhibit feeling, and I love feeling my nipples poke out against my bras and blouses? Because they aren't 'me' I suspect. Not the real me. Because as Meg said, they come off."
Gayle was silent, studying me. I stood there looking back at her, waiting for her response. To tease her, I rocked my hips sideways and twisted my torso with its little breasts, and tossed my head back, until I'd achieved a provocative model's posture, a girl's "come fuck me" pose. It felt delicious. Gayle didn't respond.
"No, you're right," she said suddenly. "You do need breasts! Large ones, proportional. For a C cup bra, maybe even a D. Breasts that don't come off. Because even though you're thin as a rail in some ways, your figure isn't quite right. It's cute but not ... generous. Every woman should be able to walk into a room feeling self-assured, proud, her womanliness thrust forward on her chest. You need to feel the same kind of assurance. To feel completely committed. Not to some distant hope or shape some day, maybe, but to what you are right now. So like every woman you know that the weight and heft and tenderness of your breasts are as much a part of you as any other part. More! Isn't that right?"
I was baffled. Where was she going? Suddenly I remembered. Meg had once teased me about getting breasts I could grasp with both hands. That was when I still sounded like a woman but wasn't yet living like one, when I had no idea why a young girl should ever want to wear a bra.
"You mean implants," I said. "Something saline or silicone to reshape my chest into a woman's."
"Yes, exactly," Gayle replied. She grinned and stretched her body backward, like a cat, hands clasped high far back over her head. "Why should you have all the fun nursing on me whenever I'm fucking you! I deserve equal time!"
"If you want me to have breasts, I want them," I said to her. I meant it, earnestly.
"Not good enough, Allie. You need to want them for you!"
"I want them," I repeated. Then I paused to realize what was meant here. My chest reshaped into a woman's. Not just my hairstyle or makeup to declare my gender to the world, but breasts to declare what I am to the world, to me, to everyone, inescapably and insistently, for every moment of my life from that moment on. Quietly I said it again, "That's what I am. A woman. I want them for me!
She heard me, and in an awed, quiet voice said, "Then you shall have them, Allie. Just as soon as we can arrange it. Come to bed now."
As I slipped on my satin nightgown and looked down at its shaped bust draped flat on my flat chest I repeated aloud what Gayle said -- "just as soon as we can arrange it." And as we slipped into bed together and began to hug each other, and began the delicious preliminaries of our lovemaking, I reached out to touch hers, to lift up one of her plump breasts with my fingertips, then with my palm of my hand. And as I settled into a position to take her nipple into my mouth I said, "Gayle."
"Yes lover," she replied. She was stroking my hip, preparing to reach for my penis, already stiff and waiting.
"I want them," I said.
"I want them for you," she replied. "But take these meanwhile." And there was no more talking that night.
A week later my brassieres were abundantly full, overflowing, and my heart felt full too. Two days after our decision Gayle took me to a plastic surgeon, who was impressed by my lack of development in the chest and took special pains when correcting it. He knew how a full figure improves any woman's morale, he told me.
It was an office procedure, under local anesthetic. He made nearly invisible incisions in the curve underneath where each breast would crease once I had them, and through those slits he inserted large shaped implants under my skin, just above the pectoral muscle, immediately behind each nipple. Then he injected collagen into the areola of each of my nipples, so they became pointy, projecting forward as if awaiting small mouths.
"The collagen will last perhaps six months, Allie," he said. "If you become pregnant during that time we'll forego replacing it, but otherwise, come in and we'll re-inject what's been absorbed."
"Thank you, doctor," I replied, while Gayle kept a perfectly straight face. "I don't expect I'll become pregnant, but I'll remember. I feel like a new woman."
"Good," he replied, pleased. "Certainly you'll find that your nipples have a new sensitivity to stimulus. The nerve endings are all concentrated forward now, isolated from other chest sensations, so now they reinforce each other. Women usually report greatly enhanced feeling under these circumstances. Wear a heavy bra for the next few days to give the implants an opportunity to heal into surrounding tissue."
I did. Connie and Meg noticed the next day that my modest breast forms were still in my top desk drawer though my chest was now thrust far forward, additionally swollen by the operation. They saw how I sat with my shoulders far back, posture-perfect, to help my bra straps carry the additional weight now hanging from me. I'd had no idea breasts were this heavy.
Still, they waited a decorous few days before making any comment at all. Then when I could quit with the heavy cotton bras, I came in wearing a translucent silk blouse and underneath it one of our frothy bras, a delciously tempting confection. They gathered around my desk. "Can we see, can we see?" they both exclaimed like excited schoolgirls.
I wordlessly unbuttoned my blouse and unhooked the plump front-hook bra I was wearing, and then like some Valkyrie or Maenad I sat bare-breasted before them. They projected well forward from my thin chest. My nipples pointed forward from them proudly. I smiled at them. I really did feel proud.
"Impressive," Connie finally said. "You were a little undeveloped earlier, dear. But now I'd estimate you can produce at least two quarts a day, maybe three."
"Can I touch?" Meg asked. She reached out her hand and allowed her fingertips to graze the tipe of my nipples.
"Ohhhh!" I cried out. The sensation was excruciatingly joyous! Then I caught hold of myself. "Oh, Meg, I've never felt anything like that!" I explained. "It was the most erotic thing! Electric! Incredible!"
"Careful," Connie said to Meg. "Look at her face. See what you've done? Blow on her nipple and she'll follow you anywhere!"
"We'd better tell her to wrap them up again now," Meg said. "So they can stay fresh for Gayle. That's quite a reaction, from one little tweak! I'll bet Gayle can suck Allie's brains out through those nipples!"
And that night Gayle made up for the months she'd claimed she felt deprived. "Now we're women together!" she said. We lay alongside each other head to breast and suckled each other for hours. I was in ecstasy the whole time. I felt and tasted heaven. So wonderfully a woman! I loved it! I loved it! Gayle had to kiss me to stop me from saying so over and over.
Undies and dresses and blouses and suits that had previously looked fine, neat or fashionable, now looked sensational, smashing when I wore them! I had a stunning figure, lean yet ripely curved! I woke up each morning overjoyed to see myself. I thought I noticed a slight softening of my chin line too, from the birth control pills I was taking. A slight enlargement in the derriere. I hoped so.
As October faded into November we talked our associates through the new winter fashions, and quite a few into and out of affairs with both men and women. I also talked now and then to Gayle's mother. She always wanted to know if Gayle was seeing anyone, asking in several different ways, sometimes mentioning that "Chris" was concerned.
I'd reply that whenever Gayle went out of an evening, it was always with me and perhaps with one or two other girls, never with a man. She seemed gratified to hear that, which surprised me, because mothers I had heard always want their daughters to hook up with a man and get married as soon as possible. When she'd ask if there was some special man I was seeing and I'd tell her 'no' she always sounded disappointed. She'd urge me to attend more Church Socials, to get out into circulation more. But she'd never urge Gayle.
Lovemaking with Gayle was as wonderful as ever. We penetrated each other alternatively as either one of us chose, giggling together and loving it. Many nights we practiced the lesbianism of our earliest happiest days together, Gayle sucking on my cock on or off through the night while I bathed my face in Gale's pussy juices, sucking or licking her clit whenever the whim arose. Or sucking her cock, if she was wearing it.
"You're perfect now, Allie!" she told me one morning. "I love you! Thanksgiving's coming, and it's time you met my folks."
At last! was my first thought. Not as her roommate of course, but as a man she'd been seeing for some time now. I could still improvise the appearances and sounds of a man, I thought. Meeting her parents was a necessary step in the direction I wanted to go with Gayle. Marriage. She'd need to know what they thought of any prospective husband-to-be. My Gayle was traditional, after all. A minister's daughter.
I hadn't proposed marriage to Gayle because I wasn't exactly sure she'd want to be wedded for life to the effeminate man I'd become, or rather, to the woman with a penis, a warm collapsible dildo. But finally I screwed up my courage and told her how pleased I was that she wanted me to meet her parents. Then I came out with it. I wondered what they'd think of Gayle marrying someone so obviously effeminate. This was the first time I'd used the "m" word in any conversation, and I paused, waiting.
Gayle seemed not to notice! She ignored my reference to marriage. "Oh no, Allie," she replied. "I don't think they'd want to meet an effeminate boy friend," she responded. "That would be too awkward. No, I want them to meet the lovely girl I live with! Their new daughter, remember? You'll come home with me this Thanksgiving as my roommate. As my dearest girlfriend."
Now there was a problem! I knew I could do being her girlfriend flawlessly. That's what I was! They'd never suspect I was anything other than that. And I loved pretending I was a girl in new social situations, exploring how it felt -- each time my femininity blossomed in different ways. Gayle and I and sometimes Gretchen or other friends would go out together to shows or movies or rambles in the park or to parties, and sometimes to bars for sociability. I found I loved the freedom a pretty girl enjoys to say whatever she feels, and to be well-attended by hopeful men. I now danced and firted with them, modestly, and it was fun to feel them trying to feel me up! I especially enjoyed feeling free of competitiveness with men, freedom from one-upping tensions, unable to relax.
But once I met Gayle's parents as a girl, how could they think of me ever as anything else? It seemed to foreclose our ever getting married! How could they ever accept a son-in-law they'd already welcomed into their family as a daughter? My heart sank when Gayle told me she wanted me to come as I am.!
Near tears, even though we were already in the apartment's hallway preparing to go out, I turned to Gale and confessed how I felt. All of it. How crushed I felt that she was closing off forever the possibility of our some day getting married with their blessing.
Curiously, Gayle was as unconcerned as if I'd raised only a minor technicality. "Oh, sweetheart," she said, "Don't worry your pretty little head about that at all! I have it all figured out, lover. We will both live together as long as we both shall live and want to, and with their blessing. Don't worry. And with you my girlfriend, the more affectionate we seem to be in their presence, the happier they'll be to see it! You'll see! Words uttered over us aren't essential, are they?"
"No," I had to confess. "But your parents think so! And marriage does have advantages. It provides each of us assurance that at least once, at one time, we wanted this relationship to last forever. And it does sort of commit us to try, out in public, where everybody knows!"
She placed her palm on my cheek. Nowadays I always wore a light coating of makeup to give me that perfected complexion she loved, and of course a shadow of blush just under my cheekbones, which were now rather prominent thanks to our dieting. I knew I looked pretty, and I wanted to look pretty. For her! Her eyes were as wide, as large, as open as on that night we first met and talked.
"My sweet darling," she said slowly, earnestly. "I could never feel more loving of you, more appreciative. We'll live together as long as you'll have me, and with my parents' full approval, and we'll be as intimate as we ever have been or might wish to be. I promise you! Because I do love you. But this is how. This is the only way how. Are you mystified now? Of course. But trust me, Allie. You'll know soon enough, my lovely baby girl!"
I trusted her. I had to trust her. We clutched and fondled, then kissed each other where we stood, pulling each other's bodies tight against each other, our lips sealed tight against each other's, our tongues taking possession of each other's mouths. I opened my eyes for a moment, and saw in our full-length hall mirror two pretty women wearing stylish dresses and fashionably high heels, ready to go out, deeply affectionate, intimate, wrapped in a passionate embrace, their bodies pressed as tightly together as two women with full bosoms could ever squeeze themselves.
We did feel as committed to each other as two people ever could. Seeing was believing.
VII.
"It'll be a long weekend, Allie. Five days, Wednesday through Sunday, so bring clothes for at least that long."
"All right," I said. After much shopping, with Gayle, Meg, even Connie, on my own as I gained confidence, my closet was full and I loved everything in it. The morning ritual of selecting an outfit for the day was so much more fun than just putting on clothes, especially when Gayle praised some daring combination that came off with flair. Thinking about fashion yet comfort for the trip, I took down some designer jeans that had always turned heads when I wore them.
"No pants at all of any kind, sweetheart," Gayle said with a little regret in her voice. "Some of the Church Board members think pants on women are an abomination. So, dresses and skirts only, and of course stockings -- bare legs are for summer. Some cocktail dresses for social occasions. For more casual, try to go as girly as you can. Skirts all above the knee, cute, pert, kittenish, flirty, those are what younger women wear in my town."
"Sexy not allowed?"
"Sexy is very allowed, Allie. I know it sounds peculiar to a big city girl like you, but in a town our size, to want to be attractive to men is a proper girly thing, so sexy is altogether proper. So take your prettiest lingerie and an exotic nightgown or two. That miniskirt I love that shows off those cute round rear cheeks of yours whenever you bend over -- could those hormones be rounding your butt already? And those teasing French lace panties that don't quite cover the curves. I want all the men to admire you. I want to see pricks standing straight up when you pass by, like telephone poles on a highway. That formfit elasticized blouse you can't wear even with a bra, the one that wraps around your breasts and nipples like a glove and thrusts you out forward and leaves nothing to the imagination? That's ideal. You have a gorgeous figure now, sweetheart, with your small waist and large boobs. Flaunt it. You can even look a little whorish. Make the men drool. Make me proud!"
"Gayle, I'll get raped!"
"Not by these men. Not by most of them. You'll see. They're all very proper, all look and no touch. Lead us into temptation is what they pray daily, because then when they're done leering they can remember to resist and feel proud of themselves. That way they think they've earned Brownie Points with the Head Honcho upstairs. They think He thinks that absolute virtue consists in having no fun at all."
"You grew up in a strange place, Gayle. No wonder you behave a little strange sometimes."
Gayle beamed at me. "Takes one to know one, lover," she said. "We found each other."
"You found me," I corrected her.
"Little by little you found yourself, and became what you now want to be," she said. "Don't you? But I made you what you are today, I admit it. I hope you're satisfied."
"Very." I went over to her and took her around her narrow waist, and she took me around mine, and we pressed our crotches against each other. That hallway mirror image of us came back to mind. Two women in love. I gave her a light kiss on the lips, which she returned.
Then I broke off. "Nothing decent to wear at all?"
"Decent is allowed. It's boring for the men, but some women insist. Older women wear proper. Us city girls are something they do accept now finally, but they still need to swallow hard to get used to us, women who wear power suits and severely tailored blouses and sit in offices telling men on the phone to cut the crap and deliver the goods. And sit at home telling their husbands the same thing. But most girls who remain there grow up to run households and be attractive to men and have an affair or two, and meanwhile remain girls until they're grandmas. And most boys grow up to run businesses and head families and remain boys all their lives because they don't know how else to be. Anyone with any pizzazz leaves home. A few come back afterward, you'll meet one or two. You'll see."
We rented a car for the four hour drive to the comfortably prosperous town where Gayle's family lived. As we left Gayle's apartment she looked around slowly and regretfully, as if committing each wall-hanging and article of furniture to memory.
"It's only for five days," I told her, trying to console her for some unnamable loss she seemed to be anticipating. She nodded, then turned toward me and looked me over the same way. I'd done my hair especially carefully that morning, thinking ironically that as Gayle's parents' potential son-in-law I wanted to look especially beautiful, to make a good impression on them. My hairdo formed a pretty halo around my delicately made-up face. I'd gone especially heavy on the eye make-up. Dana's secret recipe, sauce for the feminine mystique.
"You look lovely, Allie," she said.
"Thank you," I replied. She seemed in a strange mood indeed!
"Allie,...." she began, as if a crack had opened in some dam, and the first trickle of water had appeared of what would shortly be a deluge while the whole dam crumbled. Then she took a deep breath, and the crack disappeared. But she still felt under pressure, I could tell.
"Allie, you do trust me, don't you?"
"You know I do," I said, as intensely and devotedly as I could feel she needed to hear it. "Absolutely!"
"Absolutely, no matter what?"
"Absolutely!" I told her.
"Because Allie, this is not going to be easy on you, this trip. It may seem a little boring, much of it, but believe me, Allie, you will not be bored. Shocked, bewildered, betrayed, gratified, but not bored. This is going to be one of the most difficult experiences of your life, at least since you lost your parents. But there's no other way. You have to go through it to arrive where I need you. It's just...it's just...."
"What?" I said as gently and quietly as I could. She seemed agonized, my poor darling.
"Just remember," she said, beginning to recover herself from whatever it was. "Just remember that I love you, and you love me, and you'll see when we emerge that we'll be living together happily ever after, making a life for ourselves exactly as you've hoped. Not exactly the way you've imagined it, that's all. Different. In some ways better." She smiled to herself. "But you can't know that yet. You can't even imagine it."
Now I was absolutely baffled!
She had now concluded this strange speech. "I've made all the arrangements. I know I'm right! But you'll just have to trust me. You do, don't you?"
"I do," I said solemnly.
"Then darling, I now pronounce us woman and wife. You wanted a marriage, didn't you? Well, there it is. Now let's get in the car."
Gayle took the wheel. As we drove off I saw Gayle's wistful mood evaporate, leaving behind the capable woman I'd first seen in that personnel class we took together months back, and the lover I'd come to know since then.
"It's like this, Allie. We won't see a lot of each other this weekend. You'll be staying at the local Inn, and I'll be staying at my folks' place, in fact I'll be sleeping in the same room I slept in as a girl. You know, the same banners and teddy bears and posters of cute guy rock stars I'd put up before I knew what I really wanted. They've kept it that way as a shrine to me. I'll always be their little girl. You know how it is."
She glanced at me. "No, poor Allie, you don't know. You never were a teenage girl yourself, were you? Well, cheer up. Now you can be just that. I want you to enjoy being a teenage girl. More than that!" She glanced at me again, and licked her lips. "I've arranged it. When we're done you'll be just like me, a woman with a past!" Now she looked at me yet again and grinned mischievously. "More mystery! But you'll love it I suspect. I'm sure you won't be bored."
More mystery indeed! But at least it sounded like fun.
Then she added, "We'll see each other probably only on three occasions this weekend once I drop you off at the Inn. Always with lots of others crowding around. I'll be entirely occupied by family and things. There'll be only the Thanksgiving dinner, which will be a mob scene, and then Friday night the ladies are planning something, and Sunday in Church will be another kind of mob scene."
I made a disappointed noise. She glanced at me again, still gripping the wheel firmly. "Sweet Allie, don't you worry. You'll be busy every moment, same as me. You won't have much free time to miss me, I promise you that!"
She nodded to herself, then looked at me again with a superbly commanding expression . "I made you what you are today, Allie, and I know you're satisfied. But don't think I'm done! We're getting close. Fix your lipstick." Then her eyes went back onto the road ahead.
As we approached the outskirts of town Gayle gave me a quick briefing on the people I'd meet. Her father was Minister of All Souls Church, attended by everyone who mattered in the community, the strait-laced and righteous and the very wealthy, who were the honorary righteous. Most of the town's civic leaders belonged. The Church Treasurer was also the President of the Fiscal Security Bank, and yjr Church's Board Chairman Ben was the head of Mercantile Enterprises, the town's largest employer, and also Gayle's parents' closest friend. We drove past "ME" signs on warehouses and packaging plants and office buildings it seemed forever before crossing a railroad track and then, finally, entering a more residential neighborhood.
"The head of ME as they call it is Ben, the founder. He has more money than anyone. He could buy the town but doesn't need to, because everyone already feels bought, they do what he wants. You'll meet him, he's a lady's man -- watch out for him. His son and heir's Chris, you'll see him at our family Thanksgiving dinner and afterward too. Our parents expect certain things from us, but neither of us feels committed -- we have certain understandings, Chris and I. Watch out for him too. He makes plays for girls whenever others can see him do it. It can be embarrassing."
"This is the 'Chris' who's been looking forward to 'the big event'?"
"He's the one. Anyhow, to be anyone in my town you have to belong to my father's church. That means you must practice unassailable virtue as attested by my father, who never sees anything but virtue anywhere anyhow. Which is why I had to leave home to find out what I really wanted and how to get it." She smiled, pleased, and glanced at me again. "Which is how come I found you. Here we are!"
She pulled in at the Inn's front entrance and waited. I got out, and a boy in uniform came to put my luggage on a wheeled cart. Gayle waited, feeling for a way to say something.
I leaned in to kiss her goodbye for now, and she pulled back slightly, amused. "Two women kissing? They'd talk about it for weeks." Then she gave me an intense look, loving but pitying. "You're a lovely girl now, Allie, remember that. Say it."
Odd. But why not say it? "I'm a lovely girl."
"No matter what! And remember, you told me that you trusted me. Say that again!"
"I trust you, Gayle!"
"Good. You do that! Bye bye, baby! Love you" And she drove off.
Bye bye, I called out to her in my mind, wistfully.
"Bye bye to lots of things, baby!" came a voice behind me. "Your innocence for openers!"
I turned as rapidly as my high heels allowed. "Gretchen! You're here too?"
Gretchen was there all right, dressed fashionably as always, with a provocative twist to her body as always. "I wouldn't miss it, Allie honey! And I'm necessary, moreover. Gayle didn't tell you? I'm your guide to this weekend's various events. I've got the car, and I know what's going on where and you haven't got a clue. have you? That didn't occur to you? I guess not. Gayle's made all the arrangements ever since you met her, so you haven't had to think for yourself or take any initiatives, have you? You just do whatever Gale says, don't you? Well, she asked me to look after you, so you just do whatever I say. You have quite a time coming."
I didn't want to answer, so I didn't.
She looked me over, her expression ironically amused as always whenever she saw me. "You look absolutely adorable, Allie. You're the prettiest boy here. I'm sure you're the only man in this town who at this moment is standing on a sidewalk wearing lipstick and high heels and a short, flirty skirt, showing his cleavage and waiting for the action. The other local weekend crossdressers are still in their factories and offices I'd guess. Gayle told you to flaunt those new boobs of yours so you'd look authentic? Like a woman, not a man?"
"I am a woman, Gretchen." But suddenly I felt naked, exposed. The way Gretchen talked, brassy, skeptical, in your face always, I became vaguely aware that my womanhood, my self-image, was more fragile than I'd thought it. It seemed to depend on what other people thought me. With Gayle or Meg or Connie I had no doubt that I was one of them. With Gretchen I was starting to feel like an imposter. A near-miss.
"Not yet you aren't a woman, sweetie. Not to me! You're what Gayle wants, a sweet sissy boy who's been drifting and dreaming his way into thinking he's a sweet girl and is just about persuaded. But don't worry, this weekend we'll make a real woman of you. Let's get you checked in."
It was rather a nice place, as I looked around the lobby. Oak and marble, well appointed, comfortably affluent without seeming opulent. I said so to Gretchen, wondering if my room would look that way too. For once she was silent. We both followed the bell-hop, and when he opened the door I saw there were someone's dresses draped on a chair, and a vanity case in the bathroom. I looked around puzzled as the attendant put my bags onto a rack for me, then left.
"It's 'our' room, sweetie, not just yours. We share. This is Thanksgiving weekend, they're full up."
"There's only the one bed," I said. Except for that girl I'd dated once who left me for a hunk, Gayle was the only girl I had ever shared a bed with. And intimacy with Gayle was a private matter between us alone, unique, and precious to me for that reason. I cherished it. I was true to her. I wasn't too happy about this. "I'm faithful to Gayle" I said determinedly, staring at the bed.
Now Gretchen really was amused. "What're you worried about, Allie? Two women snuggling together? Don't worry, we won't snuggle. And this bed's just right for a man who likes to wear dresses, I see. Queen-sized."
Then impatiently, "Unpack and let's go find something to drink -- I hear they have a nice cocktail lounge, and the restaurant's pretty good too. There'll be no alcohol at Gayle's house. Maybe we should buy a flask to carry around?"
I'm really not sure how what happened next happened. We were seated in the "Pow-wow Room." Gretchen ordered Maragaritas for both of us, double sized -- a "ladies' drink" she called it -- and while we sipped them and ordered another round she quizzed me about my sex life.
"I'm curious," she told me. "You didn't originally want to be a girl, did you? It all happened because Gayle wanted you to be a girl?"
"Pretty much. Because Gayle wanted it for me. But at every step she made sure it was what I wanted too."
"I'll bet she did. You'll pardon me Allie, but you do sound naive. How well do you know girls? Did you sleep around much when you were still pretending you were a man? Before Gayle made you into her girlfriend?"
This was going to be a long weekend, I could see. "No," I said. "There was only one before Gayle, really. And she left me for another guy. 'A really buff guy' she called him. I'm not."
"Tell me about it. A buff guy's nailpolish doesn't usually match his lipstick the way yours does, does it? Well, did you try sleeping with really buff guys yourself after she left you, to see what the appeal might be? Or did you wait until you owned a few pretty party dresses, and then start dating them?"
"I've never dated men! I'm not gay, Gretchen!"
"But you're supposed to be a woman, Allie. Don't women manage to sleep with men now and then without being gay?"
I had no answer to that. Gretchen was trying to confuse me. I was getting confused.
"Didn't I hear that you once felt attracted to a man in a coffee shop, someone you picked up while you were being true to Gayle?
How had she heard of that!? "I turned him down," I said, before I realized I'd confirmed the rumor for her.
"You turned that one down and then regretted it?" Gretchen said. "And then never went trolling for another?" She sounded incredulous.
I was silent.
"I've seen you dance and flirt with guys when we're out together."
"It's what's expected!"
"But fun, too?"
I was silent.
"So do you know what you are really? A little boy with a crush on a girl who'll do anything to please her. A natural submissive. She gets you to act out until you can convince yourself you're a genuine wannabe woman, maybe. Maybe even a gay man still in the closet, hiding out even from himself? You know, maybe I'm wrong about you, Allie. Maybe you're sincere after all. Sincerely confused! Let's have one more of these things and then find the restaurant."
She ordered a third double Margarita for each of us. For both of us. I was starting to come unfocussed. I shook my head a few times to clear it. It didn't clear. I told Gretchen.
"Too much stress, I'd say. Too much fear. You're a guy who'll soon be meeting Gayle's parents and lots of other strangers while wearing panties and a bra and all the fittings out in the open, with his hair done up to look pretty. A guy because all you've ever really done that real women do is shop and get your hair done. And that's not being a woman."
"Thass not so," I said. "Talk to lotsa women 'n girls all a time. Like a girl."
Gretchen didn't relent. "But this time you're in person, not just over the phone, not just voice to voice. You may think you're expressing your true self through your make-up and clothes and voice and all, but it's all stage costume. What you're really doing is hiding! Sure you're nervous. Here, take one of these."
She handed me a teeny white pill. "While you're here you'll need some of these. I'll decide when. It's kind of like Prozac, but stronger. You won't feel less confused but you'll worry a lot less. Go with the flow. That's what we want." She watched closely while I swallowed it. "There. Add alcohol to that pill and stir and you'll find you're a little suggestible too, inclined to say 'Sure, why not,' whenever anyone wants you to do anything. But that's the point, isn't it?"
What point? I nodded. And I don't remember too clearly all of what happened after that.
She led me into a restaurant and we had dinner with wine and I couldn't slice my meat because my knife and fork kept getting mixed up in the wrong hands. Gretchen came around to my side of the table and said never mind Allie you're a dear anyhow, just suck on them. So I did, lying there on my back on the bed with my breasts exposed to her hands and they were feeling so wonderful, so very wonderful, her hands, with my hands tied to the bedposts and her breast in my mouth. Then mine in hers, first one then the other, and my nipples so luxuriously responsive and erotic that my whole body went into a kind of orgasmic spasm. I was a single tense clenched bundle of glory until she stopped fondling them. I opened my eyes to see her perched over my crotch.
When she saw I was finally focussed she said deliberately, "You love Gayle, don't you Allie."
"Mmmmmmm!" I told her. She was naked. That wasn't right. But I was too.
"And you're always faithful to Gayle, aren't you. No sex with anyone else!"
"Always!" And tears came to my eyes. Gayle was everything to me! I was hers.
"Of course, always!" she said smugly, and she fitted my erect pole into the opening of her pussy and slowly and carefully slid herself down onto it. I sighed. It was warm and wet and slick, like coming home to Gayle, only to Gretchen.. When she got all the way down, she wriggled and touched my nipples, and again involuntarily my hips rose up to push against her crotch, my whole body stiff and tense and extended into ecstasy. Then when she lifted herself up I saw my cock emerge glistening. Then she came down again. Then up. I was her personal dildo.
It felt good. I wanted to help her, so I began to move with her. Faster, all the while she watched me steadily to time my orgasm with hers, faster and faster until I screamed out "Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!" and she closed her eyes satisfied as I spurted and spurted into her.
"Oh, God!" A wall of remorse suddenly fell on me! A whole building! What have I done? How could I do this?
Gretchen smiled satisfied and said, "There we are, Allie. Now you're no longer a virgin in your own mind! Your first night away from Gayle and you fuck her best friend! Welcome to Infidelity City."
Oh, God! "I didn't want to. I didn't want to," I said despairing, over and over.
"Tell me about it. I'll put my pussy on your mouth. Tell my pussy all about it. Persuade my pussy that you didn't want to. See if it listens."
She wriggled forward until her crotch was directly over my mouth, then lowered herself and clamped her pussy lips onto my lips. She was slick with the flavor of my cum, familiar to me from Gayle's usually telling me to lick myself back into me to rejuvenate myself. But she was slick with the flavor of her own juices too, deep and musky, not Gayle's. She was trying to annoint me with them, to make me hers. I closed my mouth tight. That amused her. She looked down at my face, still twisted in agony over my betrayal of Gayle, and she pinched my nose. A moment later I opened my mouth to gasp air. She sat down firmly and squeezed her thighs on my head, and I was clamped to her, and then she squeezed something inside her and a large glob of semen and pussy juice passed from inside her vagina directly into my mouth. She continued to pinch my nose, and I was choking. I swallowed it.
"There now. Now eat the rest of your dinner, Allie sweetheart, all of it. Lick it all up. Persuade me not to tell Gayle."
To my shame, I tried to lick up all the evidence. To persuade Gretchen not to tell. I spend the next half hour slurping her juices and mine out of her. She enjoyed it and she enjoyed her triumph over me, both, in orgasms she celebrated each time by urging me to suck and lick even more dedicatedly! I felt defeated. By my own desire to suck on her. By my own body's betrayal of me. By my own faith in the purity of my feelings for Gayle, too. As we finally separated to sleep, by mutual consent we turned our backs on each other, and Gretchen uttered a judgement.
"Allie, as a man, you're all right. I can see why Gayle wanted to harness this loyalty of yours, make it jump through hoops and sit up and beg. But as Gayle's new woman? As a man-turned-woman who wants to marry her? What do you think you are now? Could she possibly want to marry you? An available slut? Any woman's cuntsucker? Answer me! Go back to being a man!"
My eyes were shut, tight shut to hold back tears. "I shouldn't have done it. I don't deserve her!" I began to wail. "I'm ...!"
"No, that's true," Gretchen interrupted. "You don't deserve her! And she was never going to marry you. Don't think we're done, yet, sissie-boy. There are lots of things you need to know and she needs to know you know! Here, take another of these, it'll help you sleep." And she handed me another pill. Demoralized, I swallowed it. And slept.
VIII.
The next morning I still felt addled, as if I hadn't slept much at all. All that alcohol and guilt. Guilt for what? And then I remembered. I started to cry. And once I began crying I couldn't stop.
Gretchen heard my strange racked whining, and I suppose it woke her up. When I lifted my head for a moment I saw her propped on one elbow and staring at me, her bed partner, a supposed woman who now lay next to her with her shaking and sobbing. I lifted my face to stare tearfully at the ceiling, as if beseeching help, and then flung myself down again. I couldn't stop, This was not me! But it was me! One long anguished wail!
"It's time to get up, Allie," Gretchen said. Her voice was gentle, subdued, surprisingly compassionate. Did she sympathize with me? "There's more for you today!"
"Why? Why? Why? Why?" I cried out in terrible grief, beating my pillow with my fist with each as if punishing myself or punishing Gretchen for doing this awful, this terrible thing to me.
"Because!" was all Gretchen would say. Considering what she had just done, done to me, her voice sounded sorrowful. That seemed to me odd. I looked at her.
She saw and her eyes glazed into impassivity. Then, "What's your problem, sissy boy? You got a good fuck, and you gave as good as you got! Get up and pull yourself together! The big Thanksgiving Dinner is gathering at Gayle's parents house. We've got a way to go, so take your medicine like a man and let's get started!"
When I went into the bathroom I saw she meant it literally, another little white pill lay alongside my birth control compact and make-up kit. I took it and soon felt better. Whatever had happened, whatever would happen, it wasn't my fault and it didn't matter. I was smiling vaguely when I returned to lay out my dress and other things, the black silk two-piece Gayle and I had decided was exactly right for the Minister's table. Gretchen was wearing dark purple, and I told her the color suited her. She kissed me on the cheek and smiled too.
Gayle's family lived in a large half-timber parish house across the street from the Church, and cars had already assembled when we arrived -- their driveway was crammed, and Gretchen took the last available space on the street.
A cheerful and garrulous woman met us at the door. "Well, Gretchen, it's been a while, you've been such a stranger, but my dear, you're always very welcome, and aren't you looking just lovely. And Allie, you must be Allie! How wonderful to see you at last! I'm Gayle's mother, of course you've guessed that. Let me introduce you right away to everybody, so you can feel at home! All members of our family, like you!" She smiled for both of us at her little joke. I smiled back. There were dozens of people there. I felt a little dazed. It was just as well.
She led us both into their living room, a great wood-paneled reception hall used by different bible-study or church social groups, she said, fit for serving coffee and cake to hundreds. Comfortable chairs and divans were arranged in different conversational groups. At one end was a wall of books, and far away at the other a grand piano, taking up no more space than it would in a hotel lobby.
A plump, bald man in a clerical collar was leaning forward in his chair and holding forth to a fascinated group of eight or ten people gathered around him, also leaning forward to hear him better. He paused in mid gesture as we approached, and with bird-like attentiveness he waited for his wife to speak. "Dear," she said, "You remember Gretchen. And this is Allie, Gayle's friend. They live together. We talk by phone. They've been looking after each other." She was cueing a faulty memory, I realized.
I uttered the appropriate words, and Gayle's father said "My dear, how good of you. Any friend of Gayle's. You're even prettier than your voice. A genuine pleasure!" And he warmly shook my hand and peered intently at my bosom. "Genuine!" he repeated as if reaching a judgement.
I couldn't correct him about my voice -- we'd never spoken on the phone -- nor about my breasts. So I barely uttered an audible "Thank you," and he returned to his spellbinding anecdote, something about how St. Paul had agreed, the Fiscal Security Bank's 22% Visa interest was rent people pay for money they borrow, not usury. I stood listening politely while he took up gays in the military, willful sinners who undermine and sap our national moral fiber. Then we moved on.
Another short man held sway in the next group, sitting regally as if on a throne with plump thighs wide apart, surrounded by three older women in thin pastel chiffon flounce dresses. Before Gayle's mother could say anything he looked at me and his eyes narrowed. "Yes, Allie, of course. Gayle's Allie," he said. She sings your praises, says you're quick with telephones or computers, a quick learner, good people skills, always ready to try something new. Isn't that so?"
I nodded.
"I'm Ben. Of 'Mercantile Enterprises,' you know, the plant here? I hear you know marketing and customer service and don't mind relocating. Well, I need good people with good ideas who can expand with the business. Call me and we'll talk!"
He whipped out a card and handed it to me. Relocate? Me? I'd done that already, not long ago. He had the rest right, though. I took his card and mindlessly tucked it into my clutch purse.
"Gretchen, still drawing pictures?" he asked, uninterested in a reply. Then he turned his attention back to his three ladies, all three looking wide eyed at him as women do when they are playing little girl to attract a man.
We rounded the piano and there was Gayle! I have never been so happy to see anyone! She was so beautiful! But she glanced at me as if scarcely noticing! This time she was the one deeply absorbed in talk. A young man sat half-listening across from her, and at his side a girl who was paying no attention at all, her eyes wandering the room and passing listlessly over the three of us. Gayle finally looked at me, and I stepped forward to give her a peck on the cheek!
Then I was dumbfounded! She turned away before I could reach her, and continued to talk animatedly to the couple before her! My God! She knew! About me and Debbie! She was punishing me! I felt wrenched by guilt. Yet oddly unconcerned at the same time, bemused, indifferent. Gretchen's pills, I didn't doubt it. It seemed only fitting that she glanced at me as if I were part of the furniture, no more. I mean, I was her beloved, and she meant to welcome me to the cradle of her girlhood, a home rich with memories. But I'd ruined the purity of our dedication to each other! There was now a poignancy in the pleasure I took in the way her hair fell over one eye.
"Allie, Gretchen, glad you could make it," she said when she saw that we were still there. Then she resumed her conversation. We were dismissed.
"Gayle, if I may for just for a moment," her mother said. Gayle stopped for a moment and waited, impatient. "Allie, you don't know Sue, I think, and you haven't met Chris either yet. They're the oldest of our family friends, and I must say, I'm as delighted as they are that it's finally happening. After years and years of expectations, a wedding! This very Sunday!"
"How nice," I said to Chris. "Congratulations!" Chris was one of those beefy types I'd gotten to know and dislike in college, a frat boy, self-confident with nothing to justify it. He looked me over with more interest than was appropriate for a nearly married man. "Best wishes," I said to Sue, who didn't seem to hear.
"Yeah," he said. "There's lots to do I guess. Sue'll fill you in. She wants you in the procession, there's a shortage of girls or something. Some special thing, she needs to pick some out-of-towner who won't make the other girls jealous they weren't picked. You're it. Also you're supposed to go to their hen party tomorrow and scream with the rest of them. My bachelor party too, if you're up for it!" He leered.
I glanced at Gayle. She was waiting for him to finish, maybe for us to go away and stop interrupting her. But I thought I saw her watching me with her peripheral vision. Maybe it was my uneasiness that gave that impression.
"I'll be happy to do whatever's wanted," I said. "Just tell Gretchen when and where and she'll get me there."
Sue spoke up almost tonelessly, rapid-fire. "Good, I'm glad, you'll need to have your gown fitted tomorrow afternoon, we'll meet here for lunch to go there, and then there's the girls' get-together at Kirstie's at nine tomorrow evening."
"We'll be there," Gretchen replied. I smiled vaguely.
My peculiar detached mood lasted the rest of the day. The next room was as large, with a massive dark oak dining room table, and I saw the turkey was already carved in several huge platters on the sideboard. It turned out this hospitality was catered, institutional, not the family reunion around a family dinner I'd anticipated. It was more like eating in a restaurant. No drinking, not even wine. I was seated well away from Gayle, who made conversation with the half dozen people in her vicinity, Chris and Sue sat next to her and Chris's father and her mother were opposite. The family up there, the guests down here. Gayle seemed animated enough, but she didn't glance at me even once. I smiled at whoever said anything to me. Gretchen, several seats away, looked on amused.
Driving back to the Inn that evening I told her how impersonal it had all seemed. How Gayle didn't seem to recognize me.
"Should she, Allie? Are you the same person she dropped off here yesterday? The boy she made into a girl, her personal fucktoy? What'll you do with those boobs now that it looks like she's quit with you? Keep them anyhow? I bet -- you wouldn't want to give up that pleasure you feel whenever someone touches them, now, would you? That means you'll have to keep wearing bras too so they won't sag. That means you'll have to keep wearing blouses and dresses and make-up and getting your hair done, because your chest isn't a man's any more. That means now you're a man who'll live like a girl for the rest of your life, doesn't it? A queer girl, a lesbian. Or maybe a queer guy, a femme gay who lives like a girl, if you decide you'd like to feel hot meat sliding into you. Either way, Allie, from now on you're queer. Get used to it."
"What's eating you, Gretchen?" I asked. "Gayle asked me to trust her. I trust her. I don't know why she's behaving like this!"
Gretchen was silent a moment. Then, "I told her about us, Allie!"
"What?!" My face suddenly flamed! Shocked! My God! Not that I wanted any deception between us, I'd have had to tell her, but only when we got back and into each other's arms again. "She knows? What did she say?"
"She said that I'm welcome to you. I can have you. She said I should feel free to hand you around."
My heart sank. "She said that? Bitterly?" If she felt bitter, maybe I can woo her back, I was thinking. It would mean she cares! I've hurt her, but all sorts of penitential acts might bring her back. What might I do for her I haven't already done?
"No, she scarcely heard me. I don't think she cared, especially. Why should she? She's putting all sorts of things behind her now."
Dazed, we headed for our room. "Here," Gretchen said. "Take this pill and let's fuck! That much you're good for. Being as how you're still a man, even though Gayle turned you into a fetishist. You're so suggestible. You can't imagine what I want to do with you tonight!"
I guess I did take the pill. And I guess we did fuck. Because I remembered nothing the next morning, but when I woke up I was naked, and my face and hair and whole body was covered, sticky and stiff with cum and pussy juice. I asked Gretchen what in the world we'd done.
"What do you think? You bad thing you! Touch one of your nipples and you're flat on your back begging, wriggling your hips as if a long cock was already deep inside and working in and out of you. Should I tell you how insatiable you get? Should I tell you I hired a Rent-a-Stud and you wore him out? Should I tell you I did no such thing? Would it matter? Clean up and put on a pretty slip. You have a fitting for your gown today, remember."
I did. No pill, and gradually I became more and more despondent. Life with Gayle as I knew it was ending. She'd distanced herself from me. I deserved it, I was having sex with her best friend. Or rather, her best friend was having sex with me. But she'd turned indifferent before she could possibly have known that! And she'd arranged earlier for Gretchen to look after me, she must have known! Gretchen was her trusted friend? What was happening? Was this a kissoff? Was this Gayle's kink? Make me into a girl and make me like it, let her girlfriend have a taste, then goodbye, have a good life, enjoy yourself? I sat staring through a window at the bleak late-fall landscape until Gretchen told me it was time for our ladies' luncheon, then for the bridal party to go for its final fittings. That cheered me some. I wondered what kind of bridesmaid I might make?
Lunch was really very nice. Gayle wasn't there, I suppose she was with her family. The other girls asked me what I did, and I told them, and they were fascinated! Some wanted to know more about our product lines, was it true that our Goddess panties were so sexy they could bring a man to his knees, and was our Everstay line as cock-suck proof as they claimed in the ads? "Because I do love cock," this crinkle-haired blonde explained to me. "But I also like to look proper when I get home and my husband asks where I've been."
Some of the girls confessed that in high school they'd belonged to a Sluts Club in their Junior year, competing to see who could get laid by more boys in one set month, then to a DomTrixters Club in their Senior year, competing to see who could humiliate more boys more completely on a single day. Gayle came in second in her Junior year, I learned, a respectable 39 guys had been in her long enough to cum. "But the winner was really serious," I was told. "Julie, her name was. She just laid down on the first of the month and didn't stand up again till midnight on the thirty-first, just as the 127th guy pulled out of her. Then she turned pro, and never did get off her back. It's nice to find out what you want to do with your life while you're still young. She runs her own service now, hires lots of high school girls and housewives part-time. Just like you."
"Who won in your Senior year?" I asked.
"The humiliation contest? Oh, Gayle," a dark girl with bobbed hair replied solemnly. "Easily! At half-time our last football game, the whole school was cheering, and these four foxy cheerleaders, the cutest you've ever seen, they all suddenly danced out on the field in the skimpiest yellow spangled skirts you've ever seen, with the most gorgeous figures, and they pranced around together making the most seductive girly moves you've ever seen in perfect coordination, they must've practiced them together for weeks! The same curly blonde wigs and bright red, pouty lips, they looked gorgeous! Then they finished by mooning everybody with the most luscious rear ends you've ever seen, skirts held high up, they'd been wearing no panties at all the whole time. And before the Principal could get down on the field to stop it they turned around and flipped up the fronts of their skirts, and lo and behold, they were guys! The whole time! Everybody just roared! And then they danced off the field all together sideways, holding hands crosswise, their penises bobbing up and down."
All the girls giggled at the memory. The dark-haired girl went on. "Of course they were expelled immediately. Which was unfair, because none of them knew where they were or what they'd done. All they remembered was going to an audition for a school production of 'A Chorus Line' a month earlier, and Gayle telling them they'd do just fine. It seems Gayle had hired some hypnosis expert to help them learn their dance steps, a graduate student psych major, a girl with a sense of humor. They learned all right."
"Whatever happened to them afterward?" I asked. It worried me.
"Oh, they're fine," she said. "One's a secretary over at ME I think, and one's managing a Starbuck's downtown. They're both still very pretty, very popular. One was grabbed by his parents and brainwashed and sent out of town, I hear he's finally a guy again. Married a classmate, one of Julie's best girls as a matter of fact. They say he's devoted to her, takes care of the house whenever she's out busy with clients, that he does everything she asks the instant she asks. I'm not sure -- whenever we invite them over she tells us her husband's all tied up. And then there's Lacey, she was the team quarterback until that moment. She never did get to play in the second half of the game, of course. But she got her high-school equivalency anyhow and went on to college and I hear she was on the Mid-Central Girl's Soccer Team that won the State championship. She's finished law school by now I suppose. Gayle never mentioned any of this to you?"
"No," I said. "I suppose she'd put it all behind her by the time I met her."
Gretchen had been listening, watching my face and the expressions that had played across it. "Well, it's time to move on into the future," she said. "Allie, you'll come with me? Or with one of the other girls? I can take two more in my car!"
The Wedding Gown Boutique had a luxurious pink and pale yellow reception area and then a series of private fitting rooms, each equipped with a smooth, suave, impeccably groomed woman to help with the fittings. A little the way I'd always imagined brothels were fitted out. "Bridesmaids this way" the Madame suddenly announced. Gayle hadn't yet arrived, but the other bridesmaids were all there chattering with each other. When I attempted to go with them she stopped me. "Oh, no," she said. "You're Allie, aren't you? You aren't a bridesmaid. You're the Maid of Honor! We've had your gown made up specially. This way."
I waited seated on a slipper chair until a one of those enamelled women entered bearing high on a hanger an exquisite pale blue satin gown with a full length full skirt swooping up to a tight waist and a fitted bodice with a princess neckline, each breast cup's edge curved around visible cleavage. The sleeves were slightly puffed at the shoulder and then fitted to snug tight on the forearms. Grand, regal, and daring, all at once. It was too gorgeous!
"That's marvellous!" I said, staring at it in awe, breathless. "The loveliest gown I've ever seen!"
"Isn't it?" the woman said, smiling, with a glance up at it. "It's you I'm sure, very feminine yet self-assured. I'm told you advise many other women how to negotiate difficult and intimate places in their lives. This is for such a woman. We need to see about the hipline, though. Your measurements as we were given them seem a bit narrow for your waistline and bust."
She measured. "Yes, that's what you are. Would you like to try this dress on now?
I nodded. She held it high up, and I raised my arms. It slithered over my head and settled on my shoulders, and she hooked it upin back. The waistline hugged me, and the fabric snugged against my hips. I twisted my hips left and then right. The full, billowing skirt swung free and then gracefully curving, reversed direction.
"This is the most comfortable dress I've ever worn," I whispered, awed. "And yet so carefully tailored! So intricate!" I looked in the mirror, and swirled the skirt again. I've never felt so feminine! So sexy!
"Comfortable because carefully tailored, dear," said the woman, pleased. "The bride specified that this dress should be made like hers, so the girl who wore it could imagine herself also a bride on her wedding day. You'll have a bouquet to carry in the procession, pale blue to reflect the dress, pale pink to match the bridesmaids' dresses, and white to harmonize with the bride herself. You look lovely, my dear. And of course you'll continue to look lovely in this gown for years to come. It's a classic style, suitable for all sorts of grand balls. And after the ceremony this Sunday, it's yours."
"Oh?" I hesitated. "Please thank Sue for me. It's a rare privilege, invited to be her Maid of...."
But the woman was already gone, carrying the dress away for wrapping. I now owned a stunning gown. My heart sang. I didn't understand why I should feel so delighted, but I did. When I emerged from the dressing room, I saw that Gretchen had returned to the reception area and was waiting for me.
"Are you also a Maid of Honor?" I asked her?
"No," said Gretchen. "It's a long time since I was a maid. You're the maiden in this scenario, as you are in real life. You won't be truly a woman until some man has barrelled down deep inside you and left his spermy calling card there. Not until you've wrapped your legs and arms around him so tightly you hope he can never escape. But he does escape. And then maybe he returns. That's when you'll feel the way women feel. How Gayle feels. That's why she's doing this for you!"
"Doing what, Gretchen? It's Sue who asked me to fill in as her Maid of Honor."
"Never mind," Gretchen said. "Here's your gown coming now, wrapped and ready for Sunday. Let's go shopping for matching shoes and then go home. I have a single pearl strand I can lend you, and with a pearl button in each ear you'll be ravishing. We'll have your hair done again Sunday morning just before the ceremony. But that's not till Sunday. You aren't ready for Sunday just yet. You have a way to go."
The Hen Party that Friday night at Kirstie's wasn't at all what I'd expected, a sedate girls' night out and gossip before the big event. Gretchen told me to dress whorish, the way unmarried girls in the town did to attract men, so I did. Heavy eye makeup of course, and a tight lycra and satin blouse that lifted and aimed my breasts like a pair of automobile headlights.
"Use your indelible lipstick, Allie," Gretchen advised. "There's a good chance those lips of yours'll be wrapped around some man's tube before the night's out, isn't there, when you're dressed like that. You'll want the color to last at least as long as he does."
"Gretchen, I don't appreciate your mockery. I don't do men," I said.
She didn't reply. I'm not sure she heard.
Kirstie's turned out to be a Gender Club, some nights Lesbian and some Gay, any of them Transgender, with suitable entertainment for each. Tonight was an All-Girl's Hetero Night. The Stallions, a five man dance and strip group, was booked to perform, and the tables closest around the small stage were all reserved for women of the the bridal party. There was Sue, and some of the other women I recognized from lunch. They smiled and waved at me as we came in. I was one of them. And there was Gayle. This time she came over when she saw me.
"Doing OK?"
"Yes, thanks," I replied. But I felt uneasy, addled. Guilty that I'd been unfaithful to her and she knew it, but also a little resentful that she'd pretended not to know me on Thanksgiving Day. I started to say something, but choked it off.
"I hear," she replied with a broad smile. "Sweetheart, you have a lot to learn, but you're learning fast! Enjoy it all! All of it, no inhibitions, no regrets! At home I go by my parents' rules, I told you! But in this place there are no rules. Just do what the other girls do and go with the flow. Be as feminine as your heart desires. Love it! OK?"
"OK," I replied doubtfully.
"By Sunday night you'll be a different person, you'll see."
And she breezed away, stopping to chat animatedly as she went, with some of the girls I now knew had been her schoolmates.
Gretchen took the chair alongside a little table and I squeezed into one immediately in front of the stage, the table at my back. The room was jammed with perhaps a hundred women, young and middle-aged, the older ones wearing expensive dresses and jewelry, the younger ones dressed hot and tight like me.
Inside of a few minutes I knew I was in trouble. The lights went down, a thumping music began, and five bronzed and muscled guys pranced and slithered into a spotlight on the small stage, each dressed in a different macho outfit, soldier, fireman, lumberjack, something like that. It didn't matter what because ten minutes later, the music pounding louder than ever and the women crowding the room now hooting and screaming, they were stripped down to shiny Speedo jock strops, their muscles prominent and their hips squirming as obscenely huge bulges thrust and rolled on the front of their crotches. They fanned out and moved toward the edge of the stage, until each was bumping and grinding not a foot from the face of the woman closest to the stage at each table. And I was one of the five. I stared at the bulge in front of me. The thin dayglo green nylon covering that cock and ball package outlined them like shrink-wrap. I looked up at a handsome, craggy face and saw it was looking mildly down at me. Then I looked again at that package waving provocatively in front of my nose. Then up again. He raised an eyebrow inquiringly.
"Ladies," shouted a voice over the speakers, just barely audible over the big beat and the whining guitars. "Ladies, in honor of the bridal party with us tonight, if we encourage them, the Stallions tonight will show all!"
A huge din came up, women shrieking in an ear-splitting cacophony, that soon leveled into a repeated war cry syncopated with the pounding percussion, "Show all!" "Show all!" "Show all!" I looked around and saw that the other girls seated in my position at the other tables were staring at their men eagerly, eyes shining, transfixed by the sight of all that heavy male meat moving immediately in front of them. Moving closer to their faces! The rhythms intensified, and I realized that some women were now shouting "Off! "Off!" "Off!" while the others continued to scream "Show all!" I looked up again at the man in front of me. His eyes were closed. I looked at his crotch, which was now shifting and pitching and rolling and yawing and heaving directly in front of my nose.
Suddenly it was naked! No more nylon shielding! There were his huge balls, hairless! A monster-sized prick, now no longer contained but out in the open, plump, proud, already swollen huge, awesome, and yet nowhere nearly fully erect. And now the rhythmic beat from the music and a hundred women's throats was deafening, and every woman in the room was chanting a command to the five of us closest to these hunks, those cocks, "Do it!" "Do it!" "Do it!" Unrelenting! Overwhelming! I saw in the corner of my eye that two of the girls had leaned forward, and that their men were now thrusting their cocks toward their mouths, then away, each time closer! Then between the lips of the girl closest to me. No hands. Then into her mouth! She slid those lips forward and three, four, five inches of that prick disappeared into her face -- it was now a rampant, stiff tower with this young girl trying to swallow it at one end, joined to that man at the other!
I looked at my man's cock, now filling my vision, with an enormous, swollen pink helmet mounted on its peak and a single short slit in its center, glstening, now not an inch from my mouth. All those women were now screaming a tumultuous, rhythmic "Do it!" "Do it!" "Do it!" at me, it seemed. I looked up at that craggy face once again, almost prayerfully, and saw that his eyes were still closed but that he was now smiling, as if in anticipation. Again I looked at that bulbous cock head. It looked like a larger version of Gayle's dildo, the one I loved to feel in my mouth. But more real. A real man's! I felt a strange urge.
And like the other girls, I leaned forward. My lips closed over that warm rubbery globe, and with a gentleness I hadn't thought possible given all that writhing musculature, it began to move deeper into my mouth until it pressed against the back of my throat. Then out a few inches, and in again, sliding between my lips. With tears in my eyes, I began to suck. Then harder. Then to bob my head up and down on it in cadence with the audience's throbbing chant, now changed to "More!" "More!" "More!" I was transfigured, beside myself, a creature of the pulsing sounds that drowned all my senses, an avid moist mouth and tongue with pursing lips eager to suck cock forever! I couldn't have stopped if I'd wanted. In and out of me that prick thrust, and down and up I bobbed, deeper and deeper it went each time, my mouth the instrument of the will of every woman in that room as I sucked that man's cock in and out in a frenzy of devotion! More, more, more, and I pulled and sucked and lipped and sucked on that fat tube more and more and over and over until that man's meat swelled up and expanded to fill my whole mouth and seemed to grow hot, then gushed and gushed salty sweet slick stuff down my throat while I swallowed and swallowed, my eyes tight shut, absolutely out of my mind!
I knew what cum tasted like of course, my own when I sucked it out of Gayle's cunny, but I didn't know that straight from the tap it was so much more dense, even ropy. It coated my mouth like liquid nylon. I licked my lips. The lights went on, the show was over, and I checked my make-up. The Everlast lipstick had held up, but I added more anyhow, and smiled. I felt girlish, I don't know why.
Gretchen was elated, rapturous. She never said a word, but all the way back to the Inn, whenever she looked at me sideways her shoulders would start to shake, and at one point she had to pull over to the curb until her fit of laughter passed. I didn't dare say anything to her.
I learned the next day I'd had a narrow escape. That on evenings when the Stallions were showing all there was an understanding, the girl who brought her man off first got to be taken into a back room and fucked all night by each of the five in turn.
"They're absolutely unbelieveable," one of the bridesmaids-to-be told me at breakfast, congratulating me for having brought my man off second and commiserating that I'd missed out on the night of a lifetime by only eight seconds. "I won last year. And I went home the next morning ready to divorce my husband. And I would have, too, but he was crying and sobbing, and in the end he agreed to let me take men into our bed once a month, as many as I wanted, while he went to a motel. I advertised for them and found some great hunks, and now we're all happy. I even trained my hubby to watch. I think he likes it now, at least to judge by the way he sits there and beats his meat while those men are plowing me into the bed one after the other all night, and I'm shrieking. I know I love it. And when I'm sore afterward, he's very considerate of me down there. Very satisfying. Very!" She smiled to herself, remembering.
I told her that if only I'd known that it was a contest I'd have tried harder. She consoled me that it was a considerable accomplishment, what I'd done, though it was a shame I had to miss out by only eight seconds. "You were way faster than number three," she pointed out. "Just keep at it, you'll get there. You've got a real natural talent!"
"It seems so, but she needs more practice," Gretchen replied for me. "We're working on it!"
I smiled modestly and said nothing. I could feel that Stallion's sperm still coating my mouth and lips. It wasn't too bad.
IX.
Gayle called that afternoon while I was getting ready to go out with Gretchen to do the sights and visit the ME plant. It was now Saturday.
"Gayle, I'm so ashamed," I started in when I recognized her voice. "I don't know what came over me. I won't ever...."
"Oh, don't apologize, angel," she said. "You looked darling, sucking so solemnly on that big lollipop. And then gobbling all of it down! You wanted to be a woman, didn't you? Well, this is all part of your education as a woman. And I know you enjoyed it! I saw you, you know! It looked as though you couldn't ever get enough of him into you! You need more opportunities, more men, you know that baby?"
I decided not to say anything. "I guess," I said finally. "Gretchen keeps saying so." Could it be that I had enjoyed it? Was it that obvious to everyone else?
"Allie, I need to ask you for a big favor," Gayle said next. "There's a stag party tonight, Chris's last night as a bachelor, you know. The usual, the guys getting together to kid him, horse around, look at porn movies maybe. They can get pretty raucous I hear, and I know it's not your thing, and as it wears on it can get pretty rough I guess, the way they talk and the jokes they tell. Nothing you haven't heard before I'm sure, but lots of the girls here would be shocked to know what lots of their guys really think of them, how they talk about them. I thought I'd best not ask any of them to help out."
"I know about guys like that," I said. "I never was much good at it myself. I'm glad to be out of that kind of thing altogether. Thank you."
"You're a doll, Allie! That's so very sweet! But these guys do need someone to serve them while they play their practical jokes on each other. You know. Prepare the platters and serve the food, refill glasses, keep the liquor flowing, do whatever seems to need doing. Justine volunteered, but she's sick and can't make it. Would you? Sweetheart? Please? It should be fun, and it's a social occasion, a chance to try something different. Just go there looking your prettiest, and take care of things while they do their things.
I hesitated. I hate that kind of male frat bash, and I dislike the kinds of men who went to them. I always had.
"For me? For you too? Then I can forgive you for anything, you'll see!"
My heart melted. I was still her sweetheart! "Anything," I said. It was a chance for me to make it up to her! To prove my dedication! "Whatever you say, Gayle. Where?"
"The President's Lounge at the ME plant," she replied. "Eight tonight for as long as it lasts."
"We were just going there," I said. "Sightseeing. Gretchen says the plant is something no one who comes to town should miss."
"That's right. That's good. It's Saturday, but Ben'll be there, he always is. I'll phone and tell him you're coming. He needs to talk to you about a job."
"Gayle, I've got a job. A lovely job! I don't want to move down here."
"Oh, honey, of course, I couldn't tell you until now, but you don't have a job. Ben's bought us out! I just heard this morning that it's final. My holding company and all of its subsidiaries, including your marketing firm, all of our operations are moving down here. Connie and Meg too. You know that you three women can do your kind of work anywhere at all, sit in any office anywhere and talk to sales associates in any city in the country. Ben's really impressed with what you've done re-organizing things in just the few months you've been there. He wants you and Connie and Meg to set up and train other similar groups in other cities, to franchise them nationally in fact! At double your salaries, not that you care a lot about that, but Meg will, she has expensive tastes. Especially in men."
I was silent at this news. Then, "You'll be moving back down here? Back to your parents' house? To live under your parents' eyes? How can we continue...?"
"That's right, baby. Not to their house, to a place of my own. And you'll have your own. You're almost ready for it now. You'll see. It'll be fine. You'll love it. Even though it won't be at all what you've been expecting!"
The bottom fell out of my stomach! "Gayle!" I said.
"Trust me!" she said. "I want this for you!"
"I trust you," I replied. But I didn't. She seemed too flippant, too manipulative now. Too commanding, even. Too much was too new! Move down here? But did I have a choice?
"None!" Ben said. Now we were sitting in his leather-lined office in the ME main administrative building. "You come down here and work for me or you get out of this line of work altogether! It's in your contract, standard clause! You must have read it. It's in this contract too. Sign it now, or leave and don't look back. Your old office is closed for the Thanksgiving holiday, and it won't ever re-open. Gayle's apartment is already sublet, and your things are already on the way down here. Removal expenses all paid by ME, of course. You've got nowhere to go. Here's a pen!"
I took the pen he held out. For a moment I looked out the window, but then I signed the contract he'd placed in front of me. Gretchen, sitting across the way, seemed amused.
"I hear you've got a remarkable talent, young woman," Ben said, his narrow eyes fixed on me as he took the contract back and placed it in a folder, and the folder in a drawer, and locked the drawer. "But second best isn't good enough here. I expect you to be number one in everything! I'll want to assure myself of that personally!"
My God! I thought. What have I signed?
Gretchen broke in at that point. "I'm sure you'll be happy with Allie in that respect and every other, Ben. Gayle will see to it. Don't concern yourself!"
He showed us out, and as I passed through the door he patted my fanny. I didn't like his proprietary attitude toward my body, whatever was in that contract I'd just signed, and I told Gretchen that as soon as we were alone. I was also worried that I'd be exposed as a man if he tried to get too intimate. I mentioned that too.
She looked at me pityingly, or very nearly. "Allie," she said. "Trust me. Or if you can't, trust Gayle! You have no worries on that score. All he wants is for you to suck his cock now and then. It's no big deal. You've got a talent, remember?"
What could I say? I had to believe her. It wasn't as if for the first time. Not any more.
The plant was even more enormous than it had looked as Gale and I drove into town. It had its own mini-shopping mall, with its own stores for its employees, even a unisex beauty shop. Just above it were the offices of Phone Marketing Surrogates, PMS, my new employer. "That's who I work for now?" I asked.
"That's where you work," Gretchen corrected me. "You're the systems and personnel expert, so it's yours, you're the Boss. Connie knows the business, so she's your CEO. From here you'll train up other Allies and Connies and Megs in other cities. Meg's in charge of the original pilot company now -- she'll have to hire two more consultants. She's thinking maybe she'll convert an old boyfriend to do the work, the way Gayle converted you. Whatever works."
"Who named it 'PMS'?" I asked.
"Gayle, of course. She thought you should be able to say sincerely that sometimes your PMS can be hard to cope with, same as every other girl's. More seriously, to remind you every day which side you're on now, that you live and work in a woman's world and that there's no turning back."
And that night when I was getting ready to go help out at that bachelor party as Gayle had requested, she repeated that statement. "Especially after tonight, there's no turning back, Allie," she said. "You'll be the girl Gayle has always wanted you to be, make no mistake. The girl you need to be. Use your Everstay makeup again, and slather it on, but don't worry about your dress -- they'll give you a uniform to wear when you get there. Oh, take a pill to ease any stress you may feel. Here."
It was just as well. Gretchen dropped me off by the main entrance, and when I arrived through by the delivery door another girl was already in the kitchenette laying out cold cuts, and I could already hear loud male voices and laughs from the next room. I thought she hadn't yet gotten dressed. She was wearing black stockings, black lace hi-cut panties, a garter belt, and high stiletto heels, and not quite covering her generous breasts and nipples was a thin fringed black ribbon.
"Your Gayle's friend? Justine's replacement?" she asked. "I'm Julie. I'm so glad you could make it, I'll need help with these guys, and all of my girls have been booked elsewhere for weeks. Here's your uniform. Same as mine, but you get the split crotch panty girdle to keep your unmentionables tucked in but your asshole available. Real boobs? Beautiful, honey, you've got to tell me who did them! These guys will love you! And that'll take a lot of the pressure off me."
"What...! What is this?" I asked, a little shocked, as I realized what she was saying. Not a lot, the pill was taking effect.
She was amused. "A bachelor party, love, what did you think? We're serve the food and drink, and we're the entertainment. Be sure to keep track of every blow job you give and every fuck up the ass you get tonight, honey, because I charge my clients piecework rates. Anything they do to your boobs is free. Gayle tells me that one touch on your nipples and you're on a rocket to the moon, insatiable. Which is just as well with this crowd. Here, put that potato salad into this bowl and set it over there, would you?"
"You know Gayle? Gayle told you that?" I didn't feel quite as betrayed as I should have, but this didn't seem right.
"Gayle and I go back a long way, Allie. We were classmates all through high school, though I beat her out in a contest in our Junior year, and I don't think she's ever forgiven me. I'm here personally as a favor to her tonight. She wanted me to look after you, to see you enjoyed it."
"Enjoyed what?" I asked, already afraid I knew the answer.
I did. "The fucking and sucking, sweetheart. The sucking and fucking. This is your rite of passage. Tonight you become a woman. What's not to enjoy? Tonight you're going to discover for yourself why it's a good thing to be a woman. Tonight you'll be glad that's what you are. Do you know how to tap that keg over there? The one in the other room must be nearly run out, to judge by the noise level."
I changed into the costume she'd handed me, and feeling both naked and obscene I went into the other room holding up a platter of sliced pizza with both hands. My breasts lay across the platter, almost naked. Each of the men who took a slice contrived to rub his hand on my nipples, and despite myself I began to feel a familiar yearning build in my crotch. As more of Gretchen's pill took effect, I cared less. God, it felt good! I smiled at the next man to cop a feel, and set down the platter, then smiled again at him.
The next thing I knew it was yesterday night all over again, but over and over! I was gobbling away at his stiff pole and trying to push it all the way down my throat. Just as he came and I was swallowing, that wonderful slick feel of jism coating my lips and my teeth again, that delicious salty taste, someone cupped both my tits from behind and I felt a soft, probing knob push against my rear end. Whoever it was tweaked both my nipples at the same time, and I shrieked aloud in joy, and thrust back, just as I felt something hot and wet slide into me. Oh God, it was like Gayle's dildo, but smoother, brawnier, more ... robust! And much longer! In and out, while I climbed to the stars, and then they exploded in my head and in my belly all at once.
"There you are, Allie, you sweet thing," I heard over my shoulder. "Now you won't need to worry about lubrication for the rest of the night. You're as slippery as you need to be now, and you'll only get moreso. You're so wonderfully tight still! Gayle told me I'd be your first! Am I?"
I turned to look at him. He was a thin young man with blond hair and a sharp chin but gentle eyes. And a great cock, that I already knew. I liked him. I smiled and nodded.
He kissed me. "I'm glad. Well, you have things to do. I'll be back later."
Another cock came weaving toward my face while I was still on my knees, and I grabbed the owner around the thighs to steady myself, then tucked his sweet thing into my mouth. Another slid effortlessly up my ass. Both felt like satin. I felt pure joy, rapturous, at both ends! When they finally throbbed and squirted and soaked me, another set replaced them. I lost count despite Julie's one instruction. So delicious! So very delicious! All these men intent to make me happy!
At 4:00am I felt someone shaking my shoulder. The same young, blond, pointy-chinned man who had first taken my virginity. That dear man! I smiled at him again.
"Everybody's gone," he said quietly. "Even Julie. I've been watching you sleep. You've had quite a night. You'd better get home though, so you can get some more sleep and then get dressed for Church. There's a wedding, you know."
"Yes, Chris, he's getting married!" I croaked. My throat seemed so sore! Too many cocks in and out of it? "He's getting married," I repeated. "I didn't see him."
"Well, he saw you, honeycheeks. Quite a few times. Can you stand?"
I wriggled luxuriously, and then turned to lie on my back. There he was. He bent over me. I took him around the neck with both arms. "One more for the road," I whispered to him. "Please!" The intensity of my desire surprised me!
Out came that long, long cock, I could see it this time. I raised my legs to his shoulders. "I want to watch," I said. "I want to watch your dear, dear face when you cum! Tell me your name, lover."
"Steve," he said, and he plunged into me. I could barely feel him this time, there was so much cum inside me, and so much jism all around me, and I was stretched so big. But he must have felt me, because he came in only a few minutes. I moaned in pleasure as he stroked in and out. He kissed me, once on each nipple -- I was bare breasted by now, of course -- and I had an orgasm then and there! My ass clenched on him, and he throbbed and came too! I felt his hot spunk fill my guts! I saw his face strain, and then turn blissful.
"Thank you, Steve," I said dreamily.
"Thank you, Allie," he replied. "Here's the dress you came in, and the topcoat. Can you stand up now? You may be a little sore."
I could. I was. And it felt as if the ocean of cum sloshing around inside me was beginning to leak out and down my legs.
"Do you have a tampon?" Steve asked in his always-gentle voice.
"Probably in my purse," I said sleepily. "Gretchen will have put one there. She thinks of everything."
She had. It stopped my leaking long enough for Steve to help me to his car and drive me home. He saw me to the door. I threw my arms around him one more time and gave him a long, passionate, langorous kiss. Then went inside.
"A lovely, lovely man," I crooned to myself as I stripped off my panty-girdle and stockings and crept into bed next to Gretchen, who woke just long enough to see my condition, my hair a hopeless mess, cum-soaked from head to foot, my breasts mauled.
"You mean Steve?" she asked. "The one who drove you home just now? Yes, he is. They all are. You know that now, don't you, now that you're finally really a woman."
"Mmmmm," I replied, and I fell asleep again.
The next morning I felt even more sore, but after a long, hot, soaking bubble bath the world looked bright again, and I could sit up cheerfully while I tried to brush my hair into a semblance of order.
"You're a dear!" I said to Gretchen when she came back from breakfast to see how I was getting by. "But you're so sneaky! You knew all along what was going to happen, didn't you, and you didn't tell me, not a word! Isn't that so?"
"That's right, Allie," she said, her face quite serious, relaxed, even friendly. I realized that she'd never really spoken to me as a friend before. Previously there was always a hint of mockery in anything she said. "It's nothing anyone can tell anyone. Before, you were a man playing at being a woman. Of course it's fun, delightful, being a woman! I wouldn't have it any other way. Of course you followed Gayle's suggestions and decided that you wanted to be a woman. That's a no-brainer, given a choice. I certainly would! You did it to please her, though, didn't you? But now you have your own reasons. Don't you. And they have to do with the quintessence of being a woman. The pleasure a woman can take in sex. The ways she can use men while men think they're using her. The glow we can feel when we've been well and truly fucked by a lovely, lovely man. Like Steve."
"Yes," I said. "Like Steve. Will he be at the wedding today?"
"I hope so," Gretchen said. "He's the Best Man. Just as you're the Maid of Honor, though now you're no more a maid than I am. But stop fussing with your hair, Allie. The hairdresser will be here in a half-hour, and she'll make both of us look as beautiful as we can be, you for your Gayle and your Steve, and me for myself. Doesn't that prospect fill your heart, you dear? I thought so. But you'd better lay out all your underthings now, and your gown. I'll find those pearls for you to wear."
At noon we were both ready to drive to the Church for a brief rehearsal before the main crowds began to show up for the 2:00 pm ceremony. I looked so beautiful! I had never felt so happy! It was just wonderful!
Gretchen saw and understood. "You've been fucked to your heart's content,for once. For the first time. It's like being in love, honey." Her voice was low and sympathetic. "Like first love, now for the first time falling in love with someone you've just found out you really are. Someone far more satisfying than that man you thought you were, that uptight nerd who trapped you inside himself just a few months ago. More satisfying even than the woman you thought you were yesterday, before you found out for yourself how marvelous it is to be a woman desired by many men. Before you found out your power over men. The fact that they want you means that you can use them to please yourself."
"Yes," I said. I skipped a step, twirled, and primped. "It's wonderful! Gretchen, it feels so very good!"
"That's what Gayle has wanted for you all along. Because she loves you. Now you know!"
"Yes," I said. "I didn't know. But now I know."
En route to the Church, Gretchen wearing a severe black beaded cocktail dress and me in my pale blue satin and tulle gown alongside her, we passed a fairly large mansion on an acre or so of grounds, visible and accessible from the road. Tudor half-timber in construction, but solid, modern, prosperous, comfortable. She paused and looked it over.
"Interesting," she said.
"What is, honey?" I asked her. I was feeling no pain. Life was beautiful, and I had just been born.
"This house. This is where Chris will carry his bride across the threshold after they're married and return from their honeymoon."
"So?" I asked, wondering what was so interesting about that. "He's the son of the richest man in town. His father owns Gayle's whole family, and Christianity too from what I overheard about how St. Paul chooses Visa over its competitors. And now he owns Gayle and me too. Though if he wants to pat my bottom again the way he's planning it's going to cost him stock options, and if he wants a blow job he'd better plan on getting it from a President for PMS who's on the board of the whole ME conglomerate."
Gretchen glanced sharply at me, but said nothing. Maybe she hadn't realized how quickly I'd understand the meaning of my attractiveness to men. "No," she said. "I don't mean that. Look at the house. There are two main entrances. One on either side. It's a private estate, but it looks set up to be two separate apartments for for two families."
I looked. "So it does," I said. "Odd."
"Yes," Gretchen said. "Gayle mentioned last summer that the place was being renovated this way. It's a landmark house. They had to get approvals. They got them, of course."
The topic wasn't very interesting to me. "Maybe Chris wants to live in half the house and rent out the other half to cover the mortgage." The idea that the son of Mr. Gotrocks could worry about a mortgage was briefly amusing. His father held all the mortgages there were in this town.
"No, but I can think of another reason why they'd have renovated the house this way. That's what's interesting."
"I suppose," I said. "But let's not be late for the rehearsal. I need to change my tampon." I was still leaking cum from the previous night's delicious debauchery. And I had a secret desire at least to slip a tampon dispenser tube into me again, then push another tampon into my vitals, and pull the tube out. It felt so good!
X.
Two hours later I was standing by the altar in the midst of the ceremony, still daydreaming in the indolence of my new complete femininity, overjoyed to have discovered who I really was despite who I thought I was. It was lovely.
And then with no warning came the worst moment of my life.
The wedding guests were seated, and the pews were decorated with white ribbons and pale yellow bows. The bride's processional party had gathered behind, waiting for the organ cue, Gayle's father was in full regalia up front among the baskets and sprays of flowers, his embroidered and gilt-woven ministerial gown looking more Givenchy than ecclesiastical. Chris as the groom and Steve as his best man arrived up front in full morning coat and cravat and stood waiting. The music began, and I walked down in stately procession and took my indicated place. And I smiled at Steve, the dear, dear man, and he smiled back at me, and we smiled at each other serenely while unnoticed by either of us the groomsmen in black and bridesmaids in pink arrived and lined up behind us. I was on the girls' side, one of them, one of the lovely girls in a beautiful gown, like Gayle I supposed, feeling very special. As I'd been instructed, I handed my bouquet behind me, and someone took it.
There was a pause. The audience hushed.
Then the organ began playing a loud but solemn "Here Comes the Bride," and all heads turned to watch.
And a little flower girl in pink with white socks and sensible white Mary Janes, smiling self-consciously, someone's seven year old cousin, came sprinkling flower petals.
Then all alone came Sue, all white, a hooded and deeply veiled vision in white, carrying in her arms a huge white bouquet, white roses, snow drops, baby's breath, slowly treading forward on the white petal-strewn carpet. The bride proceeding to her sacrifice, her ritual deflowering in due time by the groom who stood there waiting for her. Chris, his plump and florid face seeming a little choked by his wing collar, was watching Sue move slowly forward. Steve told me I'd had him last night. In my mouth? In my ass? A few times, both? No recollection -- thank God for those pills Gretchen had fed me until I'd finally learned how to live without them by accepting myself as I am. Beautiful. Feminine. Desired. Myself.
Sue reached the altar and stood next to me, and her groom stepped forward to stand next to her. They both faced Gayle's father.
"Dearly beloved," he began. And as always happens when I hear a religious liturgy intoned, I stopped listening and began daydreaming. About my own wedding some day to Gayle. No longer myself in a morning coat or tails but now in a full resplendant bridal gown, my face and hair done exquisitely, much as they were now. Modestly, sweetly holding both of Gayle's hands while words were uttered over us that would weld us into one flesh forever.
Chris and Sue had decided on a double ring ceremony, and Sue handed me her bouquet to hand on when the moment came for the rings, each one separately blessed, to be placed on each finger. As was done. "With this ring I thee wed," each of them told the other in a barely audible voice. Gayle's father intoned more sounds while I sank back into my happy thoughts, that I was beautiful and beautifully dressed, and that the girl of my dreams loved me for what I had become for her, the girl of her dreams.
"I now pronounce you husband and wife," Gayle's father declared aloud, his voice resonant, speaking for God, as God, echoing God's edict. "And what God hath joined, let no man nor woman put as under!" There was a noticeable stir among the audience. It was done. No one would dare put it asunder. I wondered if Gayle, one of the bridesmaids behind me, would feel tempted by the example before her to seek to be pronounced wife and wife with me. Soon. Not by her father, anyhow, I thought. Should we both wear white? Or pink for her and blue for me? Maybe this very dress, it fits so beautifully.
There was handsome, beefy Chris looking at me expectantly, and I realized I had just heard the Minister tell him "You may kiss the bride." There was an awkward pause, and I remembered that at this moment I was instructed to reach over the bride's shoulders from behind, lift the veil over her head, and drape it behind her, her face now that of a married woman, finally fit to be seen. I smiled, reached across, and did that. Sue stepped toward her beloved, and they took each other in each other's arms, and they kissed deeply.
The congregation applauded as with a radiant smile they separated and turned to face the aisle to begin their recessional. I saw then that the bride was not Sue.
The bride was Gayle. She had become Gayle. Was I still dreaming? A nightmare! I shook my head! She was Gayle! My Gayle! My Gayle had just married Chris while I had stood by calmly and watched! She was married! This was Gayle's wedding! Not to me!
Gayle was standing next to Chris beaming her joy as I took all this in, astonished! Then they took each others' hands to proceed back down the aisle, and the organ churned out Mendelssohn's joy in utter abandonment. For a moment Gayle just stood there. She looked at me with a wide smile. I heard her say, "Thank you, Allie. Thank you for everything! You're a pet! I love you!"
Then the two of them ran down the aisle away from me together!
I was dazed. I don't know how I got to the the wedding reception at the town's largest hotel, or to the dinner and dancing that followed. I braced myself against the wall while others dashed here and there, every few minutes blotting my mascara and taking deep breaths to keep from sobbing. I have never felt so utterly alone! So utterly betrayed! Deeply hurt, enraged, I thought of rushing back to the Inn and tearing off my beautiful full skirted dress with its bodice fitted to my breasts and its lovely flounce and ... but I couldn't! I couldn't just put on pants again and just be a man again and leave town! The gown was so very lovely! My breasts were so lovely! And there was nowhere for me to go.
Gretchen came to stand next to me as we both watched Chris take my Gayle by her hand and lead her into their first dance, the first dance of the rest of their lives together. A sob escaped me.
"All women cry at weddings, Allie," Gretchen said softly. "Go right ahead."
"Oh, Gretchen!" I started to say in response to her sympathetic voice, and I almost broke down. But then I realized that Gretchen must have known about this all along. Together with Gayle she'd manipulated me into becoming what I was, a woman, unalterably a woman, a hopeful woman, and now a lost woman! "Gretchen, why?" was all I could get out. Not angrily. Broken-hearted.
"Because, Allie!" Her voice was low, solemn.
"No, that's not an answer!" My voice became high, shrill.
"Don't you trust her, Allie?" she replied. "Don't you trust that she has her reasons?"
"What good are her reasons now?" I managed to gasp out between my suppressed sobs. "I've lost her!" And I began to wail.
Gretchen spoke sharply, and brought me up short. "Do you regret anything she's done till now? Do you really regret what you are now?"
I paused. I had to answer honestly. "No," I said. "I regret nothing!"
"You don't regret that she's betrayed you repeatedly since you drove here together? Setting you up to fuck me? Setting you up to suck your first cock ritually in front of a hundred cheering women, and like it? Setting you up to get screwed fore and aft and sideways all through last night by maybe two dozen guys, until the pleasure and the power of it overcame any feelings of violation, and you felt honored to be used like a woman? Proud of your womnan's body?"
I had to shake my head forcefully. "No regrets!" I said.
"You're still filled with jism. Doesn't it feel good to remember that your tampons are still soaking it up?"
I nodded. I couldn't speak. I should have felt humiliated. But instead, my morale rose. I still wanted to be everything she'd made me. I no longer felt betrayed. Rather, abandoned. Forsaken. Terribly alone.
"Then be happy for Gayle. Be grateful to her. She's just made the marriage of the century for this town, probably for the whole State, and she's remade you into something you're proud of, and she's set you up in a whole new career. Even set you up with the most powerful cock in town to suck on now and then. You wanted to marry her. Well, marriage is founded on love and trust. Love her and trust her even though you feel you're an utter fool to do so!" Gretchen paused. "That's what you've done until now, and you know now that in the early days you really were an utter fool to trust her."
I thought back to those days, when Gayle was teasing me out of my masculinity step by step, turning me into a girl step by step with my consent but without my realizing it. I'd been her creature. Now I was her creation. I had to trust her.
We stood together a while longer, watching all the powers of the town enjoy themselves, all the older respectable wealthy folk circulating and slapping each other on the back and kissing each other's cheeks, and preening, and watching all of the younger ones go off to dance or as happens at weddings, go off to do other more private things in the upstairs hotel bedrooms. They were my social set now. I'd been Gayle's Maid of Honor at the wedding of the century. Everyone would feel honored to know me. I wondered where Steve had gone. I wanted him to ask me to dance. I watched Gretchen take a husky hunk by the arm and chat him up, and move him onto the dance floor, and then when I looked again they were nowhere to be seen. She'd done with me whatever Gayle had asked her to do with me. Seduce me, and thereby disabuse me of any possessiveness I felt for Gayle. Or I might think Gayle felt for me. Prepare me to share her. Prepare me to let her go.
When the time came for Gayle to throw her bridal bouquet, I was chatting with a few of the mothers and their daughters, asking them about some of the men I saw wandering the edges of the dance floor. I didn't notice at first that Gayle had come up right in front of me. All the other girls massed alongside and behind me, shrieking their delight, and Gayle then tossed her mass of flowers -- straight at me! It couldn't miss! It filled my arms! She smiled at me and disappeared. It was a last sweet gesture. Maybe a message of some kind?
Eventually Gayle and Chris reappeared wearing travelling clothes and waved to everyone, and everyone threw rice at them and followed them out to the front of the hotel, and they looked happy and waved yet again, and then got into a car parked by the curb. They were headed for the airport and the Virgin Islands for the next two weeks. Two weeks spent in each other's arms.
The car was pasted with pompoms and soaped with "Just married" signs and trailing a few plastic pop bottles and a soup can tied to a rear panel. They drove off. I stood out front in my beautiful gown in the early evening chill, and watched them drive away, the soup can rattle fading into the distance and then disappearing. They were gone.
I had been deserted. I knew she'd be returning. But not to me. She'd live with Chris in that large house with two entrances, and we'd see each other on social occasions, maybe at dinner parties in that very house, and we'd smile at each other for old time's sake. But I was alone. I would sleep alone. I stood by the curb thinking, I don't want to go back to the party. I want to go to the Inn and change, and then fall face down on my bed and cry my heart out. "Allie," a man's voice behind me said gently. "This isn't easy for you, is it?"
I turned around. It was Steve. He had already changed to an open necked sport shirt and a brown tweed jacket and a neat pair of brushed suede pants.
"No" I replied. "Not at all."
"You miss her already I bet."
"I do. She's gone."
"In a way. Would you like to go somewhere quiet for a drink and some conversation? A wedding can be so depressing afterward for friends of the bride and groom who aren't themselves married. We always wish them well, but...."
I looked closely at him. Men in brown tweed always seem understanding and kindly disposed, I thought to myself. It was still early.
"Yes, Steve, I would like some company. But can you take me to the Inn first? I need to change into something a little less demanding." I fluffed out the layers of tulle and ribbon and satin that rocked back and forth from my hips to the ground like a giant bell, my legs the clapper. He nodded and went to get his car. While I waited, I fluffed out my hair.
We were both silent on the drive to the hotel. Steve wanted to respect my mood, but he also seemed to share it. He indicated silently a parking space where he'd be waiting for me, and when I got out I stood and watched his car pull into that space and then ... wait. He didn't mean to abandon me too. That was reassuring. But also there was no escaping it, I would need to be sociable a little bit longer.
Once in my room I cast off my voluminous dress and tossed it on a chair, then on impulse I changed out of the corset that had trussed me into that gorgeous gown and sustained me through the ceremony, and instead put on the sexiest black lace bra, panties, and garter belt I owned, and then rolled on my stockings with lacy tops. Because I'm an attractive girl, I told myself determinedly -- men can't wait to be intimate with me! And I stroked heavy eyeliner on my eyes, and with a fingertip stroked shine on my eyelids. I'd at least feel desireable to me! Then I changed into a short decollote cocktail dress, one I'd brought with me even though it was way too flirty for Gayle's parents' ever to see, and I touched my hair. And then went down to the car.
"Wow!" Steve said when he saw me. "Allie, you are the most beautiful girl I've seen since I arrived back here! And you know there were lots of lovely girls there this afternoon."
Wow yourself, I said to myself. Maybe it was a line, though he seemed sincere. I'd find out. And anyhow, if we were headed for a bar somewhere, at least I could get plastered. I checked the long list of "don't say" words I'd been given during my long journey through femininity to arrive finally here, in a car with a man who'd fucked me sweetly but I scarcely knew. Yes, a woman can get "plastered," or "sozzled." Men can get "pissed" or "shit-faced."
"I intend to get tiddly," I told Steve as we drove to whatever destination.
"I know," Steve said. "So do I."
Now what did that mean?
Steve then surprised me. He said. "You miss Gayle. And I miss Chris. They both knew we'd feel this way, and the last thing Gayle told me as they drove off was, "Get to know Allie. You'll find she's well worth your knowing. And let her find out the same about you."
Gayle could talk like that. Polite meaningless-seeming words that were freighted with important meanings nevertheless. "Do you know what she meant by that?" I asked Steve.
"Yes, I think so, Allie. Wait till we get where we're going and we each have something alcoholic in our hands.
I was surprised when we arrived. The bar was subdued and well appointed, not crowded, but comfortably filled with well-dressed and well-behaved people. Young people much like ourselves. As my eyes got accustomed to the gloom I could see a small dance floor in the middle distance. There were people dancing to muffled, tasteful music. We picked up drinks at the bar and Steve led me to a booth. I sat where I could still see the dance floor, while Steve sat with his back to it, facing me. Little by little I made out couples dancing. Men with women, Men with men. Women with women.
"This is a gay bar!" I said aloud. Another? Like Kirstie's, only for dancing and companionship, not for entertainment? Two of them in the midst of this straitlaced town?
"And lesbian. And bi. And transgendered, yes," Steve replied calmly. He leaned forward. "This where we all come to meet our friends."
I listened wide-eyed, silent now.
"Allie, I'm gay."
I waited.
"And you're newly transgendered, a new girl. I know. And to complete this round of re-introductions, so we both know everything, you need to know this too. My roommate Chris, the man who just this day married your roommate Gayle, he's gay too. Well, really bi I guess. He'll park his thing anywhere, but he's always willing to reciprocate, to let others park their things anywhere in him. So we get on just fine, Chris and I. We always have, ever since eighth grade when we first found out what we especially like about each other."
I just stared.
"There are bars like this in every town, meeting places for people who're different. Even in this town, The Minister of All Souls Church doesn't know, of course. He never comes here. He doesn't believe that people should consume alcoholic beverages in public, so he doesn't think they do. He preserves his innocence. So of course he knows nothing about Chris, or about me. Any more than he knows anything about you."
"Wow!" was all I could say, dazed by what Steve was saying. It had enormous implications.
Suddenly I found my voice. "When was this wedding planned? Why?" I made sure I sounded gentle, curious, no way resentful. It was easy. Because unexpectedly, that was how I felt.
"Last summer. Chris and Gayle had no choice. A family obligation. Ben wanted the marriage for respectability, once and for all to quell the unfounded rumors about his son. And for Gayle's father the marriage was a union of the secular and the sacred. All Souls Church would finally find financial security, and the owner of ME enterprises would secure a strong voice to plead for him in the hereafter, when he'd surely need one. It was a match made in heaven. But it needed additional arrangements."
"You know I'm sure that it's customary for the bride to give her Maid of Honor some special gift, a token of appreciation for all she's been though on her friend's behalf. A gift of love, as a matter of fact. Just as a bridegroom does for his Best Man. Well, she didn't forget her gift of love to you, Allie. She left it with me."
"Oh?" I said. Now it was coming.
"You're very lovely, Allie. Chris is a bull, and he's a fine man, and I enjoy being with him, and I look forward to many years yet when the two of us will enjoy each other just as Gayle is enjoying him, probably, right now. But I've missed being with gentler people. I've missed delicacy, and beauty. I've missed the femininity of some of my partners before Chris and I decided to go steady. So he and Gayle worked it out. A solid marital arrangement. Fifty-fifty. Chris and I will be together half the time, and if you're willing, during that time you and Gayle will be together"
I hadn't touched my drink, but my head was swimming. Steve reached for my hand and held it. And didn't release it. He had very large hands. His touch was warm and gentle.
"Gayle told me to tell you that you aren't altogether a woman yet. That you'll need to know the love of a real man before you can be a complete woman. Someone you can love too. To love to feel him inside you. To want to feel him inside you. To know that he wants you, and you want him! To have the supreme confidence that comes from knowing you're desireable and loved! When that happens you'll complete the journey Gayle planned for you. When you've been as intimate with a man as you and Gayle have been with each other, in the same ways, and as loving, and have learned to love it. Perhaps even to love it as much.
I looked up into Steve's eyes. They were as soft and warm and kind as his hands. His temperament seemed to be as tweedy as his sport coat. He really was rather handsome. And he knew that I was beautiful. He'd said so. As he held my hand, I felt especially beautiful. It was a warm feeling. Special. And I have to admit it, the idea that I was still under Gale's tutelage aroused me. This man she had prepared me to accept over these past months, without my knowing it, aroused me.
"Allie, I'm the little personal gift Gayle wanted me to give you as her beloved Maid of Honor and dearest friend. And now that I've seen you and spoken to you, I'm delighted and honored that she thinks so highly of me."
The more I saw of this wonderful man, the longer he spoke, the more I felt the same way. But I indicated nothing. A girl should never seem too easy.
"Chris already had me. What to do? He knew that while I love him dearly, he's a rare exception in my life. That I've always preferred femme men, gay transvestites or transsexuals, men who want to be women or believe that's what they are. So he wanted me to have such a lover for the times he's with Gayle. He wanted me to be happy even when we were separated. And Gayle needed someone to be with when she wasn't with Chris, someone devoted and companionable, preferably also with a stiff cock. Best of all would be some one person willing to become what we both needed. Someone bisexual, intelligent and passionate and loving but also delicate and beautiful."
I listened. I realized that Gayle must have known this moment was coming all along. From the moment she'd approached me in that coffee shop after class, she'd known there would come a time when the woman she wanted to bed down with, formerly a man, would need to be abandoned so she could be with her husband. And that the man her husband bedded down with would be feeling equally deserted.
"We looked, but there aren't any such men. Gayle was near despair when she first saw you in that business school class. But she told Chris after talking with you in some coffee shop that it might all work out after all. Then when she went jogging with you, and then went to bed with you, she knew it. Her word for you as you've developed your potential and then realized it, as you've moved from being a clever, decent and compliant young man to becoming a passionate and sensitive and beautiful young woman has always been the same. Each time she's spoken to Chris to reassure him about your progress, she's called you 'Perfect.' Perfect in every conceivable way. With you as you are, Chris's and Gayle's parents will never need to guess what their son is, or what I am, or you once were, or what we've been planning, or why. They'll preserve their innocence. If you want to be what you are, we can all be happy."
Here it comes, I thought. I felt somehow deeply satisfied.
"Allie, if you're willing, Gayle and Chris agree that you'd be perfect as the rare, delicate, precious gift that Chris would like me to have. If you'll have me."
I knew I should feel annoyed to learn that I've been taken for granted, used, for this. But I didn't feel annoyed. I felt privileged. Cherished. Cared for. Tended as carefully and tenderly as a beautiful flower raised for many months to become the grace note of a single beautiful occasion. I wouldn't ever have Gayle for my own exclusively, I knew that now. That had been a dream. I'd have settled for a half a loaf. But all along Gayle had wanted me to have more than half a loaf. She'd wanted me to have two half-loaves.
With that realization, I knew I should be blushing with pleased embarrassment. But I wasn't. Instead I was remembering that on impulse earlier this evening, I'd put on my sexiest black undies. I wondered if Steve was responsive to sexy black underwear. Did he ever secretly wear any himself? Something in his politeness, his gentleness, the fact that he was the chosen and faithful partner to a massive bull of a man, told me that he might welcome surrender to a either a man's or a woman's domination. Especially a woman he persisted in thinking was still in some sense a man.
I thought too about Chris. What was there in Steve that paired them so well? If I liked Steve, was it possible I might enjoy Chris too? Gayle did. And Gayle and I had always enjoyed the same things.
"And I want you to know right now," Steve told me. "Now that I've met you, I agree with Gayle. You're perfect. My head is swimming at my incredible good luck that we're here now, tonight."
I suddenly realized that logically, inescapably implicit in all this was a proposal of marriage. Respectability would require that we live as separate married couples, no doubt in that house Chris and Gayle had prepared for us, the one with two entrances but inside, almost certainly, no dividing walls. But I would not be taken for granted. I decided immediately that Steve would have to propose to me properly, formally, on his knees. And once I had him on his knees, I was sure I could find other uses for him.
Enough speculation, I told myself. Time to find out some answers. Steve was still gently holding my hand in his two large hands. I placed my other hand on his and carefully lifted them both to one of my breasts, its upper curves warm and bare. His eyes widened, and then he closed them again, the better to concentrate on the erotic sensations sent all through his body by his fingertips. I let those fingertips brush my erect nipple in passing, and a yearning sensation pierced me from that nipple all the way through to my groin. Steve moaned slightly as he felt what I felt. He too was beginning an erection. Perfect.
I stood up. still holding both his hands. "I think I'm lucky too, Steve," I said, staring steadily into his gentle eyes, never taking my gaze off him, until finally he looked away, a bit embarrassed. Was it Steve who was blushing this time? "Both of us are lucky. We've both lost the loves of our lives, in a way, but we've both found something too. We've found each other, haven't we? And we need each other. I'm still feeling lonely, and I'm sure you are too. I want to be held tonight. Held close. I need to be held close. Would you like to dance?"
Perfect © 2001 by Vickie Tern. May be made available free to individuals, but all rights to any fees or royalties are reserved. If you want to post this anywhere else, please ask the author for permission first. Thank you.
Vickie [email protected]
"Hello?"
"Janet, thank God you're home!"
"Cary?"
"Yes. You've got to help me!"
"Oh? Help you?"
"Yes!"
"Now calm down, Cary! Help you how? What's wrong?"
"Everything! Nadine has found out about us!"
"Found out? Found out exactly what?"
"A neighbor saw us last Tuesday when we were in the bedroom together. Making love. You remember?"
"Oh, yes, honey, I surely remember that! You know, you surprise me, Cary. You really have no shame, do you know that? Do you remember where your mouth ended up last Tuesday? And your nose? And that you actually agreed to hold it in your mouth? And then when it filled your mouth, that you actually agreed to chew it and swallow it?"
"Janet, please! Don't sound so amused! This isn't funny! It isn't a game! It could destroy my marriage, maybe yours too! Nadine suspects something!"
"All right, love, now calm down. Let me understand the facts. Your neighbor couldn't have seen anything incriminating, if that's the right word. Anything intimate I mean. We had the bedroom blinds and the curtains drawn, both, the whole time we were together. No one knows about us but you and me. And now I know a lot more about you than I did, don't I, my sweetly submissive little man? My darling pervert! You didn't know you had it in you, did you. I bet some of it still is!"
"Janet!"
"All right, lover. Exactly what did your neighbor see? And what did she tell Nadine? Or was it a he?"
"She saw you. When you were in the kitchen afterward, making tea. Remember, you thought I needed to rinse my mouth out after...what we did. What you asked me to do. What I did. Or when we went back to the office, you said, you'd only let me kiss you in that same place and nowhere else. And that wouldn't be convenient, because when you're at the office you only take down your panties in the Ladies' room, and I can't go with you into the Ladies' room because I'm not a lady. Not that we ever kiss each other at work anyhow!"
"Yes. Yes. Not yet, anyhow. You know, Cary, I've been thinking about...what you did. It was exciting! Do you know that? That you did it just because I asked you to, and didn't object, not even once? You know, sweetie, I've got to confess it, at first I was a little dismayed when you agreed to do it. In a way. Even now I don't see how you could bring yourself to do that! I suppose I didn't expect you to, I just wanted to see if you meant it when you said you'd do anything for me! I was curious how far you'd go if I pushed you. It was just a whim on my part. But then when you agreed, and then you actually did it, for me, from me, that was soooo exciting, sweetie! Ooooh! Even now, just thinking about it, I'm getting a little wet. You were so eager to please me! And that's so very thoughtful! I haven't once gone to the toilet since then without thinking that maybe my sweet Cary should be here, maybe I should save it for him, maybe I'm depriving him."
"Janet, let's not talk about that now. Lets deal with..."
"Then we'll talk about it later? You promise? You said when you were drinking your tea and rinsing out your mouth that you didn't know what had come over you. Well, maybe we can find out, because, you know, that's a whole new kind of thing for us to explore now, isn't it? You're not just willing for me to humiliate you, you love it, don't you?"
"Janet, let's deal with Nadine and what our neighbor told her. The facts are that this neighbor saw my car in the driveway and that the bedroom blinds and curtains were drawn and that later a strange woman was fixing something in the kitchen. She wondered who the woman might be."
"I'll bet."
"And she asked Nadine if it was a relative, or something, and told her maybe we should notify Neighborhood Watch that it's OK. So Nadine told me this, and then she asked me, who was the woman? You know, the neighbor doesn't know you, that you're my business partner. She's never seen you here without Bill, those times when you've both been to our house for dinner or a pool party. Nadine, she looked very grim when she asked me if I knew anything about a woman in our kitchen!"
"How did you answer her?"
"I should have told her it was you. That would have been innocent enough, I see that now. But I was afraid to mention you! I was afraid it might wreck everything. Your friendship with Nadine, our partnership, my marriage, yours too probably!"
"So you said it was who? A cleaning lady? A pizza delivery girl? Another one of your many lovers?"
"I don't have any other lovers, Janet! You know that! I wouldn't even have you, except for a month ago when you came to me, you'd just found out about Bill and all of his different women and you were so desperate for consolation, and I...uh...it got out of hand."
"Mmmmm. Yes, Your cock did surely get out of hand, lover. From hand to mouth to pussy. I remember that night very fondly! I needed some friendly sympathy, and Nadine was off at some meeting somewhere, so I unburdened everything onto you. And you heard me out, and then you helped me even the score a little. And when I left you I was feeling as well-consoled as a girl can get. No more quarrelling with Bill, not since then. He has his women, and I have you, lover! But you should have told Nadine it was me. You really could have, you know. That I'd brought over papers from the office, or something."
"You're right. I could have. But I can't lie to Nadine -- she can always tell. And I guess I was still feeling a little ashamed of...what you'd gotten me to do, I guess. I didn't want to mention you. I didn't think of it."
"So, Cary, who did you tell her it was?"
"Please don't be shocked, or amused, or anything."
"Who, Cary?"
"I couldn't think of anyone else!"
"Who?"
"Me!"
"You?"
"That's right! Me."
"I'm sorry, honey, there's no way any neighbor would confuse you with a woman. You have the makings, of course. You aren't very...ahhh...manly. Not at all like Bill. You're about my height, and you've got a small jaw, and all. For a man. That's what made me wonder how much your mouth could hold, maybe, in part. But for you to look like a woman? My dear darling, that would take a lot of work!"
"That's why I'm calling you."
"What? Wait a minute, back up. Why did you think Nadine would believe it was you the neighbor saw?"
"Well, actually, Nadine sort of suggested it. I was waffling, and thinking about what we'd done, what I'd just done with you when you crouched over me and told me I had to do it. It was so embarrassing! I must have been bright red, and I was I guess incoherent. Because Nadine said, 'Well, who was it, Cary? What's so hard about that question? Why are you so embarrassed? Are you ashamed of something? You mean it wasn't someone sent over from your office?' 'No,' I said. I wasn't thinking, but I didn't want her to think it might be you."
"No, I suppose not."
"'Well then, who?' she asked. 'Who could it be, that you're so tongue-tied? I've never seen you so flushed! What is it you're so afraid to confess to me?' And then a light dawned, and she got this crafty look in her eye, and she said, 'No! Don't tell me!' And then she waited for me to tell her."
"And?"
"And I had no idea what she was waiting for. I just stood there staring anywhere but at her, making odd sounds. So she gave me a hint."
"Which was?"
"'Cary,' she said very slowly. 'This woman in our kitchen. Was it somebody I don't know?'"
"'No!'. A little too quickly, I realized. I didn't want her to think it might be you. But I had no room to maneuvre."
"'I do know her?'
"'Ah...yes. In a way."
"'Then I'll tell you what I think,' she said. 'This woman is someone I know, but you're ashamed to say who it is. So it has to be you, all dressed up, doesn't it? She's you, isn't she?'"
"It was a simple statement of fact. I realized I was in a corner. Either the woman was no one, or the woman was me. So I stood silent. I must have been looking pretty pathetic by now, because she said, 'Awww, you poor baby. Of course! It was you! You're a secret transvestite, and ashamed for me to know it!'"
"And she actually came over to me and kissed me, and then she went on, 'I know about crossdressers, honey. They're on TV a lot these days. Talking about pride, and guilt, and shame, and all. You poor dear!'"
"She looked at me so sympathetically, and then she suddenly said, 'Of course! That accounts for your reaction last Halloween, when I suggested we go to Janet and Bill's party dressed up like a whore and a pimp. You leaped to the notion that I meant for you to be the whore, and you refused absolutely! I was amazed that you misunderstood, but now it's clear! Because secretly you really would like to dress like that, like a whore, and be attractive and sexy. But you're so ashamed you can't confess it! Isn't that true? Even to yourself? So you got excited and upset when I suggested it! Even though I meant for me to be the whore the whole time? Isn't that right?'"
"I wasn't sure what she was talking about now, Janet, but it looked like a way out. So I just said, 'That's right, dear,' and I waited. You remember, last Halloween Nadine came to that party you gave, she was dressed like a whore, and I came dressed to look like her pimp? It was embarrassing! Bill kept putting his hands on her as if she really were a whore, and he wasn't the only one. Taking hold of both her breasts I remember, and rubbing her nipples with his thumbs while she pretended to like it. And whenever I came by to cool things down, Bill or one of the other men would just say 'Hey, Cary, she's hot, this wife of yours! What do you get for her by the hour?' And they kept groping her as if I weren't even there."
Then Nadine looked me straight in the eye, and I didn't dare look away, and she asked me 'Is that why you were so grumpy all night at that party? You were jealous of me? You wanted to be the sexy babe?'"
"Well, what could I say? I muttered 'Sort of, I guess.' I was still addled. But Nadine had come up with an answer that satisfied her, and I thought I could live with it. That when she's not home I wander around the house in women's clothing, and that's the woman our neighbor saw."
"Then we're off the hook, lover! She doesn't suspect us. What's your problem with that? Eh? Cary?"
"She's out of town until tomorrow night."
"So?"
"She told me she wants me to greet her when she returns wearing 'all my finery,' she says. 'Make yourself as pretty as you can be,' she told me. 'Maybe we'll go out for dinner and maybe we won't. That depends on whether you're passable. Though if you fooled our neighbor, probably you can fool anyone!'" That's what she said."
"So? So borrow some of her clothes and put them on, and put on a little make- up, and then take her to dinner. Or vice versa. No big deal. She's probably testing you, to see if you're telling the truth. Or maybe she wants to indulge you in your secret vice, prove to you she accepts you the way you are! She should only know what your secret vice really is! Should I tell her? No, don't worry honey, I'm only teasing! Look, sweetheart, just wear one of her skirts and some lipstick for an hour, and then you're off the hook!"
"Janet, her clothes don't fit me! She's much shorter and thinner than I am. And I don't wear women's clothes. I have none of my own. And I don't know anything about make-up. When she sees me it'll be obvious at a glance that I have no experience in these matters. That no neighbor could ever imagine I was a woman! Even seen from next door!"
"So you're asking me to help? You want me to come over with some clothes and things to make my little toilet slave look like a proper lady? Is that it? So your wife won't suspect what you really are? What we've really been doing? Is that it?"
"Since you put it that way, yes."
"Well, I won't do it. Not that way!"
"Janet, what do you mean? What do you mean, you won't do it? Janet! I...!"
"Sweetie, you have the wrong attitude. In fact, as a woman I'm a little insulted! I can see it now. You're planning to bear up, to endure your humiliating ordeal, to seem to be a mere woman like me, in order to persuade your wife that you like to wander around in dresses. I bet you're already thinking you're a martyr to our torrid love affair. I bet you already regret it, that you're being punished for it by being forced to look like a girl for one evening. So she won't suspect it's really something even worse!"
"Well, I love you, Cary, in my odd way. If you're going to feel humiliated, I want you to love it, like last Tuesday, not just endure it. I can't condone anyone's suffering or martyrdom. You'll have to pretend to be a woman for the right reasons, if you want my help! I want you to be happy. If you could be happy doing what you did the other afternoon, you can be happy looking like a woman. You were happy, weren't you, even when it was squishing onto your lips and chin and you had to go yummy with your fingers and lick it all up, you were happy doing that then, weren't you? Because it was something I wanted you to do?"
"Yes, Janet. Because you wanted it. I suppose."
"Well, if you have to seem to get off pretending to be a woman, I want you to be glad of it. Use the opportunity to discover and express your real femininity. Every man has some, even though most would rather die than confess it! So be a man! Be bold! Find some way to enjoy looking like a woman and doing the things women do. Let wearing a dress complete you! I don't believe in ordeals. I believe in fulfillments! Can you try to fulfill yourself?"
"If you want me to, Janet."
"That's just lovely, sweetheart, but that's not the answer I need to hear. I want you to want to! Say 'Yes, I will wholeheartedly do everything I am asked to do as a woman, because to some degree I am already a woman!'"
"Yes. I will. I agree to that!"
"All right. Remember it! Say it over and over tonight when you're going to sleep. Clear your day tomorrow and I'll be over at 9:00am to get you started. What time is Nadine due home?"
"Around 5:00pm."
"Good. That's plenty of time. You'll greet her at the door with a kiss and a cocktail, and you'll look just ravishing. I've got just the dress for you! You'll see!"
"All right."
"Bye now, honey. And cheer up. You're about to enter a whole new world. Be eager to explore the wonders you'll find there!"
"All right."
"Wrong reply!"
"I'll try, Janet. I'll really try very hard! I'm eager to explore this new world! Just the way you say!"
"Everything in this new world!"
"Yes, everything!"
"Good. See you promptly at nine. Don't shave -- we'll see about removing your body hairs some more permanent way. Bye now!"
"Bye"
"Hello, Nadine? You're probably somewhere else enjoying your little vacation from your marriage. Isn't Bill something? Well, I warned you! Absolutely insatiable, that man! Indefatigable! Tits, cunts, assholes, he'll stroke that thing of his into anything slippery that moves! But you know that all too well by now, I'm sure! I miss you, but God, I'm grateful to you for getting him off my back, and my stomach, and my ass, and all those other places he loves to rub himself. It's been a whole day for you now, and a whole day off for me. I'll bet all of your openings are already sore, with another day to go! The man just won't quit, will he? Well, you'll be back tomorrow, and we'll see each other then, won't we? I can't wait!"
"I think Cary'll enjoy Bill too, when he's ready. Maybe even as early as tomorrow night, though that's probably pushing it. Your little hubby has depths no one has plumbed yet. Not even me, and you know how far I pushed him just this past Tuesday! And he went there willingly! Yuck! With no regret even now! I can't begin to imagine what Bill will get him to do when his fat cock is plugged tight into Cary's ass and there's no wriggle room!"
"I thought you'd want to know right away, though, that the whole scheme worked perfectly. He called me the way you thought he would. Why not, he had nowhere else to turn! So tomorrow I'll set him up to get the works and a half at Elizabeth Arden's. We'll want him to look his best, and they're the best, right? I'll tell them sassy blonde, to give him that innocent but eager Marilyn Monroe look we talked about -- he won't recognize himself when they're done, trust me!"
"Then when he no longer knows who he is, we'll just make sure we keep him off balance. So tomorrow night at dinner, Monte's, I've already made our reservations, I'll bring Bill over to your table, the way we discussed it, and we'll introduce the two of them into their new relationship then and there. Bill will offer to teach your reluctant Cary how to become the passionate woman he wants to be, and so forth. Oh, yes, tomorrow morning I'll bring over that skimpy little black dress you bought for him, and pretend that it's mine but now it's his. You're sure his heels will fit?"
"You know, when that pimp and whore scenario we cooked up last Halloween didn't work, Bill was very disappointed. He'd been hoping that all three of us would be available to that priapic cock of his even that very night, so you wouldn't need to sneak around behind Cary's back any more. He really wanted to get back to the bisexuality he'd enjoyed before we got married. I promised him he could when I started up again on mine, but I never really delivered on the promise. But this can't fail! Your Cary is hooked now, and he doesn't even know it! No more than he knows about you and Bill, that you've been lusting after Bill for how long now? He was so concerned you'd leave him if you found out about me! Well, after tomorrow, I'll bet we'll be the prettiest foursome imaginable! Three nicely turned-out girls with a real hunk of a guy!"
"Here, I'll leave you a copy of my whole phone conversation with your hubby, so you can hear how well it went for yourself. I must say, hon, you seem to have played your part beautifully. Not a transvestite bone in his body, and yet I bet when we're finished with him he'll be ecstatic about his new tits and cunt, and eager to pass all the rest of his days in a perfumed haze waiting for one more man to come by and fill him up. He'll want to because we'll want him to. I bet eventually it'll be just because Bill will want him to. He's sweet, a real dear. But Nadine, he's so very gullible! Not that most men aren't. Bill for example has never for a moment asked me why you and I see so much of each other, how come we enjoy each other's company the way we do. He hasn't the foggiest idea how we enjoy each other. Maybe that's why we love our hubbies so much! They trust us!"
"Anyhow, we'll talk later. Here's how it went."
"' '"
"'Hello?'"
"'Janet, thank God you're home!'"
"'Cary?'"
"'Yes. You've got to help me!'"
"'Oh? Help you?'"
"'Yes!'"
"'Now calm down, Cary! Help you how? What's wrong?'"
"'Everything! Nadine has found out about us!'"
"'Found out? Found out exactly what?'"
Phone Calls © 1999 by Vickie Tern. May be archived wherever hearts feel free and access is equally free.
Vickie [email protected]
For those whose reality includes fantasy, not for those who fantasize reality, not for those who can't tell the difference, and not for those under legal age. I guess that about covers it. ~ Vickie
I suppose it was wicked of me, what I did to him. But he did so deserve it, and it was such fun setting him up, and I was so furious that I didn't care about any of the possible consequences, that he might leave me flat, or that he wouldn't be able to return from where I put him, or he wouldn't want to return, or that maybe I wouldn't want him back afterward anyhow. In a way all of these things happened. We're still living together, but certainly we've turned a corner in our relationship. We've both learned a few things. He sure did, I saw to that!
He'd been unfaithful before, you know, very often. I always suspected, but I never knew for sure. Women were always coming on to him. Why not? He's a gorgeous hunk, and hot, and horny. That's why I married him, he couldn't stay out of my pants, and he kept coming back for more, and I got to like him that way. So did other women, I suppose. They'd leave tracks sometimes, makeup or perfume on his clothes, or a woman's voice unerased on the answerer asking where is he, why is he late. I'd ask casually, and he'd always have an innocent explanation.
I wondered sometimes if there was some kind of Don Juan streak in him -- you know, that idea that a man who's compulsive about bedding women may be trying to drown out some suppressed homosexual urge, that he really wants to bed down with a man, or even to be a woman? I suppose it happens, though with Jerry it seemed so unlikely. He's such a man's man, working out at the club all the time, and all. But you never really know! Anyhow, what could I do? Marriage is based on trust. I had to try to trust him until he went too far.
Well, finally he went too far. I wouldn't have known except for you, Carol. We were out shopping a couple of months ago, you remember? And you made an odd remark. Out of nowhere you said that you didn't understand how I keep my figure, eating all those rich foods the way I do.
Well, I'm slim overall, curved where it matters, always have been, you know that. I love looking the way I do, too, so I never over eat, and when I'm even an ounce too heavy I burn it off with Jazzercise or Modern Dance or something. And you know that too. I know you tend toward plump when you're not careful -- you once told me you gain weight just from biting your nails. So I figured you were just having one of your "I hate my body" moods, and I didn't pay much attention. I just asked, "Whattaya mean?" and that minute I spotted a very pretty blouse, and I asked you if you thought it would go with that purple shantung skirt I wore to the Arts Festival, you remember? The one I got at Elaine's Close-Out Sale? I just love it.
Well, I remember what you said. "Its perfect," you said. "The texture and the look are perfect. But that's not a Fall color, so you'd have to wait till next year to wear it." I remember you said that because the whole time you weren't even looking at it, you were looking at me. Then you said, "Anne, what I mean is, you've been dining out fancy I hear, for two weeks now. Practically every night this week. Places like the Versailles, with all those cream and butter sauces, and the King George, with those huge portions they think people can eat."
I just said "Oh?" I didn't understand a word of what you were saying.
You said, "Other places too, I hear." And you went on that Tim's partner had been entertaining out-of-town buyers, and that wherever he went he kept running into my Jerry with a beautiful woman who had to be me, the two of us very lovey dovey, dining and dancing in different places. Restaurants, cocktail lounges, night clubs, all over. He envied Jerry I'm such a knockout, and that we still feel so romantic about each other. Like when he saw us having drinks at the Starlight Roof, then holding hands all the way back down to our hotel room. On a weekday! So naturally you were wondering how I was able to eat all those meals and yet stay thin.
Well, Carol, I got the message, and I may not have been very nice to you at first. But my mind was racing. "I get lots of exercise," I told you. "You know that. I work out, I jog." All the while I was thinking, every night this week Jerry phoned me to say he had to work late at the office, while I've been home with the TV and the washing machine. "I beat up on Jerry sometimes," I told you, and then I got nasty. "Sometimes we make love, that uses up calories. You should try it with Tim for a change!" I'm sorry I said that, Carol, I really am. But you forgave me right away, I could tell.
Here they are. Another round after these? Then we'll order.
Well, we both knew that Jerry sat in on Tim's poker game now and then, so Tim's partner knew him, but he'd never met me. Jerry'd been getting home way past midnight, trying to get ahead of his work he told me, so his secretary could burrow in from the moment she got in, he said. I remember I told you "When you get hot under the collar, really steamed up, that burns lots of calories."
Well, was I steamed? You bet! The previous week Jerry'd been working late too, had to get in the figures for the Third Quarter he said. One night he didn't come home at all. I was frantic when I saw he wasn't there, till he called around daybreak to say he was still at his desk, he'd fallen asleep. But what you told me made me really furious! That shit! I was thinking. That fucking, two-timing son of a bitch! That snake! All you said was "You and Jerry, still behaving like newlyweds. Don't know how you do it!" Then you held up a maroon scarf I remember, and said "Here's a strong Fall color that really picks up on your complexion." Were you ever right!
Well, you were a real friend, Carol. All through the next week Jerry kept working late at the office and I confirmed that he wasn't there. Nothing to it, really. First a phone call and get only his phone mail service. Then drop by and find the place empty, but there's his secretary's day book open on the desk. And there it all was! Full day appointments with some floosie office manager from some place down south, notations repeated like "tied up with Jocelyn, Craig Assoc., all afternoon," and "flowers for Joc. to her room at the Westin, charge to C.A. account." Last week a jeweled silver bracelet came for "J, of C.A." and was paid for with office funds. I saw that a ladies' gold watch was delivered to the office just yesterday, and there it was in the secretary's top drawer, not yet re-wrapped after someone had checked the engraving -- "It's been just lovely, and you were even lovelier -- your Jerry" it read. My romantic Jerry. There was one more date listed, a final dinner reservation for the next evening at the Regency, that posh supper club. A plane flight the next morning, a limousine to the airport booked for her. Farewell floosie, I was thinking, back you go down south to associate with Craig Assoc. for a change! You were never lovelier!
But what should I do? I thought of breaking in on their little soiree that next night, then and there. But something held me back. It was so trite! What part was that for me to play? The long-suffering, wronged wife bursting in on their romantic love tryst, hair awry, shrieking, making a public scene, destroying their golden farewell, ruining their final fuck? And then divorce, as a matter of honor? No. Not me! That wasn't my Fall color! A tantrum was too good for him, and divorce was much too easy! Let him stay tied up with her all night if that's what he wanted. I decided to wait and see what else I could come up with.
Well, maybe you didn't know it, Carol, but last year when I suspected something I tried to humiliate him. I sent him to his office Halloween Party dressed up like a chorus girl. Shaved legs, Cupid bow lips, mascara slathered on for a deep, mysterious look, hot pants, net stockings, long-haired wig -- I even taught him a high kick or two for his grand entrance.
But it didn't work. He didn't behave at all like a chorus girl, and he wasn't any way embarrassed by his clothes. He was just himself, cocky, relaxed, grinning. He wore the cute embroidered bolero I gave him to set off his titties, but he wore it as if it were a sports jacket, and when he danced with the prettier wives and associates his hot pants and stockings looked like no more than ballet tights. And his high heels looked like dancing slippers. The secretaries all told him he looked just darling, and some crowded around to ask how his panties managed to hold everything in, and some felt free to feel up the bulges on his chest. If anything, it made him more attractive to the office cuties. No, he had much too much confidence in his own manhood.
But now Halloween was coming up again, and I was thinking real hard. How can you humiliate a man's man? One way for sure. That next night, while his floosie was being even lovelier than lovely at the Regency and then later on his cock, I waited for him at home in the fanciest night wear I own. Black lace gown, pink chiffon wrapper, hair up, face really beautiful, dripping all the sex I hadn't gotten much of lately. When I heard his car glide to a stop in the driveway about 2:00 a.m, the engine already off, I lit the candles I'd placed all around our bedroom. The bed was already made up with the black satin sheets my racy Aunt Agnes gave us for a joke when we were married. He came up the stairs shoes in hand, and when he opened the door to the conflagration of candles and saw me reclining luxuriously on the black bed, he stopped stunned.
"You're still up?" he asked. You bet I was!
"Come here and kiss me, lover man," I said to him. "It's been too long!" Exactly three weeks, as a matter of fact, is what I was thinking!
"I'm pretty tired," he said, establishing a negotiating position right at the outset. "It's been a long day."
"I bet it has. But my day's only started!" I said, baring my teeth. "C'mon baby! Put out my fire with that hose of yours!" My God! I was thinking, he has me talking like a porn queen!
He began to fold his hand. "I can't, hon! I've been hard at it all day," he said. "I'm exhausted, now, really! I'm not sure what I can do!"
"Kiss me, Jerry!" I told him. "You can kiss me!"
So he came forward slowly, and leaned over me. I sat up and grabbed him around the neck and ran my nose and cheeks all over his face. I was right! The smell of that woman's cunt was all over him, even in his hair! It was like earlier, when I could still taste my own juices all over his face. Even his neck was wet! How? I tried to imagine -- of course! I bet he'd been licking out her asshole while she sat on his neck and leaned way over to give him one last blow job for the road, and love juice trickled out of her. Her asshole! I just bet he was tied up with her? Did she feed him any goodies while he was tied up down there? No matter now, I had to play this hand out.
"Mmmmm!" I said. "More! I want you to fuck me, Jerry! I need you in me now! Now! Fuck me! Hard and deep! My pussy is aching for you!"
"Ummmm, I'd love to, honey, really. But I'm not sure I can right now. I've been working pretty hard! I don't feel too sexy."
"If you've been working hard, why are you so soft now?" My hand squeezed his nuts until he whimpered a little. Then I bared my breast and cupped it toward him for his delectation. "Just suck on this!" I said, growling. "Suck on me, lover man!" He bent over further and he did it. But it was obvious, too much titty had already passed through his mouth that evening! His heart wasn't in it. My nipples were barely in it.
"Ohhh!" I groaned as if I were getting near an orgasm. "That's wunnnnderful! More! Why can't you suck on me more? No? Then my pussy, suck on my pussy!"
Carol, normally Jerry can play harmonies on my pussy like a master harmonica player, blowing and drawing and tonguing tunes up and down my labia until I'm nearly out of my mind with delight, and afraid even to ruffle his hair or squeeze his head with my thighs for fear I'll ruin the concert. But now his weariness showed. His head hit my pubic wedge, and then he barely could lift and position it. His tongue reached for my clit a few inches too high up. I realized he was falling asleep.
I grabbed him and pulled him up onto me, and spread my legs and wrapped them around him. "Now fuck me! Never mind anything else! Just fuck me!"
"OK, hon" he said with some of the old verve, "How's this?" He hadn't fucked himself out with his lovely lady before coming home? No, he had. He was only being wishful. Nothing! That spent worm between his legs stayed small. Pathetic! Now to set the hook past the barb, no wriggling off!
"Please, now! Quick!" I let some real urgency into my voice.
He pushed his loins at me a few times speculatively, then lay still.
"I don't excite you any more?" I asked, concerned. "You don't respond to me any more? Maybe some other woman then?"
"No, no! Of course not!"
"Some other kind of sex then?"
"Please, hon," he said, defeated. "I'm just tired, is all."
"Your beautiful wife wraps herself around you and you're just tired? Maybe you're hot for someone else instead? Another beautiful woman? No? How about a beautiful man then? Yes? Are you through with that thing down there now? Maybe we should just cut it off and clear the way for a real man to get at you? Is that what would excite you now? A real man plunging real meat into you? With you going 'Ooooh! Ooooh! Ooooh!" in a little girl voice? No more need to perform as my lover any more? Just being what you really want to be, someone else's sweet darling faggot?"
And I unwrapped my legs from him, and turned my face away. I had to, I couldn't stop grinning. "Just stay soft, sweetheart," I told him. "And we'll see what we can arrange for you!"
"Sorry, honey!" he says. "Maybe tomorrow. You're just upset! Please don't be upset! I'm really sorry." He wasn't, really. Only embarrassed, and to give him credit, a little bit sad because he'd disappointed me. He wanted to be every woman's lover. But he was no way repentant.
"You owe me big time, husband." I made my voice sound hard, bitter, menacing, sorrowful, hurt, pitiable, all at once. Let him feel fearful and guilty, both. "My onetime husband. My somebody else's something else! You owe me! Say it!"
"I owe you. Big time. I'll make it up to you from now on, Anne. Really!" He thought I meant I wanted more fucking, for him no big problem now that his "Joc." had gone back to her Craig Assoc. down south. Was he ever wrong!
"Whatever I want, whatever it takes," I said.
"Whatever you want," he repeated. And before I could slide out from under him he was asleep.
That was good enough for then. Now he had it in his head that when he took up with any future bimbo there was always a risk of non-performance with me, and non-performance meant deep debt. I now had an edge on him he'd never get past. Hell hath no fury, and so forth.
As far as he knew I was a dissatisfied wife and it was his fault. That was bad enough. He didn't know that I was much worse, much more dangerous. I was a betrayed wife. I'd have him eating out of my hand soon enough, I was thinking when I fell asleep, his body still heavy on mine. I began thinking what to feed him out of my hand, and how, and when.
Yes. We'll order now. I'll have the broiled salmon, and just salad, cut lemon, no dressing, nothing else. And can I see a wine list?
II.
Anyhow, for the next two weeks I was pleasant enough, and the only change in our relationship was that I wouldn't allow his prick any privileges whatsoever. He'd get into bed and hug me, and press against me and get hard, and I'd let his mouth loll on my breasts. He'd lick and suck and caress and gently roll them over his hands, and when I was ready I'd push his shoulders down with both hands, so he slid down on me and eventually found his head wedged tight in my crotch.
Then he really went to work. The hornier he felt, the more dedicated his lapping and sucking and licking. You really should get Tim that hard up some time -- they think if they get us hot enough with their mouths we've got to let them in, and boy do they perform when they're desperate! Well, the more he tongued me the louder I responded, sighing or groaning or crying out in sheer gratification and joy. I had lots of orgasms. But somehow whenever our bodies were coupled, his head never rose higher than my breasts, and his cock never got past my knees. While he gave head to my breasts or my pussy I could feel him humping away, dry-fucking the mattress between my legs. Then when I was satisfied I'd pat his head and go to sleep, or pretend to, anyhow. Night after night I left him so frustrated I could hear him in the bathroom afterward, whacking off into the toilet.
When he asked me why we weren't making love any more I told him I thought we were, and that I was very well satisfied with him. When he said he meant, why I wouldn't let him into me any more, I seemed to realize for the first time that he hadn't been there lately. Eyebrows raised in surprise, I said, "Oh, honey?" You can do that? I thought we decided you couldn't get it hard enough with me, it needed...some other kind of person." He said he'd been bone-hard for a week, ever since the pressure of his night work subsided and he could be home decent hours again. I said "Oh?" as if surprised, as if I didn't know what to do with this information.
"You're punishing me because I failed you that one night, " he said to me one evening after dinner. "And that's not fair!"
"Oh?" I said again. Then "Anything you want to tell me about that night, honey? I wasn't stimulating enough for you, obviously. Was anyone else? Were you seeing anyone else at the office? Any other women?" His face held absolutely impassive, no response whatever written there. "Any other men?"
"You keep bringing that up," he said annoyed. "Why?"
"You're avoiding my question," I pointed out. "But I can understand why you wouldn't want to tell me. Men are attractive, aren't they? They have broad chests, and large shoulders, and buns, and really beautiful dicks, and they're hairy all over, and you can lean into them and feel protected, can't you? Women are only round and soft and smooth, and not very strong when they grip you. And breasts are floppy, not at all like firm muscles. Maybe you're like me, you like a little resistance when you make love. Something solid. Maybe that's why your cock was so floppy that night."
"Anne, quit it! It's been stiff as a board ever since then!"
"Oh? I hadn't noticed." I'd carefully not let him press his dong onto my body, much less into it. "Well, I tell you what. When you've made love to me the way I want, if I'm fully satisfied I'll let you relieve yourself in me if you must."
That night he tried. He was inspired! I got the most stupendous head work imaginable! I was out of my mind, Carol! But then instead of turning over to go to sleep as usual I seemed to remember something, so I lay on my back and spread my legs wide. He clambered up onto me and he was all the way inside me in a single push.
It was lucky I was already dripping wet from his saliva and my own lubrication, he was so quick at it. He began to move in me, in and out, in and out. For a few minutes he felt good, my pussy wet and pressing in on him from all sides. But then he realized I wasn't moving at all! I was warm and slick but in effect I was dead meat, perfectly still and unresponsive as he banged me, pelvic bone to pelvic bone. When his cock began to get to my feelings I turned my mind to other things. He once said he thought about baseball scores when he wanted to hold off, so I pictured patchwork quilt patterns in my head, and that worked. I managed to hold my pelvis absolutely still even when he began to cum into me, spurt after spurt. Finally he softened and emerged, his cock dribbling down my ass cheek, still breathing heavily.
"What a shame you lost control like that," I said. "Now you'll just have to suck and lick all of that stuff back out of me, or I won't be able to let you do that ever again."
"My own cum?! You never wanted me do that before!"
"Well now I do want you to do that. I know what your problem is. You have too many hangups. You won't acknowledge your own sexual orientation. If you're a latent homosexual, we have to let it out. From now on, you get to fuck me only because I want you to taste the flavor of cum. I want your pleasure screwing me, and my pleasure when you eat me, all to be preliminary to your enjoyment of the jism you're eating out of me. That'll be my gift to you. Cum sucking is the main event from now on. Get to it!"
I must say he did it, slurped up all his own cum and swallowed it, along with my juices, and I came twice more. I wondered why I hadn't thought of this years ago. Because I love the way he fucks, I answered me. But so do too many other women. I was going to cure him once and for all!
á’Are you ever going to move when I'm in you, ever again?" he asked me respectfully another night, after he had cleaned my slit out thoroughly, swallowing all of his own sperm and then drying my mound with his hair.
"Maybe," I replied. "I just have to relearn why. Give me time. But isn't it delicious, what you've been eating out of me?"
"I'm getting used to it," he said, obviously trying to placate me.
A few weeks later when he'd swallowed lots more cunt-flavored sperm, it was routine, no big deal for him. Then I saw my opening, and my plan fell into place.
He'd told me right after Labor Day that his office was restructuring and retrenching and down sizing -- he was too hot an account representative to feel threatened, but by October general office morale had completely collapsed. No one wanted to run their annual Halloween party this year, he told me, because it seemed like partying on real people's graves.
When I heard that I went to see Roger, the Senior Partner and C.E.O. where I work, and suggested that our office institute our own Halloween costume party. He thought that a great idea, it would get our whole office staff and all their spouses and significant others together, get us thinking like one big team instead of divisions and factions, and so forth. It would improve everyone's cooperation and efficiency -- maybe we'd work harder. And besides, he liked parties. So he offered us the use of his own home, though he stipulated that I'd have to attend to everything, getting out the invitations, the refreshments, the entertainment, everything, and get some house cleaning service to clean up afterward. The company would pay for all of it, and he proposed a whopping budget I had to stay within. Fair enough.
All that was exactly what I wanted to hear. I made a number of phone calls, and I talked to Jerry's secretary for quite a while, and meanwhile I checked out my Boss's house. I found out that his wife was on some kind of guided lecture tour of the Nile, along with Jerry's boss's ex-wife and some other wealthy women, mostly from the Oak Bluff Country Club -- the old money set. So there'd be no problem with wives. The place was huge, baronial, fifteen or twenty bedrooms, you could get lost. I delegated arrangements for food and music and so on to the younger staff. We decided we'd each of us come as someone or something we thought we weren't at all, a real stretch, and the grand prize would go to the person who turned out to be that person or thing most persuasively, or close enough to persuade the judges anyhow.
Then I called Jerry's boss -- a large, vigorous man named Ralph, we'd had him to dinner a few times, he's silver-haired and he's tough-minded. I told him I heard he was alone these days, and invited him to join us.
"Why me?" Ralph asked right off.
"Because I think it might do Jerry some good," I said frankly. "And maybe you too. It might even do me some good."
"Oh?" he said. "Maybe I hear you and maybe I don't. I'll be there."
"Why don't you invite one of your best clients, too?" I suggested. "Someone who'd really enjoy an all-out bash like this one. Someone who likes parties where people dress up like what they're not, but someone who can remain a gentleman even when there are available women everywhere. No real competition for our own unattached staff."
"I hear you, Anne," he said. "Great! I know just the one! Our biggest client! He lives in town and he'll be delighted!"
So it was all set.
Then I told Jerry that we'd been invited to a Halloween Costume Party at my Boss's House. A lot of the office staff and their friends would be there. People I knew and people I didn't. Maybe no one he knew, maybe only a few. He nodded, not really concerned. I told him the rules for the grand prize this year, and asked him, "Any ideas?"
"How about I go as a girl again. You can go as a guy, so we'll be a couple."
"No," I said. "This time you'd have to be a lot more persuasive. It would take you too long to learn how a real woman acts and feels. After seeing last year's performance I doubt you're capable of it. This year you've got to act the part, convince people you're really what you seem to be. Not so incidentally, if we don't go as a couple you'll have a terrific advantage at this party, because no one knows the real you. You can seem to be anybody or anything if you do it right, and they'll believe you're the real thing. And I've got just the part for you to play, something you seem to think you aren't at all, though I've got my doubts."
"What's that?"
"Look here. If you can persuade the judges that you are in fact what you seem to be, that you're not even in costume, you'll win! You won't like it, but I want you to do this for me. Then maybe I can be persuaded that you do care enough about me to do things I want you to, whether you want to or not. That could have an effect on the way I feel about you in bed. No promises, mind you."
"What are you proposing, Anne?"
"I want you to go this time as a man."
He stared at me. "What are you talking about? Are you kidding? What's the costume? And how is that something I think I'm not?"
"That's the edge I have in mind. Other people will dress up in costumes. But this year our costumes aren't going to be just cloth or makeup. They'll be under our skins, in the way we act, how we behave. We'll dress appropriately of course, but mainly we'll create the illusion with our voices, our mannerisms, the ways we move and relate to other people. You maintain your role perfectly through the whole evening and maybe we can talk again about what you are with me in bed, and what you aren't. Maybe I'll forgive you for that night when you didn't think I was sexy enough, or sexy the right way, or maybe the right sex."
"So what'll I go as?"
"A man."
"You've said that. I can do that."
"A gay man."
"A what!!?"
"You heard me! A gay man, Jerry! A homo! A faggot! A fairy! A pansy! A queer! A feygel! You know any other names, name them!" I'd let out some of my real suppressed anger, so I stopped short, and took some deep breaths, and then continued more calmly.
"You usually behave the way most gay men behave, normal. So that won't do. You'd never be recognized if you acted normal. So you'll have to pretend. For people to catch on you'll have to exaggerate some traits, behave like a full-blown stereotype queer. But nothing excessive. No camping. No burlesquing. No signalling 'I am but I'm not.' This time there'll be none of that admiration you got because you had the guts to dress like a girl but were too gutless or unimaginative to act like one. This time you'll need to look and act just like what people think is the real thing, persuasively." I looked at him meaningfully. "I suspect you have a talent for it, as you know."
He ignored the innuendo. "And you? What will you go as?"
I smiled and weaved my hips at him a little. "Oh, you'll like what I'll be. You're always trying to get me to go out dressed like one, and to behave like one. So for once I will."
"What's that?"
"A really promiscuous slut. A whore who enjoys sex so much she doesn't charge. I know I haven't been anything like that in the past. I love sex, but I've never yet once cheated on you, Jerry. I think you know that. That's why your...inability when I was hot for you affected me so deeply. If I can play my role the way you play your role, then maybe when we get back here I'll be able to reconsider what you really are."
Jerry began thinking. "It would look funny if we arrived at this party together, a gay man married to a whore."
"That's not so strange a pair. Gays and whores can be on the lookout for partners for each other. But we won't be married at all as far as anyone knows. We'll be brother and sister. People at my office know I'm married to someone, that I'm a responsible executive, not a tramp, so they'll see my costume in the way I behave. But no one there knows you at all. They'll have no reason to think you aren't really my gay brother, the genuine article, until the time comes for the judges to do their judging."
"What would I wear?"
"I've thought about that. Not much that's different. A tight T shirt, or muscle shirt, maybe a loose satin shirt. Really tight jeans, skin tight, so your buns show -- we may need to pad them. Maybe made of velvet, so you can stroke yourself and people will understand why. It's your behavior that'll give you away, mainly. Most people don't know that gays come in all styles -- leather, three-piece suit, tough hood, dresses, cops, the whole range. So you'll have to behave stereotype femme for your disguise to be identified."
"I'll get you a haircut with little bangs, maybe. You'll swish a little while walking, not a lot. You'll talk with a slight lilt, maybe move a little floppy wristed, not a lot. In fact I think maybe we'll have you talk like a girl. Most gays don't, but you'd be more persuasive that way. Let's see -- a single ear ring. You won't need to get an ear pierced, there are spring-loaded kinds you can't tell from the real thing from the front. But that's up to you. If you do get one ear pierced, I'd recommend you get them both pierced. I hear a gay man with a steady boy friend changes which ear has the ear ring, so other men won't hit on him all the time. Like wearing a wedding ring."
"Oh, yes. We won't dance with each other at all. I'll dance with other men, and so will you. You'll have to sense which ones are most likely willing, and which most likely to turn you down. Check 'em out, the way gay men do. Tune in. Gays can tell a lot about each other with very few words. If any man asks you to dance, you'll look him up and down and then of course you'll accept. Charmingly. You can walk tight-assed or you can swagger, which ever you choose. Last year when you were a girl you should have been modest and tight-assed, but instead you swaggered. This year you can do it either way."
Jerry thought about it. "You've been thinking I'm a queer, because I couldn't get it up for you that one night. Now if I can prove to everyone that's what I am, you'll be persuaded I'm not? Is that what you're saying? What sense does that make?"
"I'll know that whatever you pretend, it isn't what I know you are, because I'll see the difference. And I'll know that you did it because I wanted you to do it. And that you're trying hard to do it right. For me."
He thought a moment, still a bit confused. "OK. That's not too hard. I can do it, for one night. It'll be worth it just to see you loosen up for once, see you try to act like a loose woman. I don't think you've got any more talent for it than I've got."
I smiled. "Maybe not. We'll see."
Well, Carol, finally, here comes our lunch. A bottle of Pouilly Fuisse too? That seem about right? We can sip it while we eat, and afterwards too. There's lots more to tell.
III.
I must say, the next two weeks were fun. As soon as Jerry got home from work I made him get into character -- in fact he had to get out of the car already behaving a little prim, and walk to the front door with quick short steps, thighs together and his ass wiggling slightly, his head held high and his lips pursed. Then he had to find his keys in his pocket as if he were searching through a purse, and I made him slide the key into the lock with flair, like a ballet movement, or a sexual act performed with one arm. At first I made him try to sound like Truman Capote, but we settled for his sounding just a little bitchy.
It started out as a game for him, to please me, something to master like a golf stroke or skiing moguls. Obviously he didn't feel touched deep inside, not obviously. But he soon began to wear the mannerisms casually, the way he'd worn his chorus girl outfit last year, un-self-consciously, almost unawares, and that only made him seem more naturally faggoty, more the way people expect gays to behave. As he did it better he really got into it. The weekend before the big event old Mrs. Warren from down the street saw him mincing across the front yard to dig in some bulbs for me, and she jokingly asked him if he'd dig in hers too. Without even thinking he pushed the air toward her with one hand and then gracefully withdrew it, and said "Silly! What a naughty thing to say!" with a smile and a *lisp* of all things, as if she'd made an immoral suggestion. Mrs. Warren stared at him a moment and continued on her way without another word. I handed him some more bulbs and pointed to where I wanted them without another word too. He didn't even know what he'd done!
It became the way he behaved everywhere except at the office. I took him shopping one day at a store that catered to certain ... umm...flamboyant male tastes, to buy himself some velvet pants while I loitered outside and enjoyed watching him. The salesman happened to be altogether floppy wristed, a real parody gay man, and waved his arms and bobbed his neck dramatically like some drag queen caricature. They struck it off right away. The salesman leaned in on Jerry to tug his the pants up, to be sure his ass cheeks would be seen in them to advantage, and he kept patting Jerry's rear, until finally I saw Jerry wag a finger at him. When Jerry emerged with his package, I asked what he had said to cool the salesman down.
"I told him I was taken."
"Well, we'll see to it that you're not too taken when you're at the party. The more your partners paw you, the more convincing your act will seem. It *is* still an act, isn't it?"
He just smiled understandingly at me, but the truth was, I was doing everything I could think of to make him unsure. The most fun came in bed. Sex between us stopped altogether, of course, because I didn't want to trigger any masculine feelings if I could help it. Yet I had to keep him drained, so he wouldn't pick up a little loose nookie at the office and undo what I was doing to him at home.
So I went to Victoria's Secret and bought the sexiest lingerie I could find, crotchless panties, a demi-pushup bra I spilled out of as soon as I was in it and a black lace teddy that hid nothing underneath. I decided these would be my slut wear under the little bolero Jerry had worn last year, and I was pleased to see that the bolero played peek-a-boo with the dark shadows of my nipples when I tried it all on. Garter belt and net stockings, naturally. Then I made up the way Jerry had been made up last year, eyes slathered in black. I lay back on pillows and with one knee raised I invited Jerry to approach me when he entered the bedroom. He was already breathing hard and was about to leap me when I flung back a fold in my robe and exposed an enormous black dildo rising high out of my crotch!
"Here, faggoty-boy, this is for you," I said. "You remember how I used to do you? Do me! And be persuasive!"
He was shocked, so repelled and resentful he almost refused. But I glowered at him with all the sexual power I could muster. "Make love to my prick, Jerry! Suck my cock, my fairy queen! Now!"
And slowly, he lowered himself to his knees, and he did it! Twice I had to tell him to put his heart and soul into it, and I kept him at it at it for over an hour, until his head and lips seemed to belong there, and my cock in his mouth felt as natural to him as his own tongue.
Then for a finale I had him whack off, squirting all over the dildo, and then lick his cum off it.
"Why all this?" he asked, a little annoyed, as he bent over to scoop up a pearly puddle at the base of the dildo with his lips and tongue. "What has this to do with playing the homo at a party?"
"Why Jerry," I answered, trying to restrain my glee as his tongue chased his own cum around the dildo's shaft, licking it provocatively in the process. "Don't you know what gay men like to do? Every moment you're talking with some man, or dancing with one, and you'd better, I'll want you to be imagining how his cock would feel in your mouth, how his cum would taste. You see honey, you're going to have to try to seduce your partners, if you can find any, and you can't fake a desire to be really intimate with someone, or you won't be convincing to anyone who's watching. You'll have to seem to mean it! To want to hold a cock in your mouth as the height of bliss! Now kiss mine with real affection, and jerk off again while you're doing it so it feels good to you whenever you kiss me there. But be sure the cum lands where it should. Then lick it off me again, and I'll let you get to sleep."
In the morning he had to produce cum for licking twice more, and that next night the same again. A few days before the party he could barely cum even once, and I was quite sure he wasn't rediscovering masculine drives with any of the secretaries at work. Each evening I reclined back on the bed with my knees parted, and he flounced to the floor, sucked away on my cock, finally managed to cum all over it and me, licked it all off, and went to sleep. It got to be a bedtime routine like brushing his teeth -- except that he brushed beforehand, of course, because I wanted him sleeping every night with the flavor of cum in his mouth.
The Thursday before Halloween Saturday Night I took Jerry to my Beauty Salon, got them to put tight waves into his hair like a marcel, and then to pierce both his ears, both of them before he had any idea what was happening. I wanted him to wear little gold hoops in both ears, I told him, until we found out which meant he was cruising and which that he was taken. Then he could take out one, depending.
He wasn't happy. In fact he was a little angry. "How the hell am I supposed to go to the office tomorrow looking like this?" he asked.
So I sounded even angrier, as if my patience was exhausted. "Jerry, the same way you always do, only this time, looking the way you're supposed to look Saturday night." I stopped him as we were leaving the salon, and I stared him down. "And you better get into character now, and stay in character all day tomorrow, pansy man, and you'd better not tell anybody at your office what all this is about! I want them to think you're their resident closet queer suddenly blossomed out into daylight. I want you to get used to different people's reactions. If they make cracks, or insults, no macho bullshit in return! You can be bitchy if you want, or you can name call. You can even be aggressively affectionate -- try to put your hands on them and call them 'dear' if they get too close, and they'll back off soon enough. Or you can cry and run away."
"Most people will treat you decently enough, at least to your face. You might try flirting with some of them for practice. Next Monday I don't care what you tell them. But tomorrow you are a flaming queer and you'll dress the part -- tight pants, pointy suede shoes and everything. Maybe a little mascara and pink lipstick also, to underline the point!"
I knew he'd have a hard day, and he did. That afternoon he flounced back into the house frowning deeply and muttering to himself, and at first I wasn't going to ask him why. I assumed that the girls in the office had figured him for a freak, and his male ego had cracked under the strain. Or that Ralph, his boss, had come by and had seen Jerry waving his ass at someone. Well, good! But that night when I was in my whore's regalia as usual and he was kneeling down to suck my cock as usual he suddenly volunteered what had happened.
"Bastards!" he said. "Out-of-town salesmen, they don't know me! Three of them figure I'm fair game, grab me when I'm in the third floor men's room, nowhere near our office, and they haul me into a booth, and then they take turns holding me down while I blow them, one after the other. They stank of piss, those goddam cocks. And their cum was so slimy I could barely get it down without gagging."
Perfect! "But you did get it down," I said to console him, not knowing whether to laugh or feel pity. "That's a good boy. What did their cocks feel like in your mouth?"
"Rubber," he said. "Like this one of yours, but silky smooth. Much warmer. I don't want to think about it! Wait 'till Monday! If I see them again, their asses are mine!"
"Maybe," I said, thinking that if all went well, by Monday his ass as well as theirs would be up for grabs. I noticed that he was intensely absorbed, and there were tears in his eyes. Because he still felt furious? Helpless? Anything else?
IV.
You sure you have nothing else planned for this afternoon, Carol? Well, maybe we'll look in at that sale in Nordstrom's when we're finished here. I need to pick up a few things for me and Jerry. Remind me if I forget.
Anyhow, the big night finally rolled around -- it's hard to remember now that it was just last weekend, so much has changed! There was a nip in the air, and unraked autumn leaves everywhere. Halloween weather! I made myself ravishing the way I did every night, but this time I put on new black high-heeled thigh-high boots to wear instead of stockings, and my crotchless panties of course, and a black leather micro mini that covered my bare pussy lips only when I stood up straight and still. Jerry looked great too. A little touch of mascara again, and his hair oiled back, and a chest-tight knit silk muscle shirt together with his purple velvet pants, and he was fussing around the room without even thinking about it. We'd had his pants tailored even tighter, so his balls bulged in front as well as his buns in back, and he grabbed for them now and then unthinkingly, to relieve the pressure. Just the right touch of suggestiveness.
Just before we left the house I gave his crotch a squirt of perfume. He looked startled, and I said playfully, "Can I help it if my brother is a fag who wears perfume?" That reminded him, and he minced into the car. Then as he was starting to back down the driveway, I said to him, "Just one more thing and you're on your own, brother. When we make our entrance, walk as if someone's cock was already in your ass. If anyone really gay is interested, we'll want them to know that you're available, so the judges can see for themselves that even the real thing thinks you're the real thing."
"Anne, just how far do you mean for me to go? Isn't there any limit to this notion of yours?"
"Jerry," I said. "You just stay in character, and be what you're supposed to be for this one night, and do it right even if that means you have to go a little further than you'd like. It won't be anything men don't do. Then afterward we'll talk. I suspect that after tonight I'll feel satisfied. We'll see."
The mansion was impressive all lit up, as we parked in the space I'd reserved for me. My boss Roger met us at the door, looking splendid in a tuxedo with a wing collar, not much of a costume, but suitable I suppose to his role as a host.
"Welcome, Anne," he said. "You've done wonders with the decoration, and the food, and the orchestra, everything. Impressive, and handled with no last-minute flurries!" He looked a little more closely at Jerry and his mouth opened just a bit. "And this is...your husband?"
"My brother!" I told Roger, looking him straight in the eye. "This is my brother Jerry. Same name as my husband's, no resemblance otherwise. I'm alone tonight, though I don't expect to stay that way."
"Not in that costume," he said. "You look good enough to eat."
"I hope so," I replied. "I'm looking forward to it."
Roger squared his shoulders and took my arm and led me into the main hallway, leaving Jerry standing on his own at the door. "Not a chance it won't happen," he said. "Not a chance. May I have the first dance?"
He did. A half hour after we arrived I was in one of the larger bedrooms off the main downstairs hallway, two huge beds with coverlets already drawn down, wiping his cum out of my pussy as best I could, tucking kleenex into my slit to slow the flow, and kissing him on the nose. "That was marvelous!" I told him. "My husband's been away a long time now. I'd almost forgotten the moves."
"Oh no," he said. "You do things my wife couldn't possibly do. That teeny rotating of your twat just about when you started moaning, it drove me wild! And I wish I'd known earlier how wonderful you taste."
"Well, you know now," I said. I just couldn't stop smiling! I felt so liberated! It was just delicious, being a bona fide slut! Here in front of me was my first brand new man since my marriage! A whole new world to explore! He had a great tongue, really marvelous, and a short but fat and altogether satisfying prick. I had no complaint about either of my orgasms. "I'd better go see how Jerry's doing," I said. "He doesn't know anyone here."
"Don't worry, Anne," Roger said. "I suspect he's well tended. There are a few people here with his... ahh... interests. I notice that you invited your husband's boss, Ralph. He's an old friend, we were in the same eating club at Princeton. I'm glad you asked him, his ex being off with my wife and all, and Ralph with nothing else planned. But he's brought someone who'll certainly want to meet your brother if he hasn't already, a client of his who is as it happens is also a client of ours too. If the two of them hit it off, we can all be happy."
He smiled at me, and took me gently by the elbow, and led me back to the bed. "Anne, if you don't mind mounting me this time, I'd love to show your wonderful breasts how profoundly I can worship them while we fuck again. My wife's also been away longer than I'd thought."
"That's what I'm here for, Roger," I said. "Sluttish is as sluttish does."
His tongue on my nipples felt even better than his cock in my cunt, and that was ecstasy!. God, I'd waited a long time for a real man! I smiled as I thought that Jerry'd been one only a few months ago. I wondered if I could think of him that way ever again. If he'd ever be one again.
It didn't look that way when I went into the large room we'd turned into a ballroom, orchestra on one side, all sorts of animals and bunnies and horror film characters swaying and bouncing everywhere. The orchestra began a slow dance, and the floor quickly filled. Sure enough, there was my Jerry in a far corner plastered to a tall, muscular man I didn't know. The man wore a studded motorcyle jacket, and Jerry was nearly wrapped inside it. The mutual client, no doubt about it, and they'd found each other as Roger had predicted.
As I looked closer I saw the client grinding his pelvis into my Jerry's crotch with each beat, holding Jerry's velvet buns close, one in each huge hand. Jerry was holding his partner around the neck, taking the woman's role I noted with satisfaction, his head on the man's shoulder and turned well away. There seemed to be a desperate gleam in his eye, and as I watched I saw why. The client let go Jerry's rear end for a moment, and as Jerry turned toward him thinking the dance was finally done, he took Jerry's head in both hands, leaned over him, and tenderly but with iron firmness kissed him on the mouth. The kiss lasted a while. Jerry's hands fell helplessly to his sides, dangling there. Then his partner placed them back around his neck and they resumed their clutched movements, grinding against each other.
"They're getting on very well, wouldn't you say?"
I looked up, and there alongside me was Ralph in a tiger costume of sorts, also looking at the loving couple.
"I'm glad you invited me to invite him. His name's Mike, incidentally. I introduced Jerry to him as your brother, as you'd suggested, and they hit it off right away. At least Mike did, and Jerry's obviously under strict instructions to go with the flow, to be what he seems to be. I told him Mike was our best client, so he should be sure Mike gets whatever he wants. How did you turn that compulsive stud into such a compliant queer? What kind of a hold have you got on him?"
"The best kind," I replied. "I've got him by the balls! He still wants to stay married to me for some reason, and I'm setting conditions. Enlarging his horizons for him."
He looked me over appreciatively. My face was still flushed from my two fucks, and I was still feeling a little squishy under my short leather skirt. There must have been something in the way I stood, or moved, that told him that too. "Are you what you seem to be tonight, Anne?"
I took Ralph's arm. "You bet," I said. "Try me."
He wrapped his hand around mine, securing it firmly on his arm. I was off and running again! "Tell me, Anne, why are you doing this to him?"
"Payback. He fucked other women and fucked with me once too often. He thinks if he wins tonight's costume contest I'll forgive him, and he would've won, too, because he is certainly acting out the way he looks, and you know that's not the way he started out. He's absolutely convincing, don't you think?"
The dancing couple dipped deep, and as Mike leaned back holding Jerry partly between his legs, I realized that if Jerry had a vagina at that moment Mike's prick would have slid all the way into it.
"'He *would've* won' you say?" Ralph asked. "You mean he won't?"
"No," I replied. "It's a shame. He doesn't know it, of course, but what with all the details setting up this party I seem to have forgotten to appoint judges. Nobody's watching. Or everybody's watching, but nobody's judging anybody. Not tonight, anyhow. Tonight we're whoever we are because that's who we want to be, never mind why."
"Then shouldn't we be somewhere else, looking for refreshments, or refreshing ourselves?"
"Yes. Just a moment. All right now. There, see? It's happening much faster than I'd hoped. Your Mike has Jerry by the hand and seems to be talking to Roger about something. Yes, Roger's directing him to that same bedroom just down that long hallway. Let's wait just a moment, and then we'll follow. I want to see what happens." I looked at Ralph. "Even more, I want Jerry to see what happens. Are you willing?"
"I never refuse a lady," Ralph said with mock gallantry. "Especially a lady like you! I'd never risk it!"
We stopped to chat with a few people and to sip some of the excellent champagne Roger had contributed in the name of employee relations, to give Mike and Jerry a chance to settle in. Some guys from the office started toward me when they saw my look, then deflected in other directions when they saw my arm wrapped in Ralph's. Maybe fifteen minutes passed, We drifted down the hallway, and then into the room.
Jerry and Mike were in full fling. Neither of them even noticed us as we stepped inside quietly, and in the dim light sat down on the other bed to watch the two men thrashing away at each other.
Jerry's purple pants were no where in sight, probably crumpled up somewhere en route to the bed. There he lay, bare-assed on his back, his legs high up on Mike's muscular shoulders. Bare-assed isn't quite the right word, Carol, because what I saw was a huge prick, bigger than any I'd ever seen anywhere, bigger even than the dildos they display in sex shops, and it was sliding in and out of Jerry's anus like some gigantic piston pushing and pulling inside its cylinder.
Ralph and I could see it perfectly when it was withdrawn practically to the head then plunged all the way back in, Jerry giving a little mewing shriek each time. I'd wanted Jerry's first ass-fuck to be a wholly new experience, a discovery he made all on his own, so I hadn't prepared him with dildoes or butt plugs or anything to stretch him out and relax his sphincter. Now I regretted it. It seemed cruel, what I'd done. There he was helpless under that gorgeously muscled man, pinned down like a bug, and that huge thing was sliding in and out of him mercilessly. All he could do about it was make those strange high-pitched squeaks.
"Enough," Jerry cried out suddenly. "For God's sake, that's enough!" He remembered his partner's name. "Mike! It hurts!" As my eyes got used to the dim light, I could see Jerry's face streaked with tears, his mascara run a little. Was it pain or mortification? Probably both.
"It always hurts my partners at first, Jerry honey," Mike said. "No matter how many partners they've had before, I'm always a little...stressful for them. But soon enough they begin to sing that old song, 'Pull it out deeper, it hurts so good!' Then they can't bear for me to leave them. You'll see, sweet cheeks!"
Even so, Mike slowed down, and his humping pelvis seemed to thrust more gently. "You're tight, Jerry. You're sooo tight! You've had fewer partners than I thought from the way you responded when we were dancing together. You seemed so casual then, so matter of fact. But now no matter. Just lie here under me and get used to feeling a real man inside you, until you're ready to really enjoy a real man, and you feel like pushing back on me. I can go slow like this for a long time."
Jerry thrashed his head in desperation, and then saw me sitting there with Ralph, the two of us holding hands. His eyes opened out wide and then bulged! He stared at his boss, then me, then Ralph again, and all the while that great penis of Mike's disappeared into his anus and then reappeared. "My GGGoddd!" he said, and then seemed to choke. Obviously, seeing his boss calmly watching him impaled by Mike's huge prick overloaded him. His focus shifted to my face. "Anne? Enough!" he cried, still pinned against the bed like a butterfly, his legs spread like wings up over his head, his naked ass now nearly empty, now filled to bursting. "Please, Anne, tell him! I'm not like this!"
My moment had arrived. "Jerry, you just want to have all the fun!" I replied, forcing out each single syllable word separately. "And you've had lots of fun, you have! But I want my fun too! And I'll have it! Just watch me now!"
He couldn't pull his eyes away, and in the twilit room a fantasy unfolded that must have seemed to him a nightmare. I wanted it to seem dreamlike, so I moved slowly. First I gestured Ralph to rise, and he did with excruciating deliberation -- he'd caught on to my little scenario. I undid his pants, and sat him down in slow motion, and knelt and applied my mouth to his cock as if it were a child's lollipop. When I glanced up now and then, Ralph was looking amusedly over at Jerry, his employee folded nearly double, thighs pushed into his chest, eyes nearly out of his head in horrified bewilderment, going out of his mind. Mike continued his slow pumping, in and out, in and out.
"Take good care of our customer, Jerry," his Boss said to Jerry mildly. "And I'll take good care of your sister here. I wish I'd known about your orientation earlier, I would have given you many more accounts like Mike's to tend to. But it isn't too late. They're yours now. We'll talk about it Monday. Enjoy yourself! Mike, you know we both appreciate your business."
"Oh Jerry already appreciates my business, enough for the both of you," Mike replied. "Don't worry. But if you don't mind, Jerry seems stressed out now for some reason. We'll just watch you two if you don't mind, and I'll stay still and give Jerry's asshole a chance to stretch a little more. I do want him to enjoy what we're doing."
Jerry was still speechless, his asshole crammed and stuck and immovable. He tried to wiggle free for a second, but only worked Mike's cock deeper. So he stayed still, still bug-eyed, his head turned, apprehensively watching my every move.
As if in his dream I took Ralph's cock head into the back of my mouth and pushed it into the back of my throat.
"Oooooh!" Jerry groaned, as I turned sideways and looked slyly at him. Then I closed down on Ralph's cock and forced it into my gullet, and then slid it up again.
"Beginning to relax, are we?" Mike said to Jerry. "Well, you'll soon see. I'll soon have you so loose and supple you'll think we're both swimming in butter."
"AH!" came next out of Jerry's mouth, a high-pitched shriek that would have been more suitable coming out of my mouth. He'd just realized that I'd just deep throated his boss. I'd never been able to do that with him, even when he'd begged me to try -- I'd always gagged and coughed. But I'd been practicing with my dildo, and now it seemed simple enough.
"NNGGNGGNNGHH" I let out a deep, contented groan when I next had Ralph's cock way down in my throat. It sounded muffled and strained, almost inhuman as that solid meat pressed on my vocal cords from the inside. But I wanted Jerry to hear that cock's pressure, to feel it with his ears. He did, and replied with another cry, even higher pitched.
"You want to suck on my cock too, honey?" Mike asked him. "Don't worry, you will. We have all night. We're going to know everything there is to know about each other before morning.
Jerry replied with a squeak, maybe because Mike rubbed in that promise by withdrawing, then slowly pressing in again until he was back in all the way again.
"Sure, I know," Mike said tenderly. "It feels good. You're getting softer, and I'm getting harder. That's the way it should be."
Jerry couldn't reply, because at that moment I stood up, still slowly, wiggled my leather-covered ass onto the bed, lay back, and spread my legs wide. "Come into me, Ralph," I said. "Come into me. Roger's fucked me twice already, so you'll slide right in with no problem. I want your cock in me, deep. I want you to feel some loving wiggles and wriggles no one has ever felt before. Not in me, anyhow."
Jerry watched as his boss mounted me slowly, and saw his long, thin cock slide on and on and in through my crotchless panties until finally Ralph's thighs were mashed against my leather mini skirt. Then out just as slowly. Then in again. I was beginning to heat up again, but just before I wrapped my arms around Ralph's neck and closed my eyes and began to thrust back with all my heart, soul, and might, I looked over again. Jerry still stared straight at us amazed, and I saw that Mike too had picked up the pace again. I also saw that Jerry was now lifting his ass up slightly but noticeably on each of Mike's approaches.
Then there was another moment some time later, after I had risen under Ralph to a glorious orgasm, and a delicious peace flooded me, lasting for a while before I began to build again. Again I glanced at the couple in the other bed. Success! Jerry was now holding Mike's head in both his hands and kissing him voluptuously, as he'd never kissed me, while Mike just kept stroking in and out of him with long, easy thrusts. I thought to myself, Jerry must have figured that when your wife's fuck is inevitable, relax and enjoy your own. Or maybe watching his boss slam raw meat into me has turned him on, the voyeurism emphasizing his helplessness, his helplessness emphasizing his humiliation, and he loves all of it. Or Mike's monster cock had finally found Jerry's point of no return. Or Jerry always has been a repressed closet queer, and that's why all the skirt-chasing. Whatever the reason, he's not repressed any longer!
Then I stopped thinking about it altogether, and concentrated on the wondrous, glorious, sublime feelings sweet, dear, marvelous Ralph's long, long cock set glowing in me, then blazing, then exploding, again and again as the night wore on, and not one of the four of us stopped or even slowed down. God what heavenly fucking we had!
We'd better ask for the check now, Carol. Oh, my, I feel so warm! It must be all that wine! Waiter!
V.
Anyhow, I opened my eyes again when daybreak began to break up the dark outside the window and I could see shadows of separate trees. I looked around. Mike and Ralph were both asleep, each spooned into his lover, each hugging us. Ralph's hand rested lightly on my breast, and oddly, Mike's hand caressed one of Jerry's nipples even in his sleep. I vaguely recalled hearing Mike say affectionately to Jerry as he was falling asleep, "You're a wonderful girl. I love the feel of your pecs. Don't go queen on me too soon, and get breast implants or anything like that, Jerry. Not right away. Promise me. I want to get to know you better as you are."
I listened closely, but all I could hear from Jerry in reply was "Heeahh!" in a high, soft voice, which I'm sure Mike took for a 'Yes.' But I was thinking as I fell asleep, I hadn't promised Mike anything myself. Jerry could keep his pecs for the present, maybe, but this thing was far from over.
I untangled myself from Ralph and stood up, and felt a deep puddle of his cum suddenly bubble out of my cunt and start to trickle down my leg. For the moment I ignored it. Should I ask Jerry to....? No. His face was already crusty enough with Mike's cum.
I crossed over to Jerry. 'C'mon, honey," I whispered to him. Time to go now. The party's over. Wake up!"
Then I saw he wasn't asleep. His eyes were still fixed open, a pained, defeated look in them. Maybe he hadn't slept at all, just watched me and Ralph as we did things together all night long? What he must have seen if so! Maybe he was hoping Mike would wake up and fuck him true blue one more time? I'd find out later.
"Never mind how your ass feels now, lover." I said to him. "Mine feels the same way. You saw!"
I saw in his eyes that he had seen. My ass had been virginal before tonight. He'd often wanted in, but I'd always wanted him in my quim whenever his cock was hard enough to go in anywhere at all. But Ralph was incredible. His third fuck had been into my ass, long and languorous and beyond my ability to describe it. And then his fourth was back into my cunt again. And wherever he pushed into me, my whole body rose up and followed delighted, and I came and came, orgasm after orgasm. So I could hardly complain.
"No, my butt hole is not for you," I said, guessing what might be on his mind. "You have your ass and I have mine. Mine will never be yours. Other men's, maybe, but never yours. Don't even think about it. You'll find other men who can fit into yours if you feel a craving. I won't mind. I'll find other men too."
He lay stone still, now looking at me piteously. There was no doubt that my confident, cock-swinging, manly husband was way past recovery.
"We're both sore now, but I'm sure when we think about things later, and remember how it felt, we'll feel very good indeed down there. And in time we'll both get used to accommodating our lovers down there. You'll have to, I guess, if your boss gives you all those new accounts he mentioned. And now I'll want to. I'll surely want to. C'mon now, honey."
I reached out my hand and he took it, detached his chest from Mike's hand, and carefully, not to wake Mike, swung his legs over the side of the bed. He sat gingerly for a moment. But the pressure on his butt must have seemed too great, because he then painstakingly stood up. He tried to walk toward the bathroom, and managed only his mincing lurch. I could see cum glistening between his ass cheeks now, and a shiny streak further down the inside of his thigh. There was a smear of red still visible on one cheek, not altogether wiped away by the rest of the night's gyrations. My poor dear had indeed lost his cherry!
When we were in the bathroom and the door was shut, I turned on the night light. There were his clothes, half soaked in the tub where Mike had probably tossed them after they'd showered together before their little tete-a-tete, Jerry then still under duress and Mike powerfully muscled. No telling if Jerry resisted, but I doubt if it was more than token.
"Oh dear," I said. "You don't have those pretty purple pants to wear any more. But there's a dress hanging in the closet over there. I'll get for you to wear home, so you can be decent. Just wait".
This was more than Jerry could handle. He'd really had a hard night this time. He stared at his drenched fag gear. "You aren't going to tell anyone about this, are you?" he said. "This is just this night, isn't it?"
"It is if you want to quit your job and find another," I said. "And find another town to live in. Just when you've been given some of the best accounts in the industry. But that's up to you. I've gotten my satisfaction now. Roger and Ralph were just lovely. You were even lovelier, dear. I'll get that engraved for you to wear, if you'd like. Here, put this on, and we'll leave.
Jerry seemed stunned when he heard that reference to his last girlfriend's inscription. Maybe the last girlfriend he'll ever have, I thought gleefully, but I didn't say a thing. "You knew!" he said. "You knew about Jocelyn the whole time. You've been getting even! But you said that after tonight you'd forgive me. Now what are you talking about for me? Is this what you have in mind for me from now on? Dresses?"
"Oh, no, Jerry!" I told him. "It isn't a matter of balances, you owe me so I pay me, and that way I'm even. I do forgive you. Last night you did everything I'd hoped and more. But now we're living in different worlds. This morning we're both different from when we came here. And there's no going back. You're set up with Ralph's special clients now for good it seems, no down sizing ever. If you stay with Mike's kind you'll be a member of the mincing-in-tight-pants brigade. You heard him. No breasts for now. But then there are other clients I'm sure who will prefer a less manly account executive, one who can be a little more delicate, and gracious, and soft, a little more femme, more of a temptress, or a coquette. When you meet with them you'll find you'll need to choose which way you want to go."
"No, sweetheart, I won't put you into dresses. But maybe they will. You will, maybe, after talking it over with Ralph. Maybe simply for convenience you'll want your own breasts, hormonal or implants. That'll be entirely up to you."
"As far as I'm concerned, now that you've been used like a faggot or a woman, you have to decide which. Either way you're now like me, a whore available to a variety of men. And we both know it. Neither of us can ever forget it. So no, there's no going back, sweetheart. I myself don't want to, I like this new life, different cocks hard at work trying to satisfy me each night, men using themselves up in me while I keep going and going. I'm satisfied. But are you gay now, Jerry, or are you a girl? Which?"
He looked up at me, grim and mournful.
"Cheer up, sweetheart! I myself think you have much more talent toward gay. Compare this year's great performance with that sorry spectacle last year, when no one thought you were a girl even for a moment. But now everyone, even your own boss, thinks you're as queer as a three dollar bill. And I must admit, I prefer you manly to altogether effeminate, even if you're some other man's man. I'm not yet through with your cock. I just want to know where it's at from time to time, who's using it besides me."
"You don't seem at all sorry you fucked both those men last night, Anne! At least I am for what I've done!" Jerry was feeling for the moral high ground, but there wasn't any!
"That's right, not at all! Tonight I got from other men what you've been getting from other women ever since we got married. Laid! Isn't that so? You never felt bound by our marriage, so I see no reason why I should. It's just a matter of my catching up, is all. I mean to try."
As we sneaked through the now pale lit living room and out to the driveway and our car, I whispered to him. "That's it, a perfect walk. You've finally mastered it. Still dripping? I'd carry a tampon from now on if I were you. You keep swishing your asshole like that, as if there were still a cock in there, and there soon will be!"
"It's priceless! Now everyone thinks you're really the gay man I wanted you to become this Halloween. So from now on, honey, weekdays at least we remain sister and brother. You'll just have to keep being your new self, whatever the clothes you actually wear. No one will believe after last night that you're not what you seem. And if you claim you're not, when everyone at the party saw you and Mike together, you'll seem something much worse!"
"On weekends we can make it up. Then if you want to be my great macho lover again, I'll always welcome you into me. I don't want you to prefer all men to any woman, after all. Not to me, anyhow. We *are* married after all! You *do* have a wonderful cock, and though Mike isn't inclined to make use of it I certainly am. Of course whatever happens happens, even on weekends. You do have a darling tush, and I can't fend off the whole world!"
Jerry seemed gloomy as I drove us home, hunched over in his dress so the early morning traffic wouldn't recognize what he was wearing. He knew that his days as a Don Juan among women were done for, and said as much. No way could any woman think of him as a great lover. Not since his behavior Friday at the office, confirmed by rumors no doubt already spreading about last night's party.
"Did I at least win that prize you wanted me to win?" he asked.
"I don't know," I answered as we approached our old neighborhood. It too seemed different. "We weren't either of us there for the judging, were we? We were both busy somewhere else, remember?"
I was feeling quite cheerful. If Jerry was now a member of the gay community, reluctantly, I was now also committed to my own new Halloween way of life. I wondered how long it would be before Jerry wondered why his sister was working late nights on so many week days, maybe as many as he'd be working with his clients from now on. I wondered if he had access to Ralph's day book, where his sister would certainly be mentioned frequently. I knew I'd show up in Roger's almost as often as I showed up at the office for work.
As I thought about posh dining clubs, I wondered how long it would be before we ran into each other at one of them, Jerry and me, and nodded our acquaintance, and Jerry would introduce his sister to his man for the evening, and I'd introduce mine. Above all I wondered how under these circumstances I could possibly keep my figure, your very first question, Carol, now really come back to haunt me. Maybe it would balance off, I was thinking, because Roger and Ralph and the other men I mean to enjoy would be giving me some pretty exhausting workouts. Maybe for a special treat we could let Jerry and his boyfriends watch, and pick up pointers.
So you see, Carol, it won't do you any good to try to resume that old long-term relationship you've had with Jerry. It's over. That's why he could tell me about it in the car going home, about how jealous you were of that Craig Associate woman, about how you threatened to blow the whistle on him. Well, you certainly blew it! Now I suppose you'll have to train Tim to do the things Jerry used to do with you. Maybe in a few months I'll check out how well he's learned them, and teach him a few more things. If it happens, you'll know. You can count on it!
Let me pay the whole check, Carol, please. Be my guest. I asked you to meet me here after all! You can get the tip if you like. Then we really should get to those sales. Both Jerry and I need lots of new things to wear now, obviously. I only wish I knew whether he'll be wanting to wear more of his own kinds of clothing, or he'll want to start wearing my kind. It would make the shopping so much easier.
Copyright © 1997 by Vickie Tern. Permission freely granted to archive this story, make it available, and copy it for personal use, but it is not for sale, no way, no how.
Vickie [email protected]
One answer is, I prefer my characters to be persuaded that they want to be women, or tricked or cajoled into it, forced into it only if deep down that's what they really want anyhow, and of course blackmailed into it only if they're wimps.
Another answer is, it's never been necessary. Their femininity augments and perfects whatever they already are, and they carry it all with them. Doesn't it?
Still, some fantasies aren't others. Here I've come as close as I can to a Non-Consensual Castration tale, for now. Sorry, no physical pain.
This story is not for anyone below the age of consent. Those who might consent to events depicted herein are also advised to do their own imagining. ~ Vickie
May be copied to any free archive, but do let me know!
We played wonderful games. Langoruous courtesan, with Aurora leaning back in satin as if amused, while I coaxed from her the sexual favors she half-denied, half-yielded. Slave prince, me tied to the wall and defiant while she was the Amazon princess who used me. Once bitch in heat, me sniffing her privates before a glorious lunging fast fuck, jabbing my withers at her as quickly as I could. Then one week we played all these roles again, and the others too, only in reverse. I was the bitch in heat. She was the imperious captive. For my role as a courtesan I wore satin and stayed home from work all day to get my hair and make-up just right, and she wooed me with a diamond necklace that made me feel genuinely lovely as she clasped it around my neck, the two of us looking in a mirror. After a swooning session that left me breathless, my unladylike cock finally limp inside her, she said, "Oh, you should have been a girl," and I smiled and kissed the tip of her strap-on dildo in reply. She also wished I could be a bitch in heat more often. Only when we played stallion did she show impatience, while I was mounting her. I'm not that large. But mostly I give satisfaction.
Then she had a game of her own she liked to play with her fingers, clipping everything extraneous off the world. Waiting for me to come back to life a third time, even a miraculous fourth, her own playfulness undiminished, she'd wave her arms in the air all around me, like some Circe casting a spell, and waggle two fingers together like scissor blades, and mock-cut things up. Hair from her head, or from my crotch. Her bra, crumpled into the bedsheets under her sweet rear end. One of her nipples, still jutting nobly out of their pink aureoles on the tips of those gorgeous breasts. My penis.
"Snip!"
When I objected to that even in play, she smiled and moved down to my balls, sprawled exhausted in their limp sack, waiting to recover. She lifted them with one hand and clipped the sack between her two fingers just below where the penis attaches, as if she were cutting excess material from an apron or house dress in process. "Snippety!" she said.
I let it pass.
"You don't mind my snipping these, now, do you," she said, experimentally hefting both balls in her palm before letting them back down on the bed.
"Well, yes," I said. I decided not to say anything more.
"But why?" she asked, I couldn't tell whether impatiently or teasingly. "You don't need them. You don't mean to have more kids, do you?"
She knew I didn't. My ex had been awarded both, and the grief I'd caused and felt for them all through the divorce and since was enough for several lifetimes.
"And I certainly don't want kids. Whether we keep seeing each other or not. So why do you need them? They're in the way when you jog or play tennis or do anything healthy, bouncing and jouncing. When you're my captive maiden in my dungeon, they ruin the view. And anyone can put you into agony by punching them."
She swung her fist in a short uppercut from between my legs, and I flinched before she arrested her swing and held her hand up, palm out. "See?" she said. "Never touched them, and look at you. Big strong mans."
She meditated. "I don't have any and I get on just fine."
"Aurora," I said. "That's what makes the juice that made us so happy a few minutes ago, when I was reaching and reaching for it and finally you brought it all spurting out of me. Into you, and you seemed glad to have it, the way you arched your back and cried out over and over."
"No, those things don't," she said. "Not that juice. Not your testicles. Where'd you get your sex education? That joy juice is from your prostate, down deep just behind this limp thing here, your penis. From that smooth little lump I tickle sometimes, when my finger's deep in your ass, and then you cum like a jackrabbit."
"That's some stunt," I said with feeling, remembering. "Where'd you learn that?
"In sex education. In the ninth grade."
"They taught finger fucking?"
"It was a liberal school," she said. Her mouth mused a little, and she glanced sideways at me for a moment, then went on. "Both sexes got the same sex lectures at the same time. A doctor explained our physiologies. He told the boys how doctors reach into assholes to feel the prostate to see it's OK, especially when a boy gets to be an old man. It sounded neat. So I took three boys outside and dared them to let me try it on them. Then once I got them going, they all three came all over themselves. That was fun!"
"You were something!" I said, admiringly.
"I'm not now?" she asked. She knew the answer and went on. "Then they asked me to do it again, and I played hard to get. They said they'd do anything I wanted if I'd do it to them again. So I did, a few more times that day. Then each day for a few weeks. It was lots of fun, better than Girl Scouts for sure! But I ran out of things to order them to do, and it got boring. I told them no, no more, and they pleaded a while, but you already know pleading doesn't work at all with me. Not at all."
She paused. "A year later one of them told me they were still doing it to each other. I bet they still are."
"What'd you order them to do?" I asked. I felt stirred, somehow.
"Oh, stuff," she said. Her lips were close to the head of my penis, and I wondered if she was going to take it into her mouth. That beautiful mouth, with those red, curling, curving lips. "Told them to walk around naked, and kneel in front of me first whenever we were starting a session, and ask me nicely. Like I asked you to kneel earlier tonight, and you were so sweet and did it. You know. One I made wear one of my brassieres and panties all day under his clothes. He became my dedicated girl-boy. I put him in dresses when we went for sodas and things. He was so afraid he'd meet someone he knew! I made the other two boys try to tickle his prostate gland with their cocks, but both cocks were too short, so I had to finish him off with my finger usually. They'd push their pricks into his ass, but nothing ever happened except they'd cum in him and make him messy."
"The day I told them all I wouldn't play any more, I figured I'd cure my girl-boy of being afraid, as a going away present. I told him maybe I'd change my mind if he did everything I told him with no hesitation. Then I got him up in my nicest party dress, his hair done up with a ribbon, and a little lipstick, and all. He really was pretty! I kissed him, and I said, 'That's my girl' to encourage him. Then I walked him all over the neighborhood, the schoolyard, everywhere, and made sure everyone did see him and recognize him. He was mortified at first when the first girls we saw teased him, and the guys all told him to meet them behind the school for a little 'you know what.'"
"Oh my, look how you're swelling up. You really do like girly games too, don't you. Anyhow, after a while there was no more reason to feel afraid. Everyone knew. The rest of that year everyone teased him that he was a fairy girl and a pantywaist, and everything, and he finally learned to say, 'So what?' By then he liked wearing panties, and dresses, and all the rest. When the three of them took up diddling each other, he usually dressed up and played me, I heard."
"You really were something!" I said admiringly. By now I could feel her moist, warm breath on my cock, those lips not an inch away from it. "What else did you do?"
"Not much else. Couldn't think of much else, at the time. Stretched out their assholes, of course. Not with a dildo or a butt plug, the way I do you. Couldn't afford things like that then, not on my allowance. But I figured, what my finger could do, a broom handle could do better, and then a baseball bat could do better still. And they sure could. Though I had to be careful to grease them, and not to push them in too far, and to wash them off especially after. Yuck!"
My prick was definitely on the mend, and I began to caress her nipples with both hands. She settled in to enjoy it with a snug little grunt of contentment. "There was an accident," she said a little dreamily. "But not too bad. I tied off their balls, the two that weren't my girl-boy, and got a leash and a whip, and tied the leash to the loop around their balls, and started to teach them circus tricks. Crack the whip, and tug on the leash, and up they'd go, climbing ladders or a tree in my back yard, or sitting on each other's shoulders. My girl-boy sitting and watching in his pretty dress would applaud us."
"So what was the accident?"
"One day they were both in a tree being monkeys, and one of them dropped the other on the other side of a branch, and when he fell he hung by his balls for a while, until the other boy could cut him loose. Scream? A neighbor called an ambulance. But no real harm done -- he was back in school inside of a week. When he got back he told me his balls were too damaged to keep, so they'd taken them out and put in little soft plastic ones instead 'so he wouldn't be disfigured' they told him, and when he grew up they said they'd give him big plastic ones. 'Disfigured?' I ask you, whose crotch looks better, yours with all that clutter hanging off it, or mine, swept to a simple V-shaped mound and neat as a pin?"
She glanced up and saw a little gleam of lust in my eye, and then she looked back down at my cock again. "Right," she said. "No contest! Anyhow, they gave this kid shots later on, so he'd grow hair on his chest and all, and be a man, same as if he still had balls. Couldn't have kids, of course, but what's so bad about that? Couldn't knock anyone else up either and then run off. He didn't care for girls after that anyhow. And the other boys taunted him, called him a eunuch when they learned the word. But as my girl-boy learned to say, 'So what?' They hung out a lot together afterward, my three little boys. They were my first.
"So that's how I know about shots. If you already have hair on your face, and you don't want kids, you don't need these gumballs."
She clutched them in her hand, and squeezed, till they hurt a little. I tried not to let on. She took an experimental lick on the tip of my penis, and then another, and squeezed a little harder, and looked satisfied for some reason. "Well, maybe they're good for one thing, though shots are still better. A little bit of testicle juice, you're a little bit horny. A lot and you're a lot horny, if you're the right kind, though too much from your balls make can make you nasty, really aggressive, you know? Angry, and you don't live as long. Shots work out better. Of course your own can conflict with the shots, and then your balls can atrophy or get cancer, and then you lose them anyhow. "
"How's this little fella doing?" My prick had gotten plump, not yet stiff. Suddenly she took the whole of it into her mouth, rolled her eyes up to meet mine mischievously, and started sucking on it. In two minutes I was hard again, and in five more minutes she'd sucked me to a monumental orgasm, my prick pulsing and pumping in her mouth until there was no more juice left for her to swallow, and then pulsing a few more times anyhow.
Then she wanted to slither up my body and have me thrust my penis into her yet again. No way.
"Aurora, I've come four times in the past couple of hours, once just a few minutes ago. That's already twice my world record for assisted comes.
"I told you," she said. She waved her arms around, making that scissor gesture again. "Shots are better. You want to see a doctor I know. She'll fix you so we can go from morning to night, and then all night if you want to really shoot up. Maybe an implant. Just talk to her about it, OK?"
I agreed to talk. She licked me up and down for a while, concentrating on the head of my penis and on my nipples, until I felt a peculiar desiring in my groin, which was still soft. The desiring starting to build, like an orgasm, but without my penis responding it seemed to have no place to go. She could feel a delicious tension rising in me finally to stretch out my whole body, I'm sure, because she said, "Oh, yes! You're the one!"
Then suddenly without another word she got up, got dressed, and was gone. It was barely midnight. An early evening.
For a few days I didn't hear from her, and I began to worry she'd quit with me. I hadn't performed for her. I realized I had no phone number to call to ask for another chance. She'd always called, and she'd always come over, or we'd met someplace. I didn't even know where she lived! Then Saturday morning the phone rang. "I'll be there in twenty minutes," Aurora said without preliminaries. "Be ready. We have an appointment with my doc in forty minutes. She was just able to fit you in. I'll honk and you come out." And she hung up.
What had I agreed to do with her doctor? To talk about hormone supplements to could keep my pecker up indefinitely. Induced satyriasis? I pictured myself going to work crouching down and trying to hide an all-day boner, and grinned. Well, a permanent hard-on would solve my problem with Aurora for sure, I thought. Just what the doctor ordered. And if our relationship didn't work out, no harm done. I threw on sweat pants and a sweat shirt as if I were going jogging, and when her little Toyota honked I came out in a trot and hopped in. Only when we were under way did I realize I'd taken no wallet, no money, not even house keys.
Her doctor practiced in a clinical building just outside of town, apparently with other physicians with no other Saturday patients, as far as I could tell, because an "MD" license plate was the only other car in the lot.
"Now, you're sure you want this?" she asked me, leaning back in her chair after Aurora introduced us. "Sign this release please."
I glanced at Aurora. She shrugged slightly, her head a bit askew, as if to say, "Humor her, she'd odd but she's worth it." Doctors these days won't give you the time of day if they don't feel protected against litigation. So I signed the paper on the edge of her desk and then started in.
"First of all, I'd like to know what's involved."
She looked annoyed and her eyes flicked off her wristwatch. "Medial resection and then hormone augmentation, maybe by implant. A simple procedure. The effects can be rather long-term, however," she said drily. "I'll ask again, are you sure it's worth it to you?"
"Aurora's quite a woman," I replied, smiling at Aurora. She beamed back at me reassuringly. "She's worth quite a lot. She's special. I want to satisfy her."
"She surely is special," the doctor replied. "And so will you be. Well, I have a busy afternoon at the hospital, so if you're ready I'll explain as we proceed," the doctor said. "There's a small OR here, sufficient for these kinds of in-house procedures. Usually people go directly home afterward, but I understand Aurora wants you to spend the night here. That's acceptable. Aurora, if you'll wait here for now. We shouldn't be long."
This time I grinned inwardly. An implant to give me indefinite hard-ons. I could live with that. And if Aurora wanted to take immediate advantage of it, that's OK too. We walked into a small brilliantly lit room, and as ordered I removed my pants, lay down on her examination table, and as asked put my feet into the stirrups. I'd heard women comment on how open and vulnerable they felt during gynecological examinations with their feet bound to those metal extensions high off the table, their private parts utterly exposed, and now I understood. Then with swift efficiency the doctor strapped down my hands and started an IV.
"First something to help you relax while I'm working," she said, injecting something into the tubes leading to my veins. Almost immediately I felt warm, confortable, reassured about everything. Then the doctor went between my legs to do something I couldn't see.
"Is it an implant you'll use?" I asked. "Injections? How does it work? It stays hard all the time?"
"Ordinary injection of a local anesthetic. I'm already injecting the site, and I see already you can't feel it. Oh, you mean hormonal implants? In your case I think time-release shots to keep you going for a month at a time. And does it stay hard? No, it gets easier with practice. I do lots of these for women who request them, those with brutal husbands, or men who wander into other women's arms. It lets them know who's boss. For Aurora it's been to assure performance, until now. Injected hormones aren't as stressful to the body, and she likes it with lots of juice. Not many agree to this. I don't know where she finds you people. Of course those earlier this year were gay I hear."
I was adrift nearly asleep on a sea of good feeling, bobbing up and down, and had no idea what she was saying. The doctor was busy between my legs.
"There," she said. "That's one of them. Now merely tie off the main blood supply and cauterize the small blood vessels."
Was she installing a dildo in my cock? Half-dozing, I was amused by the idea of changing the batteries. A vibrating cock? I'd finish up a real fucking machine. A six million dollar man, easily worth that much to any woman who couldn't get enough. Feeling all mellowed out.
"There," she said. "That's the other. Done. Now I'll finish the suturing and pack the wound. Then tomorrow we'll start your replacement hormones."
I must have nodded off. "Want to see?" I suddenly heard her say. She pulled a stainless steel pan out from between my legs and showed me. In the pan floating in a clear liquid were two yellowish, pink eggs, like two hen's eggs, with blebs of flesh of some kind attached, and a few small veins on the surface, a large vein of some kind running across one side.
I looked again.
Then I looked again. There was nothing else they could be!
I looked down! My vision was blocked by the sheet -- I couldn't see anything. I couldn't feel anything. There was nothing to feel. What was she doing? What had she done? I felt rising horror! An awful fear rose up in my stomach and flushed though my body! I came suddenly fully awake.
"Nooooooooohhh!" Someone in agony. A terrible wail echoed in the tiny room.
"I'll pretend I didn't hear that," the doctor said. "This is very tidy work down here. You have no basis whatever for complaint!"
Aurora! What had she done? The doctor continued down there, and I could neither see or feel! But I knew! There was nothing there! Not any more! Nothing!! Was my penis ... ?
As if answering the question, the doctor said, "I'm taping your penis to one side, to keep it out of the way until the wound heals. There's a catheter in it now, so you won't need to pee. I'll remove it tomorrow before we discharge you." She looked up and smiled. "I mean remove the catheter, of course! My but your pulse jumped when I said that! No, this is only an orchiectomy."
There was nothing for it. My brain refused to register any more shock or fear. The tranquillizers held me firmly in their grip. I tried to think about it. Nothing to think about any more. Oh, my God! I blacked out.
II.
When I came to, there was Aurora sitting in a chair in a small hospital room of sorts, looking at me with some concern, but mostly prepared to be pleasant and cheering. She was wearing a business suit, and looked as if she'd stopped off on her way somewhere else. Previously I'd only seen her wearing a shirt and jeans, and then usually for not long.
"Well, good afternoon, lover," she said brightly. "You've been out a few hours!"
"Aurora," I said. My throat was very dry, and she handed me a glass of water from the bedside table. I sipped it and held it out to her, but she didn't seem to think to take it back. So I held it very carefully on my chest with both hands.
"Aurora, do you know what they did?"
"She did, dear. It's a very simple operation, and doesn't really need a team. Yes, I know. She told me everything's perfect, and you can be home tomorrow. I mean to take you home with me, to see you get everything you need. The wound will be fine in a week, but some things take longer."
"Did you tell her to? We'd just talked about an implant, remember." Did we? I felt the first stirrings of anger, but they didn't go anywhere. I was blitzed out. The drugs, still, maybe.
"This is much better, dear. I told you why. Hormones conflict, and can do you injury. You don't need them. You'll want to do the things I want you to do. I have plans for us."
I didn't know what to say. "Aurora, they were mine. You shouldn't have." For some reason I felt tears starting up in my eyes, but they got no further than the anger. "You shouldn't have," I protested again. It sounded weak. Altogether inadequate. But I couldn't think of anything else to say.
"Well, we'll agree to differ on that. It's done, and we can't cry over spilt milk. Don't worry, love, I'm going to take good care of you. It'll be fine. You'll see. We'll be better than we ever were, and we've been very good, haven't we?"
She reached over to ruffle my hair and smiled at me. I smiled back -- and I didn't feel like it at all, but I couldn't help it. Tears started up again, and a desolated feeling. But the feeling went nowhere. I just looked at her.
"You're still a little zonked, I see. I have to go now, pet. Things to do." She took the glass of water out of my two hands, where I realized I had been clutching it on my chest, lying very still for fear of spilling. She put it back on the night stand. "You don't need this any more. I can see you're not going to make a fuss," she said. "I'll be back tomorrow morning to take you home. My home, so I can look after you, until you're all well and can get used to things. Don't worry, I know how to appreciate you."
She stood, and I looked at her, really, for the first time since I woke up. She seemed a different person. Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun at the back of her head, and her make-up was...perfect. She was smoothly, impeccably groomed. I'd never seen her like that. Previously she'd come to my house with her hair down and tousled, and a minimum of makeup. But now she looked smoothly, impeccably groomed, invulnerable. Untouchable. She held out her hand to my face, fingers dripping down, as if she wanted me to kiss the back of it. As if she were used to being saluted that way. As it approached my mouth I saw her forefinger and middle finger close, open, and close again. Unmistakeably. Even so, without knowing why, I kissed the back of her hand as she wanted, and then looked up into her eyes. She was pleased.
"Snip," she said softly. "That's my girl."
The next morning I was a little less woozy, and woke with two firm realizations. One was that my balls were gone, and that was that. All the resentment in the world wouldn't bring them back. The doctor had done what she thought I wanted, and had asked me twice, and I had signed for it. I just hadn't picked up on her cues while we were talking. The second realization was that I wanted nothing further to do with Aurora. She'd betrayed me cruelly to gratify what, her own whim? I wanted to get things in my life back to the way they had been, as far as possible, and get out.
So when the Doctor came in the next morning to check her work, and change the heavy compress for a light pad held with adhesive, I asked her how long before i was fully healed.
"Soon," she said. "By tomorrow you won't need a bandage, just a Kotex pad for a few days. In a week the incision will have grown together and just panties will be enough. Then maybe a few more days until your ghost testicles stop paying you visits in the middle of the night."
Obviously this doctor was accustomed to talking to women, but she sounded reassuring.
"Now, something else," she said. "Technically, right now you're a eunuch. Your body's manufacturing traces of the hormones you need to maintain firm skin texture, and other sex characteristics, and above all to maintain sexual desire. But not enough. In a few days you'll lose all interest in that part of life, when what's there now is used up. So we need to replace the hormones your testicles once manufactured with the other kind right away. You understand this, don't you."
"Yes," I said. "I've discussed it with Aurora That's what I came for." "Good," she said. "Then you already know what Aurora wants for you. But it's your choice." She began preparing different hypodermic needles, filling them with fluid from several ampules. "Now, you can have it one of two ways. A time release shot that will last a month, once it's in you, and really flood your system. You won't be the same when it gives out and come back here for more, believe me! There will be radical changes in your body. I've seen it before, in the other men Aurora brought here. The muscles they grew? You better believe it!"
More reference to other men. Well, I'd never had reason to believe I was the first man in Aurora's life, or even the first she'd gotten castrated. Heck, she'd started using boys to gratify her power tripping whims in the ninth grade! That seemed to be her thing. And there was no doubt she preferred high performing men to ordinary men. I wondered if these hormones the doctor was talking about would make my prick grow longer too.
"Sounds possible," I said. "What's the other way?"
"A sustaining dose that won't change much of anything, that you can see. Not right away. A shot now to get you started, then pills to maintain a tolerable level of hormones in your blood. Whatever may happen will happen much more slowly. Years, instead of months."
Well, I thought, if I've got the disadvantages, I may as well have the advantages too. "I'll go with the time release shot," I said. "Heavy duty. All the way. You know."
"Yes, I know," she said. "You're sure? Once I inject these, there's no turning back."
"I'm sure," I said. I was wondering if those heavy muscle men grow additional hair. Well, I'll find out.
She had me turn over, and then she injected me four times in the butt, two in each cheek, enormous doses it looked like.
"You'll feel nauseous for a few days, perhaps, while your body adjusts," she said. "A little like morning sickness. Aurora's brought you your clothes meanwhile. You may want to dress while you wait for her to take you home.""
When I checked over what Aurora had brought, I saw they weren't my clothes at all, but hers. Panties. A full skirt of some soft material. A white silk blouse with a large bow at the neck. Slip-on flats, and no socks. And a bra. Well, I guess there there was no way she could get into my apartment to get me a change of clothes, so she had to bring me hers, whatever might fit. A skirt would be easier to put on than pants right now, for sure. But why the brassiere? I asked her when she arrived. Again she was wearing a richly textured, fashionably cut, expensive-looking suit, and small diamond studs in her ears, and stockings, and high, high heeled pumps, looking like an ad in the Sunday New York Times. Again, hair and face impeccably groomed. Why hadn't I noticed earlier that her nails were always polished, perfectly groomed? She looked at me and answered, "Never mind about the brassiere, I'll tell you when we're in the car. Just put it on now, and let's go. Here, I'll help you."
Downstairs at the main entrance there was another surprise. Not the little old Toyota we'd arrived in, but a long, black Mercedes limo. With a driver, wearing a cap. He leaped out of his seat as we approached, and politely opened the rear door for us to enter, a little like a giant picking up a toothpick. He bowed way down to do it -- he was huge, and his effortless ease when he moved suggested enormous strength. Face large, craggy, tanned, and handsome, with gleaming white teeth, and wide shoulders tapering to his waist.
"Please, ma'am," he said as Aurora swept past him into the wide rear seating area, and settled herself.
"Thank you, Charles," she replied.
"And you, ma'am," he said, waiting for me to get in. I glanced to see if he was mocking me -- not a hint of it. So I got in without a word. I felt sore down below. He got back behind the wheel, hunched his heavy shoulders, and we started out.
"Aurora," I said. "Renting a chauffeured limo to console me, to make it up to me, what you've done. I appreciate it, but it won't help. I don't need it. What's done is done. But when I'm healed, I won't want to see you again. You're too much like my ex-wife, too determined to have your own way. I've had enough of that."
"No," she said. "You're wrong, pet. First of all, this car isn't rented, it's mine. And Charles works for me. In fact he's one of three men who work for me, all three of them hunks as gorgeous as he is. Isn't he? Secondly, we're not done, you and me. We're only beginning. I can understand your resentment right now, but you'll soon see that there are advantages to letting me have my own way. And I will have my own way. I've had it all my life. Thirdly, I'm not comparable to your ex-wife. I'm your employer."
I was stunned. She sat quiet, having said all she intended to say. "You have money?" was all I could get out. A dumb question, obviously she did.
"Lots," was all she replied. I looked at her. She was settled in for a long drive, apparently, glancing out the window now and then with her eyes focussed in the middle distance, not really looking at anything. She began glancing at a dispatch case in a rack on the rear side of Charles's seat, and I realized I was about to lose her attention altogether. "You said you'd explain why the brassiere," I said, still a little numb in the brain as well as the groin. It was the only thing I could think of to say.
"Oh, yes. I'll be direct, because apparently you object to my indirection. I want you to wear a brassiere. That's sufficient reason. You'll do well to get used to the idea immediately, so there'll be no questions or problems by the time we arrive home. It's a large estate and variously tended, but my personal staff are only the kinds of people I want them to be. Charles and his two associates are now well-trained, and I've lacked only someone like you to complete the roster. Like what you are becoming. I was delighted to find you some weeks ago, after a great deal of looking I might add. You're perfect for the job. Or you will be."
I was dumbfounded, but my brain was kicking into gear finally. Aurora was not the libertine, free-spirited dropout nymphomaniac she seemed when she took up with me. She'd pretended to be that kind of girl because, well, role-playing amused her, and I guess it gave her opportunities to test me. Her real purpose all along had been to lure me here into this limo, castrated and with high-test hormones spreading through me to make me into...what? Another hunk? Another Charles? She's done three men already? How many men does one woman need dancing attendance on her?
"Aurora," I said, annoyed. "Why four men to wait on you? Why me?"
She glanced at me a little more sharply, saw my puzzlement and a hint of the indignation I was beginning to feel, and then redirected her attention entirely in my direction. She turned toward me, and I saw that now, finally, I was going to get some answers.
"My dear," she said in a quiet, steady voice, watching me closely. The playful, self-amused Aurora I'd known before now wasn't anywhere to be seen. "Not four men. Three men and a girl. The girl to wait on me too, I suppose, sometimes. You are wearing a brassiere right now, at this moment, in part because as of now you are my resident girlfriend and companion -- you're amusing, and I'll enjoy being with you. But mainly, you are an amenity for my household staff. So you need to dress appropriately. Really, that's what you became the moment you saw those testicles of yours floating in the hospital pan, and the deed was done. That's when your new life began."
"Now, you ask, why you? You because I could see, soon after we first went to bed together and began playing our games, that you have the right submissive temper to do what I require. Few men are willing to play every game I want, but you're one of them, I'm sure. You just may not know it yet. Also, you have the right bone structure to become a perfectly lovely woman when the your replacement hormones have finished their work.
"What are you talking about!" I began to raise my voice. I was starting to feel frightened. I caught a glimpse of Charles's eyes in the rear view mirror, watching me closely. "You told me that once my balls were gone high-test testosterone would turn me into a kind of ideal guy. Like...Charles!" My voice began to fade even as I spoke. Was Charles one of her creations too? Probably. Were the other two hunks she's mentioned? Were we all without balls, so her preferred hormones could do their things without interference?
"No, not like Charles. Testosterone replacement makes suitably endowed men into gorgeous hunks, like Charles. So it does. But I didn't say that's what I had in mind for you. You're going the other way. Estrogen replacement, my dear. Massive doses of it. You heard the doctor. In only a month you're going to begin looking like a lovely lady, with a lovely figure. Softer and rounder. And that's what I need you to be."
Now I was in another world. I felt like another person. I was losing my grip on my sanity. I reached out for it. "Aurora, why? What for?"
She took both of my hands and held them firmly in hers, and looked hard into my eyes until she saw me retreat from near hysteria back into bewilderment. Then she leaned over and kissed me, gently, on the mouth.
"My sweet darling, you could never be one of these men. Not with that cute little penis. That round little ass I love stroking when we're in bed together. These guys have pricks double your size, or more. Telephone poles. And they were body builders even before I started pouring special testosterone and steroids into them. They'd lift weights all day even now if I'd let them, if I didn't have other things for them to do around the estate. And that's how I want them. That's the kind of man I really love to fuck, and suck. The kind who can make me feel completely fulfilled as a woman, with manhood to spare. It's like spreading your legs to a mountain, getting in bed with these guys, or like cocksucking a fire hose. And I like some of my sex rough, as you might have guessed from the way I've behaved in bed with you even after we've fucked up a storm. That's something you can't do for me, you're so gentle and sweet. But these guys certainly can! Huge dongs slammed into me hour after hour, one after another! And always horny! Always ready for more!"
"Don't feel bad, though. You'll be my only girlfriend, and that's special. Don't be jealous of them. They're my fucktoys, those hulks, but you're my darling! Some nights I may just want to cuddle, and hug, and be licked, or just have fun kissing and caressing the way girls do. A friend to giggle with. To talk about girl things with. It'll take time, but you'll see, you'll love it!"
"Some nights just you and me. But your main responsibility will be something else. I spend a lot of time out of town, looking after my various holdings. My three darling hunks are on lots of special hormones that keep them feeling pretty randy, you know, for whenever I may want them, and for however long. It can get pretty lonely for them when I'm away. Or if I'm wrapped around one guy all night and he's fucking my brains out, nowadays the other two have to pass the time jerking themselves off in some corner. Or else thinking about doing each other."
"You see, they're all three bisexual. That shouldn't surprise you -- men who sleep with men often give lots of dedicated attention to their own bodies. They know better than to take up with other women when I'm not around, of course. These three guys are all mine, and I've paid for them to go through some very expensive conditioning to get them that way. So they'll enjoy servicing me and no other woman."
"But to answer your question 'why me,' that's why you. To distract them from each other. They know you're a man. No matter how lovely you get to be for me, and you will, pet, they'll always feel attracted to you as a man too. As the best of both worlds, in some ways. When I'm not around or available, you'll tend to their sexual needs the way they tend to mine. Darling, your main job will be to service them, to keep them happy. That's why I've gone to all this trouble with you. No fear, in time you'll come to love all that brute strength and muscle the way I do, wrapped around you and burrowing into you."
"Now, tomorrow I have to go out of town for a few weeks on business. Our guys will take care of you while I'm gone. They'll want to wait on you hand and foot while you're healing. You are going to feel like a pampered princess. Then after about a week, when you're ready, I've asked them to take your cherry. Each of them. I've told them to make love to you as gently and beautifully as they can, so by the time I get back you'll really love making love to them. Then we'll have some girlish secrets to share with each other, won't we."
She hesitated, glanced out the window, then made up her mind and turned back toward me. "Dear, I may as well mention this now, so you can begin thinking about it. Some day you may want to become a complete woman. Of course you'll look like one all the time, pretty and seductive, that's your main job. But our guys would certainly appreciate another place to push their meat into you. If you had a vagina, they could do you properly when I'm not around, using either opening, the way they do now with me. They could try out new things with you, or practice on you some of the things they know I like. You know."
"As you're now arranged, your asshole is going to be pretty sore a lot of the time. Poor dear. Those big dildos we played with when you were being Camille or Cleopatra are not as big as our fellas. Trust me, that's the truth. And there are three of them, remember. You may be glad to have another soft hole they can tuck themselves into."
"Then too, it may be you'd enjoy straight sex sometimes, the way you used to. Of course I mean this time as a woman, their pricks fucking your vagina. And I'd love for you to have labia for me to stroke, and for your big clit to be remade into a cute little button I can flick with my tongue. So you may well want another operation some day to complete the job. But that's up to you. Just give it some thought."
I tried to think of something to say. Nothing came.
"Ah, I see we're arriving. You see these walls, sweetheart? Even if you should elude our guys, and make it as far as these walls, don't try to climb them. There's broken glass and live electrical wire on top, to keep intruders out. You can feel safe and snug while you're here. You'll always be well-looked after."
"Next week will be such fun for you! Soft music, romantic candlelight, gifts of flowers and sexy underwear, everything they can think of to make you feel glad you're a woman. I've told them that in the future you'll be their slut, or schoolgirl, or schoolmarm, or flower girl, or whore, whatever they like. All of the reverse roles we played together, and more. Even a girl pretending to be a pansy boy, if they miss their old ways and want to remember them. But that all through next week they must realize you are a young girl waiting breathlessly to be beautifully seduced by each of them, and behave accordingly. Do enjoy each of them, sweetheart!"
"Incidentally, that blouse looks charming on you, just as I'd hoped. You'll love the wardrobe I've gotten you. Mostly everyday women's clothes, of course, many of them as nice as mine. But also all kinds of gowns for all kinds of delicious games."
As the car pulled up to the front entrance of the estate, two huge men in muscle shirts leaped attentively to the car doors on either side. I carefully maneuvred myself out of the limo -- my crotch was still hurting a little.
Then the brute on my side said, "Hi, I'm Jason. I've been hearing a lot about you for weeks and weeks, now. I'm so glad we've finally met."
He was built like a wall, but he couldn't have been more solicitous and attentive. He handed me a welcoming bouquet, and then he offered me his arm.
I looked around for Aurora, but she'd already gone in. What else could I do?
I took it.
Copyright © 1996, 2010 by Vickie Tern. May be archived to free archives only, single-copied for personal use, but not sold.
Vickie [email protected]
It was supposed to be an ordinary party
If you shouldn't be reading this, don't!
Well I can't figure out how I got stuck in this story, as the main character no less, and I sure can't figure how to get out of it. I don't remember a lot of what happened. It was just supposed to be an ordinary party, and we were getting dressed to go there and my wife says to me "Now this time you do your drinking in moderation, the Andersons are cultured people and Max Anderson is my boss, and I want to make a good impression, so there'll be none of your clowning around, boisterous behavior and telling off-color jokes - and absolutely no putting a lamp shade on your head and singing 'There's no business like show business,' like you did at the Kelly's party two weeks ago for God's sake! I was so embarrassed! You do that again this time and I'm warning you, I don't know what I'll do, but I'll think of something you will regret all of your days!"
Well she says things like that now and then, but my friends all like the way I get when I'm a little high, it livens things up. I like the old songs, and I sing them big, they way they were meant to be sung, but I said sure, because she always talks like that when we're going to some upscale house to party with the kind of people she wants us to get to know better. Not really fun people if you know what I mean like the ones who work with me down at the shop, but people from where she's a secretary at that publisher's editorial office, all tweed jackets and tight smiles and big words and jokes I don't understand that can't be very funny anyhow, because they just smirk at the punch line, and say "Hey!" and fake a poke at each other's arms. They never really bust their guts out laughing, the way my kinds of folks do.
We get there and it turns out it isn't much of a party at all, though the house sure could handle a big one, it's huge; it was just a dozen other couples, maybe, sitting around and talking. Jan, she's my wife, she knows them all from the office and every one of them looks like anyone else to me, but I find where they keep the bar and plenty of ice in a bucket so I keep busy, and after a while whenever I say something they look at me amused, so I figure what the hell, I'm a hit, so I say more things and start to tell some jokes, a little louder for punctuation, and I wash it down with another drink or two, and by the end of the evening I'm really in my element. I keep away from the lampshades but I'm waving a small tablecloth around like a bullfighter and then I drape it on my head like a shawl and I sing that old song, you know, "He's just my Bill, An ordinary guy. You'd pass him on the street and never notice him." Just like me, a regular guy, only now I'm being Fanny Brice who made it real popular, or I guess anyhow Barbra Streisand who played Fanny Brice in the movie. I really belt it out. I remember Jan tries to stop me a couple times but I just push her away, so she gets her back up and goes off to another room on her own.
Well, after a while it's the end of the evening and everyone's leaving, but by this time Jan's sitting at the far end of the other room having this intense conversation with Max, he's her boss, a distinguished looking guy with gray hair, moves like he takes care of himself, in fact Jack the keypunch operator where I work he tells me this same Max works out at the same gym he goes to, a pretty fair middleweight with some great cross-body jabs. She's listening, and he's leaning toward her relaxed and talking with a half smile and gesturing with his hands, just twisting them in front of him like he was playing a piano, the way these cultured people do, never any real swinging of their arms or slapping you on the back like a real pal, not for them, no way.
So I go over to her and say "It's time, bride," that's what I call her every time I get a little drunk and, you know, horny, and I want her to know what's coming, because that's the way I felt when we first got married, only jeez, I got so pie eyed that I passed out and didn't wake up until the middle of the next day, and boy was Jan pissed then! I don't think she ever forgave me. She was expecting something a lot more romantic and all. I had a real good time at our wedding, and I figured I could take the rest of our lives to make it up to her for getting stinking on her wedding night and don't think I haven't been trying, even though she's never satisfied I do enough. Anyhow, that's why she doesn't like me to call her "bride," because she didn't have such a good time, I guess, me down and out for the count when she wanted something more. But I don't care When I feel good and I'm thinking about, you know, a good quick fuck when I get her home, well, that's what I call her.
So Jan hears me all right and looks up at me a little annoyed and says, “not just yet dear, Max is telling me the most delightful story about one of our authors and how she writes her stories, and he wants to show me a new manuscript from her that just came in, he wants my opinion about the ending, is it too hot, or will it turn off some of our women readers, so be a good boy and just go over there to that chair and maybe try to doze or sleep off some of what you've been drinking, we'll be a while and I didn't bring my purse so you'll have to drive us home when you're a little more sober."
Well, OK, I lost my audience by now but I get me another drink and Mrs. Max, whatsername, Lydia, Lydia gets back from the door saying goodbye to the last of the party guests and sits down next to me and says to me "Well, aren't you the talented one," and she puts her hand on my leg and looks into my eyes like she's hoping I'll give her my autograph and she tells me she once met Barbra Streisand, and can I do any more of those marvelous imitations. I tell her I can do Ted William's roundhouse swing, you know, it finishes with his legs crossed way apart from each other, you'd think he'd fall over. She says "Marvelous, but I don't think in the living room just now," and she asks do I want another drink. So I kill the one in my hand and she brings me a single malt Scotch, she calls it, hard liquor filled right to the top of the tumbler with no ice because she says it shouldn't ever be watered down.
So I'm still talking to her and I begin to see double, you know how that happens, your eyes get screwed up even though you're OK, but she's delighted with whatever I'm telling her, I don't even remember what now. She's laughing and I'm grinning and I remember she can't keep her hands off me, she's slapping my chest at my punch lines, and pushing a lick of hair off my forehead and then running her fingers around my head and down the back of my neck. Feeling me up, only it’s all bone there. Should have been on my boner, if I'd had one. I tell her that, and she laughs and slaps me again. Then she asks can I do any Ethel Merman, or any of the other oldies, and I stand up right then and there to try "There's no business like show business" only without the lampshade, but I sit right down again because I can't stand up any more, and she says that's all right dear here isn't the place anyhow. There's a better place downstairs, the game room.
So she takes me down to the game room, half carries me I guess. We go past Jan and Max and they're still talking, with the couch and her lap all covered with typed pages, that hot book I guess, and Jan is reading some of it and her face is all flushed and she's looking up at Max with her eyes half closed and he's leaning in looking down at her, still talking amused, like, with his hands still making those small gestures. I don't think she notices when we go by. "Have fun," I say, no special reason. I got Lydia here who appreciates my act, and wants to see more of it. So I figure Jan should enjoy herself too with her book.
Down in the game room I'm half lying and half leaning on a couch and Lydia she's loosened my tie and has taken off my jacket and the tie too so I can get more comfortable, and then my shirt and all the time she's saying do I know what a "soubrette" is and I say “I don't know, perhaps something you smoke?” and she grins wickedly and says "You can try" but it turns out that's the old name for the little girls with big tits and short skirts and great legs who sing the real golden oldies like "She was only a bird in a gilded cage," and "Goodbye, little yellow bird," sad songs about lost innocence she says, because once they were pure and now they're whores.
“They are?” I say, not able to follow what she's telling me exactly, and she says sure, let me show you, do I know any of the words to any of those songs, and I say sure, and I think a minute and out from nowhere comes "I've come to this great city To find my brother dear, And you wouldn't dare insult me sir, If Jack were only here," so I stand up and I belt that out, and she holds me up and she presses her tits on my back and rubs them on me and rubs her hands all over my chest while she holds me up. I get the feeling that she's rubbing my cock too, but I'm pretty far gone and I can't be sure and she says that's just beautiful only what you need mainly to sing that song and be a soubrette is great legs, just like Ted Williams I'm thinking, and her hands are all over me and I'm sitting and standing and lifting my butt while she undresses me and she's setting me up to be a soubrette so I can sing my songs.
Like a whore with a pure heart remember she says and she's pulling on black stockings real filmy stuff, a tear or two in them is OK she says because you're just off the streets remember, and I see she's pulling them on me, not her, and some tight black elastic clamped around my middle laced too tight to breathe and straps to hold up the stockings and there's fluffy stuff coming down over my head and she tells me tick your arms through here, dear, that's it, and your head through here. It's red. No panties this time because we may want to get in there later, she says, and she buttons it up my back, your dress she calls it, and jeez she straps some stilts on my feet, on my heels anyhow, and then she paints my face with something, different colors. She puts some kind of curly mop thing on top of my head, too, a wig, and she says just gorgeous, just like a whore who has been defiled repeatedly, that's perfect.
"Now stand up and start to sing," she says, and I hang on to the railing while she half-hauls me up back upstairs and through the living room, there are typed pages of that book all over the couch and the floor, a lot of them are crushed it looks like, but no Jan and no Max. I'm waving my arms and really delivering it, "They call me second hand Rose, I'm wearing second hand clothes, Even the piano in the parlor, Poppa bought for ten cents on the dollar," I'm a soubrette, see. My fluffy and shiny red dress or whatever she says it is sticks out all around me like a ballerina's, and it doesn't even come down far enough to cover my ass, which is naked, but the top red layer is smooth as silk. And she's saying “that's right dear, not silk but satin, close enough, sing some more.”
Up another flight of stairs and into a dark room and she sits me down in a chair and says don't go away, Rose. I doze off I guess.
Anyhow, when I wake up it's because I hear some woman screaming not two, three feet away, loud, not the kind of scream you hear in the horror movies, some babe real scared and desperate, the kind of scream you like to hear broads scream now and then. Instead I hear just "Ahhhh! Ahhhh! Ahhhh!" like that, shrieking but sort of like breathing too, with a kind of "Ooof" now and then and then more "Ahhhh!" I open my eyes and there in the dim light I see a bed and some guy, its Max, stark naked, he's on top of some broad who's making all the noise, he's boinking her hard and her legs are way straight up in the air and while I watch she clenches them down onto him and wraps them around his back real tight and she goes "Ahhh!" and "Ooof" some more, and it gets pretty ferocious, and I can see his long prick sliding in and out of her, and in and out, and all of a sudden she grabs him tight on the neck with both arms and she shudders, they do that, Jan does anyhow, and then you can't breathe, but because of the booze I see two backs and two sets of arms clutching both of that poor bastard's necks, and tucking her chin over his shoulder I see two of Jan's faces, her eyes tight shut and her mouth wide open going "Ahhhh!" with her sounds slowing down now to just heavy breathing.
She opens her eyes and looks at me and then they get real narrow, and she says "Well look at our little whore, she's finally awake so she can finally do what she's here to do," and I guess she's talking to Max and not to me because Max says "That's good because there's a lot of it, inside you and all over me and the bed, this last time we really overflowed everything," and she says to him, "Get it up again lover, all the way, and we'll find room for more, let's see if our whore here can help."
And that's my wife talking, so I try to stand up and say something to her but I don't remember the words and it's hopeless, and I swing my arms and I fall off the stilts and I'm on my knees and I barely catch myself on the edge of the bed, and she says "look how eager she is," and he says "Yeah, mustn't disappoint a lady," because by now he's sitting on the edge of the bed with his crotch and his cock soaking wet and sticky, and what I have done is fall face down smack into the middle of his lap, and he says "That's right Rose, lick it all off, and if you want to suck my cock too help yourself, no extra charge."
I'm so far gone I can't even lift my nose up and my wife says to me in that voice she knows I can't resist, low and sexy and mellow and real slow, "Just lick dear until he's nice and clean. Do it. That's it. Then you can sleep some more." So that's what she wants, I do it. Max asks her if she wants me to clean her up next, and she says "No, I don't want him -- HER -- to touch me ever!" Before I finish up with licking off all the glop, sort of creamy and salty too, you know, and Jan's juices on him smell a little I dunno ripe I guess, but I never tell her that, well, Max's cock is getting bigger and it's in my mouth and I can really get some good pulls on it now that my lips are wrapped tight all around it, like around a good thick cigar. I hear her say when he gets it hard again this time you lie on your back and l'll get on top, I want to ride you this time, and she says where's Lydia shouldn't she be in on this now like the book said?
"Here's Lydia" says a voice right behind me. "I didn't want to disturb this little love nest but I guess now it's time," and I feel her hands on both my shoulders where I'm still leaning over and licking and sucking on Max I guess it is and not a cigar and I hear Jan say just lift your ass a little higher for Lydia, Rose dear, that's it, see Lydia how he does what I tell him even when he's near unconscious, we won't have any problem, and WHAM I GET THIS BURNING IN MY ASS LIKE I'M SPLIT IN TWO AND IT STARTS MOVING AND PUSHING IN ME and I guess I pass out.
The next morning I open my eyes and I'm back in my own room in bed and the sun is shining into the room because no one pulled the shades last night when we went to bed. Jesus! Have I got a splitting headache? I have never had a hangover like this one! Jan was right, I shouldn't drink so much when I go to parties. Jan. She's there in the bed too, still fast asleep, looking very pleased with herself. She can look that way sometimes. So I try to get out of bed without disturbing her, and OH GOD my ASS is KILLING me, what did I sit on last night or what did I try to crap, a watermelon? And my face feels stiff and crusted, did I throw up? Jan'll kill me if I drank too much again. I better get into a shower or better soak my ass in a hot tub for a while, and get some aspirin fast for God's sake.
So I take two steps and my feet get tangled in this bright red dress, it has a big wide short skirt with white lace underskirts, petticoats, whatever they call them, quite a few, and there it all is lying in a mess on the floor, and I know it isn't Jan's because it's real sexy so I'd remember. She's left her stockings all over the floor too still clipped to a short girdle of some kind. Only that isn't hers either and not those satin shoes with those I guess they call them stiletto heels, six inches if they're an inch, maybe eight, over there against the wall by the door. What is this? Who the hell has been here?
And it starts to come back. Not all of it, a little. I don't get to remember most of what I've been telling you for another couple of days, but now and then a little more comes to mind, something new I'm doing reminds me or I see or hear something that's like it, or I taste something a lot like it and like nothing else. Some of it I guess I never will remember. It's just as well.
I bend over to pick up the dress or push it out of the way, and I can feel there's a crust on my ass too, same as on my cheeks, and then this pain hits me right behind the eyes like you wouldn't believe! I better get to the medicine cabinet fast and a bathtub too! But I better not step on that dress, Jan'll kill me if it's hers. So I squat down and OH BOY my ass catches fire, but I pick it up anyhow and smooth it out a little and I'm about to lay it across a chair and keep heading on into the bathroom when I hear Jan's voice behind me, she says, "The closet. Hang it in your closet."
I turn and look at her, and I say, "What?" and she says "Hang it in your closet, that's what the husband in that novel I was reading last night will do with his dress, for when he'll next need it."
I just stood there with that bright red dress still in my hands, it was red satin like she said, Lydia, that was her name, she told me that. Satin. "What do you mean?" I ask her again.
"You're going to need that dress again, Rose." Some more came back to me, and she could see it on my face. "You remember some of it now? Some of it you're never going to remember, and some of it I'm never going to tell you. Last night you got drunk again, this time in my own boss's house, how could you? And you made an absolute ass of yourself, like you usually do, just like the husband in Lydia's novel, the one Max wanted me to read last night, you remember that much at least? So they asked me, since you were being an ass like the one in the novel anyhow, could they use your ass to try out a plot development? Well, Max was being respectful and attentive to me, he's a real gentleman, and you were being disgusting as usual, only worse than ever, and Lydia was eager to find out what would happen when the husband woke up the next day, she said, because she hasn't decided yet what's going to happen then in her novel. It isn't finished yet. Or it wasn't; maybe now it is."
"What do you mean?" I ask her for maybe the third time.
"I mean, hang that dress up in your closet, and when you get to the bathroom rinse out those stockings. You're going to need them and some other things we'll buy for you this afternoon, if you can walk in the mall after those double dildos we shoved into you did their work. The parts inside us sure did what they were supposed to do, the parts Lydia and me stuck into our pussies. But the part we stuck into you was way bigger, huge, and you took it all in, I've got to give you credit for that! Be glad you don't feel worse down there! When Lydia began humping you the first time you passed out, maybe from the pain, maybe from the booze, we couldn't tell. But Max said we shouldn't be cruel, so he took that beautiful stiff erection of his that you sucked and slurped and made real hard for me, you remember?, and he stuck it into you instead of me. He pumped you until he came, so you'd be juicy and slippery for when we took our turns. Then Lydia really hammered your ass like in her novel, and then I did you too you son of a bitch, and for once fucking you brought me off just gloriously. Then Max drove us home and helped me get you into bed."
"That was my fuck you used up, so you owe me an apology and you better remember to thank Max when you see next him. That'll be tonight, I think. That's how I want this novel to end, back at his house again, with a new crowd of people there and you all dressed up this time to sing your songs, and we'll see what other people want to do once they get turned on. Mostly I'll watch this time, and take notes. They said I could write the ending if I came up with something credible, and that's what I'm doing. Nothing's more credible than reality."
"Jan, enough is enough!"
"No it isn't. But that's the way this novel ends. That's what's credible. Lydia's says I can share her royalties as well as share Max while we use you to try out new story directions, and check credibility, and do some other things you'll get used to in time -- she's a little weird but we think alike in lots of ways. We're partners. We still don't know whether to publish the book illustrated with the different photos they took of you last night, or use the pictures for publicity when the novel's published, or what. They'll make you famous, but for what I've got in mind for you that's a mixed blessing. We're planning a sequel, more than one. I think we should hang onto the pictures while the story's still spinning out, and then release them for a last boost in sales when the public stops buying and nobody cares any more, except maybe you."
"So hang up your dress and take your shower or your bath, and oil your bottom so it feels better, you'll want to keep it oiled anyhow from now on, and we'll go off to the mall and get you some more whore wear, vinyl short shorts maybe, and a leather bra, and lots of frilly stuff, and other kinds of dresses, I've got lots of ideas. You're no prize now, but with a rigorous diet and the right hormones and certain surgical procedures you can be made to look a lot less ridiculous. You might even end up cute. I suppose you'll have to do more and more kinky things as time goes by to keep up reader interest, but that's no problem. Even radical surgery's no problem, get you fixed once and for all, if the focus groups like the idea."
"Max has promoted me to Associate Editor for Research. You're going to quit your job at the shop, it never did pay much, and I never did like the people you work with, they're bores. You yourself turned out to be nothing like the man I thought I married, but that's all over now too. I know now how to make this relationship work. I know now what you're good for. From now on you're on salary to me, and you'll earn your living on your ass and with your ass, along with your other openings, the way I tell you. If you want to see your old buddies again, we'll send you back down there in a skin-tight dress and call the story Homecoming. And then see what happens."
I try to deal with first things first. "That's how it ends? We talk now and you lay out your cards then tonight back to his place?"
"This novel ends that way," Jan says. "The way it's happening. The others, lots of ways and places. Who knows?" And then she just rolls over and goes back to sleep.
When I get to the bathroom and reach for the aspirin, I still can't think of another way to end the story, not one that would satisfy her, anyhow and that was three days ago. She's got me doing a really queer story right now, I wouldn't believe it myself if I wasn't seeing myself do it with my own eyes. Maybe there's no way out of this, but maybe I'll be able to think of something when I get a better night's sleep.
If I ever do.
END
(c) 1997 by Vickie Tern
You haven't been here before, have you hon? Sally's one of my regulars. My name's Janet, by the way. Just sit down over here, and let's see what we've got to work with.
You know, there's a terrific woman, Sally! I'm sure any husband of Sally's would have to count his lucky stars he's got her for a wife. Some people marry lucky, some don't, you know? It's so easy to make a mistake when you're young. You don't know anything. People change. It takes a lot of love, and caring, and lots of adjustments to keep a good marriage going. Lots of give and take, believe me! But I bet you already know that!
Now, take my darling hubby. He is soooo sweet, and soooo thoughtful, and soooo generous. I feel so lucky to be married to him. He stops by every evening when I'm closing up shop, to kiss me good night before he goes off to work, and I just burst with pride and happiness. He is such a dear! Last night I was cleaning up, and thinking about things, when he showed up, and he was getting himself ready to go to work when it just came over me, I felt so good about him, and so thankful, that I just couldn't help it. I jumped up on him and wrapped my arms and legs around him and squeezed him for dear life, and just plastered his face with kisses. Lipstick smeared all over. But I didn't care -- I just wanted him to know how I felt. He is soooo sweet! And he didn't really mind at all. He just patted me on my behind and said, "Anything for you dear, anything. I mean it!" And off he went to work, and he blew me a kiss when he went out the door. Oooh! That wonderful man!
Sometimes he's a little embarrassed when I'm "demonstrative," as he calls it, especially when I hug him or kiss him in public. But I don't care who sees! He's my absolute angel! The things he's done for me! That's right dear, just lie back and let me work in the suds.
We've always been crazy about each other. We grew up together, right next door, and we played together, and we walked each other to school, and we gave each other the measles, and we played doctor and nurse...well, you know the way kids are. Then we got to be teenagers and for a while we didn't see each other. He played with boys and I played with girls. You know, at that age. Then we got together again.
Well, he's almost as short as I am, maybe 5'1" or 5'2", and you can see I'm barely 5' standing on my tippy toes. So people naturally paired us up in their minds. My sweetie was much too short for any of the other girls in the class. And he didn't play sports, and he was only OK in school, no real brain, so no one else was interested in him anyhow. I tried to date some other boys but I was a little chunky then, stocky I think they call it, so other boys never took me seriously. So we started to see each other again.
Now back to the chair honey. I'd better hold the towel so that pretty blouse doesn't get damp. You just step carefully. Are those five inch heels? Brand new, you're just breaking them in? Very sexy, my dear! You do have plans for tonight! Well, we'll make you beautiful, never fear.
Next comes your perm. That's what they call it, but nothing's permanent, you know that. It'll just give your hair more body, to hold the curls better when we get around to them.
Anyhow, summer nights we talked about all kinds of things, our folks, and the stars, and what I was going to wear when he took me to the prom. You know. We kissed each other, and we undressed each other, and one night we lay down in the moonlight and made love, the very first time for both of us. He couldn't have been more considerate and gentle. I had just gone down on him, and he was sort of caressing me between the legs, and I had just managed to get all three inches of him into my mouth, and he asked if we could do it now for real, and I was feeling, you know, passionate, so I told him, you know, yes. So we did. It felt so good. We decided that night we'd marry each other. And when we graduated high school and I finished beautician school, and he got that terrific job as night dispatcher over at the produce market, that's what we did. We got married.
And we both worked for a few years and bought a house in that development just south of town -- we're still there -- and he got a raise, and we started saving up for kids. No, we don't have any. I think I couldn't, was the problem, the doctor told us. Anyhow, now he can't. In the end we took the money and bought this beauty parlor, and here's where I've been ever since.
Yes. It's grown out long enough now, hon, and with this little bit of clipping it's shaped up beautifully. No problem. I'm going to put in so many curls you wouldn't believe it. But first we'll color it. Honey blond it'll be. It'll look just stunning with your dark eyebrows. You'll hardly ever need to use an eyebrow pencil, just the natural color. A little plucking of course. Now lean back some more, and we'll start the ball rolling.
Anyhow, there was this darling couple moved in right next door to us, and I brought over some cake and coffee near the end of the afternoon when they were pretty well unpacked, though nothing had been put away yet of course, and we began to get to know them. They were different from us. I mean, a lot different. We're both little people, and we're used to looking across at each other and looking up to everyone else, and we always have each other to share things, and we always will. So we think the same about things. The couple next door, they were wonderful but they were. . . different. I couldn't figure it. They were. . .strange. They were both very tall. They looked down on everybody. I mean, even each other. He'd been an athlete or a dancer or something, way back, and he'd had so many girls I don't know for certain that he respected any. And she was very tall and thin, and wore lots of leather, and she'd gone with a lot of guys, and they'd both lived in the city for a few years, before they started dating. And I think they'd each lived in Europe for a while, too, though not at the same time. So they acted superior, you know, smooth, aloof, like they were slow dancing all the time, even with each other. They'd hardly talk. Just glance and then sort of smile privately. Maybe they had hand signals. I don't know. Maybe they just lived together and didn't love each other. I never did figure what they did for a living, but there were always people coming and going from their house, and it was a real expensive crowd to judge by the cars they drove.
There's the timer. Back to the sink for just a moment, then back to the chair.
They argued a lot when they were alone, we could hear them, and they slammed things. Once, after they'd been shouting for hours, she came stomping out of the house dressed to the nines, in a leather skirt, with real heavy eye makeup and high, high heels, like yours, but with boots up to her thighs, and straps criss-crossing all over her, and she bounced over the curb backing out of the driveway, and she didn't come back till the middle of the next morning. Then you could really hear shouting. Well, the short of it is they got divorced soon after. He got the house. She took a place in town. But they still saw a lot of each other. They were business partners, it turned out. They "referred" clients to each other he once said.
Isn't this a gorgeous color? Wait'll we put it on your hair. It'll brighten and soften your whole face. Let me get the cotton rolls in now, and we'll be on our way. Pale pink nail polish and lipstick only with this hair color dear, or else bright red. Throw away all your dark reds. You'll be a dream boat. Just wait.
Well, my dear little hubby and I invited him over to dinner, our neighbor, because he had no one to cook for him. Not that she ever cooked -- I think they always went out. But we felt sorry for him. And you know what? Around dessert, we were still at the table, and we told him that, and he said it was the other way around, that he felt sorry for us. So we ask him, why in the world? And he answered because we seemed to be leading such dull lives. So we asked him, how, we have church work, and bowling, and I have my garden and my lovely hubby has his workbench.
And he said, "Well, you never go out, do you?" And we both said together, "What for?"
And he smiled and said, "And when you're home together, what's the most exciting thing you do?" And we sort of smiled at each other and didn't answer him.
So he came out with it as bold as you please, and he said, "You have sex together, right?" And we glanced at each other quickly and then back at him, and looked embarrassed and a little pleased, I guess.
But then he said, "But I'll bet you never do anything really exciting or daring with each other. You ever have sex with other people? Or you ever do anything really kinky?"
Well, I wasn't sure I should follow where this conversation was going. I thought maybe he'd been drinking, had a few before he came over, but my hubby asked him just then, "What do you mean?"
And then our neighbor, his name is George, George said, "Well let me put it this way. What's your favorite flavor ice cream?"
And my sweet hubby answered, "I don't have a favorite. I like lots of different flavors."
And George said then, "But not in a wife, right? In a wife you only like vanilla, right?"
And I popped up then and said, "Wait a minute, why do you say I'm vanilla?"
And George turned to me and leaned way over the table with those big shoulders of his and looked straight at me real hard with those black eyes he has under those black eyebrows, and you know, I felt very strange, and he stared into my eyes and said, "Well, tell me what you two do with each other."
And he waited for one of us to reply, and neither of us did of course.
Then he gives me that half-smile and says, "You don't have to answer. I've seen you two at night. My bedroom's opposite yours, and you leave the shade up. He puts on a pink light. You take that little thing of his in your mouth and blow on it like a balloon, but it doesn't get any bigger. Then he climbs onto you and fucks you with it, if he can find it. I don't know if you ever get an orgasm. Then you go to sleep. That's vanilla."
No, this is not one of those hair colorings that shampoos right out. Don't worry about it. You are going to be so gorgeous you'll break hearts. I'm doing your face today too, right? And lots and lots and lots of blonde curls, that's what the doctor ordered.
Well, my sweet darling hubby gets a worried look on his face, and he says to George, "Well, what else is there?" You see, neither of us had ever had sex with anyone except each other. We once got a book from our minister, well a pamphlet really, called "Doing it God's Way!," and it turned out that's what we do. Parents never tell kids anything. And they'd never tell kids what else there is, anyhow. So it was a fair question.
George doesn't answer at first. He glances at my hubby, and then at me, and a really wicked smile comes over his face, you know, like when you're a kid and you're gonna drop a water bomb on someone? Then he turns suddenly and says mostly to me, "I have a proposition for you two. Here's Mrs. Vanilla, and here's a husband who likes lots of different flavors. You're good neighbors. I don't mind helping you. There's a way for you to find out what else there is, and to find out who likes what."
"What's that?" we both say together. I looked at my wonderful man, surprised. I was beginning to get a very funny feeling in my stomach and in my nipples, you know? -- they got very hard all of a sudden. And down between my legs it felt as if my hubby was already there with his thing, moving it around. I was even a little wet. So I was a little quick to ask "What's that?" But then there's my hubby, as eager to find out as I am, and asking that same question that same moment.
"Well," says George. "There's no way I'm gonna tell Mr. Tutti-Frutti here what other flavors there are, what else he can do to pleasure you, and words don't count with matters like this anyhow. But here's what I'm willing to do. Mrs. Vanilla, you're a small woman, petite, but you're very good looking. You have a terrific body. Even though you don't do much with each other, when I'd see you undressed I'd have to whack off, even when my wife was still here, before the divorce. I'd watch you in your bedroom, and it was wonderful to see you, pert, cute, tight, with those upturned nipples like rosebuds just ready to open, and your rear end shining like sunset over the desert. Whenever I'd see your mound I'd wish I could weave flowers into those delicate pussy hairs just above your crotch. You're a real foxy lady, Mrs. Vanilla. I've wanted to make love to you for a long time now."
He glanced at my dear hubby, and I did too, and he said "No offense, now!" But I could see there was no offense. I felt none. My hubby didn't say anything at all. He was staring at George with the strangest expression on his face and his body rocked back and forth ever so slightly. Those same delicious feelings grew in me, and I got even wetter. Could I be coming down with something? I didn't think so.
"Here's what I propose." He talked to both of us, but mainly to my darling man, as if he knew he had a willing listener there. "Dear friends, you place yourselves in my hands for the next five days, both of you, with absolute faith that I know what's best for you. I will teach Mrs. Vanilla some of the things people do with each other. Mr. Tutti-Frutti, you will watch what we do, each night. During the daytime the two of you can practice whatever you've learned with each other.
"If you are both apt pupils then maybe we will move on to another phase of instruction. What that may be depends. Probably your wife and I will go to different places together, sometimes different cities, usually overnight, sometimes longer, and I will introduce her to different people who will teach her still more. You will not accompany us to see what we do. Instead I will put you in the capable hands of certain people I know in this town, my ex-wife being one of them, who run intensive training sessions for people who want to change their lives the way you do, or their line of work. You'll do everything they tell you to do, or else I will come home with your wife immediately, and your whole course of instruction will be terminated. What they tell you to do depends upon what I find out about you during the next five days, starting tomorrow. Do you understand me?"
He used to talk like that. Like out of a book. But it didn't matter. I have never felt so excited in my life. I'd imagined and dreamed about going away with a dark stranger some time, while my darling husband was asleep, but I'd never told anyone, certainly not my husband. How did this man know? Was he a magician? I looked over at my sweetie pie, and I was astonished. He looked like a man in a trance, and I saw that under the table he had his whole pole out of his pants, and he was stroking it back and forth between his thumb and forefinger. "Yes" he croaked out.
"Well then, I'll leave you two to talk over my proposal."
There wasn't anything to talk about, really. I was getting ready to tell George that we'd do it if my sweetie agreed, when my sweetie came right out with, "We'll do it!" Without even asking me! Not that I didn't want to. I did, the worst way. I'd never felt so excited about anything in my whole life, not even the first time my darling put his thing into me and wiggled it around a little until it got soft.
Now we go under the dryer for a while, dear. Would you like a magazine, or would you just as soon we keep on talking to each other? I don't have anyone else coming in this afternoon, not until Sally comes back, so it wouldn't be any trouble. But I don't want to impose on you. Time does go faster when you're in good company. People are so interesting! Let me fix us both some tea. Then I think I'd better start on your nails while your hair dries. We have a way to go yet. Do you take lemon?
Anyhow, my darling hubby phones in sick the next morning and says he'll be out at least a week, and spends the whole day walking up and down in our back yard. We have a light supper, like George tells us, and at 7:00 pm there he is at the front door, right on the dot.
"I want you both naked, right now," he says to us even before he sets down his valise. It turns out it was loaded with dildos and vibrators and chains and other such stuff meant to satisfy all kinds of tastes. So anyhow, we strip to the buff right then and there. It's a little embarrassing at first, because he just sits down on the couch and crosses his legs and looks at us, and doesn't say anything. But finally there we are standing in front of him, stark naked, up to our ankles in our clothes, wondering what else to do.
"Mr. Tutti-Frutti," George says. "Now gather up all of the clothes on the floor and take them upstairs, and fold them and put them away, or put them into the laundry, or whatever you do with them. Then I want you to pick out your wife's prettiest nightgown, one she saves for special occasions, and bring it down here. You're going to dress your wife for me to fuck her. But take your time. We have lots to do here first. When you're ready, just sit on the landing over there and watch us. Don't join in with us at first.
Here you are. Do you take sugar? I brought you a slice of lemon. I'm sorry I can't offer you cream.
Well, my sweet dear looks so worried! He gathers up our things and heads for the stairs, looking back at George and at me with such a mournful expression. But I noticed there was a kind of wild gleam in his eye also, or I would have stopped everything right then and there. I didn't want to, but I can't stand it when my honey bun seems to be even a little bit unhappy.
Well, I didn't even notice when my sweetie got back to the landing and sat down on an upper step to watch us, with my white lace honeymoon nightgown across his knees, because by then I was giving George a huge blow job. George had his middle finger up my ass and his thumb in my pussy, and was moving my hips up and down and back and forth to help me get into a good rhythm for running my lips and tongue up and down his cock. It was a real slow rhythm, because he had an enormous cock. I thought at first it was his arm with a huge purple fist at the end instead of a hand, somehow ended up hanging between his legs instead of from his elbow. But no. He kept me at it for maybe a half hour, it seemed. At first I couldn't get my mouth open wide enough just to take in the head, that huge purple helmet that felt as soft as satin to my lips. Then finally when my mouth was wedged onto it he really got me moving, with one hand in my crotch and the other hand under my arm alongside my breast, with its finger or thumb grazing and rolling on my nipple -- I don't know which because by then I was going crazy. I felt this tension building and building in me until I couldn't stand it, and then it washed down all over me in wave after wave.
Well, you know. It was my first orgasm, it turns out. And my honey bun had one too, it seems, because he was pulling on himself all the while he was watching me rolling and writhing and bucking and crying out with my mouth stuffed and my bottom crammed. I found out when I saw a little of his cum on my nightie later, and asked him about it. It was very dear, you know, that we both came together that first time for me. I've never forgotten!
You know, your cuticles have been neglected terribly. But you have long fingers, and I'm going to attach some long fingernails until yours can grow in under them, and I'll give them lots of protection. So it doesn't really matter.
Anyhow, that was just the beginning. George had my sweet hubby slip my nightie on me and then stand back, and then he told me to straddle his lap facing him, on my knees while he sat in the couch, and to try to put that enormous cock into me. Well, I was just too small -- it wouldn't go. So he sent my hubby for some Vaseline jelly to help me get started, and he lifted my gown and he licked my nipples. I really started to glow.
When my sweetie came back down, George told him to help by reaching between my legs to spread the jelly on his prick, and to try to spread my pussy lips around the head of his cock, so he could get started into me. Eventually, he got a little way in, and we settled for that, and I came again, and he came too, squirts and squirts of thick ropy semen running out of me when I dismounted, because he hadn't gotten very deep into me to begin with.
Then when I turned to see where my darling hubby was, there he sat cross legged on the floor. He had just diddled himself again, and he had come again, into a kleenex. Twice that night! A record for him! He looked satisfied enough. But you know, I felt sort of sad that I was having all the fun with George, and he wasn't having any.
I told George that, and he said, "All right, then, we can arrange something for someone who likes mixed flavors."
And he asked me to slouch down in the big easy chair, with my legs apart and my bottom perched on the edge of the cushion, so my pussy was just over the edge, and he called over to my sweet sad darling and he pointed to me, and there I was, wide open on the edge of the chair, still oozing.
So he told my sweetie, "There's your wife, Mr. Tutti-Frutti. Her flavors today are my cum and her cum. Clean her out with your tongue and make her neat and dainty again, so I can get back to fucking her properly."
Well, my sweetie immediately dropped to his knees in front of me and buried his face in me, and started to lick me and kiss me and suck on me and push his nose and his tongue into me. It felt a lot like his penis, and I began to get excited again because it was my dear sweet baby, and he was so passionate, and he was gobbling like he could never drink up enough of me, and I just closed my eyes and pushed my hips into him over and over, and he pushed his head back into me stroke for stroke, and I began to moan and then to cry out and finally I came again, and it was wild!
You know what? So did my sweetie! A third time! All while he was sucking George's cum and my juices out of my cunny, and licking my pussy hairs clean, he was pulling on his weenie with his thumb and forefinger again. So that was the first time we both came together with each other! It was like getting married all over again.
Well, for some reason George was annoyed with my sweet little hubby. He said something about too much self abuse, and began cleaning up to leave. I was disappointed, but it had been a big night for me, and I couldn't complain. Before he left he handed me a vibrator, not as big as he was, and a huge penis dildo about his size, really a monster, and he told me to ask my sweetie to work them both into me a few times tomorrow during the day, to stretch me out and prepare me, he said, for a real man's prick. He also said we should try out the positions he had demonstrated for us.
Careful with them now, they have to dry. Isn't that the prettiest shade of pink?
Well, the next day we tried to do what George said, but it wasn't too successful. At first my poor dear was too exhausted from the previous night, and couldn't even get it up. Then we worked at getting the vibrator into me, and the dildo, and my cunny gradually got a little bigger and looser, especially with lots of lubricant, but the dildo still didn't get all the way in. Then we tried that position with me squatting over my sweetie, but I was already stretched enough so I couldn't bring myself down onto him far enough to find his thing. He licked my nipples, and that was sweet, and I hugged his head and crooned at him, and nursed him. After a couple of minutes, he fell asleep, my precious baby! Then when he woke up and I asked him to kiss my pussy the way he had done it last night he didn't seem very interested.
All right, honey, now we start with the curls. Hundreds of them. This'll take a while, so bear with me. And I'm going to roll them up very tight, because I know you'll want them to last, and the springier they get the better. So I'll be pulling on your scalp, and it may hurt. If it gets too bad just tell me, because the setting lotion is soothing, and I'll just use more of it. Your set'll just last that much longer. Women have to suffer to be beautiful, sometimes! Don't we know it! But it's always worth it!
Anyhow, it went like that for the rest of the week. What seemed to get my sweetie excited was watching George do it, not doing it himself. The third day I managed to sit down on George all the way, and once I had all of him inside me I couldn't move. I felt like a stuffed sausage ready to split on the grill. But the next day, and the last day, the fifth day, I was able to fly up and down him like a flag flying up and down a flagpole, coming the whole time in one wave after another, and singing? George told me I never stopped!
And it was odd. While I was having such a good time on George, my sweetie just kept watching with his big round eyes, and pulling on his tiny pecker, and he seemed happy enough. But as soon as George came in me and pulled out, he was on me like a shot. No matter what position I finished in with George, my honey crept or jumped or twisted or climbed or wiggled until his whole mouth was on my pussy, and then he'd suck up George's juices and mine with so much gusto I'd come and come again. But he couldn't do it when there were no juices, like when he fucked me with the dildo.
Then there was something else, too. When I was stretched out the way George wanted, I couldn't feel my honey lamb's penis in me at all, during our afternoon practice sessions. I suppose it was there somewhere after he put it in me, but it just got lost. So that was one position less. But we sure were learning others!
By the third day, George worked out what was really happening. After he fucked me, and after my sweetie had licked me clean, George called him over and commanded him to drop to his knees and eat his prick, which was still covered with my juices. Well, the dear man just dropped as if he was clubbed, and started in on George's soft prick. There was my hubby, nibbling and gobbling and sucking away on George as if he had been starved to death. He got George all up and excited, then he wouldn't quit, even when George told him to, and when George came he swallowed all of it down as fast as it came pumping out. So that told George something he wanted to know.
The next day, we were finally having a good time all of us together, me slipping my pussy up and down on George's prick and my sweetie slipping his mouth all over it, and then slurping me and George out of me. So George tried something else. He sent my sweetie up to our bedroom to get my lace nightie again and bring it down, and then he told my hubby to slip it on, not to slip it on me but to slip it on himself. Well, that's just what he did! It fit him perfectly, except in the bust of course. And you know, he immediately got what I'd swear was the biggest erection I've ever seen on him, huge, poking out of my nightie three and a half, maybe even four inches!
And that's not all. George called me over and told me to shove something up his ass, well greased up. I picked up the dildo, because at first I thought that was what he meant, but no.
"He's not ready for that yet," George said. "We'll let my ex-wife work on that with him. Just push the vibrator into him very slowly, an inch at a time, and then wait, and when it's in him all the way turn it on."
So that's what I did. There we were, both of us, me pushing that greased up plastic tube into my loving hubby's behind, a little at a time, and George in front caressing my hubby's nipples with the tips of his fingers, though the satin of my nightie. And my sweetie had his eyes closed, and the sweetest smile on his face! He was in seventh heaven. I mean my sweet lovely man was utterly blissed out! I was so happy for him!
Then when I finally got the vibrator all the way in, and that took some time, believe you me, I turned it on, and a second later my dear sweet hubby was squirting and squirting cum into my nightie and all over himself. And you know what I remember most about it, to this day? Just as he started to come, he let out the most delicious squeal! Just pure delight! I can still hear it! And I decided right then and there that I would do anything to make him feel that happy again. Anything! My sweet, sweet sweetie!
Then the last day we did a lot of things like that with each other, but a lot of the time we just talked. It was kind of like hearing your report card read out loud. First George talked about me.
"Janet," he said. "Mrs. Vanilla. You have more fruit flavors in you than you have ever imagined. I want you to be on call for me for about two months. Continue to run your beauty salon and to make appointments, but for only for a few days at a time. Explain you have a sick mother who may need your attention on short notice. Then I'll give you short notice when I want you to come with me to meet with people, and to sleep with them as I direct you, and so to continue your education."
"They may be people of either sex or any age, but they will each teach you how to satisfy them, and they will all have different tastes, and when the two months have ended that knowledge will be yours for whatever your purposes. You will no longer be Mrs. Vanilla. That I assure you."
"I'll supply you with appropriate clothing, and take care of other necessities, and pay all the costs and expenses when we travel out of town for a few days at a time, now and then. In turn, any money these people may leave for you will be mine. Is that clear?"
I nodded.
He turned to my darling hubby, who was listening as if his life depended on it. "Now you are a different matter," he said, "but we have encountered your kind of problem often before, and in fact my ex-wife runs an establishment for dealing with it in which I retain an minority interest. You are what is called gender dysphoric. You don't know what your true sex is, or what sex you feel most attracted to. I know you love your wife, but I know also that you found me far more exciting sexually. Whether that is because you are a man who is turned on by men, a gay man, or a woman in a man's body, a transsexual, or a man who enjoys looking like a woman and then playing various women's roles, a transvestite, we don't yet know. But we can find out, and when we do we can train you to perform and enjoy performing the kinds of sex best suited to you."
"The process is one of total immersion, in an ten or twelve week residential training school where you will live, study, work, breath, and relax as you are told to do these things, and no other way. You will not see your wife during this time, probably not at all. But I can assure you, you will emerge from this course of retraining a happier person by far. A different person. They may even give you a different name. You will know what it is you want, and you will know how to get it. At the least, you will know a great deal about what girls want, how it feels to be one, and how to satisfy one. You will come back a much better lover. You will not be the man you are now, I assure you."
"This is a very expensive course of study. But we also provide you with loans, and the means for paying them back with your own diligent hard work. Is that clear?"
My hubby nodded. I looked close, and I saw there were tears in his eyes, and a strained, almost twisted smile on his face. I knew what it meant. My poor dear, he seemed to have heard George tell him that he could go straight to heaven if he wanted, and he was ashamed to say that that's just what he wanted!
"Now, how much time do you need to make up your minds about these recommendations of mine. I can only give you the weekend, at the most."
This time I spoke up first. "I'll go on call for you, starting next Monday, and I want my hubby to attend your training school, also starting next Monday. If I'm going to be travelling without him, and he won't be allowed home while he's being trained, it's just as well that we're both doing these different things at the same time. The only condition I set is that we both finish and are back in our own little home with each other at the same time, say after twelve weeks from next Monday."
Now George nodded. "That will be arranged," he said.
And that was that! For about three months I went where George told me from time to time, wearing different kinds of clothing George had for me, a cowgirl, or a judge, or a Victorian schoolmarm with a whip to enforce discipline. Lots of things. It got to be kind of fun, and I learned a lot about people. And meanwhile I kept up my beauty parlor, and managed to keep most of my appointments. A few times I flew to other cities with George, and a few times George and I and some other people would do some group sex, as they called it, with each other. But that's all another story.
The main thing is, my sweet darling went off in a car they sent for him that Monday. He looked back at me out the rear window until the car rounded a corner, so brave and sad, looking like a little boy who's so proud that he's going away to school, but also like a little boy who's afraid of what's going to happen there. I waved at him, and I tried not to cry, but as soon as he rounded the corner I couldn't help it.
And I didn't see him again for the whole twelve weeks. Even though George kept me plenty busy, and my shop too, I missed him.
I should say, except once. I did see my darling one afternoon about three weeks later, all unexpectedly. Who should come into the shop that afternoon but George's ex-wife, wearing those thigh high boots of hers and heavy makeup, like that time she stayed out all night. Only now it's getting late in the day, and she's got this teenaged girl with her, or that's what I thought she was. Sort of thin, and slumped over, hair hanging down from her head, you know, wearing real tight cutoff jeans without much of a figure, half-dragged into the shop.
"Janet," says George's ex, "This is Muffin. I think you know her. She calls me her 'Lady' so it would help her if you just called me 'Lady' for now."
So I look again. Muffin has her face turned away from me, and her shoulders are hunched way forward, a terrible posture, you know how young girls can be. But I can tell right away this is not a young girl.
"Sweetie!" I cry out. It's my darling hubby! He looks at me a little embarrassed, and sort of smiles at me a little, and he looks up at Lady, and he doesn't say anything. "Sweetie, how have you been?"
"Muffin is fine," Lady answers, "But she's been instructed not to say anything except to me, for now. She's only three weeks into our twelve week accelerated course, and she still needs the discipline. She's very happy. Aren't you, Muffin?"
"Yes, Lady," my hubby answers her. I guess it's true. It must be he's a little ashamed for me to see he's wearing a chiffon blouse, and the cutest little lace bra under it, because he keeps turning his shoulders away from me. But even so, I can tell he's even got something inside the bra! And he keeps looking up at Lady, and never takes his eyes off her.
"And whose Lady am I? We'll try again. Are you a happy girl, Muffin?," Lady asks.
"Yes, my Lady," my hubby answers her.
He's so embarrassed. My sweet dear! But I can tell it's true. He is satisfied with the way things are going, whatever they are. I'm so glad for him!
"Janet," says Lady, acting as if my hubby weren't even there, "While we're talking, I want you to do something with Muffin's hair. Give her a hairdo that's feminine but practical, one she can take care of herself. So when she gets up off a pillow, or when her head comes up from between my legs, all she has to do is shake it and it falls back into place, mostly. Maybe a quick combing when she goes out on call, but simple. You know what I mean? Right now she looks a little like a wet puppy, don't you Muffin?"
"Yes, my Lady," my sweet hubby answers her. He looks so dear I want to hug him. But he keeps looking up at Lady, just like a puppy who adores his Mistress. My darling, darling man!.
"I know you have questions," Lady says to me, "But they'll have to wait until Muffin has finished her training and comes back to you. Then you two can talk all you want for as long as you want, and it'll be none of my concern. So just start in on her hairdo now, and listen closely, because I have something very important to ask you. That's really why I'm here."
I point at a chair, and Muffin climbs onto it, then sits with her hands folded in her lap very sweetly, and waits for me to cover her shoulders with a sheet. I mean, my dear hubby climbs into the chair. But I'm thinking about him already as Muffin, you know what I mean?, because I'm thinking about the right kind of haircut for his head so he'll look really nice, feminine, really look like Muffin, even when his Lady has squashed his hairdo a little. A close cloche with short bangs brushed to one side and wisps in front of each ear will be just darling, I decide. An Audrey Hepburn look. Then that sort of pleased, embarrassed smile he's got will look very sweet, maybe kittenish, and a little mysterious. There we are, honey, that's the last of these teeny rollers. They're not too tight? I'm sorry it took so long. Now back under the drier to set the curls real tight, and then I'll brush them out for you, and put on your face, and you'll see that we've made all the right decisions.
Anyhow, Lady says suddenly, "Muffin, circle your arms for us, please, will you dear?"
Muffin immediately lifts her hands and curves her arms, and links her thumbs and forefingers together over her head, her other fingers curving up from her hand so beautifully, like a ballet dancer's, her little fingers poking out as delicate as you please. I suppose learning to circle her arms on command was part of her training -- she knew just what to do. And now I could see my hubby's chest quite clearly, raised up and exposed with his arms way out of the way. He really was wearing a pretty bra, white, with just a touch of satin on the edges, and scalloped around the bust, you know? And I could see my sweetie did have a bust! No mistaking it now. There was a deep cleft between his breasts, and the bra cups were filled out all the way, really doing some heavy duty lifting, with some leftovers spilled out past the scallops to form the cleft, so there were large lovely round mounds visible on both sides.
"Sweetie, you have a gorgeous figure!" I cry out. Muffin just holds his little smile, and looks at his Lady as if he wanted her to share the compliment. She nods at him, and he lowers his hands and puts them back in his lap.
"Yes," says Lady. "We've been working on it. She's down ten pounds, and we decided not to wait for the hormones to round her out. She needed to feel like a woman sooner than that, so she could begin to feel other things too. So she's already had breast transplant surgery, and what happens more now will just happen."
I wet Muffin's hair and begin to work, while Lady keeps talking.
"We asked Muffin all about this beforehand, of course, and gave her a few days to think about it, and finally she gave it her full approval," says Lady. "We have a very nice ceremony, so there's no mistaking it. I called in my two assistants, and the three of us stood next to each other, with our hands on our hips and our feet a little apart, and then I called in Muffin. She had a sweet pink ribbon in her hair, and I'm afraid there wasn't much more we could do with it then, but at least the ribbon matched the baby dolls she was wearing. We were getting her used to wearing baby dolls, being cute in bed, if you know what I mean. Anyhow we asked Muffin to kneel in front of us, the way she'd been taught, first to curtsy and then to sit on her heels with her knees a little apart and her palms up on either side of her, looking up at us and waiting. That's also how she listens to her tapes, and watches her videos, and learns the things she needs to know. She can do that for hours, now, can't you Muffin."
"Yes, my Lady," my hubby answers her under my scissors.
"Then we each asked her the questions, the same questions, each of us in turn, and she answered each of us in turn, so there'd be no mistaking what the poor dear wanted. Three times she said yes to each question, and then signified each answer. And the questions were 'Are you happy with our training program?,' and 'Do you like wearing girls' clothes?' and 'Do you like what we're teaching you about being a girl?', and things like that, until we get to the clinchers, questions like 'Do you want to be a girl for the rest of your life?' and 'Would you like to have breasts of your very own,' questions that take real thought. And Muffin said yes to everything, and signified everything.
"What's signifying?" I ask her, still clipping away. This was news! My darling little man wants to be a girl! Well, I'm thinking, that's something to think about. Maybe he had tendencies all the time. I supposed in a way it could be a compliment to me. He loves me so much he'd like to be more like me! That really is very sweet of him!
"Signifying is sealing each answer with a kiss," Lady answers. "In this case she comes forward on her knees and hugs each of us around our thighs while we're questioning her, and looks up into our faces and says 'Yes' if that's what she means to say, and then she kisses us where her face is, on our mounds. A kind of act of devotion to our most feminine place. Because she'd like to have one herself, and we were born with them."
"And she did that?" I ask her. But of course I already knew the answer. What I'm really thinking is, that's a wonderful way for my sweetie to answer questions like "Would you like to lick the spoon when I'm done mixing this cake," or "Do you want to cook and serve us dinner, and then do all the dishes and clean up afterward?" I can ask him, and he can curtsy, and fall to his knees, and hug my legs, and look up at me and say "Yes," and then kiss my bush. It has possibilities.
"Janet, that's a lovely cut you're giving Muffin," says Lady, paying no attention to my question. "Will it need to be blow dried when she shampoos it?"
"Only if she wants it puffed out a bit," I answer her. "Not really. So what is it you wanted to ask me."
"Well," she says, "Muffin is thinning down nicely, and with her hormones she'll soon start to round out in her bottom, if you know what I mean, and she's going to have just a lovely figure when we're finished with her."
"She already does," I say, concentrating on the back of my darling's neck. Each hair has to be razor cut just right to curve around and sort of hug the chin, but also fall very neat and make a straight neckline.
"So far," said Lady. "But there's more. She's going to be a living doll, teeny and cute as can be, and she'll be able to wear the shortest minis and the tightest pants there are. In fact because she's so short she won't look right in any other kinds of skirts and dresses and pants. "
"That's true enough," I said. I was thinking what a fun time we could have when they give my darling back to me, sharing each others' clothes like the very best of girlfriends.
"But Janet, look at her crotch, now. With anything tight or elastic, there's a problem."
Well, I set down my comb and razor, over there next to the scissors, and I lift the sheet. My sweetie's blue jeans have this bulge in them. Not much, because he was never what they call well-hung. But enough to be a problem with stirrup pants, or short shorts, or a mini with a little spandex in it, I could see right off. I don't say anything. I set the sheet back down, and spray my sweetie's hair, and get back to shaping it.
"Janet," Lady says. "Muffin has already given us permission. But we think it's only fair to get your permission too. Do you know what an orchiectomy is?"
"Sort of" I say, but I'm beginning to suspect where this conversation is going, "I read about it in one of my magazines, 'Cosmopolitan' I think. Isn't that an operation where they cut a man's balls off?"
"Well, yes," says Lady. "But in this case I think it's fair to say that they'll cut a lady's balls off. Listen closely now."
She turned to my hubby, and walked around to look him full in the face, and motioned to me to stand alongside her. And she motioned for me to stand with my legs a little apart, and hands on hips, same as her.
"Muffin dear," she said. "Now, stay seated in your chair. You don't need to answer us on your knees this time. But answer very clearly each question I ask you, and then answer your wife. If she's not satisfied, then nothing's going to happen. Now, first, do you want to be a girl for the rest of your life?"
"Yes," my little hubby replied. "Yes, my lady. Yes. Please."
"Do you feel in your heart that you are already a girl."
"Oh, yes, my Lady. Yes, I do."
"And you want us to complete the treatment that will make you a girl in your body as well as your mind and heart?"
"Yes, my lady."
"And you understand this means that a doctor will put you to sleep and then remove your testicles."
"Yes, my lady."
I got curious. "Why don't they also cut off his penis, then, too, if he wants to get rid of his bulge?"
"Ask her," Lady replied.
"Sweetie," I said. "Do you want them to take away your penis too?"
"No," my hubby replied, looking very serious.
"Why not?" I asked.
"Muffin, you have my permission to answer your wife any way she wants you to, not just with 'Yes' or 'No', or 'Thank you,' " Lady told him. "But remember that she is a born woman and you are not her equal, so remember to call her 'Miss Janet' for now."
"Yes, my lady.
"So, why not?" I asked him. "Why not everything, and start fresh?"
My poor dear darling looked so wistful, I could have hugged him right then and there. "Because, Miss Janet," he said, "I like to play with it. I'm used to it. And besides, I'm married to you, and I love you, and I always will love you, and we could still use my thing to do things together if you'd ever want me to."
Well, my heart just melted. Tears came to my eyes and I choked up. I couldn't say anything.
"It's scarcely more than an oversized clit," Lady said to me. "There shouldn't be any problem tucking it once her balls are out of the way. And we'll give her a vagina to go with it, of course. Do we have your permission?"
"Is this what you want?" I asked my darling dear. "Really and truly?"
"Yes, Miss Janet," he answered, "Really and truly."
"Well," I said, coming back around him and picking up my scissors and taking a few more snips. "Then that's settled." His hair was now styled, and I must say, he looked cute as a button. So I took off the sheet and motioned to him he could stand up. "If that's what you want, you should have it."
And you know what my sweet little man did. He stood up, and dropped to his knees, and embraced me and hugged me around my bottom as tight as he could, and buried his face in my crotch, and kissed me, and kissed me, over and over until I thought he'd never stop. He was so grateful. That's what! He signified! He sealed me with a kiss!
"That's what she wants," said Lady. "She. It is the girl she has already become who is making this choice. With our training methods, she began thinking she was a girl before the first week was out. That's how we get such good results so quickly. Before he came to us he had already decided he wanted to see what it was like, being a girl, you remember. Most men are curious at some time or other in their lives. And that's all we need, to start with. But it turned out Muffin was more than curious. She was eager! So we put her in our accelerated program, and started the deep conditioning at once. Now she's three weeks into it, and it's irreversible. Your husband will always be our Muffin, because that's what she wants to be. And if you will let her be both Muffin and your husband, you can expect a long and happy life together. Of course you can always think of him as a male, if you like." Lady paused, and grinned wickedly. "A severely feminized male, self-humiliated! Whichever you like."
And then she paid me for my hubby's styling, and the two of them went out the door together, and I didn't see my darling again for another nine weeks. He did look so precious when I finished with him. But when they finished with him, it was true, he was a real living doll! The thinnest waist, and the cutest ass, and the smartest wardrobe, and he had added a little of his own to those breast implants. A "D" cup, now. Can you imagine? On a girl barely taller than five feet, wringing wet? And the sweetest little high-pitched baby voice, and the most delicate manners. Oh, I could just eat him up! Some nights, I try!
Anyhow, that's how I got used to the idea of my darling hubby coming back to me as a sweet little girl named Muffin. When he got back home he knew so many things we could do together, the "women's love" lessons they taught him, that we still haven't done everything, and I look forward to his getting into bed with me every morning when he gets home from work. Of course he had to quit his job as a dispatcher. A girl who looks and talks like my hubby, doesn't stand a chance with all those truckers and warehouse men around her. But he found other night work using some of the other skills they taught him. If anybody asks, he tells them he's on the night shift at the MTA. But that's his little joke. He means his mouth, tits, and ass give pleasure to a long line of steady clients every night, in a house near where he took his training, run by the same people I think. It pays much better than being a dispatcher, and it helps him pay off his student loan for the training that turned him into a girl and showed him how to make it pay. He says, if I ever want to quit the beauty parlor we'll still always have plenty to put on the table.
And no matter how many men he's taken care of in one night, no matter how much cum is dripping out of all of his openings when he comes home, with sometimes his dresses and his hairdo such a sticky mess I can't imagine what he's been doing, he always stops by to see if I'm awake. He smiles at me, and he always looks so pleased with himself. And he leaves his night's earnings on the bureau, and he kisses me so sweetly, and he heads for the shower saying "I'll be right back, dear," or sometimes he still likes to call me "Miss Janet." He always has time and energy for me, and his loving is always passionate, and devoted, and just full of surprises. I have never, ever, been happier. I tell you, I wouldn't have it any other way. I told Sally about it months ago -- I think she's due back pretty soon now -- and she said she'd never heard anything like it. She said she was jealous, can you imagine?
You know, dear, with this new honey blonde hair you're going to need a whole new range of eye colors. I'm using a kind of violet on you now, but you could be using blue or green eye shadow, depending on what dress you're wearing, or how you felt. No more grays or browns for you, dear girl. Nothing mousy for you from now on. If you got it, flaunt it, I always say. Blondes do have more fun, sooner or later. Just wait, hon, we're nearly there.
Now, you're going out to a fancy ball tonight, so I'm really going heavy with the eye liner and mascara. Really slathering it on. During the daytime you'll want to use much less, of course. But tonight you want to look dark and mysterious and sexy, isn't that right, hon? You never know who'll ask you to dance, or how you'll feel about him. Sometimes you never know who you'll end up going home with, too, no matter who you came with. Ask me, I know. I could tell you such stories!
Anyhow, back to my sweet hubby. You know what that darling little man does for me? Well, hon, let me tell you. About a month after he got back from his training, he was out working one night, and I got this terrific urge to get a really huge cock into me, for once, you know? Every now and then, a girl just wants to be fucked silly by a telephone pole. Like when my sweetie was supposed to be learning from George, and it was me who was learning. Like when I was travelling with George, and he'd invite people up to our hotel room, three, four of them sometimes, and they'd go at me all night until I couldn't hardly stand up the next day, and couldn't even close my mouth to drink breakfast. But was I satisfied? I tell you! Just thinking about it, I get a little wet, you know? My sweet little Muffin, he really tries, but his mouth and all the dildos and vibrators in the world can't do everything, and of course his little weenie can't do anything at all.
So I went next door to ask George to help me out. He said he'd be glad to, but it would cost me a lot of money each time, because he's a professional and what he did before was neighborly by way of letting us know what we were missing, but now he had a living to earn.
This may sting for a second, hon, but bear with it. Just once on each ear, and it's done. There! And . . . there! That's all there is to it! Believe me, you'll prefer it this way.
You know what my sweetie said when he came home and I told him? He said I should feel free to visit George whenever I felt like it, if that's what I really wanted. He said he was now the best paid whore in town as well as the prettiest, and he's also the happiest, because they trained him to be that way, and it was all because of me, and my beauty parlor, and that cute haircut I gave him that day he came in with his Lady, and the permission I gave for him to be all the girl he could be. He said he had customers backed up for weeks in advance, and that he could free up time for some of them on Sunday, which is God's day, you know, and his day of rest. He told me that he can earn enough extra for George to fuck me front, back, and sideways, over and over, with still enough left over for the next Sunday's Church offering. He said it would give him real pleasure to work harder for both me and the Almighty, and he loved the thought of me getting stuffed by another man's big meat, he said, the way a really big man sometimes stuffs him. And he said he'd want to hear every detail when I came home. So now that's one more thing that we share with each other.
And you know, he said all those things in that sweet little high pitched innocent baby voice of his that I just love, that he wanted George to ream me out any time I wanted. It came out sounding so cute. And did you ever hear of anything so generous?
Now, finally, honey! Look at you! You are just too beautiful! I think those nails must be dry by now. Four coats! I doubt you can chip them even with a sledgehammer. And the pink is just stunning with your new hair color, and a good match for your new lipstick. Now, with nails that long you're going to have to learn new ways to pick things up, and new ways to type on that word processor of yours. But if you break one, no problem, just stop by and we'll fix it free. Let's just brush you out one last time.
So now my sweet hubby works at the MTA most nights, seven nights a week sometimes. He stops here at the shop around closing time, usually, and sometimes I help him put on his face so he'll look real pretty, and off he goes down the sidewalk with that adorable waggling strut they taught him for when he's wearing high heels. Most of his customers think he's too cute to be a man, and they don't believe a word of it if he tells them. And when he gets home we cuddle, and he thinks of things we can do, and he's so cute about some of them, and we giggle a lot. He's so much fun!
And every now and then I get a yen to get myself really laid by a real man, you know? Filled with a fat prick up to my bazookas? So I go next door, and then George takes me by the hand and leads me into his bedroom, if I have the cash.
And my darling, darling hubby sees to it that I always do have the cash. He works so hard to keep me happy. He is soooo sweet! Every girl should have a husband just like him.
That's how it is. Married people like a little variety after a while. But if they really love each other, there's no problem. They adjust. They change. It's give and take. You can stand up now, dear. We're done.
Sally! You're back! Just in time for the grand unveiling.
Isn't he gorgeous? Just what you wanted for him. Blonde, piles of curls all over, and his face and nails beautiful too. Violet for his eyes I decided finally, very sexy. And now there's someplace he can hang those earrings you showed me. Your hubby will be the belle of the ball tonight, and you mark my words, tomorrow he'll be the talk of the town!
You know, he's a doll, but you know something, Sally? Come over here a minute, would you?
You know, dear, I'm not sure he's figured out yet what it is you have in mind for him. Just between us, he asked me a few times how hard it'll be for him to wash all the color and curling out after tonight, after you two have won all the prizes for costumes. And he wasn't too sure about his nails, how they come off when he goes back to the office. You said not to tell him anything, so I didn't.
But I can tell you, the way he looks now is him, for the next six months anyhow. He'll need to grow a whole new head of hair to look like a man again. Really, that perm and the curls and the hair color and his nails aren't going anywhere! I use only the finest beauty products, you know that. And he isn't going to want to go back to clip earrings, not when he knows he's got to look like a real high-styled lady for at least for the foreseeable. Maybe he'll need a touch up or something before it's time for his next hairdo, but this one is built to last.
I notice you've got his electrolysis under way. What in the world did you tell him? That it makes sense for him not to have to shave? That's certainly true. Anyhow, with what's been done already and with the makeup I used on him, his face is smooth as velvet now. He looks very pretty, you know, Sally? Much too pretty for a man!
Oooh! That is really stunning! Is that dress for him or for you? That's for him for tonight? Just look at that satin trim! And the neckline! Does he have a bra that cuts low enough for it?
Oh! Sally! He does now! It's precious! You think of everything! He'll love it! You're marvelous, Sally, you really are. I hope he appreciates you.
You know, we should double date some time, you and your hubby and me and mine! Just us four girls out together! We could have such a good time! And my hubby's offered to teach yours a few things, give him some pointers. I was telling yours about my sweetie just now. I hope it helps.
But you know, Sally, I'm not sure he's given much thought to earning his living the way my hubby does. Not every man wants to. Even though there's a lot more money in it. I really don't think so. Have you mentioned it to him yet? Maybe you should take him to see my hubby's Lady -- I'll bet she could help him decide that's what he wants to do.
Now, with my hubby there's never any problem. He does everything I want, as soon as I ask! He is soooo sweet! My darling Muffin!
Careful going out the door, now. He's still pretty wobbly on those heels. But practice makes perfect! He's so lucky to have you to help him!
Copyright © 1998 by Vickie Tern. May be archived to free archives only, single-copied for personal use, but not sold.
Vickie [email protected]
None of these imagined excerpts -- or very short short stories -- are from actual stories I've ever read or written. As with Japanese Haiku, or short lyric poems, your own imaginations should feel free to fill them out with whatever situations or incidents may appeal to you, many I'm sure more wicked or breathtaking than any I could devise. That's how I read them myself. ~ Vickie
"Not until you promise," she replied in almost a sing-song. "But now, even if you do promise now, it'll happen only if I feel like it!"
X.
"For Christ's sake, enough! More than enough! Cut it out! Untie me!"
"All right, if that's what you want. I'll go get the knife. But remember later what you just asked me to do!"
XI.
"Oh, is that your safe word you're trying to grunt through that ball gag? Well, I don't remember any more what word I gave you to say when you wanted to wimp out. I knew you'd object when I told you I was turning you over to Carl. But don't worry about it. Another twenty lashes and that tush of yours'll be so painful you'll beg me to call Carl in to take care of it for you. He'll oil it inside and out, and then I'm sure he'll make it feel so good you won't even notice when I leave to tend to my other clients."
XII.
"Jimmy, this is the third fist fight you've been in this week! I told you last time, one more and we're going to have the doctor fix your problem for good! Well that's it! Get your coat, no, get your sister's coat this time, and put it on while I warm up the car and make just one phone call!"
XIII.
"Nahh! Mother-son acts were always a novelty, and they don't draw the crowds like they used to. So after tonight we'll convert some of the couples we got out on the circuit into mother-daughter acts. Then we'll see how that goes. No problem, most of 'em have been fuckin' each other on stage twice a night for so long that chances are they like it. And when a kid sees what happens to his momma if he don't go along, he'll agree, even if his momma don't want to beg for him to agree. We'll tell 'em when they do it we'll let 'em go after a while, it's their only chance, or somethin'like that. Then fuck 'em! Later on they'll both be able to pick up extra money lap dancing, so they'll both come out ahead even after I get my cut."
XIV.
"I felt in her panties while she closed both arms around my neck and kissed me deeply, so deeply her tongue seemed to reach far back into my throat. My heart pounded, she was so beautiful, so very beautiful, and now so passionate too, heated to frenzy with her hips writhing against me, I never dreamed she'd ever feel this way about me! My fingers down below felt that she was soaking wet, and she began to moan. Then when I knew there was no turning back for either of us, I reached further down to finger her glorious, glorious pussy, and found there was something in the way!"
XV.
"No, we don't want to make them into just housewives eager to serve you, though they'll become that gratefully enough after we're finished with them. We want them to become real sluts on your behalf, the kind that can't wait for nightfall, so they can go into the streets to earn for you whatever it was they used to earn when they were tending to business but also fucking their secretaries, once too often it would seem. Don't worry! We know how to train husbands so they'll want to become highly capable housewife whores who feel proud to serve you, and that's what we'll do, and that's what they'll become. Any other questions?"
XVI.
"No, not everyone comes out of this machine feeling the same way about sex they did when we strapped them into it. You won't, for instance. Not at all, I'm afraid! The Controller told us that ever since you chose to oppose her in Council, she has been wishing you had a different perspective. Now you'll have one. You may be surprised how you'll feel about sex and lots of other things after this treatment. Aren't we about ready now, Omicron?"
XVII.
"Yes, Bob, you seem perfect for the job, and it's yours if you want it. But you should understand, it's not quite what you think. You see, men no longer dominate the wholesale beauty equipment business. Gay hairdressers prefer to give their business to other gays, and women beauticians would rather work with other women. So here's what we propose."
XVIII.
"I'm sure that by now you've each noticed that your wives on that couch over there are sucking and licking and nuzzling each other's cunts to climax. That's how I've amused myself since I retired from the stage, getting people to do things like that. Well, they'vee been at it since this morning, and they're getting pretty tired after who knows how many orgasms. That's why I told them to do it in slow motion when you two came by to get them, so I'd have enough time to prepare you properly. That's done now I think. Right now more than anything else they need sleep, the poor dears. They need sleep. Sleep.
Now, I want each of you to concentrate. Concentrate. Just look at me and concentrate. Yes. Each of you, decide which wife you want to be for tonight while they sleep, which wife making the other feel as blissful as your own wives feel right now after spending the day in each other's arms and pussies. Think about it, then tell me. Then while you're down here being their replacements, they can be upstairs getting some real sleep in each other's arms, maybe even in each other's pussies too if they still feel like it. Maybe you two also, later on. You'll all four know a lot more about how to enjoy each other by the end of this weekend."
XIX.
Hank didn't understand it at all at first, so I had to spell it out for him. "What good is it going with a fraternity boy," I asked him, "if there's the whole fraternity there ready to provide a standard of comparison and the boy I'm dating won't even let me use it? What's he afraid I'll find out?" So I made him set me up in his room and then keep them lined up outside my door all night. By morning I could tell him I'd be happy to accept his pin, because he was almost as good as most them, and better than some, but mainly because he was so sweet about helping me satisfy my needs!
XX.
"Of course, if you want to. Here, just do it, I'm ready. That's it. Does it feel good? Oh, yes! Yes! Yes, here! That's it! Ahhhh! Now you won't want to patronize any of those other telephone SPAM numbers ever again will you? Oh! Unh!! Unhh! Unhhh! Unhhhh! UNHHHHH! OHHHHHHH! Ahhhhhhh! That was wonderful. Again? Whatever you say, lover! But now it's your turn! This time, you bend over for me!"
Teasers © 1997 by Vickie Tern. Permission freely granted to archive this story, make it available, and copy it for personal use, but it is not for sale, no way, no how.
Vickie [email protected]
If you're under 18, invent your own perversions, or else wait. ~ Vickie
"For one thing, I can tell you right now that Bill's cock hardly ever gets soft! He even managed to push it into my ass, after maybe three complete round trips into my pussy! What a shame I never let you stick yours into me there while you still could, a smaller prick would have been so much easier on me. It happened so quickly, too -- I was tangled in bedsheets from one of our previous fucks, who knows which, God was he horny! and I was exhausted, I couldn't move a muscle. I told him that, and he laughed, and then slathered stuff on himself and slipped into my rear end as easy as if he were sliding into my mouth. God, I felt full, so full I couldn't help but push myself back at him. Then he started pumping my ass and finger fucking my pussy both at once, and then there was no stopping either of us! It was a lot better than earlier with Joanie and that huge dildo she used to loosen me up!"
"But I want you to come with me tonight, so you can know too how good it feels to have a stiff cock pumping deep into your ass. Bill thought your mouth and throat might fit him too if you opened real wide, and I think it will. And you're certainly entitled to suck up any sloppy seconds you can manage, I think. You *are* my husband, after all, and it does seem unfair that Bill gets to do all of our holes when you don't get at any of them. So I don't care, I'm going to give Joanie back the rest of the pills she gave me to soften you up until you'd agree to let him fuck me. Then in a week or so when you can stiffen your cock again, we can all do each other. I bet we can even have that orgy I wanted last month when you didn't!"
II.
"You're right! I'm sewing you into this corset and brassiere because I'll want to know you're wearing them every moment you're out of my sight. Especially when you're at work. Then if you still want to take those cute little secretaries to those long lunches at the Starlight Motel, you'll have to explain to them how come you're dressed the way you are, and I'll have the satisfaction of knowing they think you're queer."
"They'll think you're queer anyhow, of course. That lipstick I put on you is permanent, hon. It won't wipe off before you get back to your office. And by then everyone will want to see it. You see, I phoned Darlene to be sure to compliment you for deciding finally to come out of the closet because your new boy friend wants everyone to know you wear lipstick when you suck his cock. I told her to be sure everyone at the office knows, so they can congratulate you too. I doubt many girls will be accepting luncheon invitations from you from now on. Of course you may hear from some of the boys, but that I won't mind at all!"
III.
"Yes, Tony, I'd love to go to the Harvest Moon Ball with you again. But this time I need to ask you something very special. A little favor? It's this. Would you mind terribly if I go as the guy this time? I mean, I really look great wearing my brother's tux, you know? I wore it a few times this summer while you were out of town, you know? And his sports jackets and other stuff too, trying out different things? You didn't know? We really need to talk. Anyhow, I'll want the girls to think I'm a pretty smooth guy when I first come on to them at the Ball. Don't worry hon, we're still going steady, I mean to try my luck only with the girls there, not with the other guys."
"But if I go as the guy, what that means is, you'll have to go as the girl. As my date, you see? Don't worry, it's no big deal, I'll fix you up just fine, no one'll hardly know, you'll look just great! And there'll be lots of guys there, so you're sure to have a pretty good time too. Who knows, maybe we'll both luck out, you never know! And something else. You're already my special fella, right? Well, you are! Would I ask anyone else to do this for me? But lover, maybe if you look really beautiful, when we get you dolled up in a really beautiful ball gown and makeup and all, maybe I'll be able to think you're my special girl too! You never know. Then you can have me both ways, you'll never need to share me with anyone. If you love me the way you say, Tony, you'll do this for me, and you won't give it another thought.
IV.
"Charlie, you been working on your forehand? Great game! Yeah, I saw in the showers, you're right about those scratch marks, all over your back and shoulders, can't miss 'em, they're gonna be a real bitch to explain to your wife! That secretary of yours is really something I guess, a kitten behind her desk and a tiger in bed. I'll be glad to help you out, Charlie, I really will. You want me to back you up, tell your wife you got scratched when you went through a glass partition while we were horsing around, that's what I'll do. You got it!"
"But it won't work, old buddy. Last week I had a great old time with that same tiger-kitten of a secretary myself. Jesus, talk about hot? She never quits, does she? I'd of warned you about her, but you're married, right, so how should I know you were gonna get it on with her? Anyhow, when your wife saw those same scratch marks on my back she wanted to know who the hell made them, and I told her straight out, hell, she isn't my wife. Well, she got so mad at me she threw me right out of your bed and all the way out of your house! So when she sees them on you, she's gonna know right off where you been, old buddy. You're really up the creek! But if you really want me to throw you through a glass partition, there's one right there, and I'm up for it. So it's your move!"
V.
"You're cute, Jeff. You really are! For months you keep telling me how glad I should be to see you, and I keep telling you to go away, that you're annoying me. But do you listen? You never listen. There you are, the world's greatest stud, you think, and I should feel grateful that you want to move in with me!"
"Well, stud, now you've got your wish. Here you are. I'll look in on you every day to see that your water bowl is filled and to hose down your cage. If you behave and you're properly respectful whenever I come down, and you're on your knees with your forehead on the floor and all, I'll put something in your food bowl too, and that's a promise. Then maybe in a month we can talk about what you can do for me, and for any guests I might want to bring down here to look at you. I'll want them to see for themselves how eager you are to please me. If you're eager to please them too, and they're satisfied, no complaints, maybe in six months or a year I'll let you back into the main house, so you can please us there, and maybe even get to sleep in a bed again somethimes. But that's up to you. I've got to go to work now, so think it over! I'll leave the light on this one time, so you can look around and get used to things."
VI.
"Oh, darling, no married couple can ever possibly be as happy as we're going to be. We'll be lovers and sisters and best friends all rolled into one, the very dearest of best friends. I'm so happy you're going to quit your dull old engineering work and take that job as my receptionist, because now youll be able to spend all your time thinking about how to look pretty for me, and you can wear lots of my clothes to work, and we can get rid of all your old things. We'll share every moment of our lives, all our dreams and desires, our most intimate secrets, everything! Even our girlfriends and boy friends, once your special therapy sessions finally persuade you that underneath, you're not my boyfriend but my bisexual girlfriend, just as I'm yours..
VII.
"We were in the same math class, and every morning she wore a different sweater and a tighter skirt, but there was that same dark wavy hair, and those same black eyes looking straight into me. God, she was just beautiful! When she sat down, I swear the seat kissed her ass. I sure wanted to. Then there were those tits, floating suspended in mid-air, held up by the curves of her body. I could never say anything in that class -- there was always a lump in my throat. And I couldn't volunteer to do problems on the board, either, because I always had a boner. And I'm a math major, I know that stuff cold!"
"Well, one day she got back a low grade on a quiz, and I saw my chance. I hung back until everyone else was gone, and then I got up enough nerve to ask her if she needed help. You know what she did? She glanced over at me, and then down at my crotch, and then back up at me, and she said, 'Sure. I've been watching you, sport! You want to help me, OK, but I pay you off in advance! So just take it out right now, that bulge in your pants, and lie down on the floor, right there. Quick, no hesitation! That's it. Now, you choose, do I sit on your cock or your face? Just say which, quick. This offer will expire in ten seconds!' Then she gathered up her books, and she looked down at me, and she smiled, and she just waited, and I tried desperately to clear my throat."
VIII.
"Yes, dear, I heard you, listened to it all, standing here naked and a little bit chilly I might add. But I really need a shower now, with all this cum drying on my skin. So you just listen, I'll be brief. Yes, you came home from that trip early and found your faithful wife in your very own bed with one guy in her cunt and another in her ass, and their money on the bureau. Yes, I'm a whore, I really am, a professional, and I love the work and I've been doing it for years, whenever you've gone out of town, and I've got no apologies. And yes, I understand how you got so worked up when you saw me wriggling those two guys deeper into me, you got so angry that you accidentally shot your load all over the bedroom door while you stood there watching us. I know how that is, I've had lots of tricks get off watching me fuck other guys. And I appreciate how now you feel you've been cheated, deceived, and you want to teach me a lesson, make me an example, by putting me out on the street to earn my keep while you keep all the money I earn!"
"Well, you need to know dear, what's on the bureau, that money, that's not my money at all. Not even our money. That's Syndicate money. I'm on annual contract, salary and fringes, medical plan, retirement benefits, stock options, the whole package, as long as I meet my quotas and maintain my hourly earnings. So in effect what you've just done is volunteered to pimp for me. Here's my cellular phone number, and my beeper number, you'll need them. I can handle two more Johns this afternoon, and you'll need to book me four more for tomorrow, so you better get out there right now and start hustling. Or else tomorrow I'm afraid I'll be looking for a new husband as well as a new pimp."
"You see, this place is wired, my boss heard everything you just said. How else do you think he knows I'm one of his best whores? He doesn't like hearing his girls intimidated, even by their own husbands. Here, he wants to talk to you now, Curt's his name, he's the regional director. He wants to motivate you to be one of the best pimps he's got, now that you know all about me and I can go full-time. So take the phone, and you'd better listen real good to what he tells you!"
IX.
"You sweety! Offering me your husband to keep me company while you're off on your business trip, because you know I'll miss you? What a darling! Of course he'd try to get into my pants whether or not you arranged it -- he always does try. But this time you'll be away for weeks! And sweetheart, I don't want him. I don't want anyone else, now that we've found each other. Just you, my precious angel, I want you!"
"So what I've done is this. I've already had your hubby picked up by a guy I know who'll take good care of him the whole time you're gone. He's probably already chained up and begun his training. It's pretty severe, but my guy is real good at what he'll do to your guy. It doesn't matter that your hubby isn't gay now, he will be after my guy finishes with him, trust me. Inside a week, two at the outside, your hubby is going to be afraid to go near any woman for the rest of his life. He'll be afraid to do anything with anyone except suck cock and get his ass humped. He won't have the balls, you'll see. He'll be useless to you from now on, believe you me. Unless you enjoy watching a man make love to another man, or to a dildo bigger even than the one you sometimes strap on to use on me? But once he's trained and busy with his new friends, by the time you get back, we'll have lots of time to cuddle up to each other, because there'll be no more worry he might find out about us. He'll never come between us again!
X.
"Bobbie, just look at your room! Panties and bras and blouses and makeup all over the floor, and yesterday's clean laundry still not put away! That's terrible! If you can't learn to be a proper girl and keep your things neat and tidy, I'm going to send you to school in your boy clothes again, and tell everybody that's what you really are. Then we'll see if all those guys you've been dating will want to have anything more to do with you!"
XI.
"Barbara, it was wonderful! Everyone who came fucked me! Even your own brother a few times, I think, and all those guys he brought with him, they all came in me at least once each, I don't know, I lost count. The bed was a soaked mess by midnight, and the last of just the invited guests climbed off me only about a half-hour ago. He said I'm so sloppy now, so stretched out wide open, that he couldn't feel a thing. Maybe so, I couldn't feel him either, that's for sure, and he had a big cock, believe me, a lot bigger than Jack's."
"So now what'll I do? All that cum is still oozing out of me, and who knows how much more is still in there? It's all over the sheets and towels, and it keeps coming! And I'll be walking down the aisle a few hours from now, and I don't want it to stain my wedding dress! I want to look perfect for Jack, that bastard, even though I am still mad at him for not inviting me to his bachelor party. Well, I guess I'm only a little bit mad, now that I've been the main attraction at my own party. Maybe now I should forgive him. Maybe even tease him a little about what I did last night while he was out with the boys. But only later. Only if it turns out he can't feel anything either once we've started our honeymoon."
XII.
"C'mon kid, suck on it! Watch your teeth, dammit! That's better, and gimme a big kiss too now and then, right there on the tip, where the pearly stuff comes out. Yeah, that's just great! If you can't take it down your throat, at least lick the underside up and down a few times. Like now. Yeah! And didn't I tell you to wear lipstick and a dress whenever you're fixing yourself up to give me a blow job? I wanna be able to imagine you're a girl when you wrap your lips around my cock, not some cocksucking faggot. 'Cause if you're a faggot when you cuck my cock, what does that make me?"
XIII.
"It was so beautiful, Dora! We spent the whole afternoon together, and we both feel the same way about so many things. He's such a gentleman, so very cultured. I'd forgotten how I enjoy his company, and how very affectionate he can be, and how satisfied a woman can feel after making love. It was all so easy, so natural! First we had that light lunch I promised him -- a salad, Boston lettuce, Romaine, a little Chicory, you know, but with my special very strong garlic dressing, and lots of herbs. Then we just talked. When he finally came up behind me in the kitchen and kissed me, he was so gentle, and his mouth felt so delicate on my neck that I just melted into him. My heart swelled up and I knew then that I was a lost woman, head over heels lost. I don't remember any of the rest clearly, how we got there, but my head was on his shoulder, and he swept me up, and then there we were in our bedroom and then our bed, naked and clinging to each other, and he was already deep inside me, and at that moment I felt so very complete!"
"His cock is so much bigger than George's, Dora, did you know that? I'd forgotten how big some men are, after all those years with George. And he maintains an erection for hours it seems, and he moved with such tender grace when he first slipped it in and out of me. Then when he settled in he just pounded me and pounded me, steady and hard, and I must have just kept cumming because I can't remember any time with him in me when I wasn't squealing and shrieking in pure bliss. I'm sure I fainted now and then! He himself came three times in me, and then began again without stopping, and finally before he left he managed one more time in my mouth! So now I've got plenty, and it'll all make a delicious fish sauce to serve George for his dinner tonight, our juices all blended, and flavored by the garlic and those different herbs. Oh yes, the flavor's all still there, I could taste it. Most of it's still inside me, I want to keep it warm for tonight's supper. I'm sure George'll think it's as delicious as I do. And George loves fish. In fact, I mean to serve George fish with that special sauce every Friday from now on, and much more often during Lent."
XIV.
"Up against the wall, Motherfucker!"
"Mom, not again! I can't get it up again so soon after the last time!"
XV.
My big sister came home unexpectedly and caught me trying on her clothes, and boy was she ever mad! She slammed her bedroom door shut and she said, "Not a word! I thought it was you, little brother, messing with my dresses and undies! Well, I've got good news for you! Since that's what you want to be, from now on you're my little sister, and like it or not you'll wear my bras and panties and so forth all the time from now on, and skirts and lipstick too on Tuesdays and Thursdays after school, because those're days when Dad and Mom get home late, so those are my Miss Enterprise days. That's when my customers come to call, and I'll want them lined up in the living room while they wait for me to service them up here in the bedroom. You'll be my assistant, and I'll want you to look like a little princess down there, and welcome them, and while they're waiting I'll want you to suck their cocks so when I see them they're already on edge and I can finish them off faster and earn more money off them. But don't expect me to pay you, little sister! You'll suck strictly for tips. That's a joke! And also for me not to tell Mom and Dad that you're as queer as a three dollar bill, which you certainly will be inside a week, you can be sure of that. Or would you rather have me tell them right now?"
XVI.
"No, wait, that's a huge dog, Mrs. Jamison! Better to wait till that big bulge at the base of his cock goes down before you try to separate them. Otherwise for sure your husband's ass'll get torn up, and then you won't be able to mate the two of them again for maybe as long as a week. You just heard how painful it was for him when that knot swelled up to seal his asshole tight, just before the dog dumped that load of cum into his guts. You heard the way he screamed and then fainted dead away. And he's still out! Amazing!"
"You know, women usually buy these trained Great Danes from me for their own uses -- you're the first to get one as a present for her husband. It's not for me to say, but he didn't sound too happy about it, at first, the way he fought those ropes when the dog mounted him and began to poke into his buttocks. But I've got to admit, when things got going he really did seem to enjoy it, a little, to judge by all that moaning and shrieking before he passed out. A dog really is man's best friend, a very thoughtful gift, ma'am, the gift that keeps on giving. Well, I'll leave you three now. I still have that other dog to deliver to that lady down the block, the one you said had been boffing your husband for months now, and you only just found out? Yes, I see by the invoice that you're paying for that one too! I suppose I'll find her gagged and tied up in her bedroom with her bottom high up in the air, ready for action, same as your husband? Well, you'll see, she'll soon prefer her new dog to your husband. My animals can out-fuck any man, any day of the week!"
XVII.
"My dear, lovely hubby, we're going to have such a good time from now on! You'll never get me to believe you don't have a talent for this! It's so wonderful! Just look at you! I'll bet you're enjoying him as much as I'm enjoying watching you! No, just keep him in your mouth and keep slurping him, just let him slip gently in and out until he begins to harden up again. That's it, isn't he starting to get firm? I thought so! You're so good at this, who'd have suspected it! Just keep licking and sucking, and pay special attention to all those delicious pussy flavors I've leaked all over him for the last few hours, or I might begin to think you don't love me!"
"To think today I was sure I was going to leave you today! To think I even had my bags packed! It's so fortunate you came home early and found us together! I meant to be long gone by the time you usually come home, but not now, no way! Not with what you've agreed as a condition of my staying. You were so tearful, so pitiful, and persuasive, and you promised me everything I wanted, so I just didn't have the heart to walk out on you! That's right honey, pull on yourself to pace yourself, to sense what it's like for him and not let him get too excited too soon. But don't bring yourself off! Don't let yourself cum, not now, not ever! Don't even try to hump the air if you should feel yourself getting close! >From now on I want to keep you hard up and horny, eager to suck on any cock any time. I want sucking other men's cocks because that's the big thing in your life from now on. My, look how he's already getting so thick he hardly fits into your mouth -- earlier today when I tried to fit him into mine I couldn't, his cock head was like a tennis ball! Just stretch your lips as far as they'll go, and keep sliding up and down! Oh, I get so deliciously wet thinking about how he feels when I'm squeezing all that meat into me and he's pumping himself even deeper into me. You're really so very sweet, agreeing to look after my lovers' needs, no matter what, just so I won't leave you. Of course I'll stay, now."
"But do you have any idea how busy you'll be? No matter I suppose. >From now on I'll try to think of you as my sweet little extra added attraction, whenever I meet a new man and want to try him out. At least three of your golfing buddies are going to be surprised to see you getting them primed to fuck me one more time. You didn't know? Well, don't look so sad -- they'll really appreciate you in a new way once you've wrapped your mouth around them. In fact, as a regular thing, when I'm too sore to keep going I think I'll leave you alone with whoever's up here, so you can get to know each other in your own ways, and do whatever men do with each other. You'll love that too I'm sure! Especially once you're all stretched out for fisting -- men sometimes ask me if I'll let them, and I have to tell them no, but now they can fist you! No fear, dear, you'll soon have your fill of cocks coming and going at both ends!"
XVIII.
"No, of course she's not yours for keeps, silly, just for the weekend, while Marcia and I are getting it on together in the country and you're stuck here in the city taking care of business, and deciding if you really do want for us to keep seeing each other. She's only supposed to keep you company till I get back Monday morning. I asked her to keep you busy and out of mischief. She'll do whatever you ask her to do of course -- blow jobs, assfucking, she'll even french kiss your asshole -- has anyone ever done that for you? Well then, you have a real treat coming! Last Spring she was just like you, as passionate a lover as any I've ever had, but she did grow tiresome, and when I told her it was over she just came apart! Tears? She pleaded she'd do anything I asked if only I'd let her stay. Well, I still have Marty and Tim hanging around on call for whenever I really feel I need a cock, you remember them, I couldn't get rid of them either at first? They're both a lot better hung than she was. So I had no use for yet another man. But she did insist she'd do anything! So I had her altered, and then I sent her to Judy Laverne's for training in all the techniques a girl needs for high-level whoring. And that's what she's been doing for me ever since, especially when I have to leave town for a few days, like now, and there's someone special I want to keep happy, like you."
"So you be sure to keep her busy, and don't worry, she'll do whatever you like, no matter how weird or nasty. No, seriously, I mean it! Anything at all -- you really have no idea how thoroughly Judy trains her girls! Just remember to keep your hands out of the front of her panties is all, and don't let her put her own hands there either. Her cock is still mine, no matter what she may try to tell you, and I never let it cum or go anywhere! Understood? So she'll stick to business, pleasing you! Then when I get back on Monday I'll ask you how far you're willing to go yourself to stay with me, now that our little affair's cooling down. Are you willing to go get yourself a tuck here and a snip there, and then spend some time at Judy's place? I don't need another Marty or Tim, remember!"
XIX.
It never occurred to you that I'm a lesbian? You thought I was doing all those things to you because I like feminized men? Even after I got you all dolled up and made up and and perfumed, and spent night after night fucking you with all those dildos, and taught you how to suck and lick me into ecstasy top and bottom, and bought you every stitch of clothes you have on or in your closet, you thought it was because I loved you in some weird way? Even when I got you shot full of all those hormones? Well, I have a confession to make, Donna my love. I really and truly am a lesbian, and you'll never be the kind of woman I like, with your oversized clit and no pussy at all. No, I've been fixing you to be the consolation prize I offer my partners when I'm no longer interested in them, for whatever use they want to make of you. That built-in dildo of yours will make a perfect toy for them to play with now that the testicles that used hang below it no longer ruin the view.
XX.
No, dear, just sleep. Sleep, you lovely man. When you wake up, you'll find you're a very different person. So for now, just sleep, and let the drugs, and the hypnotic suggestions, and all the conditioning do their work for you. Sleep.
Teasers 2 © 1997 by Vickie Tern. May be made available free to individuals, but all rights to any fees or royalties are reserved. If you want to post this anywhere else, please ask the author for permission first. Thank you.
Vickie [email protected]
She'd love hearing from you about any of them, even if they aren't the kind of story you like to read, though especially if they are. ~ Vickie
Yes, he always dresses like that! Well, no he didn't always, but for the last year or so, certainly, that blouse is one I bought him back when he first realized he'd just better accept the way things are. I guess it has been a while! Of course he's a lot thinner than when you last saw him -- he's been trying for a more attractive figure -- when he sees yours he'll be so jealous! And his hairdo is brand new -- I treated him to it just this week, to try to cheer him up. Isn't it darling? A new operator at the salon, Marsha, she's a marvel! All in all he's looking quite the lady, don't you think? And you should see him when he gets dolled up! He'll take hours, but he knows now how to make himself really beautiful. He once took a special "Beauty Tips for Girls Who Love Men" course at the Community College, and it really shows! His men friends certainly appreciate it!
Why does he want to make himself look like a woman? Because that's what he is, now, Loretta. Or that's what he usually thinks he is, which is much the same thing. Why? Well, he's better off being a woman, though it took a little persuasion on my part for him to see it. Why'd I persuade him? Well, he'd gotten himself into a little trouble, with my help I'll grant you, and this was the only way he could get himself out of it, with my help I mean. He's reconciled to it now, given the alternatives. He knows he's much better off. I know I certainly am!
Yes, there is a certain peacefulness about him. A kind of serenity. I love it, he's so calm all the time, even when things around here get frantic. And there's really nothing to maintaining him that way. Each morning a double dose of tranquillizers and anti-depressants along with his daily estrogen, and then he just doesn't get upset about anything.
For a while it took some really heavy doses to convince him. He'd swallow enough Thorazine and other psychoactive drugs to knock down a cow. Then the next morning he'd sit dazed by his dressing table, still in his negligee, just staring down at his boobs. He'd been nearly a year on hormones by then, and they'd grown in pretty full. They even hung down a little -- he really needed his bras by then. I suppose after a night's sleep some of his medication had worn off, and he'd begun to come to himself, and he couldn't remember how those breasts had gotten there. But I'd remind him again who he really was, the woman I live with, my dearest friend since we were girls together, that's who he needs to be. Then he'd be fine, and take his pills, and he'd get dressed appropriately, and we'd go down, and that was that. There we were chatting away, two nice ladies having breakfast who live together and lead separate lives. I don't think he remembers any more that he was ever anything else.
He's a real help, you won't have to do a thing with the house, he does it all! I work most days and some nights, and he takes care of everything here. And often on weekends he'll help me with my client load too back at Hospitality House, when I take on too many. Ever since he quit his earlier job. Even before then I'd taught him how to dress and behave, and how to do his make-up, the basic things. But when he went full time he needed a lot of attention, serious training, to help him decide what kind of a lady he was, and how to keep his voice gentle, and how to move, and so on. You know. Then later on, what to watch for when he's out shopping for the house, and which cookbooks to rely on.
He was always grateful, I will say that. At first he relied on me for everything, how to dress properly, how to be a fun date, he had no idea how girls manage things like that. I had no choice, Loretta! After his conversion he had no social life, so I had to help him out! I certainly couldn't have him moping around here all the time. He had to get out and circulate, get to be known, if you know what I mean. And to really enjoy pleasing his dates, because a man can always tell if a girl's sincere or not.
He was such an innocent! He knew nothing back then! Do you know that when he went out on a really serious date for the first time he didn't even think to douche his little rear end beforehand? I had to tell him that! What can he have had in mind? How did he think his date would feel, pushing a prick into his asshole and finding squishy stuff already there? We gaffed his cock and balls nice and flat, what was left of them after the hormones, and I told him always to plead his period and offer his ass if his man was interested. Then just lie back and spread your legs and enjoy it, I told him, or else hump the air with your rear and wait for your date to find the right place.
I wasn't worried about his mouth -- he's good with that, and he loves giving blow jobs, no problem there. Once he begins he can swallow oceans of cum. He does bachelor parties for me now and then, and other affairs like that -- it helps bring in household money. When he gets back sometimes his tummy's really bloated with all the sticky stuff he's sucked and coaxed out of cock after cock. He's wonderful at it -- men watch his tongue stroke the underside of a prick and then they just can't wait for their turn.
But still, some men just have to fuck a girl down under before the night's out, and this man who'd just asked him out for his first real date looked like one of those. And he was! When Jim came back the next morning there was cum oozing out of his anus and all over everything. It utterly ruined his dress, a pretty black slip-dress with a jewel neck I remember, luckily not his best brocade, the one he'd wanted to wear because it's his prettiest. He cried a little when I gave him another douche to clean him out -- it hurt him. You know why? Loretta, in all the excitement of getting him ready I'd completely forgotten that Jim's ass was virginal. Never so much as a dildo in it previously! That date of his had ruptured whatever it is that passes for a hymen in a man, there were even traces of blood. Well, I kissed my poor Jim and assured him it was going to be beautiful for him next time, and then I slipped in a tampon and showed him how to change it, and he was fine.
Then when I looked the dress over, I saw there was cum all over the front of it too. Jim told me that when he felt cum spurting into his bowels he'd gotten so excited he'd just let loose and cum too, he couldn't help it. Wasn't that lovely? A wet orgasm, his first as a girl, the very first time he gets fucked! They dated for quite a while after that, those two, I remember. Jim kept his rear sweet and neat, and carried tampons to protect his dresses after making love. I'll bet he's a lot more satisfactory in his lovemaking as a woman than he ever was as a man. And a lot better satisfied himself, too, though I've never bothered to ask.
Anyhow, nowadays Jim takes care of his own social life without any help at all from me, the dear. He takes his own phone calls from men who think he's attractive, and he flirts with them if he likes them, and sometimes he stays out all night. I never ask why or where, as long as he looks happy. He's his own woman. These days there's a man who's trying to teach him to play golf. Jim tells me he pretends he can't swing a club, and then he swings his tush back and forth in the man's face -- between the hormones and his diet it's really rounded out, that tush, really cute -- until the man can't wait to get off the golf course and bury himself in it. And that's the way the golf lessons always end up. He can be such a slut, sometimes, my Jim!
There's no question my life is easier now that he's a woman, Loretta. I don't know why I didn't think of it years ago. Maybe the same reason I never paid any attention to all the hunky guys who were always hitting on me at work. They were all trying to tell me something about what married life could be like, but I wasn't listening. They were telling me that Jim might be a sweet dear, and mean well, and that I didn't ever need to regret marrying him, and so on, but that all that was no reason for me to deny myself. Jim was always salt of the earth, you know? Solid, dependable, predictable, you know? But when he was still a man, boring? Don't even ask!
Loretta, after five years of yawning through my marriage I had to do something! It got pretty obvious even to me. The Jim I'd met and married wasn't at all what he'd turned out to be. He loved me, I never doubted it, I'm sure he still does, somewhere down under. When we were just friends, and then when we were living together he was so considerate, such a perfect gentleman. He'd follow up every hint or suggestion I ever made, what little gifts I might like, where we should eat out, what shows we should see, where we could enjoy a little weekend getaway, even how I'd like him to fuck me. It was exciting to meet a man who cared about my least whim.
But after we got married and moved down here and Jim got his job with that bank, it was different. It turned out he'd gone along with all of my desires because he had practically none of his own. And once we were married, he figured that was that, and stopped paying attention to my needs altogether. Lots of men are like that. From day one he'd come home from work and read his paper, and if he had anything to say at all it was about business. Not office gossip, not dishy stuff, who's in, who's out, who's into who's pants, you know. Business talk. Exchange rates. Collateral. Takeover bids. Marry a banker and that's who you end up married to, Loretta, a banker. And at night in the dark he doesn't stop being a banker, either, if you know what I mean.
You remember after I miscarried, and we had all those tests? Well, it came clear that we'd never have kids to help break the monotony. That's when a lot of other things came clear to me too. He'd petered out in bed practically on our honeymoon. His prick wasn't ever much, and he seemed to think then that oral sex is unsanitary. I suppose it is, in some ways, but so what? Anyhow, for a long while the only suspense when we were having sex was, would he somehow manage to cum, and if he did, would he somehow knock me up? That's what kept me awake until he'd finished dipping his dick in and out of me and then rolled off me and started snoring. And that was only maybe once a month on average!
Well, you play the cards you're dealt. You remember a few years ago I may have told you that they'd made me a floor manager at Sportsman's Paradise? You meet a lot of sporting types there, and they're not exactly bankers. Summers they like to hit and run, and in winter they glide and slide, in and out of trouble. You know what I mean. I began to think about sampling one or two. Well, one afternoon this really gorgeous guy walked in and made his moves on me, and this time I couldn't think of a single reason why not. A half hour later I was down the road in his motel room, and down on him, and then in his bed, and he's down on me, and then he's into me!
Oh, glory! Considerate? Gentle? Rough? Everything, you name it! He kissed me on my neck where I never could resist anyone, even you Loretta, you remember when we went together for a while, when we were still in college, before you met Helen and left me for her? And then he licked his way down my belly and into my pussy, up and down, up and back, in long, easy strokes! Oooooh my! And you'll never guess what came next! His lips closed on my clit and he began giving me a blow-job! Can you imagine, Loretta? Sucking on the dear little thing as if it were the world's greatest cock -- and he's got a world class cock himself, I found that out soon enough. I bet Jim doesn't know even now that I have a clit. I don't think he'll know it when I finally get him one! But this man, sucking and licking, as if it were a real penis, or maybe a third nipple down there giving him sweet milk! I can feel his lips on me even now. Ooooh, I'm shuddering!
Well, I went wild, I couldn't stand it, it felt so wonderful, and I was shouting at him to fuck me, fuck me, push that glorious thing into me, now, now, and I was *crying* can you imagine, Loretta, *begging* him, me begging a man for anything? I felt so utterly marvelously out of this world! So he came up and eased himself into me, and then he built up the pace until he'd gone berserk and I'd gone just plain crazy! By then he was a pile driver, with his huge arms and thighs, and that thick cock, and I was flying and twisting and tailspinning and screaming while he was slamming my ass into the mattress. Then my whole body started clenching and unclenching! Orgasm after orgasm! O God, they went on and on and on! Never anything like that ever! Then when finally he cums it's a river!
I thought he was done, Loretta, and I kissed the tip of his thing in gratitude, and I pushed a hankie into my panties to blot up some of the leaking and I got ready to go back to work. But Loretta, it wasn't over! Twice more that afternoon! Not even in college when I took on that whole pledge class have I ever been so thoroughly fucked! I began to remember again what it was like!
Well, after that how could I not spent more afternoons with other guys? A few weeks later I went half-time at the store and half-time at the motel. A few weeks after that, to make up for the lost income I began to charge some of the men I took up with, those who didn't especially appeal, you know? Not much, but soon I was making more money in one afternoon than they paid Jim for all week. It was easy work, too -- blow them or fuck them or sit on their faces, whatever they wanted, and some of them had some pretty curious kinks. I'd think of variations, and then they really began to come back for more! I had more orgasms each day than in my entire married life, and not one of them faked!
Well, my client list grew and I grew selective. Kept only guys I'd have fucked for free, though they never knew that! I raised my rates and rented a discreet apartment suite with separate entrances and exits, I call it Hospitality House, and hired a receptionist to answer the door and look after my billings and debits and things, and I got cards printed up, and I got a cellular phone number and a beeper. And there I was, a professional! I opened a bank account in my maiden name, at Jim's bank, no less. Loretta, it began to fill up with obscene amounts of money. I bought all kinds of sex toys and fetish gear, and I got to be very good at encouraging shy clients to confess their darkest desires to me, and then guessing at others they didn't dare mention, and then satisfying all of them. Well, the word got around, and pretty soon I was booked for weeks and months ahead, and accepting only clients who were recommended by other really wealthy clients.
I quit the Sportsman's Paradise altogether, and raised my rates again, and began scheduling morning and some evening appointments, and I even started booking weekends for special parties. Jim figured that was the way things were in the sporting goods business and never thought to question any of it. He read his paper and watched television, and fell asleep after dinner on days when I told him I was going out on call and on other days when I just went without saying a word. I don't know why we stayed married. He wasn't a friend, or companionable, or helpful around the house, and I had my own considerably larger income, and I certainly didn't need him for sex! Just habit, I suppose. I can't say I felt married. I doubt he knew what he felt.
What kept us together? Loretta, you won't believe this! One afternoon I was on the bidet cleaning a previous client out of my pussy and perfuming it for my next, when the receptionist poked her head in and told me we have a walk-in. She didn't know him, should she send him away, and she showed me the card he'd had in his hand. It was Jim! My Jim!
The card was signed by one of my best clients, Brian, a vice-president at Jim's bank, his immediate boss in fact. Brian was a regular who liked being blindfolded and whipped, because it made him horny as a goat! His wife never had a clue about that! I met the two of them once during a theater intermission. He introduced me to her as if I were a major depositor in his bank, which I was getting to be, and she looked at me as if she already knew that he was a major depositor in my pussy, though she couldn't decide what to do about it. If she'd asked me, I'd have told her to get a whip. Anyhow, Brian and Jim somehow had got to talking about how wives are usually offended by kinky desires but professionals are happy to satisfy them, because they make for happy clients and return visits. Jim must have said something more, because here he was, carrying his boss's seal of approval.
My receptionist said that this new client was so embarrassed he didn't dare look up at her. He was waiting in the parlor. Well, that's where I keep a half-a-dozen videotapes going, gay, lesbian, straight, b&d, something for everyone. And on the tables are stacks of magazines from "Hustler" through "Stud Muscles," even the "Marquis De Sade Quarterly Review." A client's tastes are pretty obvious when you see what video he looks at, and what magazines, given lots of choice. I peered into the room and there's Jim all right, looking at a video, a leather scene, a tall woman standing astride a naked man, who's kneeling between her legs and looking up and licking her cunt. And meanwhile a lingerie catalog open on his lap! My Jim? My no-cum no-go husband a secret submissive, maybe also a panty fetishist? I should have guessed! But how to keep him from recognizing me while I find out exactly what he wants?
It happens that I was still made up for my previous client, wearing black eyes and a scarlet mouth, my hair pulled back severely, and laced into a tight leather bustier and jack boots. I could make him grovel while I'm dressed like this, I thought, and he'd never dare look up. But did I need to? I wear my hair loose and full and soft at home, and almost no make-up, so even if he saw me he might never put two and two together.
That turned out to be true enough. But for this first time I took no chances. I picked up the very pantyhose I'd worn that morning to work -- I'd felt especially horny anticipating my first fuck of the day, and the crotch had gotten soaked. Then I summoned Jim into one of my chambers in a stern voice, and ordered him to face the window. He came in quivering, and collapsed onto his knees without even being asked! What a specimen of a man! I blindfolded him with my pantyhose, and that smeared my cunt juices all over his nose and eyelids, and he got harder than I've ever seen him at home!
Add in the smell of my perfume and the feel of my leather boobs brushing on his back, and my dear hubby was near fainting with excitement. It was his first visit to someone who really knows what she's doing, I was sure of it! I stroked his stiff little dick through his pants to relax him, and I asked how I could help him. Surprise surprise! Panties! He wanted to wear women's panties! Soiled women's panties! The prettier the better! And he wanted to be ordered to wear them! And that was all he wanted! To feel himself humiliated by a little forced femininity! My modest little pervert! He almost didn't blurt it out, he felt so ashamed!
Can you imagine? My Jim has this one kinky desire, the only one of his whole life, and when he finally gets up the nerve to gratify it, who does he ask to do it for him? For money? His own wife! That's Jim!
Well, of course he got exactly what he wanted, and then some. When he left me that day he was wearing a pair of black lace tap pants I'd pissed up earlier for a client who was into golden showers. And he'd masturbated into them for me, and I'd told him to wear them sopping and sticky back to his office. He actually did squeak some cum into them, more than he usually managed to put into me! And when he left I'd put him into a matching black lace bra, too, for discipline's sake, and also because there was an interesting scenario forming in my head!
I knew almost at once what I wanted to do with him. I'd already dealt with a few pantywaisted husbands eager to "explore their femininity" as they said, to spend their salaries getting high-priced whores to make them wear dresses. One in fact had been sent to me by a bored wife who wanted him turned into a streetwalker so he'd have something income-producing to do evenings when she was out with her various boy friends -- he lacked even that much talent, it turned out, so she had to settle for him ending up a hustler in a gay bar. Anyhow, I knew exactly where I wanted to bring Jim, and how to do it. I admit it, Loretta, I was feeling gleefully spiteful about my blighted expectations for a happy married life, the years of futility he'd inflicted on me. But I also felt some pity for him. He didn't know any better, and his needs were so puny. Such a useless man! Such a second rate husband! Well, Loretta, I decided my second rate husband might make me a first rate wife! Someone I could enjoy living with. I'd improve him! Why not? I had no use for him at all the way he was!
I told him in a steely voice that he should wear his bra and panties all the rest of that day, and from now on. His wife needed to know it, so tonight he should ask her permission to sleep in them, and he should tell her he wanted to wear them all the following day. Then he had to tell her the next evening that he wanted to rinse them out and wear them again. "You can tell her your Mistress insists, and see if that gets her cooperation," I told him. "Or you can tell her you've always yearned to look pretty, that you feel more complete wearing them, that you want to wear only bras and panties from now on. Tell her whatever you like. But do it!" Then he should return and tell me what happened.
He did it. It was so funny, that evening at dinner, watching him twist his shoulders to free up a binding bra strap he didn't dare reach for while I was looking. I accidentally on purpose spilled wine on his pants and then insisted that he strip them off at once so I could blot them before the stain set in. He did the weirdest contortions to keep his shirt tail below the black lace fringes of his tap pants, and when he danced upstairs to get some fresh slacks he was clutching his behind. But I could tell that the risk of exposure excited him -- he was happy. His little dick stayed stiff the whole time! What a sweetie!
When we were undressing and getting ready for bed, I could see that he was beginning to tremble again. He just couldn't get the words out, yet he had to ask my permission to sleep in his undies. So he solved the problem by pretending there wasn't any. He removed his pants, then his shirt, and then he took off his shoes and socks, and then he just sat there with his black bra and sexy panties in full view.
I'd decided that because his Mistress was strident and demanding, I would keep my own voice relaxed and gentle. I also knew he was terrified. I didn't want to spook him, and that gave me my strategy for his whole transformation into a woman. No matter how idiotic I might seem, I would regard each step as a dull commonplace, no big deal, hardly worth noticing. So in the most casual voice imaginable, I said "They're rather becoming, those panties. Vanity Fair, aren't they? I usually buy Olga. Do you get many washes out of them?" My attention the whole time concentrated on a chip in my fingernail polish.
"Not yet," he croaked out. "I like to wear them. They make me feel complete. Do you mind?"
"Why should I mind?" My tone of voice told him that even the question was of little interest to me. "It's a good brand, well made, and they're pretty. It's nice to look pretty. But the bra isn't quite right. Do you plan to grow breasts or to just let it slide around on your chest like that?"
"I don't know," he replied. Well, that sounded promising! Then he remembered his specific mission. "Do you mind if I sleep in these tonight?"
"Suit yourself," I replied. "I wear my bras and panties to bed sometimes during my period, when I'm a little swollen and leaky. Are you expecting a period?"
"No," he replied. "I don't think so." He was more bewildered by my question than by my indifference to the bizarre spectacle he presented, a husband in ladies' lingerie. I must have sounded surreal to him, a little lunatic. Or maybe sarcastic, as if I didn't care about him. I didn't want that. I didn't want him feeling guilty and defensive. Not yet.
So I added, "Well, honey, if you'd like to pretend it's your period, you'd better borrow one of my tampons for tonight, you know where they are. Slip one into you before you get into bed. Better be safe than sorry. But buy your own for after tonight, enough for four more days. At least buy yourself some sanitary napkins. It's so thoughtful that you want to know what it feels like. And oh, yes, we're almost out of toothpaste. Try to pick up a tube too, on your way home."
And I put out my bedside light and turned onto my side to sleep. I knew he wouldn't dare ask for clarification, and I soon heard him struggling in the bathroom, trying to push a tampon into his rump. Then I saw him waddling back to bed. It was so funny!
The next day he wore his bra and panties to his office with no comment from me. The next evening he couldn't decide how to ask me for permission to rinse them out, as his Mistress had ordered him. Several times he started to say something, then stopped.
I decided to help him. "What a bother it is, doing undies by hand every evening, instead of just throwing them in the clothes washer."
"Yes!" he replied eagerly. "I've had that very thought!"
"Would you mind rinsing out mine tonight with yours, Jim? I'm really tired. I'm going to bed as soon as I do the dishes."
"Not at all! Go right ahead. I'll do the dishes tonight too," tumbled out of him. But he knew he had to ask me, those were his orders. "You don't mind my rinsing out my underwear along with yours?" He waited. Technically he'd fulfilled his obligation.
"Of course not," I replied. "You've worn those undies for two days now haven't you?"
"Yes" he said. And he started upstairs to perform for the first time the womanly task he'd be doing for the rest of his life, rinsing out his undies. And he didn't know it yet, but I never touched another dish from then on either.
"Oh, by the way," I said as he was half-way up the stairs, not troubling to look up from my magazine. "With that kind of underwear you really should get rid of your body hair. Shave it off tonight, and use some 'Nair' on the stubble. Instructions are on the box."
Nothing more from me, so he continued on his way. When I went up myself and started preparing for bed, Jim was already under the covers, reading. He was in regular pajamas, and he looked up at me puzzled, still working through why I thought his shameful transvestism was too routine to notice. Was it?
"Men don't wear panties, do they?" he asked.
"You tell me," I said laconically, giving my hair its twenty-five strokes with the hair brush, as if that were far more important than his question.
He had to test again. "And bras?"
"Apparently. Why not? Most men love women's breasts." I looked at him. "If your skin feels smooth now, you'll find a nightgown nicer to sleep in than those pajamas. Here!" I took one out of my lingerie drawer and tossed it at him. "This is yours now, but get yourself your own so you won't always be borrowing mine. More bras and panties too, if you mean to wear them regularly, enough so you can change every day. Did you remember to lock the rear door?"
I pretended not to see him slip the first nightie of the rest of his life over his head. It was a salmon-colored baby doll, with ruffles on the short hem. He looked so precious, sweet and silly, all at once! That my husband now wore lingerie as a matter of course seemed of so little interest to me that he let the subject drop. The next morning he made no effort to hide from me the fact that he was putting on his now-hand-washed bra and panties again, though he seemed a little self-conscious about it.
"Remember to pick up the cleaning on your way home," I said. "You need help with that?" I stepped behind him and did up his bra's three hooks. "I should think that by now you'd have learned to hook bras in front first and then turn them, if you can't reach around behind you. You aren't exactly a young girl with her first training bra, you know!" He was speechless. I decided that if he ever slid back into male underwear I would make a show of anger that he couldn't seem to make up his mind about anything, and he'd shift back again. Phase one completed.
II.
He showed up at Hospitality House ahead of schedule, and I began his training at once. My receptionist had him wait for me wearing only his lingerie, on his knees, and warned him that in my presence he must always remain on his knees and look at my feet, never under any circumstances higher than my crotch. When I arrived my hair was tight back and I had a cat mask on just in case, though I needn't have bothered -- his eyes stayed draped under his lids the whole time. I gave him the middle finger of my left hand to kiss, then to lick, and finally I began to pump it into his mouth while he sucked on it, and then I added my forefinger for thickness. His first dildo. He slid his lips up and down on it devotedly after a bit. He wasn't very good at it, Loretta, but you'll have to admit it was a beginning. It's hard to criticize. I had lots of high school boys' pricks to practice on, and you've had your experiences too, I'm sure. And he's certainly come a long way since then.
I asked him in my strictest voice if he had obeyed my every order, and asked his wife for permission to sleep in his bra, and so forth. The words tumbled quavering out of him. He told all, even about her suggestion that he borrow and wear a tampon, and that he remove his body hair, and about the nightgown. Then he paused. His wife's indifference to his perverse vice baffled him. He said so.
I replied contemptuously, "Do you actually believe you're the first man in the world ever to wear women's underwear?"
"No, ma'am!"
"Or the ten thousandth?"
"No, ma'am."
"Obviously she knows more than you do about these things. Do what she says! Buy yourself a few nighties and undies. From now on when I come in I want to see you kneeling here wearing your own bras and panties. Go to a department store and be sure to ask the sales girl for help. Tell her they're for you. Tell her proudly. If your wife wants you to dress in panties daily, try to be worthy of the honor."
I then got to a key point he'd overlooked. "What else did she ask you?"
I waited. And waited. Jim hesitated, unable to speak. He tried twice, but only when he saw my toe begin to tap impatiently did he say it.
Eyes down and muttering, he said, "She asked me if I intend to grow breasts, so my bras won't slide around."
"And do you think it's proper for your bras to slide around?"
"No," he said. He saw where I was headed, and couldn't find a way to deflect the next question.
"Then you want to grow breasts?"
"I suppose," he said without conviction.
"Then if she'll let you, you should! Ask her to acquire the hormones you'll need, and begin immediately!"
I then gave him a freshly soiled pair of panties and a new push-up bra to wear, and handed him his old ones in a pink quilted lingerie bag to carry back to his office and leave visible on his desk for the rest of the day. We set up a schedule, three visits a week. I told him he would pay me $500 for each visit, $1,500 weekly due the first session of each week, in cash, to prove to me that he appreciated my services. If I could keep him hooked, I figured, he would exhaust our savings and investments within a month or two, then begin to beg, borrow, or steal my fees, and I'd have him. He looked a bit stunned when he heard how much I charge, but he was already pulling away on his little penis, and so near cumming into his soiled panties that he just nodded. A few squirts finally came, and he stared at them. What were these moments of masturbation going to cost him? Everything! "Good!" was all I said.
As he left I told my receptionist to give his hair a quick spray of her perfume, a strong, musky, romantic fragrance called "Surrender!" He'd smell of it all afternoon at work. He blushed but said nothing. I suppose he hoped people would think it was a man's aroma, a hair tonic, or aftershave. But not "Surrender!" Others at the bank would certainly begin looking at him peculiarly. The women would notice first, of course. But women often feel kindly toward transvestites and transsexuals and effeminate gays, people whose desires for themselves seem to flatter what women are normally. Men might not notice him unless I sent him to work dressed like a go-go dancer. As I just might, I thought -- it was a matter of timing. I did want to be ready for a showdown by the time Jim's tits ripened.
After dinner that night I sniffed the air in our living room, then looked at Jim. He hid behind his paper. Things were moving a little fast for him, obviously.
"It's very nice, but don't you think that scent is a little heavy for work?" I asked him. "It's more for formal dances, evening gowns, things like that." I stood up, picked up my purse and checked its contents, and took my topcoat out of the closet. "For daytime find something lighter, more flowery, or more casual or sporty. Stop in at the perfume bar at Everson's tomorrow on your way to the bank, and ask the girl there to try a few samples on your wrist and neck. Tell her you want something romantic, but more delicate. And while you're at it, do buy those nightgowns and undies."
Then I clicked my purse shut. I had a brief evening appointment with a Japanese client who came to town now and then, a man who would enter my ass in a nervous tremor and then vibrate his cock in and out like a rabbit doing a fast fuck. A remarkable man -- he could cum inside me two or three times in quick succession without my even noticing, and without even pausing. I scarcely ever saw him face to face. Fortunately he had a small cock and he didn't visit me too often, or I'd have had to charge extra for the down time while my rear end recovered. Or charge his firm, anyhow. But really, he was no trouble to accommodate. "I need to go out," I told Jim. "Be back in an hour or two."
"All right," he replied. Then he remembered, and as casually as possible he said, "Oh, while you're out would you pick up whatever I'll need to start growing breasts?" He hid again behind his newspaper.
"All right," I said. "I'll try to remember." I already had the necessary prescriptions, provided by a Doctor client of mine. "You do know that with hormones instead of implants you'll have to be patient. It'll be six months before you begin to look respectable. But if that's what you want. Anything else?"
"No," came a small voice.
"Remember to load the dishwasher and to rinse out our undies again before you get to bed." Those were now his jobs, whether he knew it yet or not. The first of many, as far as household matters went.
And I was gone. I came back three quick assfucks later carrying his six-month's supply of estrogen, progestin, and androcur. And as an afterthought, Prozac to keep him mellowed out. I told him to take one of each kind each day the moment he woke up, and I left them on the night stand near our bed so I could see that he did. I knew that his hormones would soon end even those pitiful erections and ejaculations he managed to coax out of himself at each of our sessions, that soon his orgasms if he ever had any would resemble a woman's delicious tensions and relaxations. All to the good. The mood pills would help keep him from worrying about what was happening, where I was leading him, until he'd arrived there.
Not too bad, my progress so far.
The next evening I came home feeling irritable after an altogether unsatisfactory group session. Five men from a single men's club, Rotary or Kiwanis, I forget which, who'd signed up for severe discipline. They'd been slow to follow my orders, so I'd set them circle-fucking each other in a daisy chain, then I'd told them I was through, no more, they could go fuck themselves now that they knew how. Then they offered me double my fee to keep them on, pleading, and I was still annoyed with myself that I'd finally relented. But I was cheered when I saw Jim fondling a couple of nighties and a half-dozen new panties and bras while he cut off their price tags.
"Do they fit?" I asked.
"Yes, they're fine, thank you," he replied calmly. The Prozac at work! "The salesgirl insisted I try on each one and come out and show her, because they don't permit returns of lingerie, she said, once it's left the store. It was humiliating, all those women shoppers gathering to see. They looked amused. I was glad I had no body hair, or I'd have felt really ashamed. When I came out wearing this beige set they actually applauded."
"I can see why," I said. "It's very pretty. It's hardly humiliating, wanting to wear pretty things. A nice choice."
I noticed that the house still reeked of perfume. He'd overdone splashing it on himself, probably, but I said nothing. I had to smile that now his "after shave" or whatever he imagined people thought he was wearing was as unmistakeably dainty and feminine as lipstick. My hubby in lingerie, wearing a woman's fragrance! What next?
Obviously, lipstick was next. And eye make-up. A week later he was jerking off into some really filthy panties, brown-stained cum from someone's asshole, not mine, when his Mistress stroked some light cosmetics on him. Not much, just a touch of mascara and a little eye-liner, some shadow on his lids, and a mauve lipstick. I told him his face needed more drama, a more lively expression.
Of course he'd forgotten it was there by the time he returned to the bank. He was still wearing it, I saw, when he arrived home that evening and opened his Wall Street Journal to wait for dinner. That created a problem. Should I tell him? If so, how? Should I ignore it? If so, what would he think when he was getting ready for bed and stared into the bathroom mirror, and saw those stark eyes and that fashionably dark brown mouth? What had people thought at the bank, those who had seen him? Add in his perfume and they'd be sure that he was a transsexual or faggot coming out of the closet. Not untrue.
I decided as usual to say nothing, in order to build his confidence that his increasingly feminine appearance was neither feminine nor noticeable. I commented only that he looked especially bright-eyed and alert, and asked if he been working out, or had gotten a raise at the bank, or what? He was bewildered but pleased. He knew what had really impressed me, and now he felt encouraged to keep it up on his own.
As he did. The following day was especially busy for me if boring, just straight fucks one after another. I arrived home tired -- after all, Loretta, how many times a day can a woman ride how many cocks to orgasm? Or douche and then get filled up yet again with more cum? But there was Jim, wearing fresh make-up!
Wonderful! He'd actually bought it on his own, actually found the courage! And put it on, presentably enough. And worn it all day at the bank, so far as I knew in a sort of reversal of "The Emperor's New Clothes," thinking that it made him look better and yet remained invisible! I commented again on how alert he looked these days, and again he looked pleased. And this time he re-applied it before coming to bed. Does he do that at work, I wondered? Take out a compact and mascara and a tube of lipstick and freshen his face at his desk?
The next weeks were routine. Jim knelt naked except for his undies three times each week, smelling wonderfully feminine and looking prettily made up, trembling, sucking on my fingers and then receiving from my hand another pair of panties streaked with who-knows-what, the sacrament of his devotion. He'd kiss them and slip them on, then stroke cum into them if he could, attach a new brassiere around nipples he said had become quite sensitive, and after re-applying his make-up he'd leave with his old undies in a "Victoria's Secret" or "Frederick's of Hollywood" bag, once in a "Lady Madonna" bag my receptionist provided for the secretaries at his bank to marvel at.
A few months more and he was mine. If he hesitated to do my most trivial bidding I spoke to him harshly, and he was crushed. When I praised him, it was always for some utterly feminine trait or gesture. He blossomed and beamed whenever this happened, and tried even harder to please me. His breasts were budding, and I gave him strict orders to play with his nipples for at least fifteen minutes every day. This gave him so much pleasure, I saw at home, that sometimes he caressed himself unthinkingly -- if we were at a restaurant or otherwise in public I had to caution him not to. Gradually I weaned him away from soiled to fresh panties -- though I still had him cum each session into a sanitary napkin and then wear it for the rest of the day. He produced very little fluid, unless I said something to excite him, like praise for the way he'd plucked his eyebrows, or comment on his two-toned lipstick and lipliner. At home even the thought of sex ceased.
His accumulating bras and panties finally overwhelmed his bedroom bureau. I remarked one day that since he seemed to prefer them and they looked so nice, he should pack away his men's things to make more room for them. He did. The next day his Mistress scornfully informed him that since he was a woman, not a man, he should wear full lingerie all the time, not just bras and panties. A woman could not feel altogether neat and sweet and pretty and respectable unless she was wearing hosiery, pantyhose, teddies, slips, and now and then even a panty girdle. That he should begin thinking about shoes and outer garments too. He was old enough to be wearing heels, and to appear at least now and then in a dress! At home Jim asked me what I thought, and as always I answered without looking up, as if the issue were trivial, "Of course wear slips -- your dresses will hang better when you get around to wearing them. I don't know why you don't. And there are tailored suits for women as nice as those made for men. Skirts are much more lady-like. Of course if you wear a skirt to work you'll have to style your hair differently." So it was two against one. Jim began wearing full regalia under his business suits, and began to think about wearing a business suit with a skirt. He played with his hair, trying to make it curve coyly over his ears. My perfumed fairy princess was developing nicely.
On a warm spring day on a Friday, I remember, his Mistress forced a crisis. She sent him to a boutique to buy a rather cute cocktail dress she'd seen, and a simple cotton frock to use as a house dress as well as a smart-looking woman's pin-striped suit, with pinched short jacket and straight skirt, for a day at the office. From then on he was her woman, she told him, and he would be dressed appropriately whenever he appeared for his tri-weekly sessions. Later on he would need to take a few weeks off to learn how to do it really right, and he would need to ask his wife's help. But for now all he had to do was appear to be a credible woman -- she would not tolerate a clown for a client.
Jim was proud of his new purchases. He kept them at Hospitality House in a Client's Closet for a time, and changed into them just before his sessions were scheduled, and then changed back. His Mistress sent him out onto the street now and then, so he could get used to people seeing him in women's clothes. With make-up and earrings, no one ever looked twice at him.
The Closet eventually filled to bursting, and under orders he carried everything home. That evening he put on a fashion show for his wife. I told him they were nice, but not being worn tastefully. That the cocktail dress and the suit needed heels, not the one pair of flats he owned. And -- as I again reminded him -- he needed a more sophisticated hairdo. And where were his accessories -- jewelry and purses and the like? When he told me he had none he was close to tears -- the hormones had made him much more sensitive to supposed rebukes. I told him I'd shop with him to get him started, but that if he meant to appear in public dressed like a woman all the time it would take a few weeks for him to learn everything he needed to know. Was he sure he wanted to look like a woman instead of a man? He nodded. I knew that what he really wanted was to please his Mistress, that he had private reservations, but we were reaching a critical point in his transformation now and it was no time to split hairs. That Friday was his last day in men's clothes, Loretta, and that Saturday was the birth day of that gentle blonde lady you see sitting over there reading and crocheting and smiling to herself now and then.
A near knockout dose of Thorazine the next morning, and Jim put on his house dress, and we went to a salon I sometimes use for certain customers, where they do feminine make-overs on husbands if wives request it, without feeling they have to ask if the man himself wants it. Four hours of electrolysis on his beard and chest (of many more the rest of that week), and meanwhile eyebrow plucking, body-waxing, ear-piercing, fingernail strengthening, lengthening, and painting, hair-permanenting, curling, frosting, and styling, a make-up consultation, and my Jim was way past the point of no return. As a man he'd been a pitiful drudge, but as a woman he was getting to be really attractive. You can see that for yourself now, of course! When we left he looked just charming, a lot like the way he looks now, Loretta, though not quite as lovely -- that came later, when he finally agreed to add to his disguise with facial plastic surgery. But I'm getting ahead of myself. There was just time enough before the Mall closed to get him a few pairs of shoes too -- heels and more flats. And a few blouses and skirts.
The next day he didn't recognize himself in the mirror and called out to me rather frightened. It took another really heavy dose of tranquillizers to calm him down, and really, I have to say, Loretta, he's been more or less cheered or zonked by one or another kind ever since. That Monday I had him phone in sick for the week, and claim his two-weeks vacation time as well, so he had three weeks before he'd have to face going to work looking the way he now looked. I shrugged when he worried the problem to me, as if no one would bother to notice that the man they knew was now a woman. I knew, as he didn't yet know, that his days of employment at the bank had ended.
I started him on the other things he had to learn. How to apply full, persuasive makeup, even for sophisticated occasions. How to take care of his hairdo. Now that it was permed it was manageable -- I showed him how to put it up in rollers one evening, and he was delighted the next morning when he combed it out and found it was a beautiful mass of sculpted puffs and swirls. He had to learn feminine habits of walking and moving. I taught him to walk in heels with short steps, elbows close to his body, head high, hips swaying, his now quite noticeable breasts proudly thrust forward.
I began calling him "Jamie" instead of "Jim," because that was a woman's name and would help him remember -- and if he didn't believe he was now a woman, who would? I told him to appear more feminine when doing his domestic tasks at home, to wear a frilly apron over his skirt instead of the velvet slacks he sometimes favored. He was busier in the kitchen than I'd ever been, and was doing all of the cooking now. With practice his voice became thinner and took on a wider range of inflections. I still remember the first time he used the words "sweet" and "darling" and "precious" in a single sentence. He was describing a cute-looking movie star pictured in one of his women's magazines, and I was amused that he was referring with those words not to her appearance or her figure but to her matching skirt and sweater.
Of course I still had a living to earn, and clients who needed my attention, and Jim still had his tri-weekly appointments with his Mistress. But now I could greatly accellerate his feminizing -- in fact it had to be completed, essentially, before he felt he should return to work. It turned out to be a lot easier than I'd expected.
III.
Luckily I'd overcome Jim's prejudice against oral sex a few weeks earlier, almost by accident. For an appointment just before Jim's, I was wearing a slip-on rubber love-doll mask, sitting regally on an ornate, throne-like chair and allowing a client to lick my feet as if I were some kind of goddess. That was his thing. You know those masks with their own hair and big red oval lips set in an "O," and huge bimbo eyes? Gay men use them to hide their identities when they're sucking some stranger's cock, and wives in sex clubs use them sometimes when they'd rather not be recognized by whichever next-door neighbor they're fucking. My earlier client couldn't get off at all unless I wore the kind of blow-up doll mask his girl had once worn every afternoon while he mouth-fucked her behind the high school gymnasium. So that's what I wore. He'd worship my feet, then I'd lie back with my crotch over the edge of the throne and imperiously crook my finger at him. He'd crawl forward and then, half-standing, half-crouching apologetically, he'd fuck me. What some men need to do to get off!
This client had the thickest cock I have ever seen, Loretta. It was like a baseball bat. He always left my pussy swollen and stretched wide, and his spunk was a thick, viscous fluid he'd pump into me for what seemed forever. It took forever to ooze out, too, always in huge, phlegmy globs. Well, a few weeks before Jim's final phase began, with his enforced vacation, I happened to feel too sore and too lazy to bother using the bidet after my client left. I decided that it would be more comforting to have my cunt licked clean by my next client, my queenly husband Jim, who had once refused the honor as unsanitary. In he came wearing a red satin teddy, his breasts now grown out and filling his matching red bra like half-grapefruits, perfumed and made up, looking more like a butch lesbian than a man. As always he kneeled at my feet!
My face was still masked like a love-doll, my swollen cunt was beginning to leak blobs of thick sperm, and I knew it smelled strong, freshly fucked. I gave Jim my fingers to suck on as usual, but this time I first dipped them into the slime inside my pussy. I scooped up a huge gobbet of cloudy cum. Jim hesitated for only a second, but then licked it as devotedly as always. He must have realized what it was and been turned on by the humiliation, because after a few more fingers full, without my permission he lunged his mouth onto my crotch like some starved animal, and began to suck it out of me passionately. The way he thrust his face into me so was so primal I couldn't possibly think to punish him for it. He couldn't help himself, he was obviously out of control. And besides, it felt wonderful!
You know, Loretta, he slurped and sucked and swallowed cum from me for nearly his whole scheduled session. He was transported! It was as if the mask had rendered me more than human, an immortal fit for worship. He looked up at my face once or twice, and as the cute, wide-eyed, Bimbo "Oh!" expression stared back, he seemed reassured. His tongue curled and curved and probed and poked and reached deep into me! My desires rose up and I came in a beautifully blossoming orgasm, feeling as chaste as a wild flower the whole time, and then I rose up and came yet again! So sweetly gentle, yet so full, so complete! Jim's tongue in my pussy was like an armful of heather and roses, or like a young man shyly offering his best girl a bouquet of violets. And I was always sparkling clean when he finished. I wished we'd gotten into it years before!
Well, two days later I was again brim-filled with fluids and secretions from that same fat-cocked client, with my fairy husband again scheduled next on my calendar. I took off my mask so that this time I would appear to be what I was, Jim's familiar severe Mistress with her usual black dominatrix eyes and red slash of a mouth. But this time when Jim came in and knelt down humbly I simply stepped forward over him, mounted his upraised face, and pressed my spunky cunt against his nose and mouth. Then without a word I began to squeeze my cunt muscles. Thick mixed sperm and my own cum poured from my pussy into his mouth. All of everything my prior had squirted into me ended up in Jim, and when I stepped from his face with my cunt licked utterly pristine, he was still swallowing and licking the memory of it, eyes closed, in heaven! I decided that whatever else, from then on I would use Jim instead of a bidet to clean out whatever secretions and fluids there were in my pussy. At last I'd found his primary sexual talent!
By now Jim's breasts were more than ample, and he would fondle his nipples by the hour if I'd let him, a serene smile on his face. I do believe his character changed to match -- he became more sensitive, gentler, more tentative, sweeter. His face and figure grew softer, too. Understand, Loretta, Jim didn't want to be a woman at first, and he still didn't, really. He'd only had a panty fetish when I started with him, and I'd degraded him to do nearly anything to please his Mistress. Now here he was, wearing pantyhose, make-up, everything, quite presentably feminine, sucking a stranger's cum out of my cunt like any submissive husband of any whore of a wife anywhere. And loving it! That was his sex life now -- when he tried to jerk off nothing ever happened at all. When he pleased me, my little hubby, he was overjoyed that I rewarded him by making him my douchebag.
The next spunk he sucked so devotedly out of me was Brian's, his own boss's, the very bank official who had first sent him here. It happened the first day after Jim's total makeover, when without being fully aware of it Jim had committed to dressing and looking like a woman for good, the first day after his three-week full-time crash course in femininity had gotten under way. I thought of telling Jim this to mortify him, that he was sucking his boss's cock at one remove, but I couldn't violate client confidentiality. Then I realized that with Brian's cooperation I could convert Jim completely and irreversibly by the end of the three weeks available. So why shouldn't he suck his boss's cock directly, and enjoy it? Many women do. No news there!
I mentioned to Brian that I had this curious transsexual client, a man he had recommended to me who now thought he was really a woman and who thinks semen on a cock tastes like melted ice cream. Brian immediately recognized that it was Jim, as I'd intended, and immediately asked for an introduction to this "lady" who felt so impelled to suck cock. He'd wondered what was happening with Jim because, as he said, Jim's perfume and make-up had been duly noticed by everyone. In fact he'd become something of an embarrassment, fixing his face daily, arranging his hair like a woman's even while he pretended to be a man, so he'd been reassigned to a back office.
I asked Brian straight out, would he let Jim suck his cock. He was amused by the idea. He quipped that many employees seem willing in order to secure professional advancement, but even so, he'd have trouble letting a man come near his prick. He thought a bit longer. A man who looked and acted like a woman might be another matter. And a man who was already so much a woman he could never again become a man, why, he'd enjoy being serviced by that kind of woman. Especially -- and he looked at me -- especially if there were no charge for the service. Was I sure that Jim's conversion was now irreversible?
I told him that in another week or two it would be, that with his help there could be no going back for Jim ever. What he had to do was quite simple -- audit Jim's books at the bank. But in absolute secrecy, and to do absolutely nothing about whatever he found.
Brian looked quite serious when I said this, and was about to refuse. But I added quickly that any irregularities in Jim's accounts would be set straight together with whatever interest was required to convert missing funds into "loans." That I personally guaranteed whatever the sums, as long as they remained confidential. That no one need ever know about them, nor about the slack supervisorial hand that had allowed them even when the employee began acting peculiarly unconventional. That not even Brian's wife needed to know that he had been tipped off to the embezzlement, if any, by a woman who regularly gratifies his need to be whipped. I now looked back at Brian equally seriously.
He grinned, and explained that when money has been mismanaged or embezzled, most businesses prefer getting it all back quietly to pressing charges against the embezzler and perhaps thereby giving other employees ideas of their own, and meanwhile needlessly distressing stockholders. Of course the malefactor had to disappear and never reappear again, or Brian would be obliged to order his arrest. I nodded and agreed. Jim would disappear.
I then told Bryan that just as banks give depositors gifts of radios or toasters, he would receive a bonus -- no charge for his first few deposits into Jim's mouth, and afterward the two of them would be free to make their own arrangements. Brian might never have to pay for oral sex again. Brian smiled. "I wonder why you're so generous," he commented. Brian was no fool.
The next day, while Jim was slurping away at my pussy and drinking up who knows who's cum, and while I was moaning, my mind delightedly dancing through fields of fragrant flowers, I told Jim I had a arranged a special surprise for his next appointment. I told him it would change his life. I told him to try to look as beautiful as he could when he appeared, as feminine as possible. I told him to ask his wife to help him look seductive.
That night he laid on the bed a choice, a beautiful, black sequinned, figure-clinging cocktail dress, very classy, and a really racy, silver-threaded, mini-slut dress. Then he tried to find the courage to broach the subject with me. I knew he'd be nervous, so I laced his pre-dinner cocktail with fresh tranquillizers instead of relying as usual on whatever effects were left from his usual morning pills.
"I'd like to look especially nice, tomorrow after lunch," he said. "I need to wear something appropriate. Would you help me choose?"
I was a teeny bit cruel. "Nice how, sweetheart?"
"Seductive," he said, and swallowed hard.
"All right," I said. "Then slather on the eye make-up. But 'appropriate? For what? A wedding? Yours? Who's the groom?"
I said this unhelpfully while nibbling on the shrimp souffle Jim had made as an appetizer. He was spending more and more time in the kitchen during the week doing fancy things, maybe because he felt guilty that he was deceiving his wife with a paid mistress, maybe because the hormones and the clothing and the role-playing had turned his mind to doing traditional women's work. When he'd confessed that much to his Mistress one afternoon, I'd ordered him to do something special for his wife each day, to show his appreciation for her. He'd started cooking exotic dishes for our dinner each night. That is, in addition to making the beds, vacuuming and dusting, tending to our laundry, clearing up after dinner, and rinsing out our delicate undies.
He needed encouragement, not teasing, so I got serious. "I've been wondering when you would want me to see more of your dresses," I commented. "High time, too. There's no reason for you to feel restricted in the way you present yourself here in the house or outside either, just because you used to be a man. I love wearing all kinds of dresses myself. Let's see what you've chosen for this special occasion."
Well, of course I urged him to wear the silver mini, which had a teeny open jacket to match and a see-through blouse. A girl dressing up to suck her boss's cock should look like a tart, I reasoned to myself, and I offered to lend him a ton or so of junk jewelry to add to the effect. "With a dress like this," I said, "get yourself a special hairdo. Piled way high, maybe with a rhinestone hair piece on top."
The beauty salon operator went all out. When Jim showed at Hospitality House for his tryst with Brian his hair was piled high, his nails were bright red, his new breasts were bulging in their scanty lacy bra, deep cleavage fully visible through his see-through blouse, his silver skirt scarcely covered his crotch, and he wore long legged black net stockings. I must say, Jim was a living sex-pot sex-doll, all pretence of masculine appearance wiped away. I'd experimented with Lesbian sex in college, and the sight of him reminded me of things I'd not myself done with a woman for a while.
He entered the room daintily on his five-inch strappy silver slippers, and immediately saw a figure wearing my doll face sitting on my throne at the other end of the room. He approached and then fell to his knees, eyes lowered. But then came a moment's stunned shock, when he saw a long, sheet-covered tent pole rising high out of what he thought was my lap, and then heard my familar commanding voice not in front of him but behind him.
"Now what does a pretty girl like you want to do when she sees a handsome prick like that rising in front of her face?"
I guess for all the feminizing and the humiliation and scum-sucking, Jim had never expected to go this far! Actually to take another man's cock into his own mouth and suck in it. Before, whatever the humiliating act he had performed, it was in submission to feminine power, deeply fulfilling to a submissive like Jim. But cock sucking was submission to masculine power. It required that all male competitiveness and jealousy in himself be suppressed, and that he find within instead a truly feminine desire to please, to make a man happy. He looked around at me, imploring, seeking my eyes for reassurance and guidance. For the first time in all these many months he looked closely at my face! There was a sudden narrowing of his pencilled-in brows! Did I suddenly look familiar to him? "How dare you look at me!" I shouted, as if enraged. "You klnow what to do, slut! Prove to me that you're a woman!"
Well, there was a call for submission to feminine power, mine! His habituation from all those sessions of sucking on my finger and drinking cum from my cunt paid off. Jim immediately turned back to the task at hand, and performed it, and very well, too. He peeled back the sheet and engulfed Brian's long cock half way into his mouth, and began to slide his lips up and down. He still didn't know how to deep throat then, Loretta, so when I saw that his mouth could go no further I just placed those red tipped fingers of his where they could stroke the lower part of his boss's cock while his mouth honored the upper part. His hand looked so tentative, so feminine, so right, wrapped around another man's prick! His fingers looked even slenderer than mine, and his grip seemed so loving!
Then his mouth and his hand each did their things. I waited and watched as Brian settled back and then began to thrust his hips and then to hump Jim's mouth. Finally what I could see of Brian's cock lurched and spasmed, and pearly liquid began to seep out of the corners of Jim's mouth. He swallowed as rapidly as he could, and licked the excess off his face and swallowed that. I wondered if the cum tasted familiar.
I then said in a kindly way, "Do it again, princess! This is a man, and you're a woman!"
Well, discipline tells! I left the two of them in that room together -- I had my other clients, after all -- but I paused at the door to look back. Jim leaned forward and began again, tenderly kissing the tip of Brian's dong and licking the sides, altogether on his own this time. He looked so pretty kneeling there in his silver mini outfit with his red lips wrapped around Brian's cock, his very first cock, trying to bring cum up out of it for the second time! This time he wasn't merely surprised or obedient, he really wanted it! As Brian's meat began to firm up Jim again plunged his rounded lips way down onto it, and again tried to suck up whatever juices he could through it. Gently and lovingly. Brian's second coming soon followed, and when the sticky harvest rose up again into his mouth Jim this time was whimpering and groaning in heat. He loved it! My husband was a natural! As devoted to sucking cock as to lapping cunt! He'd never have known it, but he surely knew it now!
Well, Loretta, Brian left soon afterward, with a grin and a wink, mentioning that he'd phone for his next appointment in a few days' time. I went back into the room, where Jim was still on his knees licking his lips. Even as I watched, he straightened his silver mini skirt and arranged it in a neat circle around him on the floor and waited, as if the throne would shortly be re-occupied by another upright stalk and he could again drink his fill. It was time for me to turn his world upside down.
I came up behind him and covered his eyes with one hand, mostly so he wouldn't be tempted to turn his head, and pressed the palm of my other hand against his jaw, pushing it down, opening his mouth wide. He recognized my intention and opened wider. I had consulted several of my medical clients about this moment, and a senior psychiatrist at the State Hospital had provided me with exactly the optimal drug I needed. Two large pills. I popped them into Jim's mouth, and like a dutiful girl he swallowed them. Then I sat down on the throne, and kneeling, he stared at me.
He saw his wife sitting on the throne, Loretta. I could see it in his eyes even before he said, "You!" in dumbfounded disbelief. His wife was dressed just like his Mistress, her hair pulled back and her eyes blackened and her lips crimsoned. "Where is she?" he added. But as I'd been told, he had swallowed some very powerful fast-acting psychoactive drugs, and almost immediately he began to look confused. Who was "she" -- the Mistress he'd served for now six months or more? His wife? His own image in the mirror? This moment addled him utterly.
"I'm here, Jim," I said in my familiar, wifely voice. Then, "I'm here, slut! Do it again!" This last I ordered ferociously, in my most outraged Mistress voice. I placed a huge dildo against my crotch, its rubber balls loaded with gelatinized Gatorade, real cum accumulated in the last day or two, and finally, a sedative. "Suck on this, slut!"
In flight from his increasing confusion and bewilderment, Jim leaned forward and began to lick the head of the dildo as he had on Brian's prick. He then sucked on it, his lips riding up and then down again. That became his only reality as his eyes grew more confused and groggy, then glazed. Just before they closed, I squeezed the dildo's balls repeatedly, and jets of warm artificial cum squirted into his mouth. He swallowed it all like the slut he really was, and his head fell forward, and he fell asleep with his cheek snugged up against my mound. He looked so sweet, his hair still almost perfect, his eyes closed but each still beautifully made up, his lipstick smeared in a good cause.
I took him home and put him to bed and kept him in a kind of twilight zone for nearly a month, Loretta. The "Sleep Cure" is what the French called it a hundred years ago, when they'd drug mental patients for weeks on end to cure them of their delusions. I was doing it to induce in Jim a delusion that would become his reality, that he was a woman, that he had always been a woman, and that he loved performing his chief obligation as a woman, looking pretty and giving head to men.
Two more of those special pills the moment he woke up. Prozac in between, double the dose more often than not. When he opened his eyes, sometimes he'd see a woman who looked like his wife looking down on him lovingly, and sometimes -- after he'd recognized he was home in his own bed -- he'd see his Mistress telling him "Suck!" Followed immediately by cocks, one after another, because he'd then be back in a chamber in Hospitality House dressed like a cheap slut stationed at a waiting-room glory hole, taking on whatever cock came through it. Then dressed in his silver mini with his hair piled high, he'd spend hours making love to Brian's cock. Or someone's cock, someone wearing the Bimbo mask, someone whose cock was fatter than Brian's though nowhere near as long, or was longer, until it no longer mattered whose. At home in his own bed, he sucked for hours on his wife's cock, while she wore the Bimbo mask, ordered and encouraged by his Mistress sitting in a chair and watching them.
Hallucinated realities gradually gave way to realities that were not much different. My five Rotarians earned their way back into my good graces by making their pricks available to Jim's mouth any time on short notice, whenever I called their 800 number, and during the next weeks they gathered to gang rape his face repeatedly. Brian's cock was of course available almost any time for more servicing, now that he knew how talented a cock sucker Jim was. In my gratitude I whipped him far more severely than I ever usually whip a client, then fucked him far more vigorously and joyously. He'd cum like a fountain into me, and when I brought it home to Jim still warm and woke Jim up by sitting on his face, he'd begin drinking and lapping as if he'd not stopped from the previous time.
During the next few weeks Jim learned to take any long, hard, warm, soft object into his throat unquestioningly, and to tongue and head fuck it until it spurted directly into his belly, if it could. A carrot, a banana, a frankfurter, a dildo, a real cock, they were all the same. Toward the end of this Twilight Training period I'd lighten up on his drugs so he could at least walk and talk like some zonked out little girl, dress him up like a pretty coed, and rent his pretty mouth out to fraternity parties for the weekend. While in college I'd done it once on a dare and had OD'd on all the cum I swallowed the first night, so they had to put me out on the lawn still retching until my date came to claim me. Not Jim! He had a cast iron stomach it seemed. He couldn't swallow enough of it! But boys that age are the same way they always were, Loretta. You remember. You can't trust them. Whatever they'd promised, no matter how many times they'd use Jim's mouth, some of them were always trying to get into Jim's pants too. So I'd always have to stay and watch, and warn them, and finally bring Jim home before the weekend was over.
While Jim was still home sleeping, or learning womanly skills, or wandering dazed from cock to cock, Brian's audit was completed. As I'd suspected, there was no way Jim had been paying for my services out of pocket. Our joint savings account had gone before Jim had filled his bureau with bras and panties. A month or so after his first visit Jim had paid out to me our entire life savings -- many thousands of dollars. Then for additional month after month he'd continued to hand my receptionist $1500 of the bank's money weekly, sometimes borrowed on his signature with no hope he could ever pay it back, sometimes just stolen.
I'd deposited the money in my own account and said nothing, of course. By the end of the time Jim spent as a slut who woke in the morning, selected his outfit, painted his face, fixed his hair, and then sucked cock all day, more than $55,000 had changed hands. He'd increased his capital debt to the accounts in his charge by $1,500 each week in return for the privilege of masturbating into a panty or kotex in my presence. His wardrobe costs rose many thousands more.
Do you know, Loretta, that a few pieces of his lingerie cost him more than all of mine cost me? But of course when a satin and lace nightie fascinated him, I never wanted him to deny himself. That dress he's wearing right now is an original Oscar de la Renta, did you know that, Loretta? He loves to dress well! His boy friends all know that no matter how posh the place they take him, Jim will always fit in. Some of his jewelry is rather valuable too, though it's true, much of it was given to him by grateful admirers, and a lot more he bought with the proceeds from his mouth and asshole. Came the reckoning, I paid Brian's Bank back with substantial interest, and there were no further questions. For months afterward Brian would call Jim for personal services, and Jim would oblige Brian the way women will, but nothing serious ever developed between them -- they remained just good friends. Jim -- or Jamie I should say -- has tried recently to get Brian interested in his ass as well as his mouth, but Brian has always told him "No, I prefer fucking your wife." He says this rather directly, though I've asked him not to. Poor Jim hears him and looks puzzled, but can't put two and two together. He has no wife, he thinks, because he's a woman. The pills of course.
For a clincher I took Jim off the sedatives and tranquillizers and anti-depressants and so on for a few days. When he was nearly himself, I could see he was edgy, trying to figure out if his thin arms and curved thighs and women's boobs were his, and where his shirts and pants had gone, if he'd ever had any. Then I hired some burly men to come to the door asking for him and using words like "bank" and "subpoena" and "shortfall" and "warrant" and "ciminal embezzlement" and "arrest." Jim was terrified, and when they'd gone I found him hidden up in his bedroom in his negligee, his face only half-made up and his hair a mess. He knew why they had come, and he could scarcely breathe until their car left. He said that if they saw him they'd recognize him.
I doubted it. I pointed out that they were looking for a man, and he'd always been a woman. Still, now was as good a time as any for him to get his nose bobbed and his chin shortened the way he'd always wanted to ever since we were teenaged girls together, best friends who told each other everything. He looked at me strangely when I said that, but as you can see, Loretta, that's what he did.
When the so-called bank investigators came back Jim broke down and confessed everything to me. He had paid out our money and the bank's to a woman who had turned him into my childhood friend -- he didn't know why. When his fresh pills kicked in, I asked him if he was sure such a woman ever existed. It seemed improbable, after all, why should any woman conspire to change another woman into a woman? Jim had no answer. He described Hospitality House accurately as a place where they'd given him panties and bras for free whenever he sucked men's and women's cocks. I chided him that he was describing my place of business, well-known to him, not some supposed other woman's. I reminded him that now and then he helps me out there, by sucking cocks or helping me to relax between customers by licking my cunt clean. That explanation made sense to him. Girlhood friends would do that for each other. Loretta, even now he'll stop by to lick me clean whenever he's in the vicinity, shopping or something, and it feels as womderful as ever! He's such a dear!
Once he woke up sobbing, and he confessed that in some of his dreams he couldn't tell this supposed Mistress from me, and that once in his dreams he had even imagined that I was his wife, that he had once been a man and had been married to me, and that he had done something bad and that with my help he was hiding out as a woman. I kissed him then, and told him that was sweet, that we were indeed the dearest of friends, and it was as if we were married, and that whenever that apprehension came upon him again he should remember what the doctor told him and take an additional pill. He should always be happy, never afraid of anything. In the not-too-distant future he'd have that operation we've talked about that would remove his imaginary penis and balls from his crotch and reveal the real vagina underneath, just like any other women's. I reminded him he should look forward to it, if only because his vagina will share the strain on his ass when he dates too often and his dates get too manly with him too often. He's gotten used to the idea now, and in fact he likes it.
I hired one more investigator last year ago to shoulder his way into the house with a supposed search warrant and go looking for any evidence that any man named Jim had ever lived here. I wanted to know if I'd overlooked anything Jim might stumble upon some day, that might bring back unwanted memories. Jim let him in, but told him calmly that he must have the wrong address. The man finally agreed, after looking all morning in all of our drawers and closets and cubbyholes. There was no Jim. There never was. We were a household of two women, me and Jamie. And that's what we've been for over a year now, and will be for years to come.
It's so good of Helen to lend you to us, Loretta! Not many wives would! But you know how things get down here during the winter season. I need all the help I can get right now, and then on top of it to be called away! I'm delighted you can stand in for me while I'm away. Really grateful!
She did do a wonderful job with you, Loretta, you know? As her husband you were a decent enough man, but you're gorgeous now! And a dominant, too! That's rare -- you know of course that most males are submissives like Jim when they become women, that's why they're so good at keeping house and sucking cocks and so on. They can't give an order to another man to save their skins. And whip one, or manipulate him to do what you want? Forget it! You must have really wanted to be a dominant woman for the longest time. No? Your wife persuaded you that you wanted to be one, someone like herself, or like me, and then she trained you to it? Then I'm really impressed, Loretta! Especially with Helen! What she did with you was much more difficult than anything I've done, with Jim or with any of the other men who've wanted me to feminize them.
Loretta, has Helen ever thought of moving down here with you? Together we could form a partnership, and pretty soon I bet we could be supplying half the brothels in the State with whores. With cock suckers at the very least. There's a military school just outside of town, with all the boys we'd ever want, plenty of them easily turned into girls or catamites just as soon as they confess their little kink to us. Really, any kink at all. Do tell your wife to think about it.
Well, Loretta, I've got to get going now. The sooner I'm there, the sooner I'm back. Now that it's time to leave, I really wish now I hadn't promised Brian's wife I'd help her out when Brian wakes up. When he sees what she's had done to that terrific prick of his, and realizes it's gone for good, he's not going to be happy. I've told her it'll take a really big cock inside his new cunt to show him that there's been gain as well as loss, that he won't really quit mourning for his lost manhood until he's been devastatingly fucked over and over again. She says that'll happen in good time, that maybe in fact she'll hire a stud to service both of them for a while. She has a man in mind who'd visit her, sometimes, when Brian was visiting me. She thinks that'll be poetic justice.
Anyhow, she wants me to come, she says, because she needs me and I owe her. I owe her because I led Brian into infidelity, she says, whipping him to get him hot instead of just telling her what he wanted, then providing him with several places a married man's prick should never be found, including my vagina and my own husband's mouth. And she finally told me that Brian's now also hiding from bank examiners, only from real ones. It seems I'd given him ideas, or Jim had. Now that she has control of the money, she says, the bank will never see it again, so Brian has to disappear the way Jim did. She's done no more with Brian than I have with Jim, she says, all unsatisfactory husbands being pretty much the same. Only she thought it wiser in his case to castrate him first and then feminize him, instead of doing it the other way around. I couldn't disagree.
Finally, she says that I'm more experienced than she is in helping a man become a woman, and friends help each other out. We are friends now, you know, Loretta. I called her for a friendly chat the very first day that Brian told me that now that he knew all about Jim, and how I had tricked Jim, he didn't think he should have to pay my fees for his sessions with me any more. Maybe I'd need to pay him! Well, Brian's wife and I did a lot of talking about that, figuring out what to do with Brian. She's right. Friends help each other.
So, Loretta, now you know it all. I've got to be with Brian and his wife for the next two weeks, till he really knows in his heart that he's got only one direction to go now. You have their number if there's a problem. Hospitality House and its equipment and its client list and this house and Jim are all yours now, and thanks in advance for offering to mind them for me. Take good care of them. My receptionist'll brief you on my different clients' special needs day by day, and now you know all about Jim's.
Remember to call him Jamie, would you, so he doesn't get confused? And see to it that he gets a cock to suck now and then, if his usual men don't call. He was never really much of a man, I suppose, though he used to imagine he was once a husband at least, poor thing! Even I used to think so, sometimes. I guess he was, in a way. He did do it all for the two of us, for his Mistress and his wife, if you think of it that way. Now of course he knows better. He knows that he and I are each old girlfriends who live together and enjoy each other's company, and share everything, but not our men. Make sure that he takes all his pills every day, would you, Loretta, so he doesn't get himself confused about that? And if you should ever want to try him out for yourself, be my guest!
The Two Of Us © 1998 by Vickie Tern. Permission freely granted to archive this story, make it available, and copy it for personal use, but it is not for sale, no way, no how.
Vickie [email protected]
This is a fiction. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead is purely coincidental. It may not remain that was of course -- life sometimes imitates art.
If you aren't old enough to read this lawfully, wait. If it's worth reading it'll still be around. If not, no great loss. Of course I hope it will still be worth reading by then, and will appreciate anyone letting me know what they think: [email protected].
May be copied to any free archive, but do let me know!
But this time Ellie was home early and cooking away, setting things up with her usual efficiency, one hand hauling out a micro dish for vegetables she'd already chopped, the other adjusting the oven temperature for a roast she'd already enthroned in a pan, impaled with cloves, and surrounded by oiled potatoes. No waste motion with Ellie, ever. I glanced past her into the dining room and saw the table set with our fine china. Company coming. I couldn't quite see how many extra places, so I walked in and looked. Only one.
"So?" I asked her.
"Becky," she replied, distracted by a carrot cube trapped under the cutting board. "She's in town again. She phoned, we had a long talk, she wants to come over, I said sure. So she'll be having dinner with us."
"Becky," I said. "Your Becky? The one and only?"
Ellie looked up at me and smiled the warmest smile I'd seen in some time. I melted. "My 'Becky,' honey. 'Rebecca' to you, remember. I do hope you'll try to be nice to her. It'll help all around if you try."
Elly and Rebecca had been roommates all through college and graduate school, absolutely inseparable the whole time. They went everywhere together, vacationed together, and together shared clothes and money and the deepest secrets of their hearts. Early on they'd even dated the same guys, passing them to and fro, until their tastes diverged. They were a two-girl sorority. When Ellie finished her Management degree, instead of moving on to a fast-track brokerage she did low-paid accounting for a tax firm while waiting for Rebecca to finish a residency in Gynecology. That was how I first met Ellie -- I had some tangled tax problems she solved so deftly my jaw dropped. The two of them were closer than sisters -- they never seemed to disagree about anything. They meant to start a women's health service when Rebecca became board-certified, and then franchise it across the country. But I began dating Ellie, and we both fell deeply in love, and Rebecca ended up going her own way.
I absolutely adored Ellie. When I implored her to leave Rebecca and move in with me she felt anguished, but not-too-long afterward we got married and began to make a life together. It was a good life. It still is.
Rebecca was happy for Ellie of course, though she never got over my intrusion into their intimacy. Her resentment showed, now and then. Though she was always "Becky" to Ellie she remained "Rebecca" to me -- I tried "Becky" just once, and her cold stare ended that attempt immediately. She saw me as a rival, in a way. That's certainly how I thought of her. Her spirit presided over us during our first years together, resolving all disputes: whether toilet paper should come off the roll under or over (over), or toilet seats should be left down (of course), or where in my bureau my socks belonged (right front), and whether we should take camping or resort vacations (alternate them), whether I should lose a little more weight (yes), who cooks and cleans (either), even how we should deal with disputes (convene a kind of family court in the living room immediately after dinner, and never go to sleep with the issue unresolved). Our domestic arrangements so closely resembled Ellie's with Rebecca that sometimes Ellie would forget and call me "Becky" when reminding me to pay the phone bill or pick up the dry cleaning. I wasn't bothered by it -- her tone was always loving.
They saw each other as often as they could, and after we moved here they phoned frequently. When either took an out of town trip they coordinated schedules to try to meet at some midway point. Eventually Rebecca also got married, to a pharmaceutical manufacturer named Tim, who apparently persuaded her that two tough-minded people like themselves had to be meant for each other. Then the two of them stayed with us whenever they happened to be passing through. They were welcome -- our house was plenty large enough (we'd bought it for raising a family when Ellie felt ready). But I was always glad when they left.
I wasn't crazy about Tim. When Ellie told me the marriage was imminent, my first ungenerous thought was 'maybe they deserve each other.' Tim also called her "Rebecca" (he tried "Reba" spitefully once when she denied him "Becky," he told me, but only once, never again). If Rebecca was stubborn and suspicious, Tim was mean and aggressive. His eyes gleamed when he explained how he'd turned some employee or competitor into a victim, or squeezed an undeserved advantage from some business deal. Marriage was one more deal as he saw it, one where you give no quarter and ask none.
Theirs seemed one long hostile bargaining session -- they fought all the time, even in our presence. So I wasn't surprised when Ellie told me they were talking separation, this time maybe for good. I asked Ellie if she'd seen it coming, if some specific "irreconcilable difference" had come between them. Ellie'd nodded, but she was too preoccupied to say what it was, and I didn't press it. Who knows exactly why some marriages don't work out? I knew ours was a good one. Ellie and I shared everything, and we kept no secrets from each other. I certainly didn't.
I hadn't seen Rebecca since her last visit here with Tim, before their current animosities, and I wondered if she'd changed. If possibly she was a little less irritated by my existence.
"Remember! Be respectful!" Ellie warned me as she arranged a plate of crudities and stirred a dip to be nibbled with drinks, and I snagged a chunk of carrot to nibble then and there.
"I'll be nice to her, don't worry," I replied. "She's passing through town on her own this time?"
"On her own. But as a matter of fact, she may be here for good this time. She's been offered a job here. At that huge women's hospital north of town. She's here to try it out, to reorganize their outpatient services, a really big responsibility. She phoned to asked if she can stay here for a few days until we find somewhere else. I told her, sure, for as long as it takes."
Ellie bent over and put the roast into the oven and adjusted the dials, then straightened up and turned toward me. Then she straightened her shoulders even further.
"Joey, I'm sorry but I had to!" she said, a little defiantly.
That was odd. I'd never openly objected to Rebecca or any other of Ellie's friends stopping by to visit, no matter how I felt about them personally. It helped her stay in touch with her past, her former self, the girl I'd fallen in love with, after all. Ellie never objected to my friends either, and mine were sometimes a lot harder to take. But here she was feeling defensive!
"I had no choice!" Ellie added.
I looked up at her inquisitively. She looked pleased yet embarrassed, impenitent but somehow guilty, and I saw that her eyes were fixed on my face.
"She'll stay here while you help her find another place to live? I've got no problem with that," I said reassuringly. "Do you?"
"Well, yes, in a way," Ellie replied, still watching me. I began to feel uncomfortable. "I mean, I've got a problem, because you've got a really big problem."
"I do?" I said. What else could I do but repeat her words? They made no sense. "A really big problem? And what might that be?"
She turned and put the vegetables into the Micro, and pushed some more buttons, and set out a saucepan for last minute use, maybe for glazing gravy from the roasting pan, maybe for a Hollandaise, I didn't know. She began to take ingredients off the spice shelf. A Hollandaise.
Her back still turned toward me, she said "Listen, Joseph. I'll be done here in a minute. Why don't you go into the living room and pour yourself a drink and wait for me. I've got something to tell you."
"Joseph" was my name for our formal talks. "Joey" was my pet name for when she felt more intimate, which was most of the time. But apparently not now.
"Here's fine," I said. "And I can wait for a drink, we'll have wine with dinner. Anything I can do here to help?"
"I don't think so," she said. She shot me a glance over her shoulder, this one a little amused. Apparently she'd just settled something in her own mind. "Go ahead, honey. Make it a stiff one. Get sozzled. The ice is already out there. Now shooo!"
So I went into the living room. Ellie'd set out a lot of bottles on the sideboard, just the way she and Rebecca did it in that apartment where I'd gone to pick up Ellie for our first big date. We both sensed immediately that this might get serious, and she'd wanted me to meet her girlfriend Rebecca right off. I'd walked in and there on their sideboard was a forest of liquor bottles. Not that they drank much themselves, hardly anything. But as Rebecca'd explained while Ellie was getting ready, they did a lot of entertaining, lots of friends passed through. It just seemed more hospitable for them to help themselves.
Ellie and I on the other hand kept our booze in the cabinet. We hadn't set it out on display like this previously ever. Not even when Tim and Rebecca were visiting us. It seemed an odd gesture to make now. I suppose it was to help Rebecca feel more at home.
The ice bucket was full. I made myself a drink and sat down. And waited. Well, I said to myself, for the next few days our liquor cabinet is rededicated to the good old days. I wondered what else.
Ellie came out wiping her hands on a towel, then fixed her eyes on me again and sat down.
"So," I said. "What's my really big problem." I smiled at her encouragingly.
She folded the towel carefully and set it aside, then looked at me again. A little pitying this time? Then she took a deep breath.
"There's no easy way to say this, Joey. In a few days, when Becky and I find a place and move out, it'll be both of us moving out. I'll be leaving you. I'll be going with Becky. For good."
That's what I thought I heard. I replayed her words in my mind, and they came out the same. She knew I'd heard her, so she said nothing more. She just sat there watching me absorb it.
I couldn't speak! I tried to swallow, and couldn't even manage that! We'd been married long enough for me to know that she meant everything she'd just said. Nothing uttered was ever joking or casual. Her next words would explain things. Would try to explain things, anyhow. I waited. Nothing.
"What?" I finally asked.
"Oh, you poor dear, you look devastated! It isn't anything you've done! And it isn't that I don't love you, honey! I do love you! More than ever! I'll always love you! I was looking forward to having a family with you, you know that! Growing old together!"
She thought she was consoling me! "But?" I managed to croak out.
"But I love Becky more! I know that now! Much more! And I've loved her for many more years! That's all! That's why! She wants me, and I've realized that I want her, I feel more complete with her, and I'm going back to her now that she's free and in town and we can live together again, the two of us, just the way we used to. That's all!" I just stared at her. Staring was all I could manage. None of this made sense! The bottom had dropped out of my stomach, out of my universe. I was utterly bewildered!
"Joey baby! Are you still with me?"
I nodded. I was.
"Joey, listen! All those years Becky and I lived together? We weren't just roomies."
Now she stood up and went over to the cluster of bottles and poured just soda into a glass for herself, over ice. And took a sip. Then turned to face me square on, looking down at me.
"Becky and I love each other. We always have. We've been as close as two girls can get! We're lovers! Really! We've always been lovers, practically from the day we met! For years and years before I met you. You never knew, and I've marveled that you never even speculated about it. You remember just before we met how I was going with a guy named Roger? I've mentioned him now and then? Well, he found out about me and Becky, and that was how come he broke off. He couldn't deal with it, he freaked!. The last time I saw him he was shrieking he'd been trapped by a pair of dykes, and I had to slam the door in his face! I suppose the idea that we slept together and had sex together threatened his manhood in some way. So I certainly wasn't going to tell you about us. Not then, not ever! Not until now."
I just stared, My Ellie a lesbian? How? I knew there'd been a few men before me, but women? This woman? Rebecca? It was unimaginable! What do women do?
"Honey, I guess you've been trapped by a pair of dykes. It isn't your fault. But now you need to know it! Becky and I love each other. Deeply. We always have, ever since we first met. Ever since that first day. Since then we've been intimate with each other in every way imaginable! We know every inch of each other's feelings and bodies, inside and out. Every inch! We've always been absolutely devoted to each other."
I sat stunned.
"I don't say we aren't like that too, honey," she went on. "But it's not the same way. Rebecca and I are affectionate, and gentle, delicately feminine, sensitive to each other's desires, all sorts of things men can never be. Even when we were college kids with raging hormones, hot and passionate and eager to get into bed and into each other in any way imaginable, even then we were always considerate. Never rough. Caring! We adored each other. So sex between us has always been transcendent, kind of out-of-body, unreal, beyond belief! Just glorious! Overwhelming! Like climbing a mountain into a golden sunrise!"
I was still baffled.
"It still is," she added, still watching me closely. I said nothing.
She saw, and continued. "All through all those school years I always assumed I'd meet some guy some day and marry him and have kids and enjoy all those other good things too. So there were other guys, too, for me, and then there was Roger. And no sooner was Roger gone than there you were, calling me up night and day, eager to get closer to me! Within a month -- you remember, you sweet darling? -- you were so sure about the two of us, so insistent that you wanted to move right in with Becky and me. So Becky and I could maintain our friendship, but you'd be there too. You were ready to share me! You were so sweet about the two of us then, so accepting. I even thought for a while that maybe you knew about us and didn't care, or that when you found out about us you wouldn't mind."
There was now a sweet smile on Ellie's face. She was reminiscing about our early days. Then she drained her glass.
"But you never did find out. Becky wanted no part of you living with us. Then a month later her medical residency took over her life and we scarcely saw each other, and soon after I moved in with you. So there was never any need to say anything."
She looked thoughtfully into her empty glass, and swirled an ice cube with her finger.
"But now she's back, and she wants to stay here with us until she can find a place of her own, and then she wants me to come live with her. To go back to what we were. And I want to! Oh, Joey honey, don't feel hurt! I've missed her so, all this time! I'm terribly sorry for you, love. But I've told her 'Yes!'"
I was silent. "Even after all these years?" I finally said.
"All these half-dozen years? Sweetheart, they've been good years. I have no regrets, and I'm sorry they're over. But remember, for ten years before that there was always Becky! She gave me my first real kiss, and hers were the first fingers I ever allowed into my ... between my legs. She gave me my first really mind-blowing orgasms."
Ellie paused, then went on. "She still knows how to reach me and carry me into raptures beyond belief. We've never really been separated! We've been writing and phoning each other through the whole time you and I have been married, you know that! And you know that whenever she's passed through town she's stayed overnight with us. Every time. You've been a real dear about it, taking us out to dinner and concerts and shows, entertaining her with jokes, whatever. You were always like my new roommate trying to be nice to my old roommate, even though it was clear you didn't like her much and she liked you even less. I really loved you for it, each time."
"But you didn't take up with her again on any of those visits," I said. "I mean, physically. We're married. You wouldn't have!"
I recalled their occasional sly glances at each other during those visits. The giggling in Rebecca's room -- Tim snored like a diesel engine, so Rebecca always slept in a separate bedroom, and Ellie'd visit her there and they'd sit up half the night. It had all seemed rather charming. Girlish. Innocent.
Ellie didn't say anything. Then, "You know she's stayed with us, Joey," was all she said. "And I've just told you that we've always been close. That she still knows how to blow my mind away."
I just sat there, my mouth gaping. Ellie's been unfaithful to me in my own house! Was it infidelity if she did it with another woman, not with a man? Maybe not! Women were always being affectionate with each other!
"Honey, I've got strong sexual needs, as you know. Once we get started I wear you out, every time, you know that too. We make jokes about it, but it's serious! I guess you never knew that I'm really bi-sexual -- I love what women can do to me and I love what men can do, and I love doing it! Lots!"
Now she was in her own world, reminiscing.
"I guess I need both, but especially women. Becky and I each knew other girls before we found each other, but we fell into each other's arms right away. For years and years we really felt married. Right up to the day you and I got married. In fact, that whole last night while you were doing whatever you were doing at your bachelor party? Becky and I spent that whole night making the sweetest, saddest love I've ever known. It was so poignant and desperate! So lonely! We felt so helpless in each other's arms! It was so beautiful. We'd been so close! We were each other's body and soul, in a way! I knew then that the only way our marriage -- yours and mine -- could work was if I sort of stayed married to Becky too. I told her that, and she was so overjoyed that she cried and then couldn't stop crying. That's when we decided what we decided that last night, how we'd arrange things, the two of us. Remember, the next morning I made that last little change in our wedding vows? I took out the place where I promise I'll be 'forsaking all others'? I wanted to keep all the promises I made to you that day. And I have, honey! All of them! But I never promised you sexual fidelity."
"Our marriage was especially beautiful when I knew I didn't need to forsake Becky. You couldn't possibly guess, sweetie, but on our wedding night, when you came at me with your dear little pecker as big as I've ever seen it, quivering, so eager to sanctify our union, you couldn't possibly have known that my pussy was still stretched out and sore from the previous night. Becky never stopped plunging into me with her dildoes. She really ravaged me! She wanted me to spend my last night with her cumming continously. And I very nearly did, orgasm after orgasm. She pushed some really monster cocks into me! She fisted me! She wanted to ruin your fun with me the next night altogether, and she very nearly did that too."
"That next night I was so grateful that you're so much smaller than the jelly and rubber cocks Becky kept shoving into me! I was still so sore! But your penis snugged up inside me so gently I hardly felt it! It was so precious, so comforting! You remember how we hugged while you humped away on me as fast as you knew how? You were more a feeling than a solid cock, the way you felt inside me! It was almost as if you weren't there at all!"
"Of course Becky and I have made love a lot since then. Whenever we could! Sometimes we've met out of town at some convention, and sometimes in town in motels, afternoons. Sometimes nights when Tim and you were in neighboring rooms! We couldn't not! We love each other!"
"Oh, darling, just look at that expression on your face! You never knew? Of course not! How could you know? Or even suspect, you're so straight, so trusting! Well, Rebecca's husband was a lot more suspicious. Tim suspected something almost right away, and during their last visit here he finally found out what it was, and that was that! He couldn't handle it, no more than Roger could! Nor any man, I suppose! No, there was no way I could tell you!"
She paused, then went on with a certain smug sadness, "But now you know. And now it doesn't matter whether you know or not. I need Rebecca. She needs me. We want each other. We mean to share the rest of our lives with each other. I'm sorry for you, I really am. But that's the way it is!"
She looked at me. It was said. She turned back toward that collection of bottles and this time made herself a really stiff drink. While her back was toward me and she was clinking ice and pouring whisky she said in a small voice, "Honey, you really never suspected? Really? All that screaming we did in the guest bedroom sometimes, orgasm after orgasm, peak after peak, hers, mine, ours together, all night long sometimes? Sometimes it was so magnificent we didn't care who heard! You never woke up and saw I wasn't in bed with you? You never figured it out?"
I looked at my own glass. Somehow it had emptied itself. I couldn't look up at her. "I heard screaming now and then. I thought you were just being girls laughing together, is all," I said. "Having fun. Now you tell me...."
"That's right, honey. We were being girls together. Having fun."
She paused, and took a breath. Then went on. "Sex with you is different, Joey dear. Really good, sweetheart, but not really great! Even after I taught you how to lick me out and push into my pussy with your tongue, you remember that, and suck on my clit, sort of how Becky does it, it's never the same. You're caring, and devoted, a sweetheart, but somehow you never get really frenzied down there, not the way Becky does. Never! You don't set me on fire! You don't go crazy because your face has entered heaven! You don't play dangerous games with me! There's nothing kinky about you!"
"You never once wanted to tie me up, remember, even when I asked you? And there was that time I tried to tie you up so I could sit on your face and force you to eat me out with your cum still in me, and you thought that was just too yuckie? So we never got to find each other's deeper places. Or open up our darker feelings to each other! You wouldn't even wear a lacy nightgown to bed that time I asked you to, remember, when I wanted to close my eyes and hug you and imagine you were Becky? Of course you didn't know that was what I wanted, but you wouldn't do it anyhow! "I'm not a girl," was all you said. I knew that, honey. I just wanted you to pretend. But you wouldn't be a girl for me. I guess your manhood felt threatened. By a lacy little nightgown. By nothing at all! Remember?"
I remembered. We sat silent. I smelled the roast browning in the oven. My last supper? I had to stall this thing! How? Persuasion was useless. Go with it and steer her back to me, that was the only way! But how? Rebecca would never share Ellie with me in a threesome -- she'd rejected that notion way back! But an idea began to form. I reached out desperately! I needed time to fight for my wife, somehow! I had what, three days at most.
I tried my most mature manager's voice on her, calm, reasonable. "Ellie, let me understand. You've been happy with both of us, but you want Rebecca more than you want me?"
She just looked at me. What else had we been talking about?
"Do you have to choose?"
She continued to look at me, and I could see in her the first stirrings of impatience.
"Couldn't you live with both of us?"
Now she was listening. "I could," she said carefully. "But you know Becky couldn't."
She looked at me attentively, her thin eyebrows raised slightly, waiting. "In fact, could you? Could you share me with Becky? Knowing what you know now?" she asked.
I didn't hesitate. "Yes!" I said as forcefully as I could. If that was my only option. If that would buy me time, a chance to overwhelm Ellie and reclaim her for myself.
She smiled sympathetically, and gathered her skirt to stand up. Dinner was nearly ready. Our conversation was over.
"I could live with both of you," she said. "I would. I even suggested it to Becky."
Then she came forward and loomed over me. "I told you, I go both ways. And I do love you, sweetheart. I really do. Not the man in you, really, especially, but the you in you! I'd rather not leave you. I'd love to take you with me to live with Becky. Or stay here with you and Becky."
I looked up at her hopefully, and started to say something. That was what I wanted, if it was the best I could get for now! But her next words killed off that hope.
"But Joey, honey, Beckie isn't attracted to you. She never will be. She doesn't want to live with you. You're a nice man, she knows that, but you're a man."
I waited. She let the other shoe fall.
"Sweetheart, Beckie's now a confirmed lesbian. No more nor less. That's really why her marriage to Tim hasn't worked. He kept trying to turn her, and she was willing to let him try. But he's such an insensitive boor! He couldn't imagine why any woman would ever prefer another woman to him! Talk about a square peg in her round hole? Becky tried to turn him, too, at least to make him a little more considerate of her feelings. No way. She finished her honeymoon absolutely persuaded beyond any doubt that she would never sleep with any man ever again! Not any other man was what Tim thought she was saying, but she meant any man at all!"
"After that honeymoon they hardly ever touched each other. Tim has tomcatted around with all sorts of women in all sorts of ways, I know, so he didn't make an issue of it. He couldn't admit defeat. Not until their last visit here."
Ellie took a deep breath. Then, "Tim accidentally came on the two of us together in bed, late one night. We weren't asleep. He says he stayed by the door and watched us for a while, and we were so wrapped up in each other we never noticed! God, I remember we were hot that night! I don't remember that we ever slept at all, though we must have! Becky's soft, smooth skin rubbing on mine, her pillowy breasts, our arms and legs twined all around, our mouths fused, sucking and sweet, our juices flowing all over each other, our bodies pulsing in one huge heartbeat! God, it was wonderful!"
That memory transported Ellie into a rapturous silence. I felt excluded but strangely stirred, I had no idea why. But I sat stone still, and after a moment Ellie resumed.
"Tim told her the next day that he'd seen us, that he was disgusted, that their marriage was over! It would be by now, too, but they still can't agree on the terms of separation -- their negotiations are endless. They take perverse pleasure wrangling and haggling with each other. When Tim heard about her job offer here he said 'Go to her!' and then raised some further impossible demands. I cried when I found out what they were, and Becky was crying when she told me. We had to talk a long time before she calmed down."
I looked sorrowfully sympathetic and nodded, but at that moment Rebecca's problems weren't mine at all. My mind was preoccupied!
"Now he's turned really spiteful. He's tried to strip her of everything! Even little things I've given her over the years! And he's not stopping at blackmail. He's threatening to expose both of us."
Her face turned grim. "Well, that would bring you into it as her lesbian lover's duped husband, cuckolded by a queer, so we've had to talk a long time about sparing you that kind of embarrassment. Becky's playing some wild cards of her own too, but at the moment it appears Tim will get pretty nearly everything! Except what matters most to Becky. Me!"
"I never knew," I said. That sounded pretty lame, but I had to say something.
Elllie didn't seem to hear. "Becky says that now she won't share me with any man, not any longer. Once she had to, because I had to know what it was like, being married. But not now. Not even with you, and she sort of likes you in her peculiar way. She says she'll allow me one-nighters now and then if I must wrap my legs around some stud, feel a cock stuffed deep into me. But not with you. With different men each time, no emotional involvements, that's as far as she'll let me go. Well, I can live with that. I've done it before."
She waited to see what I'd say. Then considered whether to say something more. Then, as if to explain, she went on.
"We've done threesomes, honey, if that's what you're thinking. We enjoy being three in a bed. In New Orleans just a few months ago, you remember when Becky had her annual convention in New Orleans and I had mine? A friend of Becky's was with us the whole time. God, it was sublime!"
"But the friend was a girl sweetheart! All of Becky's other lovers are girls. It drives Tim crazy to know that! And even those girls have to be married with kids, so they won't get ideas about moving in on us permanently. Or else they have to be free spirits who don't want to get ideas about anyone. Becky doesn't like rivals."
She stared at me meaningfully, then looked down at her drink. Then stood again and refilled her glass, and took a quick swallow without even waiting for the ice to cool it down. And added, once again with her back toward me, "You don't qualify for that kind of threesome, hon. I'm sorry." And she started back toward the kitchen.
I could feel it. This discussion was over as far as Ellie was concerned. She was in motion. Out of the room, out of my life. It was now or never! I reached to grasp at a straw! At anything! Out of nowhere came a desperate cry!
"But what if I did?"
She paused and began to turn back toward me. "Did what?" she asked. Her voice was casual. She'd said everything that could be said.
"Qualify! For a threesome!"
She turned the rest of the way and just stared at me, really pitying me now. I'd understood nothing apparently. I could read it in her eyes, and I raced on! "No, I don't mean as a man! What if I tried to be a girl when I was with you two? Just tried! What if I was gentle, and kept my penis out of the way? And wore that lacy nightgown you once wanted me to wear? And used my mouth, anywhere you want it! Could you take me in then? To make up a threesome?"
A new argument suddenly occurred to me. I added, "Then you wouldn't have to leave here at all! We all three of us could live here together!"
I was playing for time! I needed time, more than anything else! What I was really willing to do, what I had to do, what I'd have to give up, what little deceptions might work, all those things I'd reconsider later! Decide about later, if I had to. I knew that as things were, once Ellie walked through that door and back into the kitchen, and once Rebecca walked through that front door, my marriage was over. Down the drain. I had to stop the flow! Somehow! To pretend I could be a girl with them was all that came to mind!
And now Ellie was looking at me with keen attention! "You really mean that?"
"Yes!" I'd thrown out my hook wildly, but I'd caught something! Now I had to set it past the barb so it wouldn't shake loose! The words came tumbling out unconsidered. "I want to be a girl!"
She just stood there, staring at me.
"Make me a girl!" I said, more emphatically still.
"What?!"
"Make me a girl! I'm willing! I'll be a girl for you! I want to! Ellie, please, I don't want to lose you!" I was appalled by what I was saying! But it was a cry from the heart! At that moment I believed in my sincerity absolutely!
"You're crazy!"
"I want you! I want you to love me! I want to live with you. No claims! If you can share me with Rebecca, and Rebecca will have me only if I'm a girl, then I want to be a girl! Make me a girl! Then Rebecca can have all of you and as much of me as she wants! And I can still have some of you! If Rebecca lets me!" Was I insane? No, not at all. But certainly anguished. And this was certainly the only idea I had, for now.
"You don't know what you're saying!"
"Yes, I do! Make me a girl!"
Ellie started back into the room and sat down on a chair by the door. I couldn't believe it! It was happening!
She shook her head, thoughtfully! "If we were a threesome, even if we lived here you'd be a third party, a guest as it were. In your own house! You'd have to move into our guest room, Joey. Could you stand that?"
"Yes!"
"A girl? I know it can be done. With hormones and things. Becky knows how, she's had patients who wanted to be girls. But you'd have so much to learn! You'd have to do so many things you'd certainly find unfamiliar, even embarrassing! You'd have to give up so much! You're not a girl! Not even a transvestite!"
"Yes! I am! I can be!" What things? In the privacy of my relationships with them, I could handle it! In bed with them? Here in this house? How difficult could it be to wear a dress or a nightgown around the house now and then while I tried to woo and win back my own wife? No problem!
She paused. "That's quite a notion! For my Joey to try to become a girl! It's sort of romantic, I must say!" She looked at me admiringly, now. "I sort of like it! Greater love hath no man than to give up being a man for the woman he loves! I'll certainly ask Becky how she feels about it when she gets here. She's about due!"
Then Ellie turned and went back into the kitchen.
I sat there a moment. What have I done? I've saved my ass, that's what I've done, I told myself! I've lived to fight another day! I stood up, triumphant!
"Yessssss!!!" I whispered aloud!
All was not lost!
And at that moment, the door chimes sounded.
ii.
Two days later I answered the door when the chimes sounded, and Rebecca swept past me, not condescending even to glance at me. "I see you're still here? You like what we're doing to you? Where's your pride, girl? Is Miss Elaine home yet?"
She didn't stay for an answer, but instead looked around for evidence. No one in the hallway or up the stairs. She turned toward me finally. "It's arranged. You're going away tomorrow morning with Ellie. To Miss Caroline's, she has an opening and can fit you in right away. You'll be there for three weeks. No need to pack anything. Ellie will take you there and leave you there. She'll be there herself often as part of the treatment, but otherwise she'll be working or else here with me. You'd better cooperate!"
I curtsied. "Yes, ma'am!"
"Not that it matters a whole lot! Miss Caroline has no problem getting people like you to cooperate. Then when you get back your boss tells me you'll soon be off doing those out-of-town site visits he's arranged. So Ellie and I will be rid of you either way. Become the best girl you can be, and maybe we'll let you live with us. Any erections today?"
"No ma'am."
"That's good! I thought those injections would take care of that little problem. Nip it in the bud." She smiled. "That's apparently what you're good at, I hear!"
"Ma'am?"
"Nipping buds! Clit nibbling! Miss Elaine told me this morning that last night you were quite satisfactory! I may want to wrap my legs around your head myself some time. Miss Elaine thinks you may have real talent that way! But don't let it give you any ideas!"
"No ma'am."
"I'll have my white wine, now."
"Yes, ma'am." I hurried to get it, pleased that Miss Rebecca was pleased, or at least not dissatisfied. I glanced at a mirror on my way back into the kitchen. My appearance was acceptable. Maybe that helped.
Two days earlier she'd been a lot less pleased, in fact she'd been downright antagonistic. When the doorbell rang, and Ellie turned to answer it, I waited in the living room to see if Rebecca would buy my hastily improvised notion, still holding my empty glass in my hand, the ice cubes now altogether melted. The whole trip down the hall to the front door, Ellie kept her head turned back toward me, watching to see if I was still serious, or if I was having second thoughts, or if I was already quailing at my own preposterous suggestion. Perhaps from sheer stubbornness, I wasn't. Just before opening the door she asked me again, "You're sure now! A girl!"
"Yes!" I said, loud and clear.
The two of them then stood by the front door talking in low voices for some time. I was delighted that I'd at least shaken them up
Then Rebecca came into the living room. I stood to meet her, and offered her my hand, a meaningless smile of hospitality fixed on my face. She just stood there in the middle of the room and looked at me. I put my hand down. Her expression approached a scowl.
"Well, Joseph, look what you've proposed," she said finally. "And Ellie likes the idea. So we have to deal with it seriously. Even though I don't believe for a moment that you're serious."
"Now Rebecca!" I tried to reassure her even though I myself still found the idea unsettling, absurd.
"No more until after we've eaten, and you've poured out some of that brandy of yours. Then we'll talk, and we'll find out if the brandy's still yours or if it's now Ellie's and mine! Because that's what you're proposing, you know. Among other things."
And she walked into the dining room, and sat down in my place at the table.
Conversation during dinner was spare, limited to trivial things, carefully evasive. Rebecca's new position and the hospital's policies, whether she'd want to stay when she'd reorganized them, the kinds of people she'd be working with, where the best supermarket in town was located, and the best wine store, and the best hairdresser. The small things that make up whole lives no one likes to think trivial. None of us dared hint at the topic on everyone's mind. We were being civilized. Rebecca twice began talking about people and places only she and Ellie had once known, but Ellie to her credit answered perfunctorily and brought the topic back to time present.
Then when we were each of us settled back into the living room, each with a snifter in one hand overfilled with cognac, Family Court came into session. Ellie sat on the couch with Rebecca, the judges and prosecutors. I sat facing them. Rebecca launched into me with no preliminaries. Right on target, too!
"Ellie, we both know what his purpose is here. To gain time to work on you, to try to take you away from me again. I can't have that! I won't have that! We're much more married than you and your 'Joey' here ever will be, much more closely bound together. Irreversibly! Forever! You know that, too. You can feel it too! And you're asking me to admit someone else into this union of ours merely because you're married to him? Out of pity?"
Rebecca seemed both furious and on the edge of tears. Ellie leaned forward and took both her hands and held them, and said not a word. She didn't have to. They did understand each other so well! She just looked steadily into Rebecca's eyes until Rebecca could recover herself. Only one sob escaped. Then a slight, grateful smile, through glistening eyes.
"All right, out of love too. He's a sweet man! He's a dear man! You say so, and I can believe it, though all I see is a wimp! But remember, he's a man! He has no obligations to me, or feelings for me. He can pretend to be a girl, I'm sure, and learn how to swish around the house in heels, and learn how to look halfway respectable wearing makeup, and try to persuade you that he's serious! He can even do some permanent things to his body, make some small gestures toward femininity in token of his sincerity, like get his ears pierced, and adjust his hormones to grow his own breasts and improve his figure and his disposition, things like that. Because he knows it would take things like that to begin to persuade me he's serious. He knows that whenever I look at him, nothing should ever remind me that I've somehow gotten myself involved with another man."
"But I'd still see him as a man, unless he was very, very good at his little deceptions! And I'd always feel insecure, always anxious that I was living with you on borrowed time. He'd be the snake in our little garden. He can say anything at all right now, but we all three know he can always back out of this thing he's proposing. At any time. No matter how skillful he becomes at persuading us, maybe even persuading himself that he's serious. He can always take up living like a man again any time. And I'd always worry that when he left he'd take you with him!"
"He wouldn't do that. Would you, Joey honey?"
Of course I would. That was exactly my intention. But they needed more persuasion. Rebecca did, anyhow. She was already boxing me in with more "gestures" and "tokens," than I wanted to deal with, and Ellie was going right along with her. It made me uneasy. Pierced ears, well, OK, no problem, holes grow in and leave only a dimple, and my hair covers my ears, anyhow. But hormones? That dyke wants me to grow breasts like hers, and maybe also fatten up my ass like hers? And Ellie has no objection to any of it? Well, OK, even hormones. I could stall, and anyhow, if I had to start taking their pills or whatever, they would take time to work. Months. Longer. And if it took me a year to wean Ellie away I supposed even breasts are removable with surgery, if I found I couldn't handle having them hang off me. I grinned, realizing that if I'd had breasts when we were married Ellie might have found me even more attractive than now, a man and a woman all wrapped up in one, the best of both of her worlds. Breasts might be an advantage to me, wooing Ellie back.
"Would you?" Ellie asked again. "Try to come between me and Becky?"
"No, of course not," I said. "I'd never want to do that!" Take Ellie back to be my lawful wedded wife again! Unthinkable! I tried to think of more clinchers, more reassurances I could offer them in addition to those Rebecca'd mentioned. What else? Flattery, certainly. "I'd be living with two beautiful women, one of them my wife. Why should I ever want to back out of an arrangement like that?"
Even Ellie wasn't persuaded by that, and she wanted to believe in my sincerity. It was a lecher's argument, not a nascent girl's. "Becky," she said hastily. "You know I'll never want to leave you again. But there are other ways we can discourage him from changing his mind. We can get his voice changed to a high register, so it sounds attractive as a woman's but silly as a man's. We can get him breast implants right off, not wait for his hormones to grow them. And while we're at it we could give him a really cute girly nose and chin -- I'd love that, and the chances are that then he'd never want to show his face to his friends again, looking like that. With a pretty face and pouty lips, the first thing those guys would think of whenever they saw him would be getting him on his knees and filling his mouth with their ...things. So it wouldn't do him any good to carry me off somewhere else! His old life would be over. He couldn't be my husband any more. We'd be two girls together!"
She looked at me, and then she let go of Rebecca's hands and took up mine. And pressed them into my lap. My crotch. Almost as if she wanted me to stroke myself! The weight of our hands together certainly caused a stirring. I tried to think of other things. This was not the right moment for a boner! I realized that in her sweet, conciliatory way, Ellie had just made it impossible for me to back out of this situation and still save face. Not my face the way it was. If the two of them arranged for every change Ellie had just offered up, we really would look like two girls together. Or very nearly. This was not too good!
"How about we castrate him?" Rebecca asked.
I lurched.
Rebecca noticed but went on. "That's irreversible. That would prove his sincerity, and reassure me. Then afterward, he'd have to take whatever kind of sex he could get from us. He'd be grateful we still wanted him! If we did." She grinned quickly, then said in a pointed, level voice, "I like that idea. We don't need his income. He could be our live-in eunuch! Take care of our house, and help dress you for your dates with those studs you'll want to bed down now and then! He could even be happy for you when you brought one home for the weekend! With no balls of his own he couldn't possibly be jealous of them! Could he?"
I knew I'd flinched visibly. Ellie's hands were holding mine firm in my lap, but she'd felt me instinctively clutch at my jewels. I sat very still, hoping that this latest proposal would evaporate into the air. No such luck.
"Becky, I wouldn't want my darling hurt, just because he loves me," Ellie said. She could feel my fright. "Aren't we asking enough from him? For now?"
Rebecca seemed to back down a little. Or maybe not. "We both love the same woman," she said. "I'm willing to try to like him, as long as he doesn't flaunt his male privilege in my face the way that bastard husband of mine did."
She paused and thought a moment, and a slow smile began to light up her face. For the first time, she scrutinized me seriously. Then she continued, "Well, we'll discuss it later, just the two of us. As long as Joseph really will become a woman like us! Nearly all the way may be far enough, we'll have to see! I can wait to cut his balls off, if he'll do whatever's otherwise necessary! I've got to say though, if he must compete with me for you, I'd rather have a level playing field, with no special jollies for you hanging down between his legs!"
She turned directly to Ellie and spoke from the heart. "Ellie, my darling Ellie. All I want is simple assurance that he isn't faking it. Is that too much to ask? To know that he's a man of his word. That he really means to become a woman of her word. That she really means it. That she's making an irreversible commitment to her new life with us. Is that too much to ask?"
Not so much her words, but her tone of voice unsettled me. She had my number all right. And Ellie knew it!
Now Rebecca leaned forward, and spoke quietly and rapidly to Ellie, all the while not once taking her eyes off me. Ellie glanced at me a few times as she listened and now and then nodded assent, anxiously, amusedly, reassuringly.
"I tell you what, Ellie. I'll set three conditions. First, we send your Joey here to Miss Caroline's Girls' School for three weeks of behavior modification. Just as soon as there's an opening. I'll phone her and see if maybe she can take him this weekend. Hypno-therapy, deep-reflex conditioning, and careful instruction in how to be a woman, how to dress and walk and so on so he won't disgrace us every time anyone looks at him. Caroline's very good with husbands who get volunteered to her establishment by their wives. I've seen some of them -- they come out more feminine than the women who sent them there, and then they stay that way! I'll pay for the treatments myself. Because if your husband is sincere, sweetheart, your happiness will be well worth the price. And if he isn't, well, he will be when Caroline finishes with him."
I tried to look at this woman with mild curiosity, as if I had understood nothing of what she had just said. But it was getting more and more frightening. Behavior modification? Did that mean I'd learn to be more gentle, less aggressive, more nurturing? That would be all right, I supposed. What more? Learn how to swing my hips when I walk ? No problem, I could do that! I'm sure Rebecca saw me still attempting not to understand, and failing. She smiled and kept looking straight at me.
"The second thing I want is his signature on a sheaf of blank surgical permissions. And a proxy. So he knows starting right now we're serious. So that as his wife you can approve whatever surgical procedures we think necessary, whatever he may think of them. Cut off his balls if he acts up, cut off his head too if he thinks he's getting away with anything. Caroline will need written consents anyway -- she doesn't like backlash when her clients finally wake up and realize what's been done to them. And we'll want it for the other things we've already mentioned, because he'll surely want to look pretty, with a pretty face and figure to flaunt at us. He can have such fun seducing his former buddies!" Now she glared at me. "I'm sure he'll want to do that!" she said.
It was a challenge. I ignored it. She saw, and for some reason that fact amused her. Her lips compressed satisfied, then she continued.
"Maybe he won't need a surgical castration. The hormones I'd use to wipe out his sperm and grow his tits would fry his balls anyhow, sooner than he might imagine. I do want him to know though that starting right now his balls are ours, not his. Mine, really, since you're probably feeling partial toward them. That his balls dangle where they are now or dangle from my rear-view mirror any time I want them to, at my whim. That he keeps them only if I'm persuaded that he doesn't want them, that they don't matter, that he doesn't care, they're a birth defect he'd just as soon see removed. If I'm persuaded that he's submitting to us for your benefit, not for his. If he knows that you're mine, not his, and that he's ours!"
This wasn't anything like the threesome I'd had in mind. At most, I meant maybe me in a nightgown and a dab of lipstick eating them both out while we all hugged and kissed, and me solicitous of my wife's every desire until her guilt became overwhelming and she rededicated herself to me and me alone. But now Rebecca had the ball and was running with it. With my balls too. When had I dropped it? Them?
"That sounds only fair," Ellie said. "Doesn't it seem fair to you, sweetheart?"
What could I say? I had to depend on Ellie to protect my essential manhood. She'd still want to have sex with me, that I knew. Maybe. So I nodded.
Rebecca continued. "Maybe if he's a really good girl we'll make him a real girl as a reward. Give him three places to enjoy himself with a fella, not just the two he's got now. The kind of special girl place we've got. Then his friends could call him a 'cunt' too, the way they call us 'cunts'. They do, don't they?"
I couldn't tell if she was serious or not when she said that. Me with a "fella"? She was needling me, becoming really unpleasant. Telling me I'd be a pervert! Again I didn't respond. Neither did Ellie. I hoped Rebecca was just being spiteful.
"One more thing I want," Rebecca said. I'd crossed some kind of border, apparently, because now for the first time she turned to talk to me directly. Now she could acknowledge my existence! "It's very simple. A show of good faith. A test. I want you to cross a point of no return right away. Tomorrow, if we can arrange it, and I think we can. That would begin to persuade me that all the work we'll need to invest in you might be worth the effort. You look to be about my dress size. About a 14 do you think, Ellie?"
"Just about, I think," Ellie replied. "He used to be an 18, almost a 20, but I've been bringing him down for some months now. We've both lost quite a bit of weight."
I looked at Ellie. I used to be an 18? When did she start thinking of me in women's dress sizes? I decided she was just translating my men's sizes into women's as she spoke, praising me to Rebecca in Rebecca's terms.
"Then tomorrow you'll start wearing women's clothes. We'll provide your starter set, Joseph," Rebecca said. "Until you can buy your own. You'll take tomorrow morning off from your office, so we can start you off right. Then you can go back to work tomorrow afternoon wearing a proper respectable three piece suit, the kind you usually wear to work anyhow."
Her previously skeptical smile began now to spread triumphantly across her face. She was enjoying herself! She'd won! She knew that her girlfriend, my wife, was agreeable to almost anything she proposed! My Ellie was hers! "A conservative business suit, Joseph, something that won't attract undue attention."
Then she stood up and leaned over me, and spoke crisply, defiantly, as if challenging me to protest, to find anything she was saying the least bit unacceptable. "But a woman's three-piece suit! Nothing flamboyant! Faux Chanel Jacket flared at the hips, cream silk blouse with a cute bow tie, a short gray skirt, dark stockings, low pumps, pearl accessories! I have just the outfit for you in my car, dearie, in your driveway this very moment. Or is it my driveway? Simple daytime makeup, nothing bold or dramatic, just eyes, cheeks, and lips. One of your wife's wigs, unless we can get your hair permed and styled and set to look respectably feminine." She looked it over critically. "I bet we can! You'll do fine, I think. You might even be passable, not that I care. You with me so far?"
I was too far gone not to be. I nodded.
"Then that's what you'll wear to your office tomorrow afternoon! Tomorrow and from now on! No gradual transition for you, Missy! Tomorrow you're irreversibly a man who's decided he'd rather be a woman, and you'll explain that to your colleagues, your secretaries, your clients, your supervisors, the janitor, everybody. Because that's what you are, aren't you? Isn't that what you're telling us?"
She waited. Ellie waited, concerned. I swallowed. Then nodded.
"If your boss wants to send you home because he hates faggots or he's transphobic, or if someone objects when you use the ladies' room -- and that's what you'll use starting tomorrow, and no other ever again! -- or if anyone objects for any other reason, well, that's their prerogative. You'll deal with it, lady! No compromises. Tomorrow I want you to deliver such an unforgettable shock to everyone that they'll all dash to their phones and their e-mails and send the news around the world, so an hour later everyone who ever knew you will know what you are. Everywhere!"
Now she looked maliciously gleeful! "You'll agree with me I'm sure that when everyone knows, you're a lot less likely to back away from our little arrangement and take Elaine with you, away from me. You'll already be someone else in everyone's mind, a laughingstock, a pussywhipped wimp, a queer clown, a brave transsexual woman, a sissy psychotic, who knows, but anyhow something you aren't now and will never be again, a man! Then as a woman, maybe your company can accept you and keep you on, every organization now and then finds they have a transgendered woman in their midst. But as a man, after tomorrow you'll be ludicrous. After tomorrow you'll have nowhere to go, will you? As a man, you'll be a traitor to your sex, a deserter, a failure, a loser!" She smiled sweetly at me. Smugly, too.
The woman was diabolical! I nodded, a knot forming in my stomach.
Did I really want this? No. Could I get out of it? It didn't seem so. Not and stay with my Ellie and keep my marriage going somehow, I couldn't. Did I want to? Already there was no way I could cut and run with any dignity or pretense of sincerity, not and keep any dregs of Ellie's respect. Certainly not after tomorrow. Was my marriage worth it? Which was worse, losing Ellie or losing my respectability? I loved Ellie. Despite everything! With all my heart. Life without Ellie was unimaginable!
"Isn't this wonderful?" Ellie said. "Now I won't have to leave you after all, sweetie. I can have my Becky and my Joey too! My 'Joey.' You'll need a new name, honey! We both want to forget that there ever was a 'Joey.' Joy! That's you! I'll have my dearest Joy living with me from now on! I'm so glad you thought of this, Joy darling! And offered yourself to us. You've made me so happy. Aren't you happy too? Tell me you are!"
She looked at me so anxiously I had to smile at her, to try to reassure her. I nodded.
"Tell her, Joy!" Rebecca was looking straight at me, and I saw that her smile had disappeared. "I want to hear it!"
"Yes, I'm happy too, Ellie," I said, my voice flat.
"You're happy, who?" Rebecca snapped. "'Ellie' is my name for her, just as 'Becky' is her name for me." Those are our private, intimate little names for each other. When you began to date her way back, and you began to call her 'Ellie,' I couldn't say anything about it. Not back then. But now I can. From now on, Joy, you'll call her 'Elaine'! That's her name. Isn't it, Ellie?"
Ellie nodded. I mean Elaine. She was looking at me encouragingly, and I'd like to believe a little sadly. But I couldn't tell.
"Say it, Joy precious!" No question, Rebecca's tone was threatening.
"I'm happy we can still live together, Elaine," I said.
"No, let's make that 'Miss Elaine'! And I'm 'Miss Rebecca' when you address me. You are not on a first name basis with either of us! Not yet!"
It was a rending moment for me. Like a divorce! Rebecca came between us and spoke, and now we were no longer a couple. But then, wasn't that was what Ellie had told me anyhow, just before dinner? Wasn't that why we were now a threesome, because I'd thought a threesome preferable to nothing? Not exactly a threesome like this though.
"Miss Elaine," I repeated. "Yes, Miss Rebecca!"
Rebecca disappeared for a moment, then came back carrying a pad of legal-looking documents and a pen. "The surgical proxies," she said. "Standard doctor's equipment. Never leave home without them!" I signed a few. She witnessed them. Then she handed them to Elaine, Miss Elaine (no, to me in my own mind she'll always be 'Ellie'), Ellie also witnessed them. Then Ellie disappeared with them into our study and came back without them.
"Nicely done, Ellie," Rebecca said when Elaine had sat down again, this time in a chair opposite both of us. "Cued beautifully. And it's all his idea, you heard him, and now it's signed and sealed, so now he's responsible for everything that happens next"
Elaine stood up and leaned over and actually kissed Rebecca! On the mouth! "Love will always find a way," she replied. "Thanks, honeybuns, for giving this a chance to work! I really didn't know what to do. I didn't want to lose him, but I never thought he'd propose this, much less agree to it! He really did reach for every hint I threw at him! He's so sweet! I do love him, you know. And now I really do owe you!"
"No problem, Ellie darling. Though remember my own purposes. I do mean to collect from you, sweetheart! Beginning now! Awww, look at him! He has no idea what we're talking about!"
While I was working out what they might have meant by that, Rebecca stood also, produced a hypodermic out of nowhere, pinched up skin on my wrist, and gave me a swift shot. "Just a tranquillizer for now, Joy, baby," she said. "Mostly for Ellie's sake. Miss Elaine to you! She'll feel so much better knowing you're not troubled by our sleeping arrangements tonight. Or by anything, from now on. And her happiness is everything to me. Just as it should be for you, but we can't really trust that it is, yet, can we? Just sit still now and feel peaceable, and then you can go to bed any time you like. In whichever spare bedroom."
She was right. I sat still and felt increasingly satisfied with the way things were turning out. It wasn't too bad. It could have been a lot worse. It wasn't bad at all. I still had what I wanted. I watched quietly as Rebecca and Elaine talked together in voices too low for me to make out, touching each other and giggling, my wife glancing casually over at me now and then. They were now old, familiar friends who enjoyed each other's company. It was so nice, seeing two women who felt that close. Which was why they hugged each other on their way upstairs. Loving friends. Girls together. Was that a twinge of jealousy I felt? No, envy! I wanted to be one too! A girl, like them! To belong, to be one of them! Well, that was certainly what Rebecca had in mind for me. Pussy and all, she wanted me to think! She was joking. I hoped so, anyway.
I just sat and watched then, feeling warm toward them both. They paused in the hall at the top of the stairs, in front of the door to our master bedroom, then turned toward each other with their arms wrapped around each other possessively. It felt to me like a sacred moment. So very sweet! Like newlyweds poised on the threshold of a bridal chamber! My Miss Elaine looked into her Becky's eyes with such tender affection! And her Becky so very gently took my wife's head into both her hands and pulled her face close, and kissed the tip of her nose so very delicately. They were both about the same height. They looked so serenely happy together! A matched pair! Then they kissed each other with real feeling, their soft lips pressing together. It was so beautiful, two women kissing, their faces melting into each, neither dominating, each yielding to the other. Elaine then pulled her Becky closer, and their kisses grew more heated, passionate, their mouth moving as if they wanted to swallow each other. They reached to touch the tips of each other's nipples. I sat and watched. Their bodies writhed into tight intimacy.
Then they broke off, breathing hard, and began to pull each other into the bedroom. Each glanced down toward me. Rebecca grinned at me. Elaine tilted her head back and smiled, signalling to me how pleased she was. Was that smile also a little mischievous? Did she purse her lips just then to blow me a kiss? To reassure me? To mock me? They slipped into our bedroom and shut the door. I looked at the closed door. Their bedroom.
After a moment, I got up and went upstairs myself, into one of the spare bedrooms, and fell onto one of the beds the two of them had used during Rebecca's previous visits here, probably. At least Ellie and I were still together here in the same house. Miss Elaine and I still shared our lives. I thought I'd better think up a way out -- this situation was way out of control. But then I fell asleep, out like a light, with nothing left to think about.
iii.
When I woke up I felt mellow, at peace with myself and snug in the world around me. I looked about and saw that the world was a spare bedroom with yellow sunlight streaming onto candystriped wallpaper walls. Our spare bedroom, for guests. Then I remembered everything else. Maybe it was a residual effect of the tranquillizer Rebecca had given me, or maybe it was usual for me, but I found I was thinking of my new situation calmly and systematically, without anger or anxiety. There were a series of problems to be solved, that was all. One set emerged from my need to share Elaine with Rebecca for the time being, and to be content with whatever the scraps and leavings of our loving relationship. Well, for the time being that was unavoidable. I could handle it. More immediately, I remembered, this afternoon they meant for me to go to the office dressed like a woman. I'd look like a freak! I hadn't bargained for that when I'd proposed to Ellie that I become one of the girls! I'd meant to pretend to be a woman in bed, or maybe around the house! But Rebecca hadn't fallen for that dodge, and now I had very little choice. How could I get out of this one? Stall. Talk Elaine out of it. Slow the pace on this first morning of the rest of my life.
As I headed out the door and down the hall to the guest bathroom I found that Elaine was up and already waiting for me. She was already fully dressed and made up for her day at her own office. She looked really good, too!
"There you are, honey, I was about to wake you! Shower and shave quickly now. Shave off all your body hair I mean, as best you can, because I've phoned Francesca for an appointment for you. In two hours it's scheduled. Becky's agreed, we don't want you to show up at your office your very first day looking like some halfback in drag. You'll need to look like a presentable woman right off, or they won't take you seriously. So I've phoned them for you and told them to cancel your morning appointments, that you'll be a few hours late."
I just stood there. Her face was glowing and her eyes were bright, and she seemed somehow...satisfied. This past night with Rebecca had certainly agreed with her! I was glad she was happy, but my heart sank just a little. A woman who's just been with another woman is still, well, womanly, I tried to remember. Being together heightens their femininity I guessed. It wasn't as if she's been unfaithful, I tried to remind myself, as if she'd spent the night with another man. She might yet, but I'd deal with that issue in good time. I had no reason to feel jealous, not yet.
"Ellie," I started to say, and paused. I wanted to ask her flat out to stop playing this game with me now. We had to come to our senses! But there she was, lively, alert, serenely self-assured, and I realized that to her it wasn't a game.
"Hush, sweetie! Don't let Becky hear you call me that, or she'll want to punish you some way, and I don't want to see that happen. I'm 'Miss Elaine' now, remember? In fact, we talked about it last night and decided that I'll be 'Miss Elaine'to you from now on no matter what. To help you remember that I'm not your Mrs. any more. That for the time being we're not even social equals." She smiled her cute, dazzling smile at me, and my heart swelled. "I must say, when you call me that, honey, it sounds a lot more respectful. I kind of like it! It makes it much easier for me to order you around!"
Not my own wife's social equal, my former wife's, nor Miss Rebecca's social equal either, I was thinking. This was hardly a level playing field. I tried again. "Elaine," I said. "Miss Elaine!" I reached for an argument. "Don't you think...?"
But I saw in her eyes that she was beyond argument. There was nothing I could say. "Who's Francesca?" I finished weakly. "What appointment?"
"My hairdresser at the Cut'n Curl Salon. You'll love what she can do, she works miracles! I've told her we want you to look like a serious professional woman, but pert and pretty too, attractive to your male associates but not intimidating. Nice. Becky agrees that if Joy's a cutie from the start there'll be less chance that she'll seem an embarrassment to the firm and find herself downsized out of a job. In fact, if she's pretty, there'll always be work for her in a large firm. You see, honey, we want you to keep working for the present, for your own self-respect, even though Becky and I earn more than enough for the three of us. You'll tend the house for us when you aren't out of town on business, true, but you'll need other interests too. To mix with the other girls at the office. The more people you meet when you're being a girl, the more girl you'll become. The sooner you'll get used to it and begin to like it. The less time you'll have to brood about me and Becky, if you understand what I mean. The sooner you'll develop a life of your own, maybe even a sex life of your own. That's why we want you to look pretty! Then after your surgery, when you're a real girl, you'll already know all about it. Especially about guys."
"Surgery?" I asked. "Guys?"
"Yes, of course," she said. "Oh, I do hope you turn out to be bi-sexual, like me, and not a singleminded Lesbian like Becky. Girls are wonderful, we both know that, but guys are so special! They can be so good for a girl's morale. There'll be times now and then when you feel down and need cheering up. This is a change of life for you, after all. Your hormones'll make for mood swings, and you'll be getting other kinds of new, exciting feelings too, you know, honey? Yearnings you won't understand at first, until one day you see someone, and ... well, when that happens, you'll find guys can be wonderful! There've been times when I've felt really low, you know? And you've been busy at work. Or maybe I've been away alone on business or at a convention. And I've needed to feel reassured that I'm still an attractive woman, and ...." She paused, and seemed to realize that this kind of dishy girl talk might distress me. "Well, sometimes a flirtation with the right guy at the right time can make a big difference," she finished. "You'll see."
I was shocked by what she'd almost said. "What? Ellie? Do you mean to say...."
She realized she'd said too much. So her tone shifted, and she whiplashed me with a ferocity that pushed whatever I'd been thinking clear out of my head.
"*Miss* Elaine to you! No, Joy, I don't mean to say anything! Not about me, I didn't! And if I did, it has nothing to do with you! You have no claims on me. You aren't my husband any more, remember? I don't know what you are yet, apart from a man who says he wants to be a girl so he can live with me and my sweetheart Becky! So get into that bathroom right now, *Miss* Joy! Time is running out! Do you hear me!?"
Each word was stern, loud, and emphatic. I did what I was told.
As I turned on the shower she continued to speak loudly to me through the glass doors, but now I suspect to distract and reassure me. "Use those razors! Shave off all that hair on your chest and arms and legs! You can leave a little bikini tuft around your prick if that would please you!" Then, "Honey, when I spoke to your secretary a little bit ago, I told her about your decision, how you'd look when you came in later today, so she could be properly supportive. She was so fascinated! She said she'll be delighted to help. She said you've always been a nice man, and now she expects you'll be a nice woman too! I told her to let the word out, so no one will be shocked when they see you. She said she will. She's even going to get you a birthday cake, so all the girls in your office can celebrate that you're born again today as what you've been all along, one of them. I know Becky wanted everyone to be shocked when they saw you, and a little mocking too, but this accomplishes the same thing I think, and it'll be much easier for you. It's sort of nice, in fact. A coming out party!"
"They know? You've already committed me to this?" I asked. "At my own office?"
"No, dummy, you committed yourself to it, last night." Her voice then softened. "I'm helping you, honey. You have a lot to learn."
I emerged from the shower hairless, feeling naked as a billiard ball. Rebecca was now standing with my wife, wrapped loosely in a pale beige silk dressing gown. "Well, look at you, Joy. Neat and clean I see. I see too that you've got nothing much to hide. Ready to be pretty? Your clothes are laid out on your bed."
I saw no need for her sarcasm, but I realized that from her point of view I'd always been the intruder. She'd always resented me. She'd hoped that this time I'd give up Elaine without a struggle, and it wasn't happening. So I knew I had to watch her. She was going to try to make it happen.
"Thank you, Miss Rebecca," I said, matching her tone with mine.
"Oooh, I like that, Joy! 'Miss Rebecca!' Yes! That's what I am, girly! That and 'ma'am.' Understood?"
"Yes ma'am." I felt chastened. Thus much for my rebellion.
"Splash this cologne on yourself, honey," Elaine said. "And into your room with you. I'm pretty sure my old bras and panties'll fit you for now, I mean the ones from before we both lost weight. They're yours from now on. Some are so pretty! I know you'll always want to feel more daring underneath than anyone would ever guess. Every girl has a secret life. I've had one. I'll bet you've never seen some of the really sexy things I wear when I want to feel special! Well, all of them're yours now! You can have a secret life too now!"
I went into my new room with her. She was right, she'd laid out some incredibly fancy lingerie in rich shades and tones. I couldn't remember ever seeing her wear anything so provocative. A pair of panties looked flimsy enough to fall apart, but when I touched them they felt remarkably sturdy. Like women, I thought, smooth and delicate and seemingly fragile, but in fact solid, built to last, stubborn. "Here, hon," she said, picking up a flower-lacy longline bra. "We'll begin with this." She smiled warmly at me! "This is so exciting! The first bra of the rest of your life!"
An hour later I was dressed for work, and felt very odd, trussed in and gussied up. "From now on, sweetheart," Elaine told me as she hooked and clipped and buttoned and zipped me in, "You'll do this yourself. You're a big girl now!"
A bra was snugged tightly along my chest and two large silicone breasts hung heavily from the shoulder straps. I felt elongated in front, and the fake breasts thrust awkwardly even further forward when I stood up in my clunky high heels. My torso was swathed in a smooth nylon slip Rebecca had contributed, satin frothed with lace. My pinstriped businesswoman's suit, also Rebecca's though it seemed a little large for her, pinched in at the waist, creating an illusion that I had hips, then it flared out over a skirt that ended flirtatiously several inches above my knees. And there I was. Elaine draped a thin gold chain around my neck, then leaned over and teased and moussed my hair up to resemble a kind of mod hairdo. She then swiped some eye shadow, mascara, and lipstick on me, and finished by dashing a soft brush across my cheeks.
She looked me over critically, as one woman does another. "Well, you're not my man any more, that's certain! A pity. I loved him. Still do." Then with a certain concern in her voice, "Are you sure you want to do this, honey? I can always go off with Becky and...."
"Yes!" I said, almost shouting to overcome the fleeting doubts in my own mind. I must look ridiculous, I thought. But I won't let her escape!
"Well, this'll get you there, sweetie. You look darling, don't worry about anything. Here's where you go. 'Cut'n Curl' and ask for Francesca. Keep this card safe in your purse. O yes, here's your purse. Your wallet's in it already, with your keys, and some other things you'll need today. I have to get to work now, Joy, I'm running behind! You'll tell me all about it tonight?"
I felt terrified! "You're not coming with me!?"
"Snookums wants her mamma? Don't be silly, Joy. If you're a girl now, you're a girl, in your case a girl who really needs the makeover we've ordered up for you. From a distance you look quite nice. Take short steps and hold your elbows close to your sides and don't say anything if you can help it. Not too many people will snicker or smirk when they see you. But if they do, ignore them. Rude people always make remarks when women pass by."
For a moment she actually looked sympathetic. "This isn't my idea, honey, remember that. It's yours. I wanted a clean break, goodbye, thanks for the marriage, and stay in touch. Though I am glad it's working out this way instead. Because I never did want to lose you!"
She took my hand and looked into my mascara'd eyes. "Oh, honey! It's never easy, and it won't be. So go and for now enjoy being pampered. Girls do. I can't wait to find out how your day goes. Remember your mistakes, if you can, so later on Miss Caroline can help you correct them when she teaches you how to be a real lady."
Rebecca now appeared fully dressed in the hallway, wearing a suit and blouse and heels much like mine. "You're ready to go, Becky?" Ellie asked.
"I think so, darling," Rebecca replied lazily. "You know, Ellie, he does look ridiculous. A man in a dress! How could you have ever wanted to marry this clown? I myself don't mean to get it on with men ever again, though I can understand how your feelings are different. And in fact I really can admire men who look like men, a man who's just what he is, no apologies. But your 'Joy' here isn't what he is. Just look at him! He isn't anything!"
At first Elaine didn't answer. Then "He looks cute, Becky. Not at all ridiculous. And you know that!"
Rebecca rolled up her eyes and shrugged.
"He's doing this for me, Becky," Elaine then said. "And that's something, I think! Something I admire a lot!"
Good answer! I thought.
"We'll see," Rebecca replied shortly. "I called his office just after you did. His boss was once a patient of mine, did you know that? Joy here now has three weeks'leave to attend Miss Caroline's School, maybe as soon as this weekend. Three weeks of intensive conditioning and training. 'Compassionate leave' is what your boss granted you, Joseph, though 'pathetic leave' would be closer to the truth, if you want to know. Anyhow, Ellie, so as far as his office is concerned, he's set up after tomorrow for however long it takes. Then I called Miss Caroline to let her know how we'll want him...ah... redesigned. I've arranged things there too. Joy here is about to become more of a girl than he ever dreamed he'd be when he volunteered to stay here with us and wrestle me for your affections! Irreversible femininity, that's what we've promised him, right? And he's agreed to it! No, not agreed -- he's asked for it! Just wait!"
The two of them then left without looking back at me, though each of the women raised a hand and rotated a wrist in farewell. "See you tonight, honey," Elaine called out, no doubt as last-minute encouragement. "Enjoy!"
Well, the day went better in some ways than I'd expected, but also a lot worse. A lot of it was humiliating. But with some surprises.
First, what I saw in the front hall mirror as I left the house was a terribly nervous man wearing a skirt, makeup, and teased-up hair. Out the door I went, trying not to see if any of the neighbors saw me. I drove to my appointment at the "Cut'n Curl" beauty salon, and nervously walked in.
And no one noticed or cared. I began to feel...ordinary. A woman walked up and looked at me and said, "O yes, you're Joy, Elaine's told me all about you, don't worry about a thing! I'm Francesca!" She took off my suit jacket and sat me down, and draped a salmon colored sheet over me, and called in an army of women to work me over. Everyone seemed so matter-of-fact I lost all semblance of nervousness. I even dozed a bit.
Three hours later I'd been waxed, plucked, pierced, dyed, coated, twisted, and teased, Francesca assured me, into a semblance of what Elaine wanted, a cute professional woman, capable but unthreatening. Meanwhile she kept up a constant patter, telling me how to talk, and walk, and smile at other women, and avoid eye contact with other men, what she called her minimal survival kit for the girl she was making me. "I don't want to see you get in trouble," she said. "Being a girl is the most wonderful thing in the world! Really! You should enjoy it! I do!"
She then told me things she enjoyed most about being a girl, sex with men being the most prominent. She spared me no details. I tried not to listen, but my eyes were closed, and as she talked her words projected a pornographic movie onto my eyelids. I'd never seen the underside of my own erect cock, nor any other man's, but after a while I could see each vein and bump and ripple of the half a dozen she described to me, including her husband's and her two current boyfriends'. I also heard her graphic descriptions of how each cock felt when she was sucking and licking and sliding her lips along it, how and where she'd done it, and the special delights of nipping it with her teeth. "They get scared when they feel teeth," she informed me. "I like them to feel a little bit scared. Then they know who's in charge."
Then, "You do know, sweetie, that we don't really blow them," she disclosed as she wrapped my hair in rollers for the third time, or maybe the fourth. "Not like balloons! They can get plenty big enough, those pricks, some of them, without our trying to blow them up bigger! But I did once get a guy to cum by giving him a real blow-job! Really! I breathed moist air from my mouth into that purple helmet head they have, you've seen it haven't you? I blew gently into it, into the little hole they have there, and his thing got more and more purple, and then suddenly it squirted all over my face. And my mouth never touched him once! He was watching, and just that drove him crazy!"
"Are men ever in charge when you go down on them, Francesca?" I asked her as two women did something I couldn't see to my nails. When Ellie'd gone down on me, I'd always thought of it as subservience, and was always a little embarrassed for her. A college graduate with two Master's degrees, running her mouth up and down my penis! But this girl-talk was a revelation.
"Of course not," Francesca replied, touching something to my eyelids. "Are they ever? They're way too eager when the surf's up inside them and they're thinking only with their little heads. You can make them do anything! I can keep a man servicing me eagerly half the night with a little touch here and a tickle there, as long as I don't let him cum. I'll go down on them to reward them, now and then, especially those who perform toilet services in order to please me. They're always so pathetically grateful! You'll see!"
Francesca was talking to me as if I weren't a man but an inexperienced woman! Didn't she know? But it didn't matter now. I suppose now I was one of the girls as far as they were concerned. One of the manicurists working on my fingertips began to describe how she teases her husband relentlessly to keep him in line, a hulking brute, she was saying, with a teeny cock compared to the one his best friend offers her now and then. "You know how I deal with his teeny cock problem?" she asked, then volunteered an answer. "Bubble wrap inside two condoms! Then he can't hardly get it into me, but when he does I feel so stuffed all I can do is I shriek and shriek, God, the good feeling that gives me! I soak him and the bed both! And the funny part is, he can't feel a thing the whole time! He gets off by watching me get off, the poor dumb dear! For a special treat on his next birthday I'm going to let him watch while his best buddy gets me off. The way that man moves and gets me moving, my big little hubby'll cream in his jeans without even touching himself!"
She was rearing back to say much more, but Francesca touched and sprayed me once more and then told me I was done.
"I hope you don't mind," she said. "Where I could I used dyes and stains on your face, not waxes and creams. It isn't permanent make-up, exactly, but it won't smear, and it'll look presentable for a few weeks I should think. Maybe a month or two. You can use ordinary makeup over it if you wish, but for now it'll be easier for you not to have to worry about things like that. It won't wash off, for sure!"
It won't?! I looked at myself in a salon mirror, stunned! I hadn't bargained for this! Somewhere down below my neck was Joseph, almost altogether hidden. But above, I saw a total stranger! No question of it, female! My hair was now streaked blonde and ash, and it formed a curly halo around my head and over my ears. "Just towel dry it after every shampoo, honey," Francesca told me. "And that hairdo will take care of itself. They won't come out no matter what! Those curls are you!"
My eyes looked huge in my face, like a doll's or a little girl's, and they sparkled seductively through smoky shadows and long black lashes. My red cupid-bow lips made pretty mouees whenever I opened them -- I seemed perpetually to be kissing something. My fingernails extended red and oval and gleaming, smooth jewels on my fingertips. And my chin, never exactly square and determined, instead rather pointed and a little small, was now almost pixie-like. Simple gold hoop earrings hung from wires visibly penetrating my earlobes, and they matched a cascade of gold necklaces descending from the collar of my blouse.
I looked maybe even a little overdone as a woman, but no way was I a man. That was reassuring -- at least I wasn't going to attract casual mockery. Leers, maybe -- in fact I aroused me a little myself. There reflected back was an unfamiliar available woman I knew intimately as me. It was exciting. Yet despite being inside her I was still faithful to my wife. As if that mattered now, I then thought ruefully. Well, it did, I replied to myself sternly!
In fact I wasn't sure what kind of a professional woman I resembled -- I looked to me like an office bimbo. What had Elaine ordered up? "Cute, attractive, and not intimidating." That's what she got I guess.
When Francesca finally released me early that afternoon she said simply. "Joy honey, when your wife sees you she's going to want to eat you up. And you'll eat her in sheer gratitude. And that's what this is all about, isn't it?"
I smiled at her, I hoped prettily, and told her in the sweet, squealy, breathy voice she'd had me practicing all morning, "I expect so, honey! Oh, I do hope so." Our real situation was a little too embarrassing to explain.
"That's my girl," she replied. "A little more lilt, and finish everything you say with that vulnerable smile, just that way -- it's so adorable!" And then she kissed me on the lips! "It won't smear or come off," she said, holding my shoulders and then leaning in for another reassuring peck. "I've made your face as thoroughly pussy-proof as cosmetics allow! If you doubt me, just say so right now and we'll arrange a test. It's cock-proof too, if your taste runs the way your wife's does, and she's willing to share some of her fun with you. The way you look now she'd better, because her men aren't going to leave you alone. Practice your talking and walking the rest of the day, honey. That's the only part that can still give you away. Until you let someone get into your panties, that is. I'll see you in a month when you come in for a retouch. "
"Thank you, Francesca," I said, and stepped off briskly on my moderate-height heels, allowing a slight swing in the hips. What was that about my wife sharing her fun with men? I decided Francesca was just speculating aloud, reassuring me that I looked good enough not to embarrass myself, flattering me that now I was attractive even to my own sex. I suppose I was. Like Ellie, Francesca seemed to think I'd be getting interested in men. A natural enough assumption for a woman to make. But I'd never had ambitions that way! The thought revolted me! I was amused to think that as far as looks and desire matched up, I was more like Rebecca, a Lesbian.
My secretary Margaret didn't recognize me at all when I arrived dolled up the way I was. Or she pretended she didn't. I asked for myself. She consulted her appointment book and told me that I'd have to wait, because I hadn't arrived yet though I was due in soon. I smiled, and just looked her in the eye and kept smiling. Then she broke her calm demeanor and smiled back in delight, as if genuinely surprised that this woman come to call on me was me! Or so it seemed!
"Joe? Really? Is that you? Your wife told me what to expect, but I had no idea! That's impressive! You're lovely! Really! I love your hairdo! You're really going all the way?"
She came around her desk and for the first time in our relationship she gave me a big hug and a firm kiss, woman to woman. I was so grateful for this gesture that my heart swelled up and I hugged her back just as affectionately, and tears started to my eyes. I suppose she thought that now there'd be no way I could misunderstand her gesture, since women hug all the time, and now that's what I was. For all the desperate anxiety and fear of humiliation I'd been going through, neither my wife nor her lover had moved to touch me since this began, much less hug and kiss me. And they were the women closest to me! My gratitude toward Margaret grew stronger.
But she did misunderstand what was happening! Ellie -- I wanted to think "Miss Elaine" to avoid trouble, but I couldn't just yet -- my wife had told Margaret that I was a lifelong transsexual woman finally being true to herself. She knew full well that I was only a loving and desperate husband, just as I knew full well that I was also a calculating schemer. Or trying to be a calculating schemer, not too successfully. Just look at me, I thought.
Margaret kept up a confused patter to cover her uncertainty about the new me. "I'd never have dreamed you were...! Do you like boys, too, like the rest of us? Most of us? Men, I mean, I forget we aren't high school girls now together, are we, chatting about boys? You missed so much back then, Joe, trying to be a boy when you were really a girl the whole time! Well, but now it's done, isn't it, you're a woman and you're still you! All still there? For the time being? You're a lot prettier!" She began to remember herself, and started back behind her desk. "And you're still my boss, ah, Joy, now, aren't you! Now I have a lady for a boss! That'll take some getting used to." Settling down, she beamed up at me. "I wish you'd told me before about your secret feelings earlier, Joy. Maybe I could have helped?"
"Maybe," I said in the glissando voice Francesca had prescribed for me, managing to cover more than an octave with those two syllables.. "Is Gary in?" Gary was our division manager, my boss. I was Margaret's.
"He sure is, Joy, and waiting for you. But so's everyone else. C'mon this way, boss!" She grinned and started down the hall toward the meeting room we also reserved as coffee and lunch space.
When I walked in, everyone from the division was assembled there, and they stood and applauded. Not all, some men and a woman I knew from Accounting looked disgusted, and others kept their peace, but most of my associates approved, and some were enthusiastic! I felt like such a fraud! But to them I was genuine enough, and I myself couldn't say where this was in fact leading! Cries of "I didn't believe it when they told me!" and "Why, you're pretty!" and "I've gotta say this, Joe, you've got guts!" and "Well, I'd better watch out for my boy friend!" rang out from all over, people trying to
make me feel good that I was a man wearing a dress and makeup, or as they'd been told, that I was a woman in a man's body now finally trying to correct nature's mistake.
I really did appreciate the good feeling they were expressing. I knew that much of it was for me, not for doctrinal correctness. I was a well-liked associate and a good boss, caring and fair-minded. But their sincere good wishes made me feel all the more uneasy. I was only a man in love with his wife and trying to keep her by playing the only cards he held in his hand, also trying to retain some self-respect against fearful odds. So far, throwing more and more of me into the pot to keep up the gamble! These were people who seemed to care about me, and I was deceiving them! So where was my self-respect?
"Got a minute, Joseph? I'm going back to my office now, too much work, but be sure to stop by and see me before you leave for the day. You've given me a first-rate idea!"
"You bet!" I said in my man's voice, in a reflexive response to Gary's, my boss's. I spun on one of my heels to face him, and nearly lost my balance. Flustered, I looked up at him and tried to apologize, and realized that I was only waving my hands and wrists meaninglessly and no sounds were coming out of my mouth. My cupid-bow mouth must have looked very odd! So did I!
"You're very pretty...Joy!" Gary added. "Your wife will be lucky to have you around sharing her interests. So would some men, too, if you're inclined that way."
"I'm not," I said, again too quickly. "I'm a one woman man!"
"Don't you mean a one woman woman? I think you've forgotten there's no need to pretend any more, Joy. You're a woman from now on in this office, and don't let anyone think otherwise! That is, when you get back from this three-week leave you'll be starting in a day or so."
"Thank you," I said, more softly, in a higher voice. He was talking policy, business, I heard it in his tone of voice. A personnel matter he wanted to make sure I understood perfectly. This certainly wasn't the moment for me to explain to him what I was really doing.
"Well, we still need to talk," he said. "Enjoy yourself, Joy, and stop by on your way out!" And he was gone.
It seems that everyone left early after the party, and as people drifted away I began thinking about the best way for me to tell my boss about my actual predicament. When it was appropriate I thanked Margaret for setting everything up and left the meeting room. I was thinking that any properly qualified transsexual would think he'd died and gone to heaven if he came out of the closet here. Or she would when she came out. That made it harder still that I was a fake. I went directly to Gary's office and found he was indeed going over a mountain of work on his desk. He looked up.
"Yes, Joy! Close the door, I need to talk to you confidentially."
I did. Now the bullshit ends, I thought. He's going to fire me.
"I'm glad you're a now a woman," he said immediately, looking at me over the stacks of papers and blueprints on his desk. "Our firm has designed and built lots of these shopping malls in our time." He gestured toward stacks of files on his desk. "And you've been invaluable, tracking us through the processes, the contracts and permissions and licenses and so forth, in a dozen different States and juridictions, saving me from any number of mistakes."
"Thank you," I said, lilting and lisping and babydollying all at once. "That's really sweet!" I took myself in hand. Why did I say a dumb come-on thing like that when I meant to square with him about what I was really doing?
He smiled at me. "Your Doctor called me, Dr. Lander, Rebecca Lander, a dear friend of your wife's she says, and we've had a long talk about you. Did you know she once treated me when she was a resident at the University Medical Center? Brilliant woman! Well, the upshot is, Joy, when you get back from this three week re-orientation your doctor's ordered up, I'll want you to take to the road. We need to survey the malls we've built, find out how our original planning works nowadays, how they've modified them. You'll need to roam them all, and talk to all of their managers, and a lot of the store managers too. As a woman, you're ideally qualified to find out how women really feel about shopping in them. How we can satisfy their needs better. For example, do women want more private places to ...ah...meet people and socialize away from home, and be more...ah... feminine, if you know what I mean. Should we include Inns and Motels in our malls? Short term rest areas where a woman can ... lie down and relax for a few hours away from their homes and their domestic obligations? Should we build in exercise rooms with special equipment for couples with...special tastes? Plan to find the answers deep down in your own feminine needs. The managers will be happy to help you delve, I'm sure."
He was serious! "Gary," I said, concerned, my voice high. "That's almost thirty malls, in almost as many cities! A site visit survey like that will take months! It's much better done by mail and fax, with phone followups, and visit only the most interesting.. And besides, I'm new to this thing, to being a woman. I've never ever shopped in a mall as a woman. Or anywhere else!"
He smiled. "Honey, I know. That's why you'll do it so well, -- no presuppositions, no bad habits. It's all new to you! Dr. Lander tells me that this decision of yours was so sudden that you literally haven't a thing to wear. Well, good! You'll have a lavish expense account of course. To buy everything you need, from hats to boots, from bras to topcoats, from ...ahh tampons to lipsticks! That way you'll know what it's like at first hand. Dr. Lander tells me you're eager to explore your femininity, to gain experience as a woman. So you'll want to test out everything you buy on the managers you'll be ...ahhh... interviewing. I'll expect it!"
He smiled, and then as if it were a searchlight Gary suddenly turned his enormous charm on me! I felt blinded! I'd seen him do it before, with women clients, and most of the time they'd then stayed late in his office to confer more extensively, or else they'd left his office early with him to go confer somewhere else. The sonofabitch knew he was handsome. His teeth gleamed and his eyes crinkled as he leaned forward. "You'd like that, wouldn't you, Joy? A lovely woman like you? To buy whatever delights you, and try them out on men who are eager to please you? To learn what pleases them?"
What was he talking about? Was he putting the make on me himself?
He leaned back again. "I figure it'll take three months at least, but with time off between trips you won't be away from your desk more than a few weeks at a time. That's a long time to be away from home and your lovely wife, I know. But that's what the doctor ordered. She told me you'll need to be doing women's work in women's spaces where no one knows you're not a woman. So you can get accustomed to the way women think. Feel the way women feel. Separate yourself from your old habits, from people who know you were once a man. Forget you were ever a man!"
His smile became a confidential leer for a moment. "Dr. Lander also tells me your marriage vows are no longer relevant. That even though you're a one-woman woman, you'll need lots of opportunity to get to know men, to see how you feel about them without anyone in this town ever knowing. That you'll want to practice being attractive to men, and satisfying them."
Rebecca had schemed this! First she was taking me away from my home and my wife for weeks to attend this Miss Caroline's School, and now she was arranging for me to be no more than an occasional visitor in my own home when I returned! To be perverted into some kind of slut seducer of men, To move me as far as possible away from the person Elaine fell in love with and married! So all my overtures and sacrifices in order to stay with Elaine -- just look at me now, I was thinking, where's my manhood now -- all this has been meaningless! Pitiable!
I'd resign first!
I was about to say so when Gary suddenly stood up and moved over to the leather couch along one wall and sat down comfortably, arms stretched out along the back. "What you learn about these malls by being a woman who shops them, Joy, will be invaluable to us. But your Doctor cautioned me you might be reluctant to take it on. That you need to know you really can identify with women, and do the things women do. That you probably still feel competitive with men, more inclined to test and check them than to please yourself by pleasing them. And most of the mall managers you'll work with are men. She told me you'll need to break down your masculine reserve, so what might seem to be servile and humiliating if you were a man will instead feel like a delightful way for you to get what you want. Even to get what you want from me. Such as the three weeks of paid leave we've been discussing."
I thought of Francesca's comment, that a man getting a blow job is easily led anywhere. But he was leading me into giving him a blow job! Was he saying that I have to pay him off with a blowjob because he's granted me paid leave so Rebecca could brainwash me for three weeks?
"She also told me that I'll need to test out for myself how sincere you are about this femininity of yours, since I'm expecting to build a future with this company for you on the assumption that deep inside you're now a woman. She was wondering whether you're dressed the way you are not because you're transgendered but because your wife dominates you and insists. She wonders whether you're only a submissive sissy or a masochist seeking humiliation, whether you dress the way you're dressed as a new way to disgrace yourself thoroughly. You do know we'd regard that as dishonest, using our company's liberal policy toward transsexuals merely for masochistic fetishism, as a way to get off. We don't hire losers like that. Only people who enjoy what they are and enjoy their work!"
I finally saw an opening. "Gary, it's not that way at all. I'm doing this because Ellie...."
"Your voice doesn't sound suitable, Joy!" he interrupted brusquely. He took a few deep breaths and then said more gently, "If you're really still a man, then you won't want to perform ... ah... the woman's office that she suggested. I wouldn't want you to either, because I'm not gay, so I wouldn't enjoy it! What she suggested is that if you're really a woman, you'll welcome an opportunity to honor my manhood with your womanhood. That it would be therapeutic for you. That it would help prepare you to deal with all those managers!"
God, how can I get out of this? I was thinking desperately!
"And another thing. Dr. Lander reminds me that before you develop very many intimate personal relations with a variety of mall managers, you'll need first to establish your loyalty to your home office! In brief, she thinks that today, right now, I should allow you a girl's most intimate privilege with me. That I should allow you to go down on me. To suck my cock!"
I gulped! He noticed and grinned!
"It would certainly prove that you're sincere now, despite years of suppressed feminine desires. If you're not sincere then you're a fraud, she points out, and your wife will want no more to do with you than we will. It could even suggest there's some kind of problem with your sanity. She says that in that case, she can activate some commitment papers she and your wife have already signed for your own good, so you can get proper treatment. That's what she told me."
Gary looked at my face. "Joe, who'd ever have thought there was a girl like Joy inside you? C'mon over here, honey. Don't look so sad! Let's prove once and for all that you're everything we all want to think you are. Show me what you can do. What you've yearned to do! You aren't faking that you want to be a woman, are you?"
"No," I said in a small voice. Rebecca had spoken the truth. She'd set me up with my boss. There was no way out of this.
"Then you'll love it! Let's have some fun! She tells me you're a virgin, that mine will be your mouth's very first cock, because you were deprived of a proper adolescence as a girl. Well, I'll be gentle, sweetheart, and very understanding. Why don't you kneel down right here in front of me, and unzip and free me up. Then for the first go-round you can do do whatever you like. During the second, if you don't mind, I'll do what I like!"
As I knelt down I tried to remember everything Francesca had described to me while she was making me beautiful. About the veins that streak up the underside of a penis, and where the sensitive nerves are. There they were. God, the thing was thick as my wrist! I forced my lips to touch the satiny suface of its crown. Then my tongue. Francesca had mentioned covering your teeth with your lips, but teasing by nipping. She'd told me about tugging on a penis by tightening your lips around the ridge just below the helmet. About why men think that if you don't swallow, you're rejecting them. About blowing, and licking, and lipping. Everything she'd said about sucking cock while I was barely listening now came back to me. I closed my eyes.
An hour later my boss was persuaded, and I had to agree. I was a sincere, pleasing, sane, and feminine cock-sucker. I had sucked his cock twice, and he had come twice. Then despite the cum still streaking my upper lip he'd kissed me sweetly on my indelible cupid-bow mouth, told me I had a marvelous future as his personal assistant, and told me to be sure to check in after my three-week leave "as soon as things settle in for you at home, between you and your wife I mean. Take as much time as you need." Then he sent me home to my wife.
iv.
My stomach was still turning over and my throat still felt sore as I drove home from the office. My last stop before fleeing to my car was the ladies' room, where I'd retched up Gary's semen repeatedly. He'd insisted I swallow his spurtings, that I'd earned the privilege by my truly dedicated sucking and licking the first time, and then the headfucking I'd allowed him the second time, when he'd held me by the ears and fucked my throat until he'd climaxed directly down into my stomach.
His slick, salty cum still coated my mouth, and my lips felt stretched. I wanted to stop at the ground floor bar of our office building for a bourbon to wash the taste away. But the place was crammed with the TGIF crowd, lots of predatory men pausing for quick relaxation before heading home. I took one look, and realized that dressed as I was, I didn't dare enter! I was no man, but neither was I woman enough to deal with rampant male horniness on that scale!
When I got home, I went straight into the kitchen, and I was still gargling when Rebecca came in, leaned against a doorpost, folded her arms, and grinned triumphantly.
"Welcome to true womanhood, Joseph," she said. "You are Joseph under there, aren't you? I'm pretty sure you are, though we'll soon fix that! We're doing a good job already, aren't we? I must say, Francesca did a fabulous job on you! You look good enough to eat! I would, too, if there were a pussy under that skirt you're wearing, instead of that pathetic prick Ellie likes to feel inside her now and then. I just spoke to your boss, who tells me you've been a little naughty! Do you think I should tell Ellie that her girlfriend of less than a day has already cheated on her?"
I just looked at her and gargled some more, then spit into the sink.
"I don't care for the flavor either. Tim started out our marriage insisting that I take him into my mouth and swallow him, and feel grateful to him for the privilege. So I swallowed my own saliva and saved up his cum in a cup and mixed it into his orange juice the next morning. The second time the same, and the third time. The fourth time I told him all about it, after breakfast of course, and he ran for the bathroom. The noises that man's throat made into the toilet! There was no fifth time!"
I had nothing to say to her. I rinsed the glass I'd been using and put it back in the cupboard.
"You do know, don't you, that when you get back from Miss Caroline's and get back to work, giving a blow job will be like breathing. That'll be what you do, until you beg to get a cunt installed to share in the two-way traffic of cocks in and out of your mouth and ass. Miss Caroline knows how to make a man like you fall to his knees in front of any other man, be he a Chairman of the Board or a janitor. Anyone with a swinging dick. That's what lots of men think "true womanhood" is, a woman on her knees in front of them. And that's why their wives get fed up and send their husbands to Miss Caroline for re-education. I haven't decided yet if I should to tell her to turn you into a really cum-starved, cock-crazed slut. I hesitate because then you'd really enjoy mall-inspecting the mall managers with your mouth, and you wouldn't get anything else done. And I don't think you should enjoy it."
I sensed she was on a roll. I let her talk.
"Now you and your boss share something special, your initiation into his kind of true womanhood. The two of you'll soon be enjoying cocktails together after work whenever he wants, his cock sliding into your tail! He already thinks it'd be doing you a favor! That your womanhood needs to feel confirmed, now and then, by a stiff dick up your ass! I've told him that's what it needs!"
"Just wait! You'll feel grateful when he settles for only one cum at a time into your guts, because then you won't need to keep running to the Ladies' to get a tampon to stop his spunk from dribbling out and ruining your dresses. Whenever you leave town on one of your mall crawling trips it'll feel like a vacation, because then you'll be able to pick out for yourself the managers you want to fuck and suck brainless. They'll all expect it of course! I've asked Gary to let them all know that their malls will get especially high marks if you respond strongly to whatever they show you. You want to be a girl, Joseph? Well, that's just what you'll soon be! One kind of girl, anyhow! A fucked-up slut!"
I had to shut her up somehow. She was getting to me!
"Miss Rebecca?"
"That's my girl! Respect your betters! Yes?"
"I only want to be the kind of girl Miss Elaine wants. Not a slut! So I can also be the kind of man she wants, sometimes, too. Why are you setting me up with other men this way?"
She just looked at me, at first amused, then a bit disdainful. "The kind of man she wants?" She practically snorted. "When you get back from Miss Caroline's,n you'll understand. Maybe you'll even thank me. Maybe I'll let you thank me in a special way -- by kissing my ass and cleaning out my asshole with your tongue."
Her voice began to rise. "In a word, Joseph precious, you want to take my Ellie away from me, so I'm taking away your opportunities to do that, and giving you others instead that don't interest me. If I had my way, when we're done with you you'd never want to touch another woman ever, but with men you'd be a bitch in heat! But Ellie won't let me go quite that far. 'That's a cute idea,' she tells me, 'My Joy dating guys. It'll be fun for both of us, me knowing that my hubby likes what I like, and both of us talking about our guys when he gets home!' But she still wants to cuddle with you afterward, to 'compare notes!' That's what she said. So that much at least is in your future, honey. You'll love it!"
She took a few deep breaths. "When you've started dinner," she said next, "bring me a glass of chilled white wine, would you, Joy!" She bit off my new name spitefully. "I'll be in that little study off the living room." Then she stood there, waiting.
"Well?" Her tone was insistent. I realized what she wanted.
"Yes, ma'am," I said.
"That's right! 'Yes, ma'am!' But I only want to hear that sweet bimbo voice I'm sure Francesca taught you. Remember that, 'girl'! Meanwhile, enjoy thinking about your Miss Elaine's reaction when she sees what a nice job Francesca did on her former husband. She'll think you're gorgeous, I'm sure! No signs of masculinity anywhere. Then I'll have no problem talking her into letting me cut your balls off! Maybe she'd even approve my putting in a fuckhole right away,, so you really can be one of the girls. I'm sure Gary would love to discover that you've picked up a vagina during your travels. Then he could invite friends in on Thanksgiving to help stuff you like a turkey, front and rear at the same time. You'd like to be the meat in a man-sandwich, wouldn't you?" She grinned at me, wickedly gleeful. "What do you say, dear?"
"Yes ma'am," I said in my high voice. What else could I say?
"Well, no, you wouldn't like that. But that's why I'd really enjoy seeing it happen!" She turned on one high heel and whisked herself away.
When Ellie got home I'd nearly finished fixing dinner for the three of us. She came into the kitchen while I was bending way over to replace a casserole dish in the oven, my backside thrust high up. "That's a cute hairdo, honey, what I can see of it. And an even cuter tush, whoever you are!" she said. "But where's Joey?"
I straightened up and faced her. "I don't know any more, Ellie," I said. Then in my girly voice, "This isn't at all what I expected when I offered to be a girl for you. This isn't me."
Elaine was genuinely astonished that the girl with the cute tush and the sweet voice was me. She just stared, speechless for a moment. Then she recovered.
"'Miss Elaine' to you, Joy honey! Remember? But you're gorgeous! A few more changes here and there and you'd really be beautiful!"
"That's what Miss Rebecca said earlier," I told her a little mournfully. If I got too gorgeous, I knew, she might begin to agree with her Becky that my male equipment ruined the effect.
"Oh, Becky's been teasing you again about those things you've got dangling down there? Well, don't worry, sweetheart. Now that you're my girlfriend, not my husband, I can finally tell you girl to girl that they aren't that impressive. A lot of our lovemaking during the past year or so has been for old time's sake. Lots of men are hung better than you, honey. Your boss, Gary, for one!"
Suddenly a delighted smile lit up her face. "But you know that already, now, don't you? Becky told me this morning that she'd set you up to suck his cock before the day was out. And she did it, didn't she! I can tell from the expression on your face just now! How was it? Exciting?"
As she asked, my wife actually came up close to me and put her arms around my neck, and pressed her body to me, and wriggled her pelvis on my stiffening crotch, and put her face up to mine. Girl to girl? I kissed her. I couldn't help it. My heart yearned toward her. She sighed.
"Oh, that's so nice. So gentle. I think I'm going to like this new arrangement. But when you sucked Gary's cock, honey, did you like it? Did it make your heart feel all fluttery? Did you feel transformed into a different person?"
"Yes, sweetheart. Or is it Miss Sweetheart?" She smiled at my little joke, and lifted her head to hear more. "Yes. It made me a cock sucker. I wasn't one before. He insisted that I swallow his sperm. Twice. So I had to. Then later I barfed it all back up."
She looked into my eyes affectionately and pressed her hips even closer. I could feel her belly sliding my skirt and slip up and down along the length of my dong. "You poor dear! Too much stress for one day, I suppose. But he *does* have a nice cock. So beautifully shaped, and quite impressive in size, too. You'll get to love it the way I do, I bet! That's what Miss Caroline's School is for, to help girls like you develop positive attitudes. So you'll never pass a goodlooking man on the street without at least a glance at his crotch, wondering how he's hung."
There'd been all these hints all day. Francesca, Gary, Miss Rebecca, they all seemed to be telling me that my wife has been unfaithful to me with other men, not just with her Rebecca. For some time. She herself had almost said it earlier. And now she was saying it again! She's sucked Gary's cock? My boss's? She almost never blows me, I thought. She once told me it was distasteful to her.
I hugged her pelvis tightly against mine, the most intimate contact we'd had in ...was it only two days? And I smiled at her as sweetly as my little cupid's bow mouth could smile. I could see in her eyes that her heart was reaching toward me. "My sweet, sweet Joy!" she crooned to me. I began to kiss her, nibbling her lips.
I needed confirmation, and decided to seek it indirectly. "Have you given Gary many blow jobs, honey?" I murmured to her. I didn't want to know, but I had to know.
"Oh, yes, sweetheart," she said breathlessly, in between sweet, soft pecks of her lips on mine. "And lots of other men too. Practically all the men I go to bed with, in fact, except you. They love it. Men fuck so much more satisfactorily after a little lip. It excites them, I guess. You'll find out!" She reached between us and began to knead my cock, now fully hardened inside my pantyhose. "It excites me, too! I love taking a powerful, masculine man into my mouth, and making him dance to my least little lick or kiss."
"You mean now you're willing to suck on my penis before we fuck? Is that what you mean?"
"No, sweetheart, that's not what I mean. I think you know what I mean. You never were a powerful, masculine man, and now look at you! Already practically my sister! My sissy hubby! Soon, when you're more of a woman, you'll also want to suck cock before making love, to inspire your man to fuck you more passionately. That's what I mean. The way I do. I guess your first experience today wasn't too pleasant. Gary shouldn't have asked you to swallow right off. Cum is an acquired taste, I think."
"And you've acquired it?" I asked. I was getting disconsolate. The more I learned, the worse I felt. So to recover some self-confidence I reached down and cupped the cheeks of her ass, then pulled her pelvis close. Ellie responded by rising up on her toes and throwing her head back and pressing even closer against me, her hand still working my penis while my head bent to kiss her throat.
"Oh, yesssss! Yes, honey! Yes!"
"And then when they cum, you fuck them?" I asked, my mouth on her neck.
"Yes, lover! If they can get it up right away, then right away. If not, soon afterward. You never could stiffen up again twice, not the same night. So I never wanted to blow you first! I'd always rather that you used your one cumpower sex drive to fuck me. I've never, ever, really gotten enough fucking!"
"So you've fucked Gary too?" My face was soaked, from pressing into the hollow of her throat while I licked and sucked and kissed her neck.
"Of course," she said in a dreamy voice. Should I be reminding her of other lovers at a moment like this? "Didn't I just say so? Fucked and sucked Gary. Quite a few times. I love it. It's such a beautiful cock!" Then she pulled back and to one side, and looked at me a little askew.
"Now Joy, sweetie, let's be sensible. You just had that heavy sculptured thing of his in your own mouth only this afternoon. You just swallowed his cum, even though you found it was just a little bit rich for your tummy, only this afternoon. We were just regretting that you aren't yet woman enough to hold it down, weren't we? You're scheduled to take on more mall managers in the next few months than the men I'll bed down in a year, hundreds maybe. You're the company whore now, lover! That's how you'll prove you sincerely love being the girl you asked me to make you! Remember? That's what Becky and Gary have arranged for you! So why these questions? Are you jealous? Whatever for? Am I jealous that you spent the afternoon licking Gary's lollypop while I was hard at work downtown?"
"At least I didn't fuck him," I said, a little truculently, trying to reproach her with my virtuous example. This conversation was getting crazy. What kind of a comment was that?
Miss Elaine leaned way back, still supported by my hands on her ass cheeks, and looked at me thoughtfully.
"No, sweetheart," she said. "I know you didn't. Becky wanted him to take your cherry too this afternoon, really to ream your ass deep and hard and fast, so you'd come home to us in real pain, spraddle-legged, your guts oozing cum and your panties soaked, maybe bleeding a little like the virgin you are. So you'd limp into the house like a five dollar streetwalker eager to get to sleep. Gary can make any woman feel that way, you know! He's been in my ass too! More than once! If your Joseph wants to be a girl, Becky said, then let Gary fuck his sissy brains out! Becky wanted you to finish up today feeling absolutely and utterly humiliated, like some gang-raped high school cheer leader. To feel emasculated once and for all, because men do tend to think that if they're fucked by other men they're no longer men."
She paused, still studying me. "I think so too, Joy! Don't you?"
Then she continued. "But I wouldn't let her arrange it just yet. You're still new to being a girl, and I was afraid that huge thing of his might rip something inside you. Also, I want the first time you're held in a man's arms, and kissed, and fucked, to be as beautiful for you as it was for me. So you're eager to do it again! So we agreed that you could wait for romance until Miss Caroline's. Until you're a girl in your desires too, not just in your intentions. We both hope that when you come back from Miss Caroline's you'll be as eager to get laid as I am."
I didn't seem able to regain the moral high ground. I tried once again. "Miss Elaine, honey," I said. "Doesn't Miss Rebecca expect you to be faithful to her now that you're living together?"
She was puzzled. "No, Joy. Why do you ask? I've always gone out with boys now and then despite my deep devotion to Becky. Despite my deep devotion to you too! And she's always had a few girls available to her on the side, too.
Finally I could sound like the injured party. "I've been faithful to you ever since our marriage, no matter what the temptations. And now you say you've had other men all this time? And also had Miss Rebecca? You haven't been faithful to me at all! Why, honey? Why?"
Her body was still relaxed in my arms, but I saw that she was still watching me closely. "I like sex," she said, simply. "Correction, I love sex! Every night, if I can get it, and as often each night as I can get it. Becky and I did things together every night. And some of the guys I've been with, they can do things repeatedly night after night, sometimes for days on end!"
She laid her head to one side, eyes almost closed but still watching me, now faintly amused. "I never promised you I'd forsake all others, sweetheart. Remember? That's what you promised me! I always left my options open! For Becky, and for my other needs."
She paused, then surged ahead. "I owe it to you to tell you everything now, honey. This may hurt your masculine ego, but maybe it'll strengthen your femininity. I love you, but as a man you're sexually inadequate. It's not your fault, but you lack drive and stamina both. You lack the passionate dedication it takes to bring a woman to the top of her arc and then keep her there hour after hour. Oh, you'll try to make love to me once, maybe two, three times a week, in a good week. You're a good man, and I know you love me. But that's a big reason why I decided to leave you for Becky when she asked me to live with her. If you must know. And that's why I was delighted by your offer to turn girl for me. You're no loss to me, sexually. I think it's quite probable that a man who isn't much of a man is better off as a woman. In time, she'll find she's hotter, more eager for sex, and more responsive too! Because a woman can perform any time -- she doesn't have to wait a few days to get it up again! All she has to do is want it! That's why I want you to become all girl, not just sort of a girl. A girl who likes guys. So you can perform any time with the right kind of guy."
"Then too, honey, if you're a girl you won't mind who I sleep with -- you'll be pleased that I'm pleased. We can even gossip about our different men the way girlfriends do. Then we're both better off. You may even do better with men than I do! Just look at you, honey! You're already quite attractive! And just look what you've already done with Gary! What a wonderful beginning! I just love it, how far you're willing to go to keep our marriage alive! What girl wouldn't? That's true love, no doubt about that at all! It's so very flattering! So very, very dear!"
She kissed me on the nose. "Now be a good girlfriend. Ask me the kinds of questions a girlfriend would ask about my other men. No more jealousy! For instance, a year ago, you remember a new man your company hired, Michael? He worked for you? Let's pretend it's a year ago and I've agreed to have dinner alone with Michael, just to see what he has in mind. I remember what I hoped would happen -- he's very good-looking, loaded with ambition, and he has that devastatingly cute smile! He told me he wanted to talk about you, to understand you better. The way he said it, the way he looked at me, made me feel so strangely excited! I told him I would of course, but that I'd have to be home by midnight or you'd worry. And I was. You never even noticed."
"You dated Michael?" I asked morosely. I remembered Michael very well! We worked together on several projects. Tremendous drive and vitality, always cheerful, a vigorous man always on top of everything. And unfailingly generous -- he'd let everyone else take credit for his own ideas. I owed him, I knew, for a promotion I got soon after he transferred out to head one of our branches.
"This is a pretend conversation, you know. So you can practice asking me the right questions. That's not what a girlfriend would ask. She'd assume it."
"Please. Just this once."
"Yes, I did date him. As often as I could, while he was here. He was wonderful, Joey! His body was hard and chiseled, and he did everything with such enthusiasm! He'd plug himself into me and never stop moving, not for hours, no matter how frantic I got. I spent a lot of our time together altogether out of my mind, probably babbling all sorts of wild things to him."
"You talked about me?"
"Of course. When my mouth wasn't full of him, of course! He was a much better lover than you, and it was so marvelous I just had to say so! But Joy, these still aren't a girlfriend's questions. Let's try to pretend again. I've just had my first date with him and you call me at work the next day for a little gossip session. I'll answer the phone. 'Hello'?"
I swallowed hard. "Hello," I said.
"Joy! So marvelous that you called. I was just about to call you!"
"Oh?" I paused. Then I forced the next question. "So how was it?"
"Joy, he was fantastic, beyond anything you'd ever imagine! We looked at each other and forgot all about ordering dinner! We're lucky the restaurant was in a hotel, or we'd have done each other right there on the table in full view of everyone!"
She waited. "That good, eh?" was all I could come up with. She waited some more, and then suddenly I remembered how women talk with each other about dates.
"Oooh, scrumptious!" I said. "You have to tell me everything! First of all, what were you wearing?" An image of her undressing in front of him was tormenting my mind.
Elaine suddenly threw both arms around my neck and kissed me ferociously! "Oh, Joy, Joy, that's perfect! You do have a talent for this! Of course my girlfriend would ask that question! That's what women are always concerned about, how to dress for all sorts of occasions, especially for a first date with a new lover. I'll tell you everything, sweetheart. I want you to know, so you'll know how to dress when the time comes! I'll want to tell you lots of things I do with my men, things I couldn't tell Becky because she's never wanted to know about men. But not right now!"
She wriggled her buttocks free from my hands and stood back. "Dinner's just about ready, Joy. I see you've set three places for us. If you don't mind, honey, until Becky's willing to accept you as a real woman I think you should make it just two places. You can eat here in the kitchen after you've served us and stood by to tend our needs, and cleared the table and put things back to rights. We real women have things we want to talk about that don't concern you!" Her eyes glistened. "Some things that do concern you, but then, servants should never listen to their betters' conversations, should they?"
"No," I said absently, scarcely listening now. I was still absorbing these many terrible revelations. I was near despairing. Me, sexually inadequate to my own wife's needs? Tricked into blowing a man who's been fucking my wife? One of the men? One of many men? How many men? My boss now expects me to service him as a regular thing? My life has been a sham, I thought. But despite all, I had to admit it, I do love her! She's so very desireable, even now! Even more than before! And she loves me, in her way, she's just practically told me so again!
"No, what?" She looked at me, expectant.
"No, Miss Elaine."
"That's my sweetheart!" And she twirled out to join Miss Rebecca in the living room while I began to set out their dinner.
At first I was depressed, but as I thought about it my heart began to glow. I was still her sweetheart! She loves me all the more now! I found that I was humming that "West Side Story" song "I feel pretty" to myself. It was all I had left. I checked my face in a hall mirror as I carried in the first course. My make-up was still perfect. It really was cock-proof, just as Francesca had said, and kiss-proof too. I did feel pretty!
That night well after midnight I was surprised to wake up to see Miss Elaine standing by my bed, looking down on me. I said nothing, but she must have seen by gleams of reflected light in my eyes that they were open, because she leaned over and pulled back the covers and whispered, "Joey, my lovely Joy, we've been married a long time, husband and wife, and now that's all changing. Roll over onto your back and pull that pretty nighty up past your hips, because tonight I want you to know exactly how I feel."
I did as she asked, an instant erection mounting high skyward it seemed to me, though I suppose not high enough for her, from what she'd told me earlier. In what seemed like one movement she leaned over and then mounted me, knees on either side, sinking my cock deep into her. She was already so slippery I could scarcely feel her wet warmth, but soon she begin to rotate her hips, and to rise and fall and rise again over me, and I began to feel that wonderful pressure building in my groin.
"This is how I feel," she said, rotating her pelvis into the most delicious bump and grind rhythm imaginable. I was near fainting. "You've been such a wonderful husband! Putting my desires so far ahead of your own that you're willing to alter your own altogether. Would any other man volunteer to become a woman in order to keep his wife? Would any other man be willing to share her with another woman, and hear that he's also been sharing her with other men the whole time? My knight in shining armor! Soon to become my darling Faery Queen! You are so very special, sweetheart, and I do love you! Remember that during the next few weeks. It may not be easy!"
She corkscrewed her pussy down onto my cock, over and over, now with a special intensity. I could tell from old experience she was nearly orgasmic. Around and up and down again even more passionately. I thrust up hard into her and then suddenly felt myself pass the point of no return! Bliss! Extended, succulent, sweet bliss! Stretching on, soaked in honey, squeezed way up into her! Higher bliss! On and on it went. Tight, joyous joy! Joy! Then finally, release! Pulsing, delicious squirting my heavenly juices high up into her innermost santum, throb after throb, just as she herself tensed excruciatingly and then herself spasmed over and over on me, her pussy squeezing and milking me. She began to keen, opening her throat into a moaning wail with each outgoing breath. Then she collapsed on my chest.
I caught my breath and said, "Well!" I was about to say something more, affectionate and reassuring, but her hand felt for my face and then settled over my mouth.
"No, darling!" She waited, to recover for another moment from the orgasm we'd just shared, the greatest of our married life! "Don't say anything! Wasn't that tremendous? I'm so happy for you! I wanted you to remember exactly how I feel, how my pussy feels when your prick is sliding inside it. Because when you go to Miss Caroline's things will change. Becky tells me that after Miss Caroline's many men can't ever again get engorged hard enough to penetrate a pussy. Their cocks become cute little boneless finger-sized clits. Now, that can be fun too. But it means that this may well be your prick's farewell to my pussy. So I wanted you to know one last time how I feel when I'm snug all around you! I wanted one last fuck for myself too! To remember you by!"
My penis shrank as she spoke, and then flopped out to lie flaccid on my belly under her leaking crotch. No more erections? "But it won't be your mouth's farewell to my pussy, my new Joy! By no means! I was thinking, some of your stomach's upset over Gary's semen may have been from the idea of it, the idea of swallowing such rich fluid. You've never tasted cum before, have you? Well, now you can drink up all of that delicious juice you've just put into me. Your tongue and my clit and my slit are going to become old friends once you're my live-in girlfriend. No matter whose cum is oozing out of me when I come home, I'll always want to share it with you. Because we're married, and I really do want to share everything in my life with you!" In another single swift movement she rotated her whole body around and knelt with her legs on my pillow, straddling my head and looking down at my shiny, now-shriveled cock. She planted her knees on my shoulders, and clamped my head between her calves, and I found I couldn't budge my head! Then her haunches slowly lowered onto my face, and she buried my nose in her dripping slit. I began to suffocate! But then slowly she thrust her groin forward, then backward over my face, bumping and grinding again, wiping her pussy slit across my nose, back and forth, so my nose rubbed from her clit to her asshole. "Suck, sweetheart!" I heard her say from somewhere above me. "Suck my fuckhole! It's your fuckhole too! Do it!"
I did it, gulping air and cum whenever I could. Fermy, salty, pissy, viscous glops of our fluids rolled onto my tongue, and I swallowed it to keep it from clogging my nostrils. Her wiping grew more vigorous, and she called out for me to suck her harder, harder! A few times my nose pushed deep, deep into her anus, then slipped out and down to tweak her clit, then back in again, even deeper! Suddenly I heard a muffled series of cries like "Ooof! Oooof!" as her whole rear end stiffened and bore down on my head, cramming my skull into the mattress and then holding it there, fixed, interminably. She seemed to be paralyzed. Then suddenly she relaxed, and then gout after gout of a thick tapioca of slick, hot, coagulated cum squeezed out of her cunt, spasm after spasm, into my open mouth. My Elaine had orgasmed! She lifted her hips and shifted her knees off my shoulders. I swallowed down the last of of her cunt's fluids and breathed free again.
"That was just beautiful!" she said, herself still a little breathless. "Just beautiful, darling! See, cum is wonderful after all! Now kiss your mistress goodbye."
I waited. But she didn't move, and I finally realized what she wanted. I lifted my head as high as I could and pushed my face back between her legs . My lips contacted her distended lower lips, her swollen labia now dripping with my saliva instead of my sperm and her juices. They were my whole world! I kissed them delicately. Then passionately. Then fiercely! She waited until my frenzy of obeisance died down.
"So sweet you are," she said. "And it'll be so much more fun when you come back to us. You'll know so much more, Becky tells me, about so many more things. Now kiss me again, and thank me for tonight."
I kissed her slit again, and said "Thank you, Miss Elaine."
"You're very welcome, dear. Now sleep tight. Enjoy the taste of all that delicious sperm in your mouth and tummy. I told you your problem with Gary's cum was mostly in your head. You'll love it next time, I'll bet. You just needed gentle treatment, and a chance to appreciate it when people offer you their most intimate body fluids as a gift."
As she reached the door to my room she looked back. Dawn dimly lit the room. "Francesca was right," she said seriously. "Your make-up really is pussy-proof! Not at all smeared. You're really not much of a man at all any more, honey. But you're certainly the prettiest you've ever been. In a way I'm going to miss my hubby. But I suspect you'll soon help me forget him."
v.
The next morning I dressed simply in clothes Miss Elaine provided -- bra and panties, skirt and blouse, a button down sweater worn open, and pennyloafers. I saw in the mirror that I had no need for makeup -- my huge eyes and pouty lips were as expressive as ever. After the previous day, and especially after last night, I felt a little apprehensive. My self-assurance had retreated to a new defensive position. Until two days ago it had been based on my ability to take charge and arrange things. I'd play along, and when I saw an opening, break loose and take my wife with me. But with this happening my life was utterly out of control. I felt the beginnings of a new desire, a need to please, to placate, to seek approval and hope for the best. To submit to the women who were in fact in control of my life. To try to become one of them, if that's what they wanted, if I could prove worthy. There lay my safety. If my Miss Elaine could feed me my own sperm lovingly from her vagina, and then ask me to thank her by kissing her tumescent cunt lips, I had to be prepared for anything, and prepared also to feel grateful when it came.
Rebecca came into the kitchen while I was setting out dishes for breakfast, carrying a little case. She seemed strangely subdued, almost able to say something friendly to me. "I've got two shots for you this morning, Joy. Between them, you'll probably find you're impotent, but don't let it worry you -- in fact one of them is to keep you from worrying about anything."
She injected me, and I just watched. There was nothing I could do about it. Here comes womanhood, I thought.
"Don't bother to shave today or tomorrow," she said. "Miss Caroline will want to give you full facial and body lasers, and they'll need a bit of stubble to help them find the roots. I'll confirm by this evening whether or not you go tomorrow morning." She grinned for a moment. "Since your beard will be visible today, maybe for the last time, stay home and practice being a housemaid. Do the laundry, make the beds, and so on. Show how useful you'll be when you're our live-in maid. Once you're properly respectful, and once you accept your place without resentment, I won't mind you and Miss Elaine now and then doing whatever you'll be able to do by then."
Miss Elaine came down and I placed her usual breakfast before her without a word. She saw the empty syringe kit on the kitchen counter, glanced at me with a slight smile, glanced at Miss Rebecca, but said nothing. She and Miss Rebecca then began chatting about their work for the day, in low tones, as if already accustomed live-in friends, paying me no attention at all. I was already their servant girl. As she left the house. Miss Elaine paused to instruct me to practice fixing my hair, and to wear enough make-up to look decent if someone came to the door. She told me that before they returned I should change to the brown housemaid's dress and apron I'd find in my closet. I'd wear it whenever waiting on them, to remind me that I was not an equal partner in the household.
"Yes, Miss Elaine," I said after each order. Miss Rebecca looked up and suggested I curtsy when I was acknowledging formal instruction. She stood, and without taking her eyes off me demonstrated the leg movement, the dip and bow with arms spread. Then watched me do it.
"But you'll keep your eyes downcast when you curtsy, Joy. Modestly. Always. If we come home with a guest, even if we take that guest into our bedroom, you should not appear to know or care whether that guest is a man or a woman. You will never look directly at any of us. Is that clear?"
"Yes, Miss Rebecca," I said, curtsying while examining the floor in front of me. "I understand!"
"I'm sure you do," Miss Rebecca replied. "Because this is what you asked for, isn't it? It's exactly what you want?"
"Yes, ma'am," I replied. It still seemed better than living here with the two of them making plans to move out and leave me alone in an empty house and an abandoned marriage. Or with me planning to move out. A would-be woman is what the world now thinks I am, I realized. I can't be anything else. I can't go anywhere else. Maybe I can still have some of my former Ellie.
She smiled and soon after, left. I spent the day making beds and doing other cleanup housework, trying to accustom myself to my new station in life. Trying to imagine myself a woman. The kind of woman I could imagine myself, anyhow. It was comforting, in a way. Easy. I felt serene. My main responsibility was to be neat and subservient. That afternoon I planned and began to fix dinner, and then just before my Ladies were due to return I changed to my housemaid's uniform. To be respectful and submissive while by myself wasn't too difficult. It was reassuring! And meanwhile I could wait for an edge, an advantage I could exploit!
That evening when Miss Rebecca came home she told me I'd be leaving for Miss Caroline's the next morning, and then asked about any erections (there had been none). I served her and Miss Elaine dinner without a word, and I overheard them discussing whether it might be a good idea to send me to culinary school once I returned from Miss Caroline's. They seemed to think I had talent that way.
"Maybe he should go to hairdresser's school too," Miss Rebecca said, her voice loud enough for me to hear easily. "So he can mix with the other faggots. Then when he isn't busy sucking them off he could learn how to make you look more desireable to real men!"
"That's wicked!" Miss Elaine replied, delighted. "But crocheting, embroidery, petit-point, any kind of needlework, those are all arts Joy would find fascinating, I should think! They'd help keep his mind focussed on small things, so he doesn't brood over the larger implications of what's happening to him."
"Oh, I want him to know what's happening to him," Miss Rebecca replied. "And when he's completely feminized, I'll want him to know everything! When there's no turning back."
"Everything!" Miss Elaine sounded amused. "Becky, you really are wicked! Not that it'll matter by then!"
So my ladies had some kind of secret they meant to tell me, I thought to myself. Some day. I could wait. I felt so tranquil, meanwhile. So sedate. As if I had been sedated (I smiled to myself at that). When they went to bed together I happened to be clearing cordial glasses away from the sideboard in the living room. I only glanced up as the bedroom door closed on them. My two mistresses are going to bed now, was all that registered in my mind. I felt quite placid. So it was something of a surprise when I was lying in bed alone, my second night alone, wearing what I realized was the very nightgown Elly had wanted me to try on years earlier, and in the gloom I saw Rebecca open my door and come in.
"I want to see for myself before you go off to become someone else," she said abruptly. "Elly says you suck cunt as dedicatedly as you suck cock. She got me hot and bothered tonight telling me, but then she fell sound asleep. And I don't want to awaken her -- she'll have a hard day with you tomorrow, setting you a good example, so you'll just have to take care of me now."
I was amazed. Also reluctant, because being trapped into sex with a man like Gary while I'm still a man was is thing, but for me sex with a woman, any woman, was classical marital infidelity. I had never been unfaithful to Ellie, and as I sank deeper into femininity I needed all the more the self-respect that fact provided me. And I didn't like Rebecca. I didn't want to pleasure her! I stared at her and she stared back. She was perfectly well aware why I was hesitating.
"That nightie's very becoming, Joseph," she said, not unkindly. "You may make a passable woman after all, eventually. That's what you want, isn't it?"
"Yes, Miss Rebecca."
"So you can stay with your wife. Your former wife, Miss Elaine. Isn't that so?"
"Yes, Miss Rebecca."
"Why are these little efforts necessary, Joseph?"
"Because she prefers you, Miss Rebecca. She'd rather live with you."
"And would I rather live with you?"
"No ma'am."
"Then it's up to you to persuade me, isn't it? To find some reason why I should keep you on?"
"Yes Ma'am!"
"Then get up and kneel next to the bed and persuade me. I'm open to argument!"
I did as she asked. She lay down across the bed on her back with her buttocks just on the edge, and spread her long legs wide apart in front of me. I leaned in and sniffed at her snatch. It was dripping, musky but flowery. Perfumed? I leaned in to give a tentative lick to the top of her slit, where her clit should be. It was. I tongued it once.
Then with the suddenness of a female spider binding in her webs any male who dared touch her, she wrapped her legs around my head and clamped her thighs tight on my ears and pulled me into her. My nose sank through her labia deep into her wet pussy. I could no longer move my head, nor breathe. I expected to smother. But while I could still move I began to nudge her whole groin with my face, repeatedly, until her thighs loosened slightly and I could gasp a breath of air before she closed me in again. Then my tongue, nose, lips, mouth, everything I could muster began to move and lick and wipe and press deeper into her. She began to move in turn. I licked and flicked and nibbled as her hip motions grew more prolonged, more strained, until at her peak she lifted herself half off the bed to meet and match and press her clit and snatch against my whole head, rotating her pelvis on my nose and tongue. Then when she opened her legs wide and I could hear again, "AAAAAGGGHHHHHHH" was what she was shouting in sheer joy. She fell back on the bed and began to catch her breath. I didn't dare move, bowed, still on my knees, still fearful of fainting for lack of air, breathing as deeply as I dared.
"See, I told you," I heard my wife's voice behind me. "Isn't she wonderful with pussies? So dedicated! A natural-born lesbian, now that she no longer thinks she's a man! Did you give Joy something, that she's was that ardent, bringing you off? She looked starved, as if she wanted to eat you from your crotch to your navel!"
"I gave him a choice, lick me and excite me or suffocate!" replied Miss Rebecca somewhere above muffled, still short of breath. "All right. I'll allow he's good for this. I'd hoped that after Miss Caroline we'd be seeing the last of him! But the first time he intrudes on us, the first time he fails to give either of us complete satisfaction -- I send him away. He'll go on Gary's company call girl list, and he'll fuck whoever he's told to fuck until his ears clog up with the cum they'll pump into his ass and we can toss him away like a used-up scumbag. Or maybe I'll just come back here again some night, and do this again, but really asphyxiate him, clamp his nose and mouth so tight he can't breathe, and let him drown him in my cunt juices. I'd love to make out that death certificate: 'Cause of Death -- Drowned during cunnilingus!' He nearly did this time!"
"You hear that, sweetheart?"
"Yes, Miss Elaine," I said still-breathlessly. "I'll be good!"
"You'll do everything you're asked to do, and agree with everyone who tells you what you want. For three weeks. Then you can come back to me. And to Becky, and Gary, of course. And anyone else we say!"
"Yes ma'am." I said it devoutly now, sincerely, with my whole heart!
"Let's go to bed now, Becky. I think he's learned!"
As I lay back on my bed, I realized that I had passed a crucial entrance examination without even knowing it. I may very well also have saved myself from death by drowning in Rebecca's cunt -- she really could arrange it if she choose. This affair between Elly and Becky was far more consequential than I had imagined -- together they weren't at all the women I'd thought them. I decided to do everything either of them asked me from now on, as asked, and hope to survive mainly by slavish obedience. Only then could I see if like Orpheus I would return from this strange new Hell I'd entered in order to find and to win back my wife. Who no longer seemed to be my wife. And as far as sex went, never had been.
vi.
The next day dressing was easy -- the same skirt, blouse, and sweater, and as I tripped out of the house toward the car where Miss Elaine waited with the engine running, Rebecca stood for a moment in the hallway in her red dressing gown and then surprisingly, volunteered a comment.
"I've been very hard on you, Joy. Because as you know, I don't trust you. And you know why. But please understand, everything I've done has been to change you enough so I can begin to trust you. It's true, I trapped you with Gary, but you did do what Gary asked, and now your sexuality's closer to what it needs to be, what you said you wanted it to be before you'd really thought it through. You've serviced a man, and you won't ever forget it, will you? Once a cock sucker always a cock sucker. And you've gone down on me, and the previous night you went down on Miss Elaine. All without drugs, without argument, just from your desire to please her and your need to please me. And that desire exalts you, doesn't it? I don't think you sincerely want to become a woman, not just yet. But I think now that you mean to try, to try to become sincere. To try to change. To submit to become a woman. I hope so."
"You now know what your marriage has really been, and what it needs. I'll be happy to allow you to join us, Joy, if that's who you really are. Let Miss Caroline help you. It's your only chance."
And she actually bent forward and kissed me on the cheek. My bristly cheek, with its day's growth of beard on it. I knew what that cost her. I leaned forward to kiss her back gratefully, but she looked startled and pulled back. So I just said "Thank you, ma'am, I will try!" She looked pleased.
Miss Elaine drove me out into the country only a short way, among rolling hills where some of the larger estates of our area were located, some of them with stables visible from the road. Miss Caroline's School looked modest by comparison as we passed through the gate and drove through trees to the portico. It looked like one more ordinary country estate set behind a high wall -- no more than ten or twelve bedrooms, with a facade of brick and English Tudor, a style of American architecture that usually signifies unease about new wealth and a desire to associate it with settled prosperity. It too had a stable behind it.
"It started as a sanctuary for battered women," Miss Elaine commented. "Then it affiliated with that women's hospital Becky's helping out, and began experimenting with behavior modification. First how to condition the women to assert themselves, then how to train their husbands not to assert themselves. Then to train them to submit to their newly dominant wives. Then to make them into submissive wives themselves, when their wives requested it. Or other sorts of women. The staff are very good at it now. A perfect success rate, Becky tells me. And a long waiting list -- you're lucky, Joy!"
Miss Caroline was standing on the steps to greet us as we got out of the car, looking plump, cheerful, brisk, and reassuring.
"Welcome, dear hearts," she called out, advancing to seize Elaine's hand with both of hers. "Elaine, isn't it! So lovely to meet you! I've known your Rebecca, Dr. Lander, for many years, she's referred some of my most successful students to me. And this young lady here must be Joy!" Her eyes flicked penetratingly over me, as women's eyes do, and she saw instantly what Francesca had done to me yesterday. "That's a very pretty hairdo, dear, so flattering, and it must be so easy to take care of! Do come in, both of you! We'll tend to your luggage."
There was an elevator in the main foyer. I was surprised that the indicator registered not only two more floors above us but four below. The building was much larger than it appeared. I wondered what was in those windowless rooms beneath. I learned later that they were exercise rooms and dormitories for the "trainers" who worked with Miss Caroline's "students." Also medical facilities, including a fully equipped operating room "where anything can be reshaped to anything" as I was told. Also a series of lounges where women and near-women could work with their trainers in private, studying and practicing various feminine arts in utter seclusion. There were punishment rooms too, a ward attendant told me with a meaningful glance, and punishment areas including the stables, which did indeed stable horses. "I've seen stiffly stubborn men become wannabe girls overnight, eager to be girls, after a night with one or two of our stallions," one attendant commented, amused. I resolved to stay away from them if I could.
We settled in chairs in Miss Caroline's private office, and she moved behind a huge carved desk to sit on what would have been a throne if it were free-standing. Then she folded her hands on the desk and beamed at us.
"I think I have all the information I need, dear," she said to me. She indicated several fat folders. "And I have your wife's signed permissions to do whatever seems necessary or helpful, with you or to you, and your earlier proxy signing all such determinations over to her. All well and good. But now I need to hear certain things from your own lips -- your lips are very becoming, incidentally, but why the 1920's retro?"
"We asked the salon to shape her face to seem to invite men without intimidating them," Elaine replied. "And I suppose it amused Francesca to give Joy a kind of Clara Bow or Betty Boop mouth. So she looks sprightly but not too bright. Her look says, 'I'm available, and unconventional, maybe even kinky.' We wanted it indelible, to be a serious commitment on Joy's part, not an overnight whim. Then we could see how suitable the look was for her, and later we'd have her mouth reshaped by a surgeon. So far her lips are fine. She's had occasion to use them several times, and I for one find them quite satisfactory."
"Yes," Miss Caroline said, smiling reassuringly at me. "They aren't nearly as plump and soft as we might wish, but it says here they've already satisfactorily performed both fellatio and cunnilingus. I'd call that adequate, wouldn't you?"
The chair I was sitting in, I began to realize, was extraordinarily high. I'm not a short person, but even so my legs dangled. I felt awkward, clutching my purse in my lap.
"I asked you a question, dear. Where are your manners?"
"I guess," I said. Her use of the Latin terms for cocksucking and cuntlapping didn't remove altogether my memory of Gary's semen in my mouth, and then my own. Slimy, like raw egg. Like mucous. Like scum! I wasn't too happy about it. Well, you'd better get used to it, Joy, I told myself. Joseph, I mean.
"You didn't enjoy it?"
"Not with Gary," I replied. "But I did what I was told!"
"Well, that's a beginning. When you leave here, you'll love it, I have no doubt of that. We have no problem supplying a girl's mouth with penises -- we keep plenty of them in residence and on call."
She looked at me and waited. I smiled. That was what she wanted.
"I suppose I should tell you" -- Miss Caroline lifted a sheaf of paper and studied it for a moment -- "yes, here it is, both of your Mistresses want you to lose another dress size or two while you're here. So you'll live on sperm exclusively. Did you know it's a health food, with practically everything a body needs? You'll nurse it from its sources four times daily. And use your own jism if you want to snack between meals. But I should warn you, you'll feel famished until you learn how to excite a man to produce lots of sperm, and how to milk him two or three times while you've got him down and willing. You'll be starved to find every drop delectable, especially the pearly pre-cum. These are things every well-bred girl should know. Your kind of girl certainly."
"Yes, ma'am."
"This will take concentrated dedication, young woman. So answer me frankly. Do you really want to be a girl?"
This was a catch question. Maybe I could equivocate. "I'm willing to be a girl," I replied.
"So I hear. But that's not the answer I need to hear. There's only one acceptable answer to that question. Didn't she tell you she wants to be a girl, Elaine?"
"Yes, she certainly did," Elaine answered. "That's why we're here." She was disappointed by my evasion, I could tell. Yet she was also pleased that Miss Caroline was calling her husband "she." As if my transformation were a fait accompli. Maybe I never was enough of a "he" for her? I guess not, given all those men she'd fucked behind my back!
"Because she never was much of a man anyhow?" Miss Caroline continued.
"She thought she was," Elaine replied thoughtfully. "But she's never been, not really. Even so, she's still too much a man for my partner. So it's now 'be a girl or you're off on your own.'"
"Yes," Miss Caroline said. "So I understand."
She turned back toward me. "I need to tell you, Joy, when wives send husbands here there are only two places they're fit for when I'm done with them. One is back with their wives, properly trained as requested. The other is the streets in the naughtiest parts of the city, because if they don't wish to become what their wives want, if they resist, if they don't give us their very best efforts, if they're resentful or only pretending, we can tell. A girl who fakes desire is a whore, and that's how she ends up. Quite a few Miss Caroline graduates are prowling the streets and stopping cars right now, or cruising singles bars, and bringing peace and comfort to all the dripping cocks they can seduce and bringing whatever they earn home to their wives, if their wives will have them, if their wives are home themselves and not out with other men themselves. They aren't fit for much else. We make a final determination shortly before their course of study ends, and then concentrate our efforts so they'll finish as one or the other."
"You see, dear, we're not cruel. Our girls all acquire certain desires and characteristics here that unfit them as men, sometimes that unfit them for any gainful employment except on their backs. Then some pimp finds them and sets them up, and they earn their own way. Some wives deliberately dump unwanted husbands here so they can learn to support themselves after they've been stripped of everything, property, reputations, even their ability to think clearly. Even their knowledge of who they once were, and what sex or gender! Some divorce procedures can be quite thorough."
"Now, your wife thinks you want to become a girl in order to preserve your marriage, out of love for her. That's commendable. She appreciates that you've loved her as a man, and she's sure you'll love her as a woman. But she wants you to become a complete woman, at least in your heart, like her, a woman for whom the love of men as well as of women is as natural as breathing. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
She waited for my reply. I nodded. She continued to wait, looking at me expectantly, so I said in a small voice, "Yes ma'am."
"And that's the kind of woman you want to become?"
I'd bargained to end up a lesbian, but I could see I wasn't going to escape this. "Yes ma'am!" I said again.
"Yes," she said, still with her eyes fixed on my face. "I'm sure you do. So we'll do our utmost to help you become what you both wish. But you should know that Dr. Lander thinks your willingness to become a girl, as you put it, is only a ruse to buy time to recover your wife, that you're insincere and unfit to live with decent women, that you belong on the streets. If we find that's true, we will certainly oblige her. That's why being 'willing' to change your gender isn't quite enough. Being merely 'willing' to become a girl doesn't give me quite enough guidance."
"I want to become a girl!" I blurted out devoutly. "More than anything! I want to stay with my wife! I want to become whatever she wants!" I glanced at my Elaine. She was now looking at me with pride in her eyes! And love? It was the right answer, finally, and I meant it! But at every turn I felt more and more boxed in!
"Really and truly? You'll have to want to, dear, with all your heart, because we can be pretty rough around here, and we expect to have your complete cooperation."
"Really and truly, Miss Caroline." I tried to compose my face, and smoothed my skirt a bit primly, then clutched my purse again. I really did. "With all my heart!" I still hoped that whatever they taught at this school could be unlearned, but I couldn't allow myself to think of that possibility just yet. I only wished my feet didn't dangle so. I felt just like a teenage girl.
"Then we'll get under way."
She pressed a buzzer, and a young woman in a pink nurse's uniform came in carrying a metal case, followed by a tall, well-built man in sweats. The nurse was pretty, and the guy handsome in a musclebound way. He looked at me and grinned.
"Now, Joy," Miss Caroline said. "We're going to grant you your wish." She paused, folded her hands, and went on. "Your mind and body need radical re-orientation -- girls, I'm sure you've noticed, are not at all like boys, in the things they like, in the ways they talk, even in the ways they move. We haven't got much time, so we use various deep-conditioning procedures I've developed -- hypnotic suggestion, subliminal instruction, mood-altering substances, rewards and punishments too. You'll see."
"Now, your wife doesn't want you to learn to enjoy pain, even though many wives feel hostile toward their husbands, so their husbands are trained to adore being whipped, and their wives love to oblige. Instead, you'll learn to seek the pleasure of seeing that the other women in your life are happy. In feeling delightedly filfilled when you're pussywhipped! But also to enjoy the pleasures of being a woman, knowing that's what you are!"
"Our methods are intense, traumatic, even painful. So much of the time we'll use a drug to blank out your memory, so you'll accept our treatments, and learn appropriate attitudes, but remember only bits and pieces of the process afterward. The way women sometimes remember an awkward adolescence. They can't be sure what they experienced and what they imagined. That's how you'll be during the entire time you're here. Some things you'll experience, and some things we'll persuade you are happening though in rality you'll be lying in bed in an hypnotic trance. Some things you'll watch on television and yet believe are happening to you. The process is continuous and finally, overwhelmingly persuasive. What's real and what isn't won't matter, as long as you think it's real, and your attitudes will change accordingly."
She smiled. "We have a conditioning regimen that can persuade you you're a topless lap dancer who has performed so outrageously and incited so much lust that you've been gang shagged repeatedly by an entire football team over a three day period. We can put you through that experience in a single night, all by yourself, as a singularly vivid dream, but you'll remember it man by man, cock by cock, stroke by stroke, even the last mopping up of the cum you imagine is pouring down your thighs when you finally stand up. Then if your wife ever wants you to take up lap dancing, you'll know how. You'll think you've done it. And if she wants you to take on an entire football team, you'll think you've done it already and enjoyed it, so you'll do it again and enjoy it. It may be weeks before you realize that the first time was an hallucination. But by then you'll have done it in fact, so the realization won't affect anything. You'll leave here thoroughly accustomed to all sorts of things your wife and Dr. Lander may want you to do, thinking you already are what they want you to become. Then you won't mind becoming whatever it is you think you are."
"But lap dance fantasies are for the sluts and whores we graduate. You yourself are expected to enjoy a more natural, graceful girlhood, Joy, from which you'll emerge as a confident woman. Not a brainwashed slave, not at all! Our proper women graduates know what they want and how to achieve it, and they want the right things, the things their wives or sponsors want for them. They really believe they are who they are. We're quite proud of that! Within a few weeks the effect wears off, but again, by then it won't matter. By then they'll have actually done the things they think they've done, and become the women they think they are."
She looked shrewdly at me. "Your wife wants you to leave here as her very best girlfriend, a solicitous and sprightly companion for her" -- she glanced at a paper in her hand -- "in all things. All things," she repeated. So that's what of course you'll become. And you'll learn to love it!"
"Meanwhile we'll give special attention to feminine appearance, training you in fact and imagination for the life you'll lead when you leave here, hopefully also a fit companion for Dr. Lander, and as a -- what is it your supervisor calls your new employment -- yes, a 'mall inspector.' But if you prove troublesome, remember, you'll leave here already persuaded that you're a downtown whore or call girl, ready to resume that life as if you'd never left it."
She stood up. "I'm sure you'll excuse me. I have two other women and their wives scheduled for this morning. We'll begin with Phase One right now. What is about to happen to you may well happen to you, or it may not. That doesn't matter. You'll remember it and learn from it -- that's what matters. Some things will seem difficult or humiliating, but for that very reason will encourage you to adopt more enlightened attitudes.. From now on, whatever you experience will be your reality. Flora!"
The young woman in pink stepped forward.
"This is Flora," Miss Caroline said, nodding to the girl in pink. "Flora, this darling girl is Joy. Flora's been assigned to you for the next three weeks to see that you do what you need to do when you need to do it, and to look after you. She'll give you shots every few hours for the next three weeks. Some are tranquillizers, some hallucinogens, some merely vitamins or booster hormones. You won't ever know which, and you won't care. What you see and feel and experience here will be whatever you think you see, and so forth. Maybe real, maybe not. After a few weeks everything will be real and unreal to you, and by then we'll have achieved our objectives. You'll have lots of memories to build from. Do you understand?"
Flora smiled. I nodded to Miss Caroline uncertainly. Before I even noticed, Flora pinched up some skin on my forearm, swiped it with cotton., and injected several cc of fluid into it. I waited to see if I felt odd. A little. Not much. Sort of comfortable but ... definitely, odd.
A second man suddenly lounged into the room, moving like a cat the way some well-trained athletes do, wearing skimpy shorts and a skin-tight tank top. He glanced at my wife and then at Miss Caroline.
"Sorry," he said to Miss Caroline. "I had an emergency call. A new girl freaked when his wife tried to feed him his balls raw while he was still having them removed. She actually got one crammed into his mouth before he realized what the doctor was doing to the other one. I suggested to her she wait for the cook to turn them into something tasty he can eat with pleasure. She might enjoy a bite or two herself!"
"That was good advice," Miss Caroline said. "Some wives lack patience, and allow their feelings to overcome them. Elaine, this latecomer is Duncan -- isn't he gorgeous? Duncan, this morning I want you to please Elaine while her husband watches." She gestured to the other man. "Joy, this is Steve. He'll be your man this morning. Steve, Joy is new here. Be gentle with her. But first let her watch her wife misbehave with Duncan."
Steve nodded. Miss Caroline cast a quick smile around the room, then added, "Or let her think she sees it! Let her even think she sees you!"
Then she disappeared through the door.
"I'm glad to make your acquaintance, Elaine," Duncan said to my wife. "My friends call me Dunk. Slam-Dunk, from the way I fill ladies' baskets when I'm excited. May I call you Ellie?"
"Please, Dunk," Elaine said, smiling up at him. "That's what my friends call me!" That didn't seem fair, but what could I say? Her tone then became flirtatious. "Slam-Dunk? As in basketball? Or, as in dipping doughnuts into coffee? Are you good at dipping things into warm, wet places?"
"I do everything well, Ellie." He grinned at her, teeth white in a a craggy tanned face, and he brushed back sun-streaked blond hair before holding out his hand to her. She took it. Then he didn't let it go. In fact, once they began looking directly into each other's eyes, they didn't let that go either. It got increasingly intense.
"Is here all right?" my wife asked, still looking directly at him. There was a small smile fixed on her face, like the one she'd had when she came into my room for her final fuck two nights ago. Like earlier, when she was pressing her body against me and telling me about her other men.
"Here's perfect!" he replied.
A bad dream then developed before my eyes, and then became a nightmare. Or maybe it was only a dream? Duncan sat down next to Elaine, and they embraced. His hands began to stroke her hair, then her back.
To my horror, Elaine preened back against his hand, then smiled and reached toward his crotch and began to rub it. Her eyes now looked adoringly into his. They kissed carefully. Then passionately.
"Isn't that just beautiful!" Flora said, standing next to me and watching, rapt. She paused. Then "Isn't it, Joy?" she asked, more insistently.
I tried to swallow the enormous lump in my throat. "Yes," I replied. I could barely get the word out. That was my Ellie! But maybe only my fantasy of Ellie? 'This isn't real,' I tried to tell myself, despite the evidence of my own eyes.
Then my wife lunged at him, and they fell back onto the couch plastered against each other, still kissing. My wife pressed her face onto his, her mouth open wide. His tongue had to be deep inside her. I was appalled. But I was even more appalled when Duncan reached both his hands under her skirt, grasped her hips, lifted her off him, and set her like some doll on her own feet. I saw her bush. She hadn't worn panties this morning!
He stood. She grasped the top of his shorts and in a single ferocious swipe pulled them down to his knees. He stepped clear, then sat down again. There rising from his lap was the biggest dong I have ever seen! Before I could look about to see who else was shocked by this obscene display, Elaine let out a moan of yearning anticipation, grasped that long prick, swung one leg over his lap, and knelt astride him with its tip just touching her pussy, her mouth clamped to his, kissing him deeply! Duncan leaned back to adjust his pelvis and then with one severe downward thrust Elaine buried him into her! All the way, all of it, all at once, deep inside! And shrieked! I thought it was pain, but when her body held tense for almost a full minute I realized it was an orgasm. She'd just come! Just from the way his cock felt as it entered and distended her vaginal passage!
She then lifted up and he pulled out of her, and I saw that huge thing glistening all along its whole length. Then he slammed it all the way up into her again, and this time she rotated downward to meet him, her face blissed out. This time I shrieked! But now my wife's face was welded to his, their eyes squeezed shut and their arms tightly wrapped around each other. They began to piston and roll and shovel their pelvises, their groins fused together and torn apart in the most obscene gyrations imaginable! Elaine seemed crazed -- high-pitched growls and grunts and squeals poured from her throat during this mad mating of crotches.
It was as if I weren't there! From the way she corkscrewed to speed his re-entries, and from the way she spread her legs wider to welcome him deeper, it was as though I'd never been there! Duncan was fucking my wife under my very nose, and she 'd forgotten everything but how she felt!
But was she?
No, not exactly under my nose! I looked down and now saw under my nose for the first time another monster-sized penis! I looked up. Steve's! He was standing in front of me and smiling down, waiting. I clutched my purse all the more tightly and looked around desperately.
"You see, sweetheart, you're not a man," he said in a kindly, even dreamy voice. "You were misinformed. That's a man over there, reaming out your wife's plumbing, and it's obvious that right now for her you don't exist. So re-invent yourself. Use that pretty mouth to show that you love being a woman!"
I looked about wildly. Flora was standing next to me, calmly waiting to see what I would do. I hesitated.
"You're a girl, Joy!" she said. "And that's a fella standing in front of you! With a beautiful cock hanging there. Only three weeks from now we want you to blow guys so skillfully they cum in their pants just from the way you look at them. But right now, just remember your diet. There in front of your face is the only lunch snack you'll see today!"
"Flora!" I cried out. "Is this real?"
"Of course!" she replied.
Loud slapping and sucking sounds were now coming from the couch where Duncan and Elaine were still humping together, both of them now groaning and screaming. Then came the most animal-like cry I have ever heard! A growl that rose to a wail, then a scream came from Elaine's throat! And the all while she writhed and twisted with that telephone pole deep in her, never pausing! Then a ululating succession of screams, as if they were high-pitched breathing!
She'd leaned so far back to shout to the ceiling that I thought she'd crack her spine. But then she resumed rhythmic moaning again. She'd just had another orgasm, towering, back breaking. Yet the two of them weren't even slowing down!
Something rubbery was now pressing on my lips. The head of Steve's cock. I looked up at him. He was looking benignly down at me.
"Beautiful!" he said. "See, you'll never be able to make her feel like that! Not that way. You're not a man. But maybe some day a real man will help you feel like that! Maybe it'll be Duncan! Or me! You have such beautiful eyes, Joy! Keep looking at me! Don't look away! Now kiss my cock! I hear you've already made some guy named Gary very happy. Make me happy too. Why should your wife have all the fun? Live a little!"
For some reason I couldn't let go of the purse I was still clutching in my lap with both hands. I just couldn't grasp Steve's cock with my hands as if it were my own, amd maybe bring him off that way. Still looking into his gentle brown eyes, I opened my mouth to tell him I couldn't help him, I just couldn't, but as soon as my lips parted his warm, silky cockhead flowed inside. I tried to push it out with my tongue, but it filled my mouth -- there was no room for my tongue to move! So I remembered what I had done with Gary the day before. I made my lips hard, and caught the ledge of that cockhead with my lips, careful not to nip it, and sucked it into my mouth. Then I began to headfuck him. Headmasturbate him, really, pulling on his cock by its crown with my mouth and bobbing my head up and down. Up and down my head bobbed, tugging his little head! Up and down!
"Ah," Steve said in a sibilant whisper. "Joy, that's just great! Do it, girl! More!" Since I wasn't going to find a way out of this, I sucked a bit more of him into my mouth, and bobbed up and down some more. This time my lips slid over satiny skin. His pelvis thrust back at me. Elaine's sounds from the couch grew louder, and Duncan began breathing heavily and hoarsely with her. My throat also began making pathetic, whining noises. The harder I bobbed up and down on Steve, the stronger grew a delicious feeling in my own crotch! Was I getting off on cock sucking this stud? I renewed my efforts, and the feeling down below grew stronger. He closed his eyes, a wide smile illuminating his face. I was making him happy! I sobbed through my nose! It felt so delicious in my own crotch! I felt so wonderful!
And then in a screaming, spurting, lunging frenzy Steve and Duncan and Elaine and I all came together! I too felt a monumental release of passion jet and spew and squirt out down below! Steve's groin suddenly pushed deep into my mouth and then held still, paralyzed. Then that monster penis slipped all the way out of my mouth for its first ejaculation, and white cum spurted all over my face. I remembered that I had to swallow it or starve, so I caught that great schlong up in my mouth again, and swallowed its spewing sperm gratefully until finally, drained, Steve withdrew himself.
Only then could I look down. There was Flora kneeling between my own legs, looking up mischievously, her cheeks bulging. She'd pulled up my skirt and pulled down my panties and sucked me off all the while I was sucking on Steve! Her technique had been so light, so unobtrusive, that I hadn't even noticed her the whole time, only the way I felt as her wet mouth worked me over. But I'd been made part of the whole orchestrated, frenzied, mass orgasm! She stood up and tilted my head back with her hands, then leaned over as if to kiss me. More jism poured from her mouth into mine! My own! Her face still close to mine, she muttered in a low voice, "Lovely, Joy honey. Just lovely. Later I'll show you a better way to do a huge prick with no hands." Even while blowing me she'd been observing me with Steve. I swallowed.
"Really, that was very good, sweetheart! I'm proud of you!"
Elaine's voice! Speaking to Duncan? He was now her "sweetheart"? As Flora's head left my line of sight and I was still swallowing down her transferred mouthful of my cum, I looked. It was Elaine speaking to me! She'd watched me suck Steve's cock even while Duncan was fucking her!
I felt shocked! She'd seen me servicing another man's penis! What must she think? How could she ever respect me again? Elaine was now sitting alongside Duncan, pressed close to him as before but now looking encouragingly at me. They were still breathing heavily, their faces flushed.
"You look so cute, honey, with Steve's cock poking into your mouth and your head bobbing up and down on him like a woodpecker! The look on your face was priceless! So helpless and desperate!"
She reached for Duncan's cock even while speaking, and began to pull on it almost absently, yet she never took her eyes off me. "You really need to relax more, though, to enjoy more of the sensations. Have you ever felt such silky skin sliding between your lips? The fresh flavor of pre-cum? Things like that? That sensation of power! Most of the time, when a girl has a guy's cock in her mouth, he'll do anything! Not these guys, they're special, but most of the guys you'll be meeting now that you're a girl. You're a darling cock sucker, sweetheart, there's no doubt about it! My own husband! Who would have thought it even a few days ago! Try to feel proud! Two men so far, and both of them satisfied! That's not bad for only your third day as a woman!"
I began to wipe the cum on my face off with my finger, then to lick my finger. What else could I do?
"Now look in your purse, and take out the small compact and lipstick you'll find there, and put some lipstick on your mouth as sensually as you can, as if you were refreshing yourself, as if you were utterly absorbed with making yourself look ravishing. That drives men wild at a time like this. Some will harden up immediately and then feed you dessert!"
At that moment Duncan leaned over and kissed her neck, and a great grin lit up her face. She threw her head back and her arm went around his neck, and her leg rose to wrap around his hips, and she was in ecstasy! All over! They were beginning again!
"Joy, dear!"
I looked over at Flora.
"Aren't you happy for your wife, that she's getting laid so thoroughly? That she's enjoying herself? Tell her!"
God! He was inside her again now, and her arms were languishing on his neck! She was covering his face with little nibbling kisses!
"Girls aren't jealous of each other'sex lives when they have their own. Tell her, dear!"
Steve had taken my hand and kissed it the way a gentleman kisses a lady's hand, then placed it gently against his penis and begun rotating it there. He was beginning to grow hard again.
Play along, I told myself. "Miss Elaine, I'm so glad you're getting fucked!" I said reluctantly, a little resentful..
But by now she wasn't listening. "Again, louder, Joy!" Flora said. Ellie was now on all fours, throwing her head from side to side while Duncan slammed that thing into her from behind, over and over. "Miss Elaine," I shouted at her, "You look great, getting fucked!"
"Never fucked like this!" she shouted aloud from deep in her throat, as if to herself, though maybe in reply to me. "Never like this! Never!" I marveled at how far forward she could coil her body before ramming it back into Duncan on his in-thrusts, and then twist to prolong that cock's movement back out of her quim.
"Joy honey!"
Flora was talking to me. I turned my eyes back to hers.
"This is how your days here begin. I'll give you your first shot of the day. Then Elaine and you will have sex together. Isn't that nice? Together but with different men, each of you each time. I'll tell you, this time is real enough. You were upset yesterday when you heard that your wife has enjoyed other men and women for a long time now, weren't you? Well, that's wrong. If you truly loved her you'd be delighted for her. And you'll want to be the best of friends with her, don't you? Loving friends?"
"That's why each morning for the rest of this week you'll watch her get well-fucked by some of the best hung men we have here. O think that's what's happening. And you'll learn from watching how she feels when she's royally fucked, and you'll long to feel the same way. She'll watch you having sex too, until you no longer feel ashamed but proud that you too can satisfy a man, that you too are a real girl. Trust me, when you leave here all those little male jealousies and resentments will be quite gone. You'll understand how silly they were. How selfish!"
"Now this time help clean her when she and Duncan are finished. Whatever flows down her thigh is yours, and whatever you suck out of her is yours too! You'll need all the nourishment you can get, remember. Then when you're done, I'll take you to your room and prepare you for classes in feminine deportment, dressing and make-up, and enjoying your 'look,' finding out who you are, learning little feminine tricks to please other women and flirt with men. You'll be quite the lady when you leave here!"
I wanted to object, but Steve's or my own thick sperm had stuck my lips together! By the time I'd licked them clean my wife was writhing her rear end into Duncan as he slammed that huge tube in and out yet again. I was no competition for a stud like Duncan! I'd never even been in the running! I felt sad and helpless. Elaine loved me, I knew. But I could see why she'd gone elsewhere for sex.
Still, I'd given her what no other man would ever give her! I'd offered to become a woman for her. Now I'd do it! I watched as the two of them rose to a crescendo. Elaine began to wail and scream again, and Duncan began to grunt out loud. I waited for them to subside, for Duncan to fall from her exhausted. But it didn't seem to be happening. I wondered how Elaine felt, twisting on his cock.
That was a new thought! I wondered how Elaine felt! How I'd feel if I were Elaine with all that meat being stuffed into me over and over! My cock stiffened! I wasn't sure!
Finally Duncan withdrew, his prick finally dangling glossy and limp but still impressive. I came forward timorously. Elaine was still crouched on all fours, her eyes glazed, breathing heavily, as I wriggled face up under her and positioned my head between her spread thighs. It was rank, that pussy just above! The lips were bloated and hung down! She must have noticed me, because she lowered her quim to my face, and I dove in, licking and sucking furiously. I wanted to be indispensable to her! No matter who fucked her, I wanted to be there for her, so she'd always want to return to me! She clamped her legs around my ears and head, and pushed her pussy deeper onto my face, and leaned way forward.
Then unexpectedly she mouthed my now-erect penis. We were sixty-nining, for the first time ever in our marriage! Duncan's cum poured out of her cunt as I lapped and slurped and sucked and licked her slit, yet I felt lovely feelings accumulate and rise up out of my crotch. So helplessly sweet! Francesca was right! Flora was right! I now shared that knowledge with Ellie. A woman giving a man a blow job can get him to do anything! Ellie had gotten Duncan to cum into her! I worked gratefully to tongue and suck all those slick fluids and syrupy gouts of cum Duncan had squirted and smeared into my beautiful wife's gorgeous pussy, and into the cracks of her delectable ass. The more I licked the better I felt! When finally I'd gotten it all she plunged her lips down to my cockroot, and that moment I came again! Uncontrollably! Then Elaine rose and turned, as Flora had done before her, and fed me my own cum from her own precious mouth! Tears of gratitude rolled down my cheeks.
I lay on the floor, and Elaine rose to rearrange her clothes and to dress herself. As she pulled up her skirt she looked at me slyly. "You didn't expect anything like this, did you honey?"
"No, Miss Elaine. Not at all. I thought this was a school."
She raised her eyebrows. "Oh? Well tell me, what did you learn this morning?"
I thought a moment. "That I'm not much of a man. That you prefer sex with men who are men. That I shouldn't be jealous, I should be envious, and want what you want. I should be more of a woman."
Elaine was impressed. "That's a lot for anyone to learn in such a short time, Joy. Think about how the two of us can make love together when you're a woman! With or without men! That already gives me delicious shivers. Did you learn anything else?"
I thought a moment. "That cum from different men tastes different. Duncan's from your pussy, and Steve's from his penis, and mine from Flora's mouth and yours, all different. And Gary's, of course."
Flora broke in. "Be sure to let us know whose cum you especially enjoy, so we can schedule him as a special treat when you've done something special. But now it's time for another shot. This one builds on the previous, so maybe you won't remember much afterward, but you'll remember some, and you'll remember all of the essentials. You'll watch lots of subliminals while it's working in you. Then each night you'll sleep it off, or maybe spend the night feeling yourself getting further conditioned."
"Each morning she's actually here your wife will be able to see for herself how you're progressing, what a really sweet, passionate girl you're becoming. Or you'll hallucinate that she sees it. And that's what you'll become."
I looked at Elaine. She was finished dressing, and had picked up her purse, preparing to leave. "Be good, honey!" she said. "Not that you have much choice!"
She gave me a quick goodbye peck on the cheek, and I was glad to see that all she gave Duncan was the pressure of her hand on his crotch and a smile. A nod to Steve and to Flora, and she was gone.
Flora took out another syringe. "Just a memory tranquillizer now. You'll be having your hormone implants soon, but you'll know about them only the way any young girl knows, by what then happens to your body. Mornings your mind will seem to be clear. Then the rest of the day, and how you get to bed, will usually seem a little vague. You'll remember some things, but you'll learn everything. It'll all seem perfectly natural. And I'll always be with you, taking good care that you benefit from everything we do for you."
"Thank you, Flora," I said, feeling a little helpless. "You're a pet!" Was that me talking like that?
She rubbed my arm with damp gauze, and inserted a needle. I didn't want to look, so I looked around. Duncan was gone. Steve had his fat cock out again. He was stroking it, and it was already projecting massively out of him, thick and rigid. He was looking me straight in the eye with a crooked grin. "Your ass this time, sweetheart! It'll hurt, but you won't remember, except that later you'll be happy we did it!"
I came to love that grin. I remember very little about my first real fuck, only an astonishingly full feeling that began in my rear and soon made me feel full everywhere. When I came, I cried out for him to pump deeper into me!
And that's all I remember about my first day at Miss Caroline's.
vii.
I have only vagrant recollections of the three weeks I spent at Miss Caroline's School for Girls, but I must say, I'm grateful to her for what she made me. I can't remember ever being happier than I am now.
Some memories are clear enough.
I remember a whole morning spent learning how to apply four different shades of eye shadow to each eye, and eye liner, and mascara, and curlers, how proud I was when finally I'd done it to Gail's satisfaction. Gail was my make-up and hair-do coach. "Not too whorey, sweetheart," she'd say. "But slather on as much as you can." It was wonderful. Huge baby-sized dark eyes that made my whole face seem smaller and my whole expression innocent. And when I gave my hairstyle a little flip I was sure was irresistible, I called up one of my boyfriends for a date to see if it would have the desired effect. It did. He certainly found me irresistible!
I remember after I'd been there a week or so, I'm not sure, I came down to our morning lounge to find that Miss Elaine was on a couch in a far corner making out with a slim young man with long blonde hair and a gargantuan cock, one that hung halfway to his knees, or would have hung there if it weren't stiff at attention halfway toward his chest. She was stroking his face while he titfucked her. "I'm just not sure, darling," she said to him dreamily. "That marvelous thing of yours might hurt me."
"I'll use your sweet little back door," the blonde young man said. "You're deep enough for me there. You'll love it!"
"I still don't know." She turned her head slightly toward me. "Joy, what do you think. Should I let him? I've hardly ever. Not even with you. It just doesn't seem right."
"Do it, honey. You'll love it and he'll love it! It's wonderful!"
Why did I say that?! I suddenly recalled that three men had been in and out of my back door non-stop over the weekend. I'd been ravished! By Sunday night my anus was so loose and open and accustomed that I'd slept right through another round of further fucking, they told me afterward. Cum was trickling out of a gaping space back there when I woke up, but I remembered none of it. Until now. Did it ever really happen?
"It's just glorious when a man's meat tucked in there," I confided to her. "But do let me do it too, after he's finished with you."
She turned toward me, surprised. "Why Joy, what do you mean? How can you do it to me? Your injections have ended your erections for good. Thet tell me you can watch me fuck all day without getting ideas in your head or unsightly bulges in your skirt!"
"No, not do it to you, honey. Have him do it to me! Let me take him into my ass after he's done you. I'll bet that stud there can go so deep into each of us we'd be able to lick his cockhead without opening our mouths." I smiled at my little joke. It was something the two of us could share as women!
But really, that idea was very appealing! I imagined that blonde young man penetrating my asshole and pausing, and I wriggled my bottom and shuddered at the thought of how it would feel. I wanted him to plunge into me right now! I wanted to share my wife's lover in order to satisfy her sexually!
What was the matter with me? Were those wisps of real memory of men fucking me real, or was I dreaming? Or was it conditioning, what I now imagined? I slept every night with earphones, seductive voices speaking in my head while I lay agreeably relaxed, listening, dreaming.
When I told her all that, Miss Elaine enjoyed the notion that a man exists somewhere who could penetrate our bodies all the way to our mouths. "Why Joy, you want to share my pleasures! That's very sweet! Is it all right with you, ahhh, Scott, that is your name isn't it?"
He beamed at her, then at me. "Terrific!" he said. "Yes, that's me! A double header with two beautiful women! But she'll have to lick me clean from you before I do her. Are you willing, Joy?" He smiled the most ingratiating smile at me. So young and so beautiful, he was. My heart melted. A Prince!
"All right, Scott!" I said demurely. I didn't want to spook him! "I'll want to lick her rear end anyhow when you're finished with her, I love cum!" I didn't tell him that in fact I was starved for cum! "So it's no trouble for me to sweeten you up for me too. A privilege! You're so very... long!"
I looked at that dangling cock with amazement and a shiver of anticipation, as any woman would. And with not the faintest twinge of envy or curiosity about what it would be like to have one, as any man would. I'd crossed a border somehow.
He then entered each of us in turn, each of us on our backs side by side, our legs draped over his shoulders. He used quick, short strokes with Miss Elaine, because that was the rhythm she established with him, eyes open and her mind far away elsewhere, until her grunts quickened into a wail and she bent over backwards to push her ass all the way up against his groin. "God, how deep," she said, breathless. "Never! Never!"
What she meant by "Never!" I soon found out myself. I was eager to feel him in me. In fact the thought left me breathless! After a pause for him to recover his virility -- almost immediately, it seemed, as I licked his pole up and down and up and it quickly stiffened -- he slid into me and began sliding in and out with long, easy strokes. It felt so good, I felt so satisfied that at first I threw my arms around his neck and covered his face with kisses. As it went on I lay back like a rag doll, my legs languishing on his neck, my whole body become one cunt, slick and surging on his prick, eager to give him joy. My eyes closed, I felt him straighten up and yet keep plunging into my ass, each time glorious. Then I felt the soft, satiny pressure of my wife's ass cheeks on my face, as kneeling over my neck she lowered her bung hole to my mouth and I drank and sucked it while still wriggling on my man's long pole! She wanted to be sure I was fed! I almost wept at her thoughtfulness! Such a darling dear!
I came in a deep, new way, my whole body clenching in visceral ecstasy, then relaxing. Then a few more strokes and I felt him pulsing into my bowels. I wished desperately that moment that the fluid he pumped into me could make babies, but that was one of the pleasures denied my womanhood. My womanhood! I was a woman now! Elaine lifted her haunches off my face and to one side, and I saw that she was so enamored of this beautiful young man that she'd wrapped her arms around his neck and was kissing him passionately.
"Enough, sweetheart," I said to her, amused. "I want to thank this darling man too!"
"You're not the least bit jealous?"
"Jealous after the greatest fuck of my life?" I smiled at the silly thought. "Whatever for?" I kissed him. "Thank you, dear," I said to him. "You're gorgeous!"
"You're very welcome," she said absently. "Any time at all."
"I hope so," I said. And I did hope so! I too was amazed by how I felt. But there was no denying it. The very next day Miss Elaine phoned up to ask me to look especially pretty for her when I came to our therapy session. I did. Then when we'd each given our men both heads and tails and they'd bid us farewell and left, she took an enormous dildo out of a bag she'd brought, strapped it on, and reamed it into me. Its way in was oiled by the cum still oozing from me, and I was in heaven! "It's like when I do it with Becky," she whispered to me. "Do you like it?"
"Oh," I replied in tears. "I love it! Please! Do it to me forever!"
"No fear, sweetheart," she said. "I am. I will. Over and over!"
I remember how frustrated I felt when, one morning, having arranged my entire outfit around brown and gold, a gold chain broke as I was clasping it around my neck, and the effect was ruined. I changed to purple with silver accessories, but purple is really not my color. Then I had to change my nail polish and lipstick so they wouldn't clash. I was grateful that when I arrived for my morning session, my wife was pre-occupied with Kevin and didn't look up until Jerry and Chris had already stripped me naked, and each had entered me at each end. I always wanted to look my best, and I was such a mess! Why can't they make gold chains stronger?
Some other memories of my stay at Miss Caroline's are dream-like, fragmentary and vague.
I remember Duncan telling me while I was licking his cock that he had never gone down on a pussy. He wondered about people who wanted to. "Lesbians do it," I explained to him. "And men who love girls." "Which are you?" he asked me. I didn't know. I couldn't say anyhow, because at that moment he filled my mouth with jism. I wanted him to go down on my pussy, but I didn't have one yet.
I remember despite the tranquillizers that usually kept me so calm, so cheerful, I became terribly upset once when my hair was all flyaway and wouldn't smooth down, and I had a date with Brian. "That's the part of me he'll be looking at most of the night!" I cried in tears. "And it's a mess! What'll he think of me?" I was so grateful to Flora for bringing in a set of hot rollers and showing me how to use them! But the next day I couldn't remember much about the date. I couldn't even recall knowing anyone named Brian. He may have been a figment of hypnotherapy. But I do remember how my heart swelled up and overflowed with joy when I came down and he stared at me and told me I was beautiful. I felt so terribly happy just then! We went dancing, and I took him into the Ladies Roon to blow him.
I remember Flora once came into my room with two huge enema bags and never explained why, and we spent a delightful two hours as she pumped me full and then allowed me to empty myself out, then pumped me full again, until the water all ran clear. "Douche before every date, dear, remember! And again after!" I always did, of course. But this time she added, "Especially before any date with the doctor!" She pushed the nozzles in and out playfully, and then worked a long dildo into me, and turned it on so it throbbed and vibrated, and I came yet again. We giggled and pretended it was Scott, the thin blonde man whose garden-hose cock had been so deep inside me earlier that day. Then when she inserted a suppository, I fell into a deep, untroubled sleep.
I didn't fully wake up until the next afternoon, and when I did I was ravenous! "Bring me some men!" I called out, only half-joking. "I'm starved!" Flora poked her head in and said amused, "Joy, please, remember that you're a lady!" Then men appeared, and I deep-throated two in a row before pausing to enjoy the third more slowly, languorously, sucking and lifting my eyes up to him coyly as I'd been taught, like a nursing baby grateful to its mother. He was so pleased he rewarded me with two loads of cum.
I was on my back all that time, and in a shortie nightie I didn't remember from the night before. And I was utterly hairless, even my chin and underarms! When I lifted myself to my elbows after the third man kissed me and left the room, I realized for the first time that my chest felt sore. And my bottom. No, not my bottom, my balls! I rang for Flora, and when she saw me on my elbows she lowered me gently back to the bed. "Tomorrow, dear! You need still one more day to recover, but you'll be fine tomorrow!" She gave me an injection.
When I woke it was dark, and when I woke again it was daybreak. I lay there, wriggled, and everything felt fine. No soreness!
I remember lessons in how to look sweet and pretty. How to have good taste, selecting shoes and handbags that harmonize with my outfit, and heels and skirt lengths appropriate for different occasions and times of day. How to create voices for different occasions, cooing, sighing, squeaking excitedly, speaking imperiously or casually, but all thoroughly feminine. How to do my hair in a neat everyday setting or put it up in high style, and makeup for both kinds of occasions. Which bras to wear with decollete necklines so my new breasts would show cleavage instead of merely jutting well forward as they usually did, now that they were real breasts, part of me.
How to appreciate the finer points of my wife's other lovers -- each morning I watched Miss Elaine screwing a different man, sometimes on videotape. She then shared with me how she felt about each while I cleaned him out of her, what she'd done with each to please him, or to get him to please her. I dreamed once that she took on three men at the same time, and when she visited we giggled together about how the one in her ass and the one in her pussy were really rubbing their peckers against each other together through the thin membrane separating her anus from her vagina -- they never knew they were really bringing each other off! Men could be so dense sometimes! Sometimes while I watched Miss Elaine and her stud-of-the-day at work Flora sucked gently on my penis so I'd feel good about it. But Miss Elaine enjoyed herself so much I felt good just imagining I was Miss Elaine.
Miss Caroline invited me in for an orientation all by myself. "Flora tells me you've finally confessed to her that when you were growing up you were a girl in a boy's body, envious of all the other girls when they developed their figures and you didn't. That all your life you've been a woman in a man's body." She smiled at me reassuringly. "That now you really want us to help you become what you've always been."
It was true the moment I heard her say it! Of course! That explained why I couldn't look at any of the men here at Miss Caroline's without wondering what they would feel like hugged close to me, or more slyly, thrusting into me. Why I loved having my hair done, and just adored dressing up for dinner even when dinner consisted of only a single impersonal cock come to call on me in the lounge, barely interrupting my reading of ads in Vanity Fair and Harper's Bazaar.
I broke down then for the first time in my life, and cried tears of real joy that she understood me! After all those years of guilty suppression. "Yes! Yes, it's true! I've been so ashamed! But it's true! That's what I am! Please, please help me!" I buried my face in my hands and sobbed. She knew my secret, and she wanted to help!
She leaned toward me and clasped my hands between hers. "We're here to help you, Joy! You want our help!" I agreed. "You want breasts to enhance your figure immediately, don't you." I agreed. "And special hormone implants to replace your testosterone production." I agreed. "A bit of facial reconstruction, not much, wider eyes and cheekbones perhaps, and a smaller jaw?" I agreed. She asked me to sign something. I agreed. She commented then, "Oh yes, the women in your life are both C cup sized. But I've recommended that your chest enhancement be B sized for a while, not C. There's no doubt your hormonal implants will fill you out to a C cup when all's done. Your wife agrees that B cups will be just fine, a bit small for your frame, but enough to keep your bras filled and to give you an attractive-enough figure, when you want to look attractive."
She smiled reassuringly at me, woman to woman. "Doctor Lander wanted DD for you, so you'd emerge from here something of a freak. She sounded a bit spiteful, Joy -- you should do some fence mending with her, if you can. I refused her. Because my girls always emerge from here looking like respectable women, never like freaks. Even the cum-crazy whores."
"Thank you," I told her. "But I already have breasts. I love them!" I looked down at them and there they were, swelling out the front of my lovely scoop-neck knit T-shirt. I wasn't wearing a bra, and they bobbled and felt wobbly and full as I lifted them up! My men would adore them! When I looked back at Miss Caroline she was nowhere to be seen. I wasn't even in her office. Had I daydreamed the interview?
I did dream one night that I had to spend most of one night licking and sucking and stroking some horse's penis, a long, fat, red, glistening thing. After he came they let me return to my own bed, and I fell asleep contentedly smacking my lips.
One morning I was running a little late, so I hurried down to the lounge where my Sex Therapy sessions took place, and was surprised to find only Elaine sitting there waiting for me. No men.
"Couldn't they wait?" I asked, checking my watch. I was only five minutes late! Guys! A quick glance in the mirror -- my hair was perfect now! "Isn't that a pretty blouse, Miss Elaine! I haven't seen it before! That lacework at the collar is so delicate!"
She dimpled and beamed. "Yes, isn't it? I thought the collar might be a little much, but the saleswoman assured me it wasn't. I love these new pastel shades. But I must say, that skirt is so becoming on you, Joy! That's a new style for you, isn't it? Long and narrow? It gives your figure a positively willowy look! You've look as if you've lost at least ten pounds these past weeks, haven't you?"
It was my turn to beam. I postured, thrusting out one hip and tossing my hands, pleased, and then sat down next to her on the overstuffed couch gracefully, knees together, as the skirt required. "I have lost weight! Twelve pounds, so far. It'll be fifteen by the end of the week. Thank you, I just love this skirt too! When I get home I'm going to throw out all of my shorter skirts and dresses, and keep only the minis or the long ones like this!"
Elaine heard this with an ingratiating smile and said nothing. She knew I had no women's clothes at home at all, only the men's clothes she'd packed up and given away. But she also knew that my deep-conditioning enriched me with virtual memories of an earlier life as a woman, sometimes even the realization that I was born female and had never been anything else.
New memories flooded back to me every day! "You've always worn your hair clipped up high in back, ever since you were a girl in the tenth grade, when you were delighted to see that it had finally grown long enough," I told myself one day while putting it up. "Maybe it's time for braids or a ponytail?" But mostly I wore it down. It greatly improved my cocksucking techniques and my seductive flirtatiousness with my studs, for example, when I could recall shaking my long hair on my first boy friend's hard on - I was so shy with him -- and when I was reminded that I'd spent four full high school years dating guys every weekend, doing and looking whatever was required to remain popular with them. I was such a silly twit! I cherished the memory of a heavenly, utterly romantic defloration one Spring night by a gorgeous man. I was wearing my favorite chiffon dress, the one with with large pale flowers and a full skirt. My hair was still long then, and worn loose, bound with a single satin ribbon. Those guys! A whole football team! I dated three of them for a while, afterward. Flora said I was confusing the memory of a beautiful loss of virginity with a gang-rape conditioning tape Miss Caroline had played me my first day. But I indignantly refused to believe her.
I was sorry when that memory faded after a few days, as all my memories did eventually after achieving their intended results. I now moved through all sorts of real difficulties with flair and confidence. That's where I'd arrived when I encountered Elaine alone, really alone this time, sitting and waiting. I was feeling poised and self-assured.
"There aren't any men scheduled for us today," she said. "I want to spend the whole time alone with you this morning, honey. It's been three days since we've seen each other. I've been waiting for you to heal."
"Oh?" I didn't understand what she'd said. But that often happened.
"Let me see them, sweetheart!"
"See what, Miss Elaine? I didn't bring anything with me this morning."
"Your breasts. Unbutton that blouse and take off your brassiere!"
I blushed. "They're only breasts," I said. "The same kind any girl has. A little bigger in my case, because...." I stopped. I wasn't sure what I meant to say. I could feel them, swelling and soft, and my hand brushing on my suddenly engorged nipples as I unbuttoned my blouse and reached behind to unhook my brassiere felt sooo very delicious. It gave me twinges in my clit, and I began to feel amorous. Toward Elaine! She'd never seen them. In all the years we'd been married, I'd never shown her!
I had to make up for it! "Here, sweetheart, would you like to suckle me?" Now they were out, and exposed, and I could see them, they looked huge. Heavy! When did I get these? My adolescence? I couldn't remember! I lifted one up toward Elaine's mouth as she settled contentedly against me, her mouth and tongue working my nipple, first one, then after ten minutes or so, the other. It felt wonderful. My darling! I cradled my Elaine as her mouth pulled on me. I wished I had milk for her. I told her that.
"We'll decide that later, sweetheart. When you've finished growing these, a few extra hormones like prolactin will bring in your milk. I'm glad you like them! I love mine!"
She kissed and suckled one nipple while caressing the other. It felt so very feminine! I didn't want her to stop ever. It was like having two extra cocks, both sucked and stroked together! Heavenly!
I suddenly remembered! When was it Flora sat my bedside when I awoke? "You want larger nipples, sweetheart?" she asked?
Yes.
Then I was awake. I'd looked down and sure enough, there they were! Beautiful! I was overjoyed! They were so fat, almost like teeny fingers. Huge? And pointy! I reached down and touched one nipple. Exquisite, I felt an electric shock all the way down to my clit and my pussy! Clit? What clit? I reached down between my legs. There was my prick, that familiar soft worm with deep feelings, and there were my testicles as always, though today they were feeling sore.
"I just got these a few days ago, didn't I?"
Elaine looked up from tonguing my nipples and appraised my expression.
"That's right, honey. Do you mind?"
I smiled down on her maternally. "Of course not, sweetheart. What kind of a woman would I be without breasts?"
And for the next hour she nursed on them, my baby, and I felt just wonderful! I smiled down on her, and tenderly kissed the top of her head.
Elaine was so wonderful! She was my dearest girlfriend, and had been ever since fifth grade! We'd been together through so many pyjama parties, and shared so many secrets, and crushes, and broken hearts. We'd gone shopping together when our mothers bought us our first formal gowns, and the last Saturday night of the summer we were both 15 we agreed we'd each suck off our dates. Then giggling, we told each other all about it afterward. It was so funny, and so silly! Elaine's date didn't want her to do it, he was embarrassed because it curved, but she'd insisted!
Together we'd daydreamed what it would be like to nurse our own babies at our breasts when we grew them. And how we'd flaunt them in low-cut gowns when we wanted to bring men to our feet. Once when we were just out of college and working as secretaries we picked up two hunky guys in a bar just for the fun of it, and took them back to the apartment we shared together. Then for two days we worked them over and used them up, not one more drop of juice or desire to be squeezed out of them. When they couldn't even move we pretended we were mad and called them pussies and threw them out! I remember how funny it was, sending them back to their own girlfriends wearing our panties and reeking of our perfume!
Would a date be willing to suck on my clit hoping that I'd then grant him entry into my pussy? That I'd give him something to fuck as well as suck? Why not? When I was only twelve a sweet boy named Ira begged me to let him to kiss my pussy, and finally I relented. It was nice. I'd wondered what else he'd do if I asked him.
"Becky will be amazed," Elaine told me. "She certainly should see for herself how far you've come."
Had I said anything aloud? Rebecca will tell me what? I lay there with my precious darling in my arms until Flora came in with her night-time shot, adjusted myy earphones, and turned out the light.
I remember dancing backward in Steve's arms in a very smart red dress and high, high heels, insouciant, eyes sparkling, never more alive and vibrant than that moment, then sixty-nining him in his car in the parking lot from sheer exuberance. When we both came he begged me to let him fuck me in my pussy, not in my ass the way we usually did it. I smiled and told him, "Yes," so he did.
When I woke up I pressed the buzzer to call Flora. But this time, instead of Flora Miss Rebecca came into the room! "Hello, sweetheart!" she said. "I haven't seen you for a while! Still faking that you want to be a woman?" She was mocking me, but the whole time she was smiling down on me affectionately! What was this?
"What do you mean? I asked a little indignantly! "What are you talking about? I *am* a woman!" I was surprised to hear me say it. But it was so!
"I know that, honey," she said reassuringly. "And now you do too. First you had to persuade yourself that it was a good thing, and I guess you did that by fucking and sucking all those men. How many?"
"Lots," I replied smugly. "I've done it all my life! A girl who can't say no. I just can't help it. Elaine was right, men can be just wonderful!"
"Well, you're certainly not much of a husband, watching your wife enjoy herself with all those men. She's been having such a good time, getting you used to that idea! What you two see in those hairy piles of muscle I'll never know, but you do, and I can't quarrel with that. As long as you like girls too."
And she leaned over the bed and kissed me! And touched my clit and began to stroke it. It felt so good!! She kept it up all through her next revelation to me.
"All those tapes you've been listening to in your sleep have helped too. I know, I helped Miss Caroline prepare them, and she really is a world expert in that kind of persuasion. And you've been listening to Miss Elaine's voice telling you all sorts of things ever since you took those enemas and we began those operative procedures. All last week while you were slept and your incisions were healing. Still, the hypno-conditioning was only part of it. You have a vagina now, don't you? Yes, I thought so, even though it's still anatomically displaced to your rear. We'll soon fix that. And this is your clit, right? Yes. No way an erectile penis any more, and a little long, but we'll fix that too in good time. And you now have lots of soft, affectionate feelings you're pleased to have, don't you, now that you're a woman. Because you're a woman, right?"
I smiled at her. "It's so wonderful!" I replied.
"I have more wonderful news for you! You know those testicles you were so anxious to protect? Your so-called balls? Well, they aen't altogether what they were! Essentially you aren't a man down there at all any more. Those nasty things pouring out sperm and testosterone and making you feel mean and edgy and hostile and competitive, your testicles? Remember them? They're all gone now! Instead you've got implants in your scrotum pouring estrogen, progestin, all sorts of goodies into your bloodstream. Now you can't help but become the woman you said you wanted to be, not unless you castrate yourself! Rounder hips and buns and softer lines in your face, and a smooth complexion, and bigger breasts, and a much nicer disposition. There's a tranquillizer in there too, to keep you content with all those changes as they occur."
"As the implants dissolve they'll get smaller and disappear, and that's when we'll talk about using the empty pouch as labia for your neo-vagina. My dear, Joseph is gone! You'll never compete with me again for Elaine's love. You weren't much of a man, and now you're none at all. But you'll be such a good girlfriend for her when she wants a man! Guys come in pairs usually, you know. Go to sleep now, and dream about how nice that'll be! When you have a real pussy you can take on two men at once, the way Elaine does sometimes. You two together could double-date with four men if you wanted. Six, come to think of it. Now that would be real sharing, wouldn't it?"
She sounded mocking, but it was hard to tell. She rubbed my clit some more, and I closed my eyes and arched my back and in a minute more I had an orgasm! That same clenching into glory and release into the sweetest calm! No spurting involved or necessary -- my clit stayed soft the whole time, with barely any emission! Heavenly! I was a woman! Why in the world should I have ever wanted to be anything else? I felt so grateful to Rebecca that I reached out to hug and thank her. But all I found was a man standing with his cock in my face waiting to feed me breakfast.
I may have dreamed it, but one morning when I came into the lounge, Elaine wasn't there. Instead, there was Rebecca sitting there at her ease, arms and legs spread wide apart, stark naked, with Flora bent over her crotch and kissing and sucking and licking it. Respectfully, as if servicing a Queen. I watched them for a minute and felt my cheeks begin to flush. My clit twitched, and my pussy spasmed! It looked so good!
"Do you want to kiss me, Joy?" Even naked, Rebecca spoke with imperial authority. She seemed so strong, so sure of herself! "Would you also like to pay your respects to my pussy?"
"Yes, Miss Rebecca!" I said. "Oh, yes!" I longed to do just that!
"Of course you would. That's what your tapes told you all last night. Well girl, come taste my pussy. It's yours!"
Flora moved out of the way, and I knelt down respectfully between Rebecca's legs, and I buried my face in her! It was so good, being one woman tasting another! So very good! I just loved it! It felt so affectionate. So sweet! When I was a man with my head between her legs it was demeaning! But this was ... delightful. Nice. So very right! I closed my eyes!
When I woke up, again Flora told me that Dr. Lander and Elaine had arrived and were waiting for me downstairs.
They were conferring with Miss Caroline. There was now no question of selling me to one of the pimps who worked the seedier bars in town. My re-education was nearly complete. I had been a transparent fraud when I arrived, they all knew that, a scheming manipulator stalling for time, ready to do anything to recover my wife from her girlfriend. That I'd submit to anything was fortunate for me. If I'd resisted treatment I might well have ended up one more mind-damaged whore turning tricks, taking drugs to help persuade me I was really a woman who enjoyed men, but always nagged by doubt. But now I knew it, I really was a woman. I was sincere. I was now welcome to live as a guest in my own home, taking care of it for them. In fact, the last few days of my training would teach me stitchery and other such repairs, but also an entirely new skill, the pleasure a woman can derive from dominating men. So I could really enjoy my new job, not merely surveying various malls and mall managers but also persuading them to build larger facilities. I'd be well-qualified.
I liked that. So my last few days at Miss Caroline's were spent learning how to keep her hired studs at the edge of orgasm, moaning for relief, and worrying them by touching my teeth to the edges of their cock-crowns. I was amused by how easily a girl can toy with a man's desires when she wants. Scott was something of a pretty boy. I made sure he knew it by making him wear lipstick and a bra and making him blow a huge weightlifter named Mark. A day later he told me he'd done it again on his own!
The morning I dressed to leave Miss Caroline's with Miss Elaine, I felt so deliciously wicked I wore black satin panties, and so naughty that my scanty black bra could barely restrain my bobbing tits. Then I seduced Flora right there in my bedroom. A farewell gift to her! When I rose to slip into my dress, and she was still stretched out on my bed with her pussy sucked raw, I heard her breathe out that she'd never felt so good.
"That's lovely, dear," I told her. "I enjoyed it too. Thank you for taking care of me all these weeks! I've loved every minute!"
"You're most welcome, Joy honey. You've been a doll the whole time!"
"Yes," I replied. "I found that out!"
I'd become one. I'd already forgotten why I came here. And forgotten lots more too, even the moments I'd treasured only a few days ago. Miss Caroline told me those memories were only aids to rehabituation, that my whole time at her establishment would fade out of mind as a new sense of myself and my new life filled my days.
"Let me remind you, Joy," she said gently. "You used to be a man. You were Elaine's husband for six years. But you agreed to become her girlfriend instead, so she'd be willing to keep living with you. So you could go out and pick up guys together, and then have fun telling each other all about it afterward, the way girlfriends do. Because her other girlfriend doesn't like to pick up guys. You do, now."
I nodded. I wanted to be her girlfriend so we could live together. Be intimate together. Pick up guys and enjoy them together.
It was important that I keep doing what she'd trained me to want to do, Miss Caroline went on, or I'd revert to old male habits and desires. But my girlfriend Elaine and her girlfriend Rebecca would keep me on the right path, she was sure.
I'm glad I've retained even the few real memories I've just jotted down here. If any of them are real memories. Not that it matters.
viii.
On our way back home from Miss Caroline's, Miss Elaine and I went shopping. I was wearing the gray suit I'd worn to the office the day I first came out of the closet as my true self and confessed to everyone that I was a really a woman. I needed everything! I needed two of everything! As Miss Elaine explained to me, "Until she becomes a mother, every woman is really two women, or would like to be. The first is a capable professional woman, fashionable, maybe even elegant, poised and at ease and tastefully groomed, very much herself, graciously but firmly guiding others toward whatever she wants. Comfortable on all occasions."
"I like that," I said. "It sounds like fun."
It reminded me of my last few days at Miss Caroline's. The men who'd taught me the joys of being a woman had first seemed intimidating, but then they became desireable, then companionable. During the last few days I'd found they could be something else still -- servile. It was easier than I'd imagined, instructing them to do what I wanted instead of consenting to their wants. My last memories of Duncan and Scott were of both of them at my feet licking my toes, while Jeffrey -- a local college boy they'd brought in for apprentice training -- knelt in front of me and kissed and licked my clit to orgasm. That seemed about right, I decided. Even the lowest woman in the feminine pecking order ought to be able to order men to worship her.
"Good," my wife said. "I'm glad. It is fun. Because that's what you'll be at the office and also when you're doing your inspections. It's all in what you think you are. Then in what you think they are whether they know it or not. The only way to keep men from taking advantage of you is by taking advantage of them first."
My former Ellie seemed to know a lot more about these matters than I'd have guessed a month ago. A month ago, I realized, I didn't know her at all.
"The second kind of woman every woman likes to imagine herself is a sexual being, glowing with desire, eager for it. The kind of woman we've both been most mornings during the past three weeks." She paused and glanced wickedly at me. "Some mornings. And I've been more sexual than you knew for a lot longer than that!"
"Yes," I said with a conspiratorial grin, as if it hadn't been me she'd been deceiving for years. She smiled back appreciatively. It was a lovely moment of shared understanding. I loved it, that she'd felt free to pleasure herself with other men, that when I was her husband I never suspected! Neither of us needed to say a thing!
She then spoke seriously, as if imparting an important secret. "Elegant or sluttish, Joy, a woman should remain in charge. Every woman you've met since all this began has shared that secret with you. Even if you're some man's sex kitten, if you know who you really are you'll know how to get what you want from him."
We reached her favorite upscale shopping mall and parked. I concentrated on getting out of the car gracefully in my heels -- I'd been a man on his way to his hairdressers and then to his office when I'd last done that. Afraid to be recognized as a man while wearing Rebecca's business suit with its short skirt. Tense and distracted, ashamed but afraid to show it. Now I felt comfortably myself, neat, feminine, still young and pert, looking at the world as a basket of wonderful opportunities for...something. I had the mind and memories of a woman. Or at least some of the reflexes. I wondered if women's suits come with much shorter skirts.
A thought suddenly occurred to me. "Miss Elaine," I began.
"Just 'Elaine' when we're being two girls together, honey. 'Miss Elaine' is if we keep you as a housemaid and there are guests present."
"All these different names," I merely observed. Women don't say outright what they think -- it sounds too forward. I'd learned that.
But women hear each other. "It won't be much longer, sweetheart!"
She'd said it as if absent-mindedly. I glanced at her. Did it mean she'd be leaving me despite everything? That was no longer a frightening thought, but it was certainly disappointing. I still loved her, and I was still looking forward to sharing our lives with other men. She however was looking just ahead at a Talbot's, her mind concentrating on something else. I decided to let it pass.
I returned to my original thought. "Elaine, why is it that this gray suit just happened to be in Rebecca's car when we arrived that first day, and happened to fit me?"
She just looked it over as we walked toward the store's open doorway. "It's a little large on you now, honey. You were a 14 when Becky and I bought it for you, down from 18, remember? Now you're a scant 12! You have a lovely waistline!" She smiled conspiratorially at me again. "All that cum certainly agrees with you! You look radiant. The way women look when they're pregnant!"
"That's my estrogen level, Elaine. You remember? My new testicles?"
She smiled, shrugging. I'd agreed to it. It was done. There was nothing to say.
"I'm not complaining. I love it, my complexion, and the figure I'm developing. And ... everything else. But about this gray suit. It's cute and it's trendy, and some of the girls complimented me on it when I wore it to the office a few weeks ago. But how did Rebecca -- Miss Rebecca -- happen to have it in her car? In my size, not hers. She's a 12. The blouses I pressed and hung away for her the next day were all 12s."
Elaine stopped walking for a moment. She turned and looked at me and said, slightly impatient, almost chiding me. "Joy, don't think for a moment that any of this just happened! Becky and I did what we decided and you did what you decided! And so far it's been working out fine!"
"What do you mean?"
"Later!"
We had arrived at the first of many boutiques.
All of the clothes we bought that day were ...authoritative. A clingy spandex and silk cocktail dress that draped across my bust as if I were a Grecian maenad, but in black, not white. A teeny, tight leather miniskirt with thigh-high spike-heeled boots to match, and a leather bustier to go with it, but in white, not black. "This is more suitable for more occasions than black, I think you'll find," the salesperson told us. "It's celebratory as well as errr...dominant. And" -- she smiled at the thought -- "innocent, too."
"Do you have a whip in white leather to match?" I asked her with a perfectly straight face.
"Joy!" Elaine said, as if shocked as well as amused. "Behave!"
Several long street dresses with pencil thin skirts, some wide, pleated peasant skirts and several more minis, a skin-tight pair of designer jeans and some scoop-necked T-shirts ("for gardening, and for harvesting eyeballs when your tush becomes as luscious as your tits," Elaine explained). Several more business suits, a bit more hi-styled than the one Rebecca had somehow provided me, a bit risque even. "You can buy special occasion dresses yourself when you go mall crawling, and can see the sorts of men you'll be dealing with," Elaine commented when I stopped to admire one. "But only one really whorish outfit, only for that occasional special date with someone really funky. Any company whore I live with is going to look respectable!"
And lingerie. Elaine insisted I buy only the most delicate, the prettiest and most wonderfully frilly, though I was shocked at the price. And shoes and a purse, and other accessories. We decided that would do for now.
"Can we go home now?" I asked. "It's mid-afternoon, and I need to get off my feet. I haven't been home for three weeks, remember. Be it ever so humble."
"All right," Elaine said. "We'll rest up, and then tonight we'll go out again together to celebrate the new you. Maybe we'll go trolling."
"I'd like that," I said, half understanding what she meant. "Will Miss Rebecca join us?"
"She's busy," Elaine replied. "I have something else in mind. There's something we need to do. The sooner the better."
"Oh?" I asked.
"Yes," was all she replied. I knew better than to press her.
Even so, I was surprised, as I got out of my shower early that evening, powdered, primped and fragrant, and was taking down my new little black classic dress, when she told me "The white leather I think, honey. With the boots. I've laid it all out for you."
"Not the black? This is slut night, not high style night?"
"That's right!" she said. "Lay on the eye make-up, too! Oh, and for fun, plan to wear this. You'll feel less inhibited." She held out a blonde wig, sort of cute in its way, round and curly. Bubble-headed. Ditzy. "You'll enjoy everything more, if we get lucky. Pin it so it can't possibly come off. You know the eye shadow shades that go with this?"
"Yes, of course," I replied, staring at it. "But why the wig? Francesca's hairdo is still...."
"Because blondes have more fun," she said shortly. Again, she wasn't prepared to tell me. So be it. Then, "So it'll be quite impossible for anyone to recognize you."
"I don't mind being recognized, now," I said. "The old Joe is gone. Now I'm Joy to the world!"
While I was smiling over my pun, Elaine simply said, "Someone might mind recognizing you, babydoll." Then she disappeared into the shower herself.
She certainly did mean for me to be a mantrap! When she reappeared in my room fully dressed I was putting the final strokes onto the outfit she'd laid out for me. Silver chain necklaces lay across my upthrust breasts as they bulged out of my leather bustier, and instead of the white stockings that might have toned down my white leather outfit I was wearing black with silver-metallic glinting. Thigh boots as high-heeled as they were long! Talk about sluttish?
Yet she was herself wearing a simple, elegantly tasteful little black dress of her own, the one with a high black satin collar. Attractive, but not especially sexy. I raised one of my arched, overplucked eyebrows. She ignored it.
"That's my girl!" she said with a huge smile. "I knew that miniskirt would be perfect! Glove leather! Look how softly it drapes over your crotch, tucking into your pussy! Or it would if you had one. Which reminds me, are you well-gaffed?"
"Yes," I said. "And I've douched too, the way I've done it for weeks now when I've expected that men might request certain favors. No need to ask. Why do you ask?"
"Because tonight, lover, I want you free-swinging. Let your properties all hang out. Take off the gaff! Take off those french lace panties too. As I told you, I don't want you feeling inhibited in any way!"
"This is a very short skirt," I said, doubtful of the proprieties.
"I know!" Elaine replied. "I know! Trust me on this, lover! Oh, and pop this. Only a mild tranquillizer. Nothing to slow you down." I did.
As we settled into the car, Elaine driving, she looked me over once again. I tugged my skirt down to cover the tip of my cock, which was just barely hinted at the edge of my hem. "Perfect!" she said, noticing. "I want you a little bit exposed! And those huge eyes go perfectly with your hair. You look like a woman without a care in the world or a thought in your head!"
"Thank you," I said, genuinely pleased. "Wherever we're going tonight, honey, I hope you'll remind me to act like a lady in case I forget. I still don't know if Miss Caroline took me to a proper restaurant while I was there, and taught me how to behave,,or if she only told me that was what she was doing.
"Oh, you'll know what to do tonight," she said. "Not all of the men who've been in your ass lately have been imaginary!"
Which didn't exactly seem to answer what I had asked her.
We pulled up to the main entrance of the nicest hotel in town, and when the valet parking attendants saw us they leaped to open our doors. Elaine gave hers a huge, beaming smile, so I did the same with mine, but in the special way I'd been taught. He'd been grinning at me in a welcoming sort of way, almost leering. I swept my eyes up his body from his knees to his forehead, pausing en route at his crotch. Then I looked him in the eyes and said, "Thank you, I always enjoy young men like you," and smiled as brilliantly as I could. His jaw dropped and his eyes rolled back, as if he were cumming in his pants. I swept on, my cock and artificial balls barely covered by my supple white leather skirt. I wondered if the globes of my ass were visible. When I glanced back to see who saw, the car valet was still standing there, staring at my rear, still holding the car door open.
Elaine took due note. "Perfect!" she said with a wide smile, yet again. "You really did learn a few things, didn't you? I must remember that one!"
"It' fun!" I agreed, sharing another giggly glance at my new girlfriend. I loved those moments. "But can we eat? I've had nothing all day, and I've been on that liquid diet for weeks!"
"Just wait, sweetheart! You'll get your dinner." She was scanning the lobby. Some kind of convention was taking place, older balding men standing flat-footed in groups with younger, keen-looking men on their toes, chatting and eyeing each passing delegate's name tag. "Welcome Wholesale Druggists" said a banner over the registration desk.
"Of course! The bar!" she said suddenly.
Opening off the huge lobby's chromium glitz was a woodpaneled cocktail lounge designed to look like a British Pub. Already crowded. We approached it, Elaine looked in, then seized my arm and propelled me through and over to a booth just being vacated.
"There!" she said. "Just in time. Those two guys in the lobby had gotten tired of trying to look up your skirt and had just decided to walk over and introduce themselves!"
"I hadn't noticed," I said. "But isn't that why we're here?"
"No," my wife said, seating herself at the booth while I did the same. "Look straight ahead of you there at those two men leaning toawrd each other. At the bar. That's why we're here."
I looked. Two stocky, muscular, well-dressed men in easy, confident conversation, one with his back toward me gesturing as if selling something to the other man, who glanced at him now and then and nodded.
"So?" I asked. "What's so special about them? "Steve was better built. And Brian too!" If there was a Brian, I thought to myself.
A waiter came and took our drink orders. And almost immediately returned with them. With my tummy empty, one swallow and I got tipsy all at once.
Elaine returned to the matter at hand. "Think, Joy! A wholesale druggist's convention! Pharmaceuticals!"
Of course! My lips parted and my eyes opened wide! Now I really do look like a blonde bimbo, I thought. My eyes opened even wider! The man at the bar facing me grinned to himself and muttered something to the other man, who then half-turned to look at our reflections in the mirror over the bar. I looked at his.
It was Tim all right! The same arrogant posture, leaning way back and declaring his opinions with broad gestures. To some fool listening to him.
I looked at Elaine. She was watching me in triumph, eyes smouldering, delighted with my reaction to her little surprise!
I was amused by her subterfuge. "Is that why we're here, Elaine? You want to meet up with Miss Rebecca's ex? Take him to bed, now that he's an ex? And I'm here to take his friend there off your hands? Is he expecting us?"
"No, honey. He isn't expecting us. And he isn't an ex yet -- that's what they're still negotiating. And I don't mean to take him to bed, now or ever again. Not Tim, anyway."
"What then?" I tried to sober up, but instead took another swallow from my glass. "Elaine, this is dangerous! I guess he can't tell who I am, and he's looking straight at me now, checking me out. I guess I do look different! Especially with this wig!" Despite my surprise and tension I smiled at that realization. His companion of many late night beer and boasting sessions, while our wives were getting it on together upstairs, no way resembled the doll-faced blonde he was looking at in the mirror. He thought my smile was for him and he smiled back at my reflection. My God!
I turned to face Elaine. She still looked like a cat with a canary in its mouth. "He'll kill you when he recognizes you, Elaine!," I said, alarmed. "He'll be furious! You're the woman who alienated his wife's affection, remember? The co-respondent in a mean-tempered divorce? Let's get out of here!!" I started to rise.
"Stay where you are!" Tense, hard, ruthless! I was shocked! I had never heard Elaine use such a tone of voice. Not with me! She sipped from her own drink. Then she continued more quietly, "No, I dont think he wants to kill me. We've gotten on pretty well since he caught us. We have our arrangements!"
I persisted. I was so anxious I had to stop and deliberately call back my feminine voice -- I'd lost it a moment ago! "Elaine, Tim never struck me as a good sport! He's hates to lose! Please, let's leave."
"Joy, listen to me."
"What?!"
"Tim's being here is why we're here!"
"What?"
"It's payback time. Just listen, they'll be here in another minute or two I'm sure. You wanted to stay with me. To do that you needed to become a woman. Miss Caroline accomplished that miracle, and very satisfactorily too. Her services don't come cheap. Obliging studs like Steve and Duncan are top drawer, expensive to keep on call. But worth it, didn't you think?"
I smiled despite myself. The feel of those heavy cocks and the taste of all that cum returned to my memory and my mouth. A faint pungency in the nose. Yum. Inadvertently my hips wriggled against the back of the booth. I recalled that Steve once took me in my ass and brought me off twice without cumming at all. He'd fucked my brains out so throughly I couldn't see straight when we were done, so I had to feel my way along the walls as I staggered to bed, my rear end dripping.
"And Flora may be a registered nurse devoted to serving mankind, and she is just that, but she's also a high priced call girl. And she's served you well in both capacities. Hasn't she?"
"Yes," I had to agree. "She taught me a lot about pleasing men. And women!"
"Well, Joy, it's Rebecca who paid your tuition and board at Miss Caroline's! And your medical bills. And provided generous tips for everyone when we left there this morning. Because they did such a fine job with you."
This was baffling. Rebecca wanted me to succeed, to be successfully feminized? She'd hoped I'd fail! To be rid of me! "The boys did a fine job with you too, I noticed!" I said a little cattily. I wasn't jealous. I liked knowing that my wife enjoyed herself with other men! I was merely pointing out that the tuition payments weren't all for my education. Byt my mind was still whirling! Why would Rebecca do that, pay for me to become the woman of my wife's dreams? Spite? Revenge? As a gift from her to my wife?
"Yes, those boys gave me the best fucks I've ever had! You know that, Joy, you saw! They're tremendous lovers! My regular boyfriends are nowhere near as dedicated. But remember, they didn't fuck me for just me. Even then they were fucking me for you!"
"For me!"
"Poor Joy, you're addled! Yes, to rid you of all your male exclusive proprietary feelings about me. To rid you of jealousy! And it worked! I can fuck anyone now, and you don't mind, isn't that true?"
"Of course I don't mind, Elaine! I love it! I'm happy for you! You're your own woman. I'm mine."
"Did you feel like that before you saw me getting it on every morning? Before you also became promiscuous, a girl who also loves cock?"
"No, of course not. Before Miss Caroline's, the thought of you with Rebecca roiled my stomach. And when you told me about Gary, and Michael, and your other partners, I felt depleted. Less than a man!"
"But now you're not a man. You're a woman like me!"
"Yes." I had to admit the truth of that. I'd seen Elaine in sublime sexual throes so often, and she'd seen me the same way, all we could possibly do was wish each other joy with each other's men.
"Those studs liberated us, sweetheart. To become close friends, the dearest of girlfriends. No longer a husband and a wife but a loving couple. And I do love you Joy, with all my heart."
I was moved by that. "Me too" I cried in my high pitched voice, near tears. I reached over and took Elaine's hand and squeezed it. We were two women offering each other affectionate consolation and the deepest of heartfelt love.
After a moment Elaine swallowed, and then in a husky voice returned to her revelation. "Well, Rebecca paid for Miss Caroline's services for both of us. To rid me of what you were, and to give you back to me as what you are. For herself too, honey!"
"To give me back to you? I wanted her gone! Away! And that's the way she wanted me! How for herself?"
"I'll explain later. Can you trust me now?"
She was near tears. So was I, seeing how close she was. "Yes, of course, darling, with all my heart," I said.
"Joy, we owe her. She made it possible for us to remain together. There was no other way. And now it's possible for us to repay her. There's this one last thing you need to do, and then we're together for the rest of our lives. As man and wife, as lesbian lovers, as girlfriends together on the town, whatever we wish. It's nothing you haven't done before. You've now done it often, easily, and with enormous pleasure. But it might hurt your pride this time, because this time it's a little different."
"What is? How do we repay her?"
"We're here to pick up Tim so you can have sex with him! You'll take him to bed. You'll blow him, and let him fuck you! Ass or tits or both!"
I felt chilled. I hated that man!
"But you won't reveal who you are to him. Or that you still have male genitals! You'll keep them exposed, but he won't see them till the last possible moment!"
My stomach turned over. I was silent.
"That's what you'll do, Joy,!" Her voice was level. She smiled at me, but her words came out like chipped ice. "Do it, and we'll all live happily ever after. Don't do it, and listen! I'll leave you right now. You have no money. And I've changed the locks at home, and there's no key under the mat. Before morning you'll be turning tricks on skid row for hotel money and your first square meal in a month! You must be starved now! Eat Tim! Does that make your decision easier?"
Did she mean it? "I can't," I said. "When he sees what I am he'll kill me!"
She reached into her purse and handed me what looked like a large, flesh-colored sanitary napkin covered with adhesive. "No. Trust me on that. Here. Paste this onto your crotch. It'll hide your cock and balls for the first unveiling. Take it off as soon as possible, but when he won't notice." She paused, and in a mocking voice added, "Not that there's anything much there, Joy! A teeny clit and fake balls. Girly testicles! My big girly man! You're a woman now! Well, be a woman, Joey! Seduce him!"
"Elaine!" I cried in an oddly bimbo-like squeak. "He'll know!" She turned up her eyes disbelievingly, disgusted by such an excuse. I plowed on. "But even if he doesn't recognize me, he's an arrogant bastard. I hate to speak for Rebecca, but it's true, she's well rid of him! Why use me just to get even with him? Why demean me?"
"Joy, he's taking her for everything! In the divorce settlement, he's demanded everything from her but the clothes on her back! Because of me. Because the woman you love loves her too! He's threatened to name me in court as her partner in adultery. That's blackmail in a way, but it works! If he does that it'll destroy my credibility with every respectable firm in town. Yours too, you know. Maybe our marriage along with it. Who'd hire you, a laughingstock, a man who suddenly thinks he's a woman and is married to a dyke, and shares her with another dyke in her own home and claims she knows nothing about it? Think of the ridicule! What does that make you?"
It makes me pretty much what I am, I thought. But the world would think me some kind of idiotic pervert. And here was an argument I ghad to weigh seriously. Rebecca had yielded to Tim's vindictive demands partly to protect her old girlfriend and her old girlfriend's husband.
"I see," I said.
"Rebecca gave in to him for us! Do this thing, Joy! He'll be here in a moment. Put this room key in your purse. Paste that napkin on now. When he recognizes me and comes over, take him upstairs and fuck his brains out. Let him think you're a woman for as long as you can. That's what you are now, aren't you? Then reveal what you were! Show him your dick and your bag of balls! Humiliate him! The room's all arranged, it's all paid for. There'll be no questions. Have sex with him. Leave a light on by the bed, it'll seem more romantic."
"How does that punish him?" I asked. "How does she get even?"
"The room is bugged. There are microphones and cameras and video cameras everwhere. Everything you do will be recorded. The pictures will show Tim having sex with a man. A shemale, but still, a man with a cock and balls. That's why we wanted you to keep your balls, for something like this. Or a semblance of your balls. I'll turn the tapes and pictures over to Rebecca, and then if he claims in court that she slept with me, she can show that he slept with you! That should level the playing field for any final settlement! Believe me, he isn't man enough to take what his buddies would dish out, once they saw him fuck a queer!"
I was morose, silent. Where had I heard about level playing fields before? All this was reminding me of my former life, when I still thought I was a man. Now I had to play a queer man!
Elaine waited no longer. She wriggled part-way out of the booth and turned her head toward Tim and his friend. Tim was still looking me over in the mirror over the bar, an unattached blonde bimbo. But now, startled, he turned and looked directly at Elaine. Instant recognition! Elaine smiled and waved a hand at him, then slid back into the booth and turned back to me.
Her voice grew harder. "Joy. This is what it's all about. This is what Becky and I have had in mind for you ever since you offered to move in with us. Prove your loyalty, make us glad we agreed to take you in. We want you to humiliate Tim beyond recovery by having sex with him. You're a trained and experienced cock sucker. Go get your picture taken sucking his cock and getting your ass fucked. You owe Rebecca! Then she'll have gotten her money's worth from Miss Caroline's. Maybe more than her money's worth, if he's really embarrassed. That's not for either of us to say. Do it and I won't feel I owe her. And you won't need to feel you owe her either, even though as far as we're concerned, Miss Caroline is the only reason we're still together. It's Tim or the streets for you now, lover!"
I stared at her. I saw no way out. I made up my mind. "What if he's a lousy fuck?" I asked her.
She laughed and relaxed. I'd agreed! "You'll love it, sweetie," she said. "He's a big boy. Wait and see!"
I was about to ask her how she knew when a waiter suddenly appeared with two more drinks for us. Behind him carrying their own drinks, looking eager and smug, were Tim and the other man. Why not? They thought they'd secured some great cunt for the night! Tim has for sure, I thought to myself as I pressed the pink napkin onto my mound. My clit and dangling implants disappeared under it.
"Ellie!" Tim said in his hearty, polite, deal-closing salesman's voice. "I was sure it was you! Imagine my surprise! It's been a while! May we join you?" He slid his bulk in alongside my wife without awaiting an answer. I looked up and smiled hesitantly at him, then at the other man, and then slid over. Now I was trapped in the booth. "This great guy here is Cal! No last names, he's married!" Tim winked at me. "Are you, Miss? Or as they say, maybe you're between engagements?" He chuckled. "I'm Tim! I've known your friend here for ages! She and my almost-ex-wife were roommates in college."
"I'm Joy, honey," I said, reaching across the table to take his hand, and then trailing my nails on his palm as I let go. "What a big hand you have, Tim!"
"Joy," he repeated, distracted but attempting even so to look intensely into my eyes, as if instantly smitten. Corny? I looked away with a faint smile. Let him come on to me a while longer! "Hello, Cal," I added, turning my head and offering him my hand also.
Tim put his arm around Elaine's shoulders. "Cal, this here is a wonderful woman! Truly awesome. She lives here in town. My wife and I used to stay at her house, they knew each other in school. Well, a year or so ago I leaned on her a little and persuaded her, and this little lady opened her legs to me like Santa opening a bag of toys. Then there was no stopping either of us. I'd crawl out of her crotch whenever her husband came home of course, but not always even then. My wife knew, but what could she do? Her husband never caught on, can you imagine? Nice enough guy, we'd sit and talk when the women went upstairs and did their beauty things. Then I'd yawn and go to bed, and he'd go to bed, and in a little while Ellie here would come to my bed, if she wasn't already there waiting when I arrived! This is one hot woman! When I wasn't available, would you believe it, she gets it on with my wife? My wife is up for anything, same as me!"
Despite myself I began to steam. I liked the fact that my wife was passionate. I didn't really feel jealous that Tim too had fucked her. That was a kind of compliment, praise from one more former lover. No, one more sex partner. I was Elaine's girlfriend, not her husband, and I knew I should feel glad for her. But back then we were married. I was a man then. We were supposed to be faithful. This was a triple betrayal -- Tim fucking my own wife, under my own roof, and now boasting about it to a stranger! Well, we'd see!
One thing puzzled me. If he and Ellie were fucking each other, why was he so ticked off when he found out that Rebecca and Ellie were fucking each other? How could he think he the aggrieved party? I couldn't think that one through though. I suppose because he's an egotistical bastard, I decided.
Elaine looked at me with a certain penetrating grimness, a faint smile on the edges of her mouth. She knew just how I was taking this new revelation! Tim was now added to the list with Gary and Michael and who knows how many others?
"You still married to that wimp, Elaine baby? Did that dick of his ever get stiff enough to reach into you? Or long enough? Did you ever train him to suck your real men's cum out of your pussy, the way you said you would?"
She seemed to speak reluctantly. She'd mocked me when they were together? "Yes," she said slowly. "He's done that. But no, Tim. He's even smaller now. I haven't seen him for a while. We're separated."
"You don't say! Then maybe you and I...."
"Who is this man, Ellie?" I broke in. If anyone was going to screw Tim tonight, it was going to be me! Screw him for good! I wanted to set him up and trap him the worst way! "He talks good sex! Is he all talk?"
"There's only one way to find out, Joy," Elaine responded. "Are you interested?" Her eyes lit up mischievously, as if she were daring me to enjoy myself.
Tim looked me over a little more closely, and his eyes opened slightly. He could see "slut" written all over me. I gave him my bold, challenging look. "Well, Tim," I asked him. "Are you all talk?" I nudged Cal to let me by. A gentleman, he stood up instantly and I slid past him, then stood up myself. My teeny white leather skirt clung to my thighs like satin, twisted across my crotch, but I didn't want to break concentration to adjust it. I kept staring into Tim's eyes, challenging him, while he looked me up and down. My thigh-high boots with a hint of more thigh and more intimate girl above where the boots ended. My silver neckace lay almost flat on the shelf of my upthrust boobs, some of it partly fallen into the canyon between them.
"Well?" I asked him again. He looked almost overwhelmed as he stood up, still staring at the white globes visible above my white bustier. If only I were actually carrying a white leather whip as part of my outfit! "Well, come on then," I said, and finally broke off eye contact. I turned to Elaine. "I think you and Cal can find things to say to each other," I told her. "Maybe things to do to each other, too! See you when I see you!"
"I'll leave an envelope at the front desk," Ellie managed to say before I turned on my white high heels and walked toward the pub's exit, the hotel lobby, and the elevators, Tim following me like an school boy. She knew I didn't even have money for a taxi. When I looked back, she had an enormous grin on her face. Pure triumph! Her Rebecca would be avenged, and Tim's vindictiveness neutralized. But there was something else there too!
ix.
In fact, Tim wasn't bad at all! His cock wasn't terribly long, but it was enormously thick, and curved like a crescent moon. When we got to the room I checked for cameras and sure enough, there was one in each corner of the room looking like a misplaced smoke detector, its light winking, and one in the central chandelier aimed at a huge, overstuffed easy chair. So I played seductress. I had him stand while I sat perched on the edge of the easy chair. Then I slowly undid his belt buckle and lowered his pants, then his boxer shorts, leaving them both draped on his ankles so he'd be forced to shuffle around the room like a chain gang prisoner. He looked ridiculous standing there, shirt-tails barely covering his fully erect fat dick and hairy ass.
"Leave those pants there, baby. And leave your shoes on. You'd really regret meeting the guy who thinks this is his room, if he should show up. We'll hope not!"
He nodded, and looked back over his shoulder for a chair to sit in while I knelt down between his legs to do homage to his cock. I had other ideas. "No, just stand there, Tim," I said. "A man stands in the presence of a lady. Your prick already knows that -- you should listen to what it's telling you. Now shuffle over here and present it to me while I sit here."
He did. When that rampant cock was in front of my nose, I remembered that I hadn't eaten all day! "Just stand there while I prepare you," I said, and I took his cock in my mouth and began sliding my lips up and down it. As he felt his sensations intensify his hips began slight bumping and grinding motions. I lifted off and fixed his eyes with mine. "Stand perfectly still or all this ends now," I told him with an impatient edge in my voice. He did, and I resumed, with difficulty because it's hard to blow a man when your mouth keeps trying to grin. All that advice held! I wasn't servicing him, he was doing my bidding!
Then when he was rising toward his orgasm, ready to cum, and I could feel that he was surrendering his mind to enjoy it, I popped him out of my mouth, and he groaned aloud! Good, the bastard! I thought.
"Kneel down," I whispered to him, "and undo my bustier in back!" He groaned again when he realized that his anticipated climactic release was not yet happening. But he did as asked, clumsily tangling his pants further onto his legs but reaching his arms around me to find my bustier zipper slide and pull it down. He looked to the cameras as if he were embracing me, I was sure. Now his nose was crammed in the crevasse between my tits, and he was breathing heavily. I leaned back, and his whole face was buried between my breasts as the bustier came free. I pulled his head into them and wrapped my arms around it, both of them. I knew he couldn't breathe, and I wanted to worry him some, just a little, about whether he'd survive this session with this unknown woman.
Just when his head was pulling back against my arms, urgently, then frantically, then desperate with his need to suck in air, I eased off just a little. Then as he gasped I whispered "Suck on these!" He returned to first one, then the other, moaning as if starved, tonguing my distended nipples! They were still huge and pointy -- Miss Caroline had explained my body would absorb the collagen injections as my hormones replaced them with real nipple tissue, but they'd always be large, like the nipples on a baby bottle. "Men can't get enough of the breast," she commented. "They're such babies! So give them what they want!" Now I had my own baby sucking and nursing, and the sensations were marvelous. They went through my whole body into my clit, and as I lifted his head and placed his mouth on my other nipple I peaked and exploded! I arched my back and tensed into a delicious state of transport! My whole body pulsed, not just my clit! An orgasm just from nursing a man! I almost felt affectionate toward Tim, and tried to restrain myself.
He noticed anyhow and preened himself, and tried to take charge. "You like that, huh, baby? Well, wait till I get into your nooky, that's when...."
"Tit fuck me, baby!"
"Huh?"
"Slide that cock of yours here, between my tits, they're all slick and soaked from your mouth, c'mon, honey, climb up here and plant that cock in this soft, slippery place! Now! I need it!"
I didn't "need" it, but I wanted it. This was the plan I'd concocted on my way up in the elevator. I slid way down in the chair, lying almost flat with my butt well over the edge, while he crept up over me to line up his cock and my cleft. As I expected, his twisted pants and shorts pulled my white leather skirt up to my waist, and behind his back I stripped off the adhesive cover Ellie had given me, to expose my cock and balls, my clit and implants, to at least two of the cameras.
I had a soft erection, barely enough to make my clit stand up. Tim began sliding his prick up and down in my sopping cleft. To the cameras behind him though it looked as if he were trying to seat his ass on my cock and lap-fuck himself with me. And as my soft clit disappeared between his ass cheeks, it appeared that he was succeeding! Unquestionably I was a man, and unquestionably he was breathing hard and humping me, my prick sliding in and out of his ass. No mere camera could see that this was only an optical illusion created while he was in fact sliding his prick between my breasts.
And as he picked up the pace I squeezed my breasts onto that thick stick of his, and felt my plump silicone cushions press against it. ""Oh, yes, baby! Oh yes!" I cried as if my chest were the most erogenous zone of my body. He gave a guffawing grunt and it was over. He tensed, and sperm spurted all over my neck and chin. He collapsed, his chest falling on my wet boobs, and now I was buried under his bulk. I gave him a moment. One down, I was thinking to myself. "Did you like feeling that prick in there, honey?" I asked him loudly.
"Oh, yeah!"
"Sliding in and out. Want me to do that to you again some time? It feels good to have it in there?"
"As often as possible," he said. "It feels real great, snugged in there! Love it!"
So there on tape was Tim's confession that he liked getting assfucked, my prick in his rear, sodomy, and all the cameras saw that he was gay while he was slipping his meat between my tits. On tape earlier I had sucked his cock while he stood by. That tape ought to amuse his friends if Rebecca ever wants to distribute it, I thought! There's visual evidence of a mis-placed prick that'll stand up in any court!
"Now you fuck me the same way," I said, to clinch the videotape evidence.
"Huh?" he said?
"Up the ass! Fast and hard and deep, lover! The way I do you when you get that certain craving for it!"
That should blacken him with his macho buddies forever, I was thinking. He'll never dare talk tough to a competitor who thinks he's a faggot and can honestly call him 'pussy'if pressed too hard! Given Tim's temper, he'll end up socking his customers and sued by all of them! Before Tim could reconsider I turned face down, knees on the edge of the easy chair and buttocks pointed toward the chandelier TV camera. Toward his cock, as he knelt there still slick and dripping, his spent cock dangling down. He decided I wanted to get fucked then and there, and knew he wasn't quite ready to oblige.
"In a minute, baby!" he said a bit apologetically.
"Can't get it up? Should I call in some other guys? Would that inspire you? You'd find other cocks exciting? Want to help them get theirs up with that mouth of yours?"
He felt insulted but couldn't tell, at such an intimate moment. I almost made sense, and anyhow this wasn't a moment to ask for clarification. "Kiss my ass while we wait!" I said imperiously. "Smooch my butt, baby!"
He did. I wondered whether to tell him to "Eat shit!" for the videocamera. But enough!
Eventually his thing stiffened enough to enter me, loose as my anus was from its three weeks of real and imaginary reaming at Miss Caroline's. He humped and picked up steam, and I began to enjoy it! He actually brought me off twice when he finally reached his climax again! I couldn't help it! He had as good a cock as Steve's, and I cried out my rapture while clenching and pulsing on him. Then my sensations built and I did it again!
It was so good I felt positively cheerful as I turned face and belly up now, slouched back against the cushions, my ass now oozing and my cock and balls now fully visible. I anticipated an irrational reaction when he saw them: disbelief, shock, horror, fury! And prepared to defend myself.
It was none of these. He looked inattentively at the unequivocal evidence of my crotch that I was male! But all he did was pull up his pants. He didn't care! "We never did make it to the bedroom, Joy!" he said casually. "Well, maybe next time. Give me a call if you're interested. You know my number."
"Huh?" It was my turn to be bewildered.
"Joe, you said your name is 'Joy' now, didn't you? Did I hear you wrong? It isn't? It's a cute name! Derived from Ellie's pet name for you, 'Joey,' is that it? That's what Ellie told me she calls you, 'Joey." Of course she was sucking my cock when she said it, so I may have misheard!"
I stared at him, perplexed. Bewildered! He knew who I was? He'd known the whole time? What was going on?
He reached over and took my limp clit between his thumb and forefinger, lifted it, and let it fall back down. "This is sorta cute too!" he said. "Kinda small now. But Ellie told me it never was much. And Rebecca tells me that soon it won't be any more than any girl has on the top of her slit to help keep her happy while she's keeping her men happy, just a little button. And those things below it are your new artificial family jewels I hear, busy even now making you into a full-fledged broad, big ass and all! Just what the doctor ordered! They look real."
He fitted his tie into his collar and flipped the ends into a knot, still looking down on me and talking at his ease. Then shrugged on his sports jacket. "But then you look real too, sweetheart! Who'd have thought it, my old late night talk buddy turned into a fairy by two broads! A fairy who sucks any cock his wife points at him! Well, I've always thought you were a chicken, Joe. A nancy boy! An easy lay! Even Ellie's got bigger balls than you do, Joyboy!"
I was flabbergasted! "How long have you known?" was all I could choke out. His cum was leaking out of my ass and puddling onto the seat cushion, wet and cold against my naked buttocks. I felt so exposed!
"Longer than you've known, girlie! Ever since the ladies first hatched their plot. Maybe longer! My wife called your wife in to check over our latest divorce from each other. We do that now and then, Rebecca and me, threaten to quit the marriage and see how close we can get to a split before one or the other of us gives in! It's better than sex for two hard cases like us! Well, Rebecca's pulled some real dirty tricks on me, and I've done the same! Maybe that's why we love each other. Because we respect each other! I'm the only man she can't always outsmart, and she's the only woman! For us that's love! You never figured that out? You'd listen to us tear each other apart at your house, and then you'd see us go home together like partners in crime, and you never figured it out?"
All I could do was shake my head, my mouth open!
"Well, there was this time I saw Rebecca and Ellie fucking each other right under my nose at your house! I was still pissed when I found out that they've been fucking each other all their lives, practically! Or doing whatever girls do instead of fuck. Maybe they did it for spite, or maybe all girl roomies do it, I didn't care. Homosexual infidelity! It gave me an edge! Rebecca couldn't talk me out of the divorce, and finally I could take her for everything!"
"Well, Rebecca called in Ellie to figure what to do. She hoped Ellie'd could have some influence on me, because I'd hit on her a few times and never got in, and I wanted her."
"Yeah?" I tried to sound tough, manly. But my voice was so high and sweet! I was a girl! That's what I wanted to be! It occurred to me, he was trying to insult me for choosing to be feminine. But I didn't mind! I liked it! That's what I was now. Ellie's sweet sissy! I loved it! "Well, Ellie came up with a terrific answer. Smart bitch! 'How about a straight swap!' is the way she put it to me. 'I fucked your wife, so we'll fix you up to fuck my husband! How about that? Fair's fair!'"
"Well, I just look at her. 'Are you off your gourd?' I ask her. 'I'm no fuckin' faggot!' 'Don' worry,' she says. 'We can take care of it! We can fix him up so he looks like a gorgeous babe and fucks like a weasel! If you don't want to do it when you see him, you don't have to! But you'll want to! I guarantee it! I've been thinking about turning him into a girl anyhow for some time now -- as long as he thinks he's a man he's not safe to have around! I know just how. He'll be beautiful! Your prick will salute him the moment you see him!"
Tim grinned at me. "It did, too, girlie. That dumb blonde look is just right for a dumb guy who lets his women walk all over him! You know what? For an extra kick, your own wife tells me, I'll fix it so he thinks he's outsmarting you when you dip your dick into him. That really turns you on, doesn't it, when a loser thinks he's a winner until you break the news to him who's really just been fucked? So what have you got to lose?'"
This was new! Elaine had done all this to me just as a favor to her girlfriend? And I'd fallen for it? I listened attentively. His cum between my breasts and under my bottom was sticky now, and starting to crust. I was feeling helpless. Ellie'd made me a girl just so Tim could fuck me? But no! I'd asked her to make me a girl! Begged her! I was confused!
"Well, Joy baby, she was right! You are one great piece of ass now. Willing and eager, and yet your mind working all the time, calculating, I could sense it! So I've got no complaints! Your wife came through. Tell her the contract's paid in full. Any time you want to make me a new deal just for yourself, Joe, let me know. But get yourself a real pussy for next time, for God's sake. You have a great mouth and a tight ass, and someone's taught you all the moves, and you've got those movie star tits. But you won't be a full-fledged cunt until you've got a cunt!"
"You fucked my wife, then me?" I managed to say. My voice just wouldn't growl! I sounded petulant, not menacing as I'd intended. "Just because she fucked your wife. How's that fair?"
"Fair? Fair is what you can get away with! Sure I fucked her, baby! Lots of guys fuck your wife! Some weeks her cunt must flow like a sewer!"
He leaned over me, trying to be especially nasty. "Joyboy, maybe you don't know. Ellie never wanted to swing from my dick, out of loyalty to Rebecca. So when I agreed to fuck you in trade for Ellie fucking Rebecca, I insisted on fucking Ellie too as a bonus for signing. In case you didn't work out. In case you didn't end up worth even a fuck up the ass! I drive hard bargains. Well, sissy, your wife agreed that I could drive my hard bargain into her any time I felt like it, right up to the moment I drove it into you."
He grinned wolfishly. "Well, now you're fucked, so now you're both free! She's yours again. We're square! Not that she'll do you much good any more. Look at that little worm you call a prick, lying there limp on those jelly balls of yours! Useless! I mean, she's a real woman, man, with a real slit! What can you offer her? Go get yourself a cunt, lady! Where's your pride?!"
I reached out for what little pride I had left. "But what about the tapes!" I cried out to him. Were there any? Were those winking red lights only stage props? Were the supposed videocameras part of Elaine's conspiracy to get me to pleasure Tim while thinking I was outwitting him? Rebecca didn't need tapes to counter-blackmail Tim! He'd never intended blackmail! He didn't need it! He had a deal! Fuck my wife, fuck me, and call it quits! That evens the score with his wife!
"Oh yeah, the tapes. I noticed that. I saw how you were so eager to expose your cock to those camera lenses that you almost forgot to give me a good time. Why'd you run them? To show some Madame when Ellie kicks you out and you apply for a job in a whorehouse, to prove you know the business? To use to blackmail me? Rebecca doesn't need them -- she knows I'm a dirty dealer but a deal's a deal, I keep my word, no nitpicking afterward. The contract's fulfilled. She don't need no tapes to prove I fucked you, Joey girl, and I don't either. Do you? Keep them. They can turn you on when your wife's out whoring somewhere and you're home dreaming about opening your legs to Mr. Right! What about the tapes? Ask your wife! Ask 'Miss Elaine'! See you around!"
And he was out the door. Baffled, I stood and went into the bathroom and cleaned myself up. The camera lights winked out. When I thought I looked presentable, I went downstairs to the front desk and left off the room key and asked if a woman had left me an envelope. It was there as promised, exactly enough money for a cab ride home and a modest tip for the driver, and not a penny more. And a note: "Come home, sweetie, and tell me all about it!" "Sweetie?" Elaine wanted me to come home now, finally. After she'd tricked me into becoming a passable slut fit to fuck Tim, just to get her girlfriend off the hook, and she'd been Tim's fucktoy for months and months, all the while I'd been a loving and faithful husband to her! I sure had things I wanted to tell her!
x.
When I got home, Elaine was waiting up for me. She smiled at me, pointed to a Perrier on ice in front of her, and gestured with her head toward the liquor cabinet. I unzipped and slowly pulled off my long boots, noticing that cum had oozed into one of them. Then went to the cabinet. No bottles on top at all any more I noticed, only a filled ice bucket and a clean glass. No more Rebecca? I reached under and took a bottle and poured myself a straight scotch on ice, then sat gingerly across from Elaine, clutching the glass in both my hands, my painted nails decorating the front, my knees tight together. The underside of my white leather mini was still sticky, and I was very much aware of it. Tim had squirted a lot of juice into me.
"Where's Rebecca?" I asked. I had some things to say to her too! If I could keep my nails out of her eyes!
"Rebecca's gone," Elaine answered. "Gone back to Tim. So I've put the bottles back under and out of sight again, the way we like to keep them. She'll come by to pick up her clothes tomorrow. We've done what we had to do. Both of us. The three of us. It's over now."
"Oh?"
She hesitated. There were serious things to talk about. She was confronting what her eyes told her was a woman, her protege, a former husband who was now irreversibly the girl she and Rebecca had created together. She first tried to reinforce the notion. "Wasn't that dress just perfect for what you've been doing, Joy?" she asked. She warmed to what she was saying. "Didn't I tell you I'd tell you how a girl should dress to encourage a new lover? So how was he, girlfriend? Tell me everything! Was he scrumptious?"
"What we did is what we did, girlfriend," I said, underlining that last word ironically with my voice. "You know how he is! You didn't tell me everything, so I don't tell you everything! He was satisfied with me. He says you've fulfilled your part of the deal. That's all you need to know!" I lapsed into pouting silence.
"Aww, poor darling! You liked it, that's what I know! The surveillance company brought over the tapes, and I've seen them! You loved it! You loved being clever, outwitting the man even when you were supposed to be servicing him, and you loved feeling superior to him while he was servicing you, and you loved the sex too! You adored the sex! I heard it! All that moaning when things warmed up! With a guy you've never liked, too! You can't deny it! I've seen the tapes!"
I tried icy disdain. "Then you heard how he told me all about his deal with you. You fucked his wife so he fucks you and then me to even his score with her! Some deal!" All she did was nod.
I tried indignation! "Elaine? Ellie! You used me! Your husband! Just to keep him from sueing your friend for divorce!"
But I couldn't sustain it. I burst into tears. And once I started, I couldn't stop! "You used me, you used me!" I sobbed over and over, my shoulders shaking. And I couldn't help it. I began to wail, "Oh, Ellie, we were married, and we were loving, and we trusted each other, and look at us now! You used me! Look at me! You sacrificed me to your girlfriend! You sacrificed us!"
Then I broke down utterly! Ellie could barely hear what I then said through my agonized gasps and squeals and sobs. I was feeling so terribly lonely and miserable and wretched and lost that my body collapsed! I wailed, inconsolable! I could barely squeak out more accusations: "You made me his whore just so your friend Becky could score points in that divorce game they play together!" And then I cried out my agony at the top of my voice! I had not known that mere mortal flesh could feel such anguish! Such despair! I went into another world where my sobs and cries overwhelmed each other.
Now Ellie's face turned very pale and very serious. No more jocularity. She knew she didn't dare move to comfort me, or I'd lose it altogether and run screaming from the room.
"You could say that," Ellie replied, in a very quiet tone of voice. "Is that what that son of a bitch told you?"
There was something in the way she said just that, no more, that comforted me. Gradually I got control over myself and quieted down. She cared! Deeply! Maybe she'd wanted to maintain the past three weeks' charade for a little while longer, but now she was terribly unhappy because I had come home distraught! Because she still loved me? And she wanted me to love her, just as I had always loved her? As I had just proved I loved her by doing everything she'd asked me to do with Tim?
When I was quiet, making only a miserable keening sound now and then, she asked me, "Did he tell you what the tapes were for?"
That almost started me off again. "No! He doesn't know what the tapes are for! He doesn't care! And neither do I! Not now I don't. I thought I did! But you lied to me!"
She looked so mournful when I said that my heart suddenly lurched! I've never been so self-pitying, I realized. Could it be those female hormones awash in my bloodstream? I've got PMS?
"No, sweetheart," she said gravely, "everything I have ever told you was true. Tim was ready to strip Becky of everything because of her adultery with me, because I loved his wife, his possession, his thing, without his permission or knowledge! I'd committed the unforgiveable sin against Tim. And so he was using blackmail against us! He was being successful at it, too. But his price wasn't only you! It was also me! It was us!"
"I know," I said with a small catch in my voice, still trying to breathe. "He told me you were having sex with him on call to seal the deal with me, in case..." I paused to recover my breath, "in case I didn't work out! In case when you made me a girl I wasn't pretty enough for him!"
"No!" she said, furious, then caught her breath, and continued. "First of all, you made yourself a girl, sweetheart! I only helped. Strictly speaking, Rebecca helped! And believe me, you were right when you urged us to make you a girl! Because that's been the only way we could possibly preserve our marriage. But not because of what you think! Not because of me and Becky. Because of me and Tim! And because of us. Because sooner or later you were going to find out the truth about my sexual adventures with other men. I can't help myself, that's how I am! I tried to warn you when I changed my wedding vows the very day of the wedding, but you paid no attention! You didn't know! You never wanted to know! But when you found out, you are so sweet, so dear, so trusting, so loving, I knew that the truth would destroy you! And I couldn't bear to see that happen! I love you too much! It would have destroyed me too!"
I sat up, and stared at her, prepared to listen. This was well beyond me. "Elaine...!" I began saying.
"First, wipe your face, dear," she said to me. "Your mascara is all over your cheeks. You don't need that much -- remember, Francesca dyed your lashes black, and they've always been full, a girl's lashes. I've always envied them. They're beautiful lashes. I love them!"
I wiped my tears and swallowed some whisky. And began to feel a little better. Now Elaine was being nice! She was my Elaine again!
"And my name's Ellie, my darling dearest! It's always been Ellie for you, from the moment I first saw you across all those tax charts on my desk years ago, when you first came in to that tax office asking for help. I was Ellie to you when Rebecca first objected, and when I married you I became your Ellie for life! But during this past month I couldn't let you know that. Or you wouldn't have done your part to save our marriage. Which now you've done, so bravely and heroically, too! I'm married to the most marvelous girl in the world! I'm so very proud of you! I'm so humbled by your courage and dedication that I'd be privileged to suck your cock, if you had one. For the first time in my life I wish you did!"
Was she joking? Having more fun at my expense? No, this time there were tears in her eyes. I got up and sat down next to her and took her hand. "Tell me," I said. And reached my arm around her shoulders. I was surprised to feel them quiver -- she was afraid! Afraid to lose me? I leaned back, ready to listen.
"Everything I've told you since you offered to become a girl, since you became the girl you are, is true," she said. "I never promised to be true to you till death do us part, and maybe you never noticed that during our ceremony! But I did promise to have and to hold and to love you, and I do want to, and I mean to do that, if you'll let me. Till death do us part. Forever!"
I nodded. And waited. There were more tears forming in her eyes. Her beautiful eyes mine could never match!
"You are the most marvelous husband a wife could ever have. A month ago you offered to share me with another woman rather than lose me. Then you declared that you were willing to become another woman if that is what it would take to keep me. As it did! And tonight, as the most marvelous woman in the world you were unstintingly generous. You screwed a man you despised for my sake. No, not for my sake, for my best friend's sake was what you thought. For my lover's sake, for your rival's sake, Rebecca's sake, despite the fact that she has always seemed to despise you! For my sake finally! Because I asked you to do it and you love me!"
I nodded. My breasts I noticed were pinched just a bit, pushed up as they were in my white leather bustier. But this was no moment to interrupt anything and change into something more comfortable. They'd keep. I smiled slightly to myself. Yes, they'd keep. Whatever I was about to hear, I'd keep them. I wanted to keep them. I was a woman now, and I was proud of my bust. Even proud of my abilities as a seductress earlier tonight. Even though I'd been used.
"It's true that I'm highly sexed and you've had no talents that way at all. I'm sorry, but it's true. It's always been true. I don't think you mind my saying that, now. Because you have so many wonderful talents as a woman. You are the sweetest person I have ever known. Did you know that? And you have marvelous sexual talents too as a woman, that's now also established too! Do you mind that that's true?"
"No, sweetheart. I don't mind." In fact I loved hearing her say it. Maybe Miss Caroline had done her work too well, but it was all too true. When I was a man, I had cooked for Ellie to express my love for her, but I was never much in bed. Now that I'm a woman it's different. I can make love to her passionately, devoutly, and I want to! I can't get enough of her, I was thinking. I'll never get enough of her!
"It's true that I've slept around a lot. Everybody but you has always known it. They've pitied you, and they've been amused by your innocence and trust, and they've admired you for it. But they've all agreed that you should never hear about it. Because they all know you are so very nice!"
Her shoulders began heaving at that point, and she almost lost control! She took several deep breaths. "So very nice," she repeated in a teeny voice I could scarcely hear. Then more calmly, "It would devastate you to know about me! It would destroy you! You are such an innocent that it would be like taking Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny away from you! It would destroy a faith in me that was central to your very existence! I've been afraid sometimes, you're so sensitive, that you'd attempt suicide if you found out and I didn't know, and perhaps succeed too! I've lived with that fear for years! Because I know that if I caused you that much grief, that would destroy me too!"
I sat silent. I think she was speaking her heart's truth, and it was true for both of us. I'd agreed to everything she and Rebecca had proposed for me as my only available alternative to losing Ellie. She was my life, and I was fighting for my life! And when she'd confessed to me in the kitchen that she slept around, that she loved sex, I'd accepted that too. I'd had to. Because what alternatives did I have? But she confessed it only when I was irrevocably no longer a man, no longer her husband. She told her confidante! She told her dearest friend, a girl she knew would wish her every happiness!
"That last visit here, when Tim found me in bed with Rebecca, he threatened to reveal what he'd seen to the world, to destroy our reputations, to destroy you, just as I told you, unless I agreed to go to bed with him immediately. So I did. That very night! Then to sleep with him whenever the whim struck him. And that began our affair. I had to travel considerable distances sometimes just to give him a blow job in front of his friends. I had to blow his friends. To become his sex slave, to do whatever he required of me, no matter how cruel. And Joy," -- now Ellie's voice began to break again, and she bit her lip and fought for control -- "some of the things he required were very cruel. But what he threatened to do to you was worse than cruel."
I didn't want to hear it. It was agonizing. But I stayed calm. "How could anything be worse than that, honey?" I asked her. My heart was going out to her. Yearning toward her. I took her hand and clasped it, and looked closely into her eyes. "How could it be worse?" I repeated.
Ellie looked down at our hands clasped in her lap and spoke slowly, carefully. "He threatened to tell you about me. About my sexuality and promiscuity. What I had done for him. And for his friends. He told me he intended to tell you about him and me but hadn't yet figured out the cruelest way to do it. Maybe to tattoo me and have you discover it? Maybe to arrange for you to listen in when he was plowing me deep and I was shrieking in a steady-state orgasm. I do that with him, you know, the way you do too, to judge by that video when he was plumbing your ass. No girl can resist a cock that thick when it's inside her. Maybe he'd show you pictures -- he often photographed me at my orgasmic peaks so he could exult about his power over me when I wasn't around, and remind himself of exquisite humiliations he intended for me for next time."
"What he wanted was to lord it over you, to gloat, and if possible do it in public. So you'd learn of your wife's infidelities in public in the most humiliating way he could conceive. Then what would happen to your manhood? All because I'd dared to be intimate with his property, his wife. With Rebecca."
"You see, honey, he knew where you were vulnerable. He knew that you knew nothing. You were unsuspecting, unprepared. He told me his plan, and how my body could buy time for you to preserve your innocence just a little while longer. He told me that if I went to Rebecca for help, the one person I knew was as unscrupulous as he is, the one person who could deal with his duplicity on his own terms, if I went to Rebecca for help he'd settle you down and tell you everything. Then forcibly fuck you. I knew, he knew, there'd be nothing left of you after that. My sweet man Joey would be gone! Twice fucked!"
"And that wasn't an idle threat! Let me explain!"
"You heard how earlier tonight the moment he saw you, when he realized I was about to present my husband to him as we'd agreed, how he lost no time telling you about him and me, boasting about sex with me to his buddy Cal. He wanted you to know that he's the top man and you're nowhere! He knew who you were then of course -- Rebecca's kept him informed about your feminization, your progress toward that moment when you'd even things between him and Rebecca by wrapping your mouth and your ass around his prick. As you have done, love!"
"He liked it, what we were doing to you, making you a woman! All along he'd wanted to destroy your pride in your manliness, to ridicule your sexual inadequacy and vaunt his own potency to your face. To present you to me as a ridiculous wimp, and me to you as his prize conquest! He loves doing that to people! Then he'd certainly tell you about my affairs with other men, and when you had no recourse, no reserves of pride or dignity left, only a love for me that was empty, unrequited, that's when he meant to fuck you himself. To rape you if need be, he was prepared to do that tonight, which is why I argued so hard, so ruthlessly, for your consent and cooperation! All to drive the point home to you that he effectively rules both of us! He thought that the ultimate humiliation, him fucking you because I set you up, would destroy us as a couple. That we could neither of us ever again trust or love each other, or love anyone else ever again either, for fear of the emotional costs. So that from then on we would live emotionally marginal lives as miserable as his own."
I imagined my darling facing that dilemma alone, trying to save the marriage she valued and had sworn to uphold above all else. Our marriage. Me. But I also saw a terrible irony in what then happened.
"So you went to Rebecca despite his threat, and told her everything, and told her I had to find out everything before her husband could tell me," I said without being prompted.
"I did. And she knew her husband. She's been sparring with his cunning for years. That's their bond till death do them part! She conceived the plan we followed. And it worked."
I broke in. "The plan was, to do what Tim wanted to do, but to do it first and achieve my full cooperation and approval at each stage? To destroy my manliness by telling me all about your infidelities, and then conditioning me to be a woman who loves sex and so doesn't care that you love sex too, and then set Tim up to fuck me when I wouldn't much care anyhow? As he has now done?"
Ellie was silent a long while, and very still. I was still holding her hand. She placed her other hand over it so I couldn't let go of her, and said quietly, "Yes, that's true. But also no, it isn't true. We realized that if we could go much further than Tim intended, and faster, if we could seize Tim's initiatives and pre-empt them, we wouldn't merely be doing his dirty work for him, we'd be rebuilding our relationship on an unshakeable foundation! We'd be making your pride and your sense of self-worth and our marriage bond invulnerable. As we have now done. We would end up, the two of us, closer than ever! As we have now done! I hope we have!"
I was silent now. She was right -- there was no way Tim could reach us now. There was no was for him to extort sexual services from Ellie or from me by threatening exposure. I knew everything. I was beyond exposure. I was fully exposed. I looked at Ellie and saw that she was looking intently, worriedly, at me. "Getting my approval, wanting me to want all this to happen, that's what all this has been about, hasn't it," I said.
"Yes, honey," Ellie said. "We had to make you over into a woman. We had to make you want us to make you over into a woman. We had to make you want to be a woman. And that's what we've done. That's what you are now. That's what you want to be now. Isn't that so?"
She waited the longest time for my reply. But finally I placed my other hand over hers, so all four of our hands were clasped together in her lap. "Yes. That's what I am. That's what I want to be now."
Ellie freed one of her hands and placed it against my smooth, depillated cheek. Tears were streaming down her cheek! "So now we're free! Nothing can harm us! Nothing can come between us! But you're a woman now! That's the price we paid. The price you paid, lover!"
I said nothing. I looked at her with adoration in my heart and I hoped in my eyes too. Then I finally found the words. "Ellie," I said. "I've told you before that I wanted to be a woman. Let's go to bed, and when we're in each other's arms in bed, make me feel glad to be a woman!"
She kissed me gently. "Yes, sweetheart, I will. It's late, my lovely Joy. Let's go to bed. This is your first night home since all this began, and the first night of the rest of our lives as married girlfriends. I'll tell you the rest in the morning. I want to make love to you now."
We went up the stairs with our arms wrapped around each other, hugging, loving friends. When we reached the bedroom door, our bedroom door now, Ellie paused, and turned toward me, and kissed the tip of my nose. I cupped her head delicately in my hands and kissed hers. Two women kissing. So graceful, so sensitive. We reached for the tips of each other's nipples and our faces blended together, two women now kissing each other at first so very gently but then with increasing passion, until we seemed to be trying to swallow each other. We grasped at each other, almost out of breath.
"Oh darling," Ellie said. "I've dreamed of this moment for so long. Ever since our wedding night, when I was still wishing that you were Becky. Ever since the night just before our wedding night, when Becky and I were making such desperate, passionate love for what we thought would be the last time, and I was wishing that Becky was you! Wishing for the impossible!"
"Let's go in, Ellie. I want to kiss you. The way girlfriends kiss. The way married couples kiss. The way lovers kiss. You have dildos in there too, don't you?"
She smiled slyly. "Oh yes, sweetheart. All kinds. Sometimes when I was finishing an affair with a lover I'd have a rubber or jelly model made of his erect cock, to remember him by. You can strap on any of your rivals and fuck me with his cock any time you wish! And you can be sure I'll love every one of them. I always have! And you're all those men to me now!"
"I want you to fuck me with my rivals too!"
Now a playful grin lit up Ellie's whole face. "You want to share all my lovers with you? Not counting those at Miss Caroline's, if that's where they were? All right! I've already shared two of my men, haven't I? They were great for you, weren't they? Gary and Tim? I bet their thick dicks are why you decided to be a woman! So you could enjoy them more often!"
And she bolted into the bedroom with me in hot pursuit. We spent the whole night together on our bed crawling all over each other's naked bodies, kissing and licking and plunging ourselves into every bulge and surface and opening, and sipping each other's juices. When first light came we finally fell asleep in a tangle of each other's arms and legs, two women wrapped in each other's soft, smooth, curved bodies, enjoying each other's tender feelings and deep affections, secure in the knowledge that their whole lives lay ahead of them.
xi.
I awoke to a rattling of coathangers in the closet, and opened my eyes. Rebecca was taking her clothing out of our closet and hanging them in large garment bags. She looked over her shoulder at me and grinned.
"Don't mind me, girls. I'll be out of your lives and this second honeymoon of yours in less than five minutes. You two look so sweet together I hated to disturb you, but I have appointments all day, and Tim expects us to drive home this evening for our annual ritual burning of the past year's separation papers. Once again we've declared a draw. We'll have to find something else to fight over, now that Ellie is no longer coming between us, and I'm no longer coming between you two." She grinned even more broadly. "And Tim is no longer cumming between Joy's buttocks!"
She took shoes from the floor of our closet and stowed them in a large box. "Was it fun, Joy?," she asked me. "Do you know what Tim said to me when he arrived at our motel last night and fell into bed? Fresh from your arms, Joy? Still covered by the scent of your perfume? 'Been there, done that,' is what he said. He was exhausted, but I knew what he meant. It meant that our plan worked. That he won on points, but there was no satisfaction in it for him. That nothing can come between you too now! I can see that from here, from the way I can't tell where one of you leaves off and the other begins. From the way you two can't be pried apart from each other."
"Stop for coffee when you've packed up here, Becky," Ellie said from somewhere underneath me. "I'll get up and make some. Joy still isn't clear on lots of things."
She began stirring under me on the bed, and I felt new desires beginning to stir in me too. But not with Rebecca here.
"No hard feelings, Joy?" Becky asked me a bit cautiously, just to be sure.
"You know there aren't, Becky," I said deliberately. She flicked her eyes when she heard me call her that, but then grinned and nodded! Now we really could become friends. Women friends. "Not since you gave me those shots, and not with these implants that pass for testicles. No erections at all!"
"Oh, they're testicles all right, Joy. Functional, too. Don't believe everything you hear at Miss Caroline's. Those things there are the same balls they've always been, pouring out that crap to make you as mean as Tim if you have a mind to be that mean, and messing up your hormone balances even as we speak. I had to put androgen blocker implants into you along with the estrogen implants and all the others. But those are in your hip and under your arms and -- you won't believe this, Ellie -- I buried some in your breasts. So all that testosterone poison is neutralized."
"I just couldn't take your balls yet, Joy. You should know that Ellie and I have been in agreement from the beginning that you two will make wonderful mothers of however many babies you may want to make together. And that I'll make an equally wonderful Aunt. Well, that being the case, why rely on some anonymous sperm donor somewhere, when one of you two girls comes already equipped to impregnate an ovum, and the other one comes equipped to carry a foetus to term. You two can make your babies the old fashioned, natural way, ladies. Old fashioned for lesbians, that is! Suck it or milk it out of Joy, and then use a gravy baster on Ellie. Or if you prefer, pour it into one of those hollow dildos in that drawer there -- not the "Tim,"please, maybe the "Gary," since you both know what Gary's like. Then Joy, strap one of those dildos over that excuse for a cock you've always carried around, and fuck your wife's brains out! Squirt your own cum into her through a better man's prick! Isn't that the best of both worlds? It would be for Ellie, I'm sure! She loves gentle men, but she adores big pricks!"
"Coffee in five minutes," Ellie said, wriggling out of bed, throwing a wrap around her and lurching out of the room. I'd been a little hard on her orifices last night -- she moved as if they were sore. As she'd been hard on mine, and relentless! We both needed a long soak. I reached down and gave my balls a tentative squeeze. Yes, there certainly was feeling in them.
"If you doubt my word, ask Ellie to kick you down there," Rebecca said, noticing my test squeeze. "That'll make a believer out of you."
"Why did you tell me they were implants?" I asked her. "If it was you, and not some hallucination that told me."
"Oh, that was me," Rebecca said, amused. She'd resumed pulling blouses and skirts from the closet and hanging them up again carefully in her garment carrier. "That was me playing tough cop, so you'd believe Ellie when she played tender cop. As she did until last night when she had to play both, so you'd agree to fuck that scumbag husband of mine and save your marriage. Why did we tell you in efect that they were ovaries? So when you fucked Tim you'd feel like a natural woman, not a gay man. So you'd think this was your life, the rest of your life, and you'd commit yourself to it absolutely, unreservedly. If Tim sensed any ambivalence of attitude he'd never have accepted you as a woman, a "cunt" as he likes to call us. And then he'd never have forgiven us our supposed debts."
"While you were playing show and tell with the TV cameras and Tim was relieving his cock in you, you had to be a true believer. Persuasive acting takes deep conviction and concentration. It's easier to believe you're a woman if you believe you have no balls. Isn't it?"
"No. I still believed then that I was born a woman, though that conditioning was fading fast. You're right though that irreversible emasculation makes it easier to commit to femininity. Even though I'm committed anyhow! I love what I am! It's so much nicer!"
Then I paused. "Becky, I'm confused. I've heard lots of explanations since last night. Why did you set me up? I mean why really did the two of you scheme to make me the woman I am? And why the videotape, if there is such a thing? I can't believe it's just supposed to be proof that Ellie's delivered me to get fucked as promised, or evidence needed to win a bet with Tim! Nor even blackmail to free up Ellie from your husband's clutches!"
Rebecca looked thoughtfully down at the last jacket to hang in her garment bag., and began zipping it in. "Oh yes, there's a tape," Rebecca said. "I have one and Ellie has one."
"As for why you're now the girl you are, we each of us have had our own separate reasons for it. Some of them are the same reasons. Some are different! Just as you have your reasons."
"Tim's was mainly vindictive power tripping -- you now know all about that. Get even. Get an advantage. Get ahead! Fuck the competition! He wanted to screw you figuratively and literally because through you he could avenge himself on Ellie and me."
"I had different reasons. To distract Tim from his blackmail of Ellie, his "fuck me or I'll tell your husband about everyone else" approach to the tender passions, by offering him a really refined revenge, to fuck his wife's lover's spouse. You. If he'd quit thinking about more destructive ways to damage Ellie or her reputation, or yours. Another reason: to make a tape I could stockpile against the future, to embarrass Tim if I ever need to, and I'm sure I will some day. You helped me there -- I now have such a tape. Tim thinks the fact that he knew who you were when he fucked you, and you didn't know, scores one for him. But the tape tells anyone who watches it that he's gay and that he got fucked and sucked by a shemale and loved it.
"Tim has no idea there's that scene where it looks like you're fucking him up the ass and he's loving it! That was a brilliant camera angle, where his titfucking made it look like you were assfucking him, and he loved it. A lot of Tim's competitors are even more bigoted and ruthless than he is! They won't care how that scene came about! Just show them your prick playing tag with Tim's ass during some tight bargaining session, and Tim will be a kaughingstock. That's what I think I'll threaten when we next move to file for separation. Maybe I can trick Tim into becoming a shemale in self-defense! I'd love that! I'll have to think about how. Tricking you was no problem, because you believe everybody. Tim believes no one. Still, don't be surprised if he shows up at one of your Garden Club meetings wearing a dress, in another year or two."
"But Joy, I had a really big reason to want to help Ellie by converting you. Not a tactical reason, but another kind, far more profound. I love Ellie with all my heart. For many years I've been jealous of her love for you. She got herself into this trouble with Tim because I didn't adequately respect your marriage vows and the love you two share, and leave her alone. I seduced her for my own pleasure and also to get even with you for taking her away from me. And I did it as often as I could!"
"So when Ellie told me how Tim was usung that fact to take advantage of her, I decided that enough was enough. Ellie needs the love of a woman, you know that now, even more than she needs the love of men! She always has and she always will. She's had my love, and she always will. But no longer expressed physically. I decided to make Ellie a gift of her husband as a substitute for me, at least for the lesbian sex we both cherish. Now she has you, Joy, and I'm what I always should have been from the moment you two met -- a friend and no more than that."
"When she told me that you're the boy of her dreams except for the fact that you're poorly hung, I told her that together we could make you into the girl of her dreams. That you'd be better for her as a girl than I ever was, because she'd love you more than she could possibly love me. I pointed out though that there was a problem. She likes guys. That if you were a girl she'd miss getting that kind of sex from you."
"It was then, after a brief silence, that she told me she'd find that kind of sex elsewhere. 'That's not what I love about Joey,' she said. 'Raw sex with Joey has never been enough. The cuddling, the deep affection we feel for each other, that's so much more!' That's what she said. So that settled it! Her Joey would become the cuddly, deeply affectionate girl of her dreams. We'd teach him how to walk in my shoes."
"We had the silliest conversation at that point, Joy! We were in each other's arms in bed at the time, all tangled together. I began to giggle. 'Can you see him walking in my shoes?' I said. 'Say those Ferragamo open-toed pumps with the four-inch heels I wore to dinner last night, all strappy, the ones that are so revealing I need to get a pedicure to match my fingernail color whenever I plan to wear them?'"
"Ellie began giggle too. 'He'd wobble a little at first,' she said. 'But he'd look so dear! And I'd love to see him with a pedicure. Then I could tell his feet from mine when our legs are wrapped together the way yours and mine are now. See? You wiggle your mauve toes. I wriggle my plain natural pink ones.'"
"We were getting silly. We each wiggled our toes a few times. I began to think about the flavor of Ellie's juices again. I was starting to get hot. I started to kiss her nipples."
"'Mmmmm,' Ellie said. 'He'd need to match his fingernail polish and lipstick to his toes then, too. And learn how to wear a designer dress to go with those shoes. Or he wouldn't look proper sitting at the bar on a high stool when the two of us went out to a restaurant together. Oooooh, moooore, honey!'"
"'I bet he'd be a real dish, done up right," I said. "I bet other men at the bar would fall all over their tongues when they saw him.'"
"'I'd hope so,' Ellie answered me. 'Then we could each get laid by some real men!'"
"'I bet even Tim would want to wet his dick in him,'" I said.
"'I'm sure of it.'" Ellie was panting a little now, but that's where we got that idea, repay Tim for my sex with Ellie by giving Tim sex with Joey when he became Joy."
"'Especially if he had his own breasts, like these.'"
"'Yes.'" Ellie said. "'Oh, darling!'"
"And she didn't need to say anything more. Joy, there we were, the two of us, all enclosed in each other's bodies the way you two were when I came in just now, with only one single idea in our minds. The image of you and Ellie sitting in an elegant restaurant, two attractive single women out to attract two desireable men and bring them back to their lair for a night's intimate entertainment. That idea brought us to peak after peak of bliss as we caressed each other!"
"But Joy, you had to want to be changed. To want to replace me! To want it desperately! Well, we arranged it. You pleaded to become me! Begged for it! Thinking all the while of course that you were outwitting us. That you were stalling in order to win your supposedly chaste wife back to a life with you of vanilla sex."
"Honey, you know now that you were way out of your league. We were miles ahead of you! Look how it took all of your wiles to outwit Tim on that tape. Well, I pull tricks like that on him these days every morning even before I'm fully awake, just as he does to me before the day's out! Everyone loves the fact that you're an innocent! That may have made it easy for us to turn you into a world class sucker, but whether that's good or bad depends on what we give you to suck on, doesn't it?"
With that she grinned and zipped up her cases. She was ready to move out. Impulsively, she came over to the bed where I lay watching her, and kissed me on the cheek. "You're so cute!" she said. "I envy Ellie!"
Then she said, gently, "As for Ellie's reasons, let's go down and ask her. Here, honey, use this peignoir set of mine to cover yourself. Your hips aren't fully curved yet, and we don't want Elly to remember what you once were. Also, I've got to admit it, I do find you tempting!"
I slipped on the negligee, and wrapped the peignor around me. It was like wearing water and froth, a delicious liquid sensation. The color was pale salmon, and the satin and chantilly gave my upper breasts and my face a rich glow. I gave Becky a delighted thank you smile! She smiled back.
"It looks darling on you, Joy! Keep it as a wedding present from me, for both of you if it helps you feel more feminine! I never did give you a present. I always thought Ellie was more than you deserved. She's more than you've been able to handle as far as her love of other men goes. But she can tell you more about that!"
We swished downstairs talking about dress styles -- I'd learned so much about them at Miss Caroline's, and Becky had been so busy with her career that she'd given them little thought. Of course Becky never dressed specifically to attract men. I pointed out that few women do -- mostly they dress to "express" the way they feel, but even more, to look "attractive" to other women judging them, women similarly responsive to the intricate rituals and languages and customs that establish when a woman is dressed tastefully or smashingly.
"It's so much more fun than dressing in drab old men's styles," I was telling Becky animatedly as we entered the kitchen. There, I saw, Ellie had set out three cups, and toast, butter, and jam. "For a woman dressing is really an art form, with so many choices contributing to what needs to be a perfect ensemble that looks just right! It's like fixing your hair differently every day, so you can look your very best whatever the occasion! I love it!"
Ellie heard and looked at Becky silently, and smiled at her. Becky smiled back. These ideas and my enthusiasm for them were not from Miss Caroline's conditioning regimen, they knew. I'd thought them up all by myself. She only said, "That is so precious, that wrapper and negligee set, Joy! I love it! So very feminine, and so very sexy!" She beamed a broad smile at me.
"Ellie, Joy has asked me why, seriously, we each of us conspired together to turn a perfectly acceptable, mediocre husband into the beautiful girl we see here in her lovely new peignoir."
I struck a model's posture, arms high, wrists bent and hands spread fetchingly, one knee bent toward the other, shoulders and hips turned in opposite directions, and I smiled a dazzling smile at the two of them! Deliciously feminine! I hoped I looked it! The other two women were amused by my acting out a beauty I couldn't feel was my own until I'd acted it out. They laughed, then applauded. They understood. Now we really were all girls together. Ellie poured the coffee.
"I've told her what I think are Tim's reasons, and I've told her mine," Becky continued. "Can you tell her yours?"
"I've already told you, sweetheart," Ellie said softly. "I had my special reasons too. First, I missed Becky, and Joey was a sweetie but no real substitute. Then Becky thought you could become the new girl in my life, an even better Becky, if we gave you the right motivation and the right training. She knew how to set it up, and I couldn't refuse her!"
"Second, after we got married I missed feeling really hot, hard-driving cocks lunging into me. You didn't have one. And you were never hard-driving! You were always too sweet, too considerate! So I went out looking for them and found them. Then I couldn't endure imagining how you'd feel when you found out that I need other men now and then. You'd feel such a failure! You'd surely want to end our marriage, maybe even your life! And I couldn't live with myself if you did either of those things! I knew I couldn't! So for me, that was a very big reason to change you. You had to find out about me. But when you found out, you had to like the idea, not feel threatened by it. A girlfriend would like the idea. A husband would feel threatened. I couldn't bear the thought of losing you!"
Ellie paused to get control of herself. "Third, I wanted to help Becky with her problem with Tim, just as she wanted to help me with my problem with Tim. Tim was extorting favors from me, to keep him from telling you that I was fucking lots of other men, as I was, and him too, as I was. We both saw immediately how that information wouldn't matter to you if you were feminized. I'd be free!"
"But fourth, honey, I had a bigger reason than any of these. I've told you about it already. All my life I've wanted to satisfy myself sexually without guilt or loneliness. I've wanted to cruise men evenings with someone who understands my needs and enjoys satisfying them. It's more fun, and it's safer in some of the seedier bars I've been in, and it opens out many more possibilities among the men."
"You see, men tend to come in pairs, so they can impress each other with the pretty girls they pick up, so they can dare each other to do better, so they can console each other when -- as mostly happens -- they get turned down. I needed a girlfriend who'd want to come with me on dates, the way Becky never could. The way guys come in couples, it would make one-night-fucking a lot easier to arrange."
"Well, honey, Becky has never wanted to help me there. She doesn't want to pick up men. I've cruised lesbian bars with her, sometimes very successfully! But not straight bars."
"Sweetie, I wanted you with me when I was picking up guys for the night, men who could fuck me as you never could. I'll confess it, for a long while I thought about making you a submissive cuckold who wants me to find and fuck other men. It wouldn't have been difficult at all, because you're devoted to me, and you need my love, and you hate confrontations. At each stage, if you objected I could always accuse you of ignoring my desires and my happiness, and then you'd be flustered, defensive, and eventually you'd give in."
"I talked to women who've done it with their husbands and it turns out to be incredibly easy, done gradually. For example, first get you willing to accept my dancing with other men at parties or supper clubs. Then my dancing close with them, and making out with them a little on the dance floor. Then my disappearing with them for a short while. Always hold the risk of losing me over your head. Eventually you'll accept my dating them, and finally my bringing them home and taking them into my bed while you use the guest room -- does that sound familiar? All this in the name of pleasures you can't possibly wish to deny me."
"I'd always invite you to participate, to come watch me with my men, to participate by making me pretty for them before I went out, or by douching their semen out of me when I came home. So how could you object?"
"And then one day it occurred to me, what if I were to make you pretty and then we both went out, what would happen then? Make it seem that you were a girl? You'd have to sit there and watch me no matter what did with my guys -- you wouldn't dare make a scene. But then I realized, I could fix you up with a guy of your own, so you wouldn't be worried about me with mine!"
"Well, I mentioned this to Becky, and she told me about how she'd been thinking about turning you into a girl for her own reasons, and our ideas all came together. We thought it all through together. Just imagine, there I'd be picking up guys with my husband's wholehearted approval? With no jealousy to cope with, and no need to console him for supposed inadequacies? Men always feel threatened by better men -- you know about male pissing contests! But if my husband is my girl companion, and he's getting laid by hunky men as often and as thoroughly as I'm getting laid? Well, a girl who's been satisfactorily fucked can't very well feel jealous of a dearest girlfriend who's also been well-fucked, can she? Even if the girlfriend is his wife? Of course not!"
"And then to have someone dear to you talk and gossip and giggle with you afterward, someone who completely understands? Bliss! When Becky told me that it was possible to make you over into such a girl, for me to fulfill my dream, when she told me about the transsexual patients she's treated, and how Miss Caroline's School speeds the transition, and about hormone therapies, I was ecstatic! I'd never been happier in my entire life! So of course we had to put the whole plan into effect! All it needed was your consent. And that night Becky first came over, I hinted, and you couldn't have been more eager!"
She paused. "I've never been happier, darling. When I woke up this morning, there you were exactly the way I've dreamed of us. I'm happier now than I've ever been anywhere. Do you really mind terribly what we did to you? Be honest with us! Because we've been honest with you!"
I took a deep breath. There was still some resentment curling around in my feelings like early morning mist. They'd tricked me, because they knew I'd never have agreed if they'd been straightforward with me. But they did care for me, it seems, both of them! And Miss Caroline laid her foundations well -- I couldn't help but enjoy my new life. I couldn't lie.
"I love what you've done to me," I said. My vehemence surprised even me! "I love being a woman! You've just heard me talk about some of the things I love, the clothing, the makeup, all of the adorable things I get to do and wear, my deep satisfaction when they all come together and I look by best!"
"And you're right about me as a man, and me with men. I'm much happier with the demands made on me as a woman than those made on me as a man. I'm not naturally aggressive, and I am naturally accommodating. I love people trying to do things for me so I'll grant them small favors -- a kiss or a blow job or a tumble. I love pleasing the people I love. And so forth. I think Becky suspected this about me all along, and knew it when she proposed transforming me. She hinted it to me when I went off to Miss Caroline's, even when she was still pretending to be mean."
"I am mean," Becky interrupted, almost without smiling. "With the wrong kind of person. But now you're the right kind of person. You're my dearest girlfriend's dearest girlfriend! I can't help but love you!".
"I have to tell you two something else I've thought about recently," I said. "I don't think it's Miss Caroline speaking, either. All my life I've wondered about women as if they were an alien species. We are so very different! Why women are the way they are, how they feel the way they feel. What it feels like to be one, to allow yourself to love, to be sweet, and sensitive, even to cry."
I blushed, but kept talking. "And all my life I've been curious what women feel, how other men would feel in me if they ever entered me. A stray thought, but I've thought it now and then. Now that I've had men in me, I have to confess it, I like it! Enormously! That's why I took on Tim despite my antipathy toward him. I could never be sure if those studs at Miss Caroline's were real. But I knew Tim was real -- no one would program a virtual man to be that big an asshole! It didn't take much persuasion to get me to bed down with him. And after the way I'd slutted and whored around during the previous three weeks, I couldn't deny even Tim access to my innards!"
Ellie and Becky heard me out in silence. Then Ellie leaped up and threw her arms around me. "Oh Joy," she said. "It's wonderful! You *are* a natural woman after all! We do both love to feel men fucking us! We both do love using them! We're both going to have such good times together!"
We held each other very tightly for a while. We were both crying, just a little.
"Well," Becky said. "I hate to intrude on this tender moment, but we still have unfinished business. When will you go the rest of the way, Joy? Do we now remove your penis and testicles to provide your men full access? Convert them over? Invert them, in fact, if you must know how it's done?! All right. I can see the answer in both of your faces. You two are so eager to get on with your lives as women! But I won't schedule the procedure until after Ellie is pregnant! Pregnancy you can achieve any way you wish, dear ones. I've suggested a dildo as better than a gravy baster, but Ellie gets to choose. When it's done, we'll put a few million more of your potential kids into the sperm bank, and then we'll do the deed. We'll give our sweet Joy a sweet vagina of her very own. Then when you two next want to conceive, I can be the one who impregnates Ellie with Joy's sperm. I'll use a dildo, because I'll want to be child's father as well as its aunt."
I returned for a moment to the real world. "What should we do about Gary?" I asked. "He expects me to go mall crawling soon, surveying and tending to mall managers' needs. I didn't like the idea at all, once. It was humiliating and demeaning, and obviously meant to get me out of the way. But now I like it! Meeting all those men, all eager to tell me what they really need? Sounds exciting!"
"I'm coming with you!" Ellie said categorically. She was still clinging close to me. "It's a wonderful idea! We're married, so I'm entitled to half of your available manpower. As your assistant, maybe. Or maybe you can be mine! I've had more experience with malls and men both!"
"I suspect you'll both go," Becky replied. "You see, I have one more wedding present for you apart from that peignoir set you both find so attractive. You remember that Gary was once my patient? He came to me last week with a common cold, and I diagnosed immediately a far more difficult ailment, partially psychosomatic. That he's a repressed transsexual. It was easy to persuade him. So he's scheduled to take a medical leave for six weeks starting this weekend, and when he returns to work he'll be a complete woman, totally cured. I've had him admitted to the involuntary patients' wing at Miss Caroline's school for treatment. He is, really, an unconscionable sexist! The way he took advantage of you that day you returned to the office as a woman! Of course he was following my instructions, but I knew he would, because he'd done it so often before with his subordinates -- and even boasted about it!"
"When he returns, he'll be a confirmed lesbian feminist, and I'll hire him to administer our Women's Hospital Outpatient Service so we can stay close. If Joy is now your Becky, sweetheart, Gary will be my new Ellie. Designed the way I want him! What Tim will wish to do when he finds out, God knows! Maybe fuck him the way he did you, Joy. But with that tape you made, by this time next year maybe I'll have divorced Tim and married him to Gary. We'll see."
We all smiled at that. Becky shrugged. "Of course I didn't give Ellie away to another woman without arranging to replace her. I'm not that sort of woman. But this present comes in two parts. When you call your secretary tomorrow, Joy, you'll find that you've been appointed Gary's replacement. You know his work. You used to do most of it while he took most of the credit. You can do it and also fuck selected mall managers without great strain, I'm sure, and at a much higher salary. I'm sure your firm's profit margins will rise along with your fortunes and your ability to raise your clients' pricks."
"Will Gary lose that heavyweight tool he hangs between his legs?" Ellie asked. She seemed regretful. I didn't mind.
"I'm afraid so," Becky replied. "I'm not interested in it. But to console yourselves, remember that you'll have the only surviving replica. It may become a collector's item."
"For Gary's sake, maybe we should make another cast before you ... ahhh ... invert it?" I suggested, thinking aloud. "As a memorial? For him to have handy in case you should ever tell him to go fuck himself?"
"Now now," Becky said. "When we're on honeymoons, we should only think sweet thoughts. It's late, girls. Why don't you both go back to bed?"
"It's morning, Becky," Ellie replied. "Not evening."
"So?" asked Becky with a faint smile.
"Will you join us?" I asked. "That's what I wanted, remember? When all this began? A threesome. I begged, but you were reluctant and raised all sorts of conditions. Well, I've met them, every one of them. Can you change your mind now? Please?"
Becky's whole face illuminated. I'd never seen her so beautiful! "I thought you'd never ask," she said. "I'd love to."
So we all went back upstairs with our arms wrapped around one another. We paused in the doorway to the bedroom, and kissed each other on the tips of our noses. Then on our lips. Three women kissing. So sensitive and delicate! So lovely! And then as our passions rose we reached for the tips of each other's nipples and with exquisite gentleness our faces blended together. Heaven!
Copyright © 2000, 2010 by Vickie Tern. May be archived to free archives only, single-copied for personal use, but not sold.
Vickie [email protected]
If the events in this story seems to resemble events in the lives of anyone you know, I'm amazed by the coincidence. I'm also sure they would not appreciate your trumpeting that fact to the world.
I appreciate all kinds of comment: [email protected].
I was on my back with my hands reaching out to mold and support her breasts, thumbs brushing casually against her distended nipples. She'd whimper now and then, and when I opened my eyes I'd see hers closed, her beautiful face concentrating on her body's sensations, that pert nose and delicate chin tilted high up, full brown hair tumbling everywhere as she tossed her head to and fro in a rhythm matched to her pelvic ecstasy.
This was our favorite position. Now and then she'd ask me to clamber up between her spread legs and ram her into the mattress, my weight crushing her and my own thrusting our dominating rhythm. But more often she preferred to kneel lightly over me, in complete control of her pleasures. Crouched down on her, I could brush my lips on her neck, and she'd invariably shiver. But while on top I couldn't comfortably caress her breasts, and as she once told me, she always felt pinned down. She didn't like feeling pinned down.
So she was above me with my penis deep inside her, revolving her crotch on mine, a dreamy half-smile fixed on her face. Twenty years married, kids all grown and gone, and still my heart melted to see that smile! I set up a delicate counter revolution that buried my shank far up into her to the root. Just delicious. I closed my eyes and sent my mind down into my crotch to live forever.
Still screwing slowly, she said in a preoccupied voice, as if in passing, "You know, I've been seeing another man."
"'Seeing'?" I opened my eyes. Nothing had changed. Hers were still closed. She was grinding down onto me as always. "What do you mean, 'seeing'?"
"You know. Like now. Fucking!"
"Another man? You're fucking another man?" She was still moving on me, rotating her pelvis, and my slick shank slid in and out of her as she rocked back and forth. I waited. She moaned, "Ahhh, darling!" Once, contented. Then more silence. "Why?"
She looked down on me gravely, then closed her eyes again and pushed. She seemed to smirk, but I realized it was only self-satisfaction, her extra pleasure as she ground her clit hard against my pelvic bone. "Honey, why does anyone fuck? Because I like it!"
She lifted herself up and thrust down, then up, then down, and let out a deep sigh. "Yesss," she hissed in confidence to herself. "I love it!" Then she leaned way forward on top of me, and the base of my cock pivoted against the inside of her mound, its underside now thrust against her wet, velvet vulva. Her hair fell over my face, and her eyes became dark smudges. I looked up into them. Her expression was no longer visible.
"Ohhh!" she said. "My tits! Caress my tits, you sweet man! Caress my nipples!" she whispered. "Kiss me! Push into me! More!"
I did all of those things.
"Don't worry, lover, I don't want to leave you! And I'm trying to arrange it so you won't want to leave me! You're everything I need and everything I want! Deeper, ohhhh, yes, deeper! Yessss!"
Now she was writhing on me, her hair waving back and forth over my face, her tension mounting, her buttocks heaving, my cock carried along inside her helplessly, working up and down and around it relentlessly, passionately, gloriously as my own exquisite sensations poised for their great leap and then overflowed, spurted, hurled themselves into her as she clenched and squeezed and clenched and shouted, "Ohhh, Yesss, Ohhh, Yesss, heavenly, ohhh, heavenly!" And then she collapsed on top of me, her face pressed against my face, arms squeezing my neck, her breasts squashed on mine.
I waited until I could find breath again. "Why, then, if I'm everything?" I asked.
"Everything is good," she said into my neck, muffled. "More of everything is better. Kiss me again, sweetheart!"
I did, but I couldn't believe we were having this conversation! It was unreal! Without thinking, I kissed her as so often before, so many times before when we had just made love and were feeling especially intimate. She kissed me back so very tenderly, as if my mouth were a rare jewel, then after a few more deep breaths she sat back up on me and looked down on me, altogether pleased with both of us. I stared back bewildered, my prick not yet soft, still crammed somewhere inside her.
"My precious!" she said to me. "My darling! I've wanted to tell you for so long now. And now I've told you. I'm so relieved! I've worried it might come between us, but now I feel so relieved!"
"What?" I said. I was dazed. Addled. What questions could I ask? What did I want to know? What not know? "For how long? Tell me again, Cynthia!"
Now she spoke more slowly, patiently, her hands stroking my chest, enjoying the feel of what little chest hair I had. "I've been seeing another man, honey. Fucking him. Rob, you know him, he's one of the younger men at your office. I've quit with my previous. His wife found out and stopped him from coming to see me. We're still friends and she feels sorry for me, but it's the same with them as it was with Bill and Helene, and before that with Scott and Francine. With practically all of our friends, really. The wives all feel sorry for me, but they won't share. Betsy was quite rude, in fact, telling me to keep away from Cal. Actually warned me to stay away! A shame, because Cal has the most beautiful cock I've seen anywhere. Any I've actually fucked, I mean. Even more beautiful than yours."
"You've been unfaithful to me? With other men?" I said it, and immediately could have bitten off my tongue. But I was baffled! "Why?"
Cynthia looked down on me, puzzled and a little annoyed. "I just told you, sweetie! Weren't you listening? I like to fuck! You know that! I love it with you! I adore it with you! But I like it with other men too! So I do it with others! Only one man at a time, of course. Besides you, I mean."
She looked down at me with real affection, and impulsively bent to kiss the tip of my nose. I didn't turn my head up to kiss her back.
"Aww, you're upset! Don't be, sweetheart!" She bent to kiss me again.
"Cynthia!" I tried to get a grip on this lunacy! She'd been sleeping with half the men we knew, and I never knew it, and she didn't seem to think there was anything wrong with it? Their wives felt sorry for her? How could I make sense of this conversation? I tried. My penis still snugged inside her was softening, a little, but it still felt good there. Without realizing it I pressed up against her to secure it inside for as long as possible. "My God, Cynthia! All those men? Our friends? Suppose I were to sleep with all of their wives! How would you like that?" This was the craziest conversation I had ever had! None of it was real!
"I wouldn't like it, lover! Because you're mine! All of that love juice inside you belongs inside me! And I want all of it! All the time! But the last few years, each year there's been less. You know! Some nights I'll climb on you, and there's nothing at all! That's all right, darling, we hug and smooch, and that's just wonderful. I love it, and I love you."
She leaned way over and kissed me again gently, with infinite care, on my lips, and seemed reluctant to stop. I couldn't help but kiss her back. Her mouth was so soft! My heart swelled with love for her, even though my stomach was sinking into the pits!
"But it's always so frustrating for me, those times when you can't get it up. So the next day I'd call up whoever I was seeing at the time, and I'd ask him to fuck my brains out that very day! And whoever it was, he'd try! He'd really try! Younger men can still really do it too, over and over! They remind me of you when you were younger, honey! They sometimes fuck me so hard I can't sit still or see straight for days!"
Her face was rapt with the memory. I tried to feel angry with her, but I couldn't, not from underneath her crotch, my pecker still plugged into her pussy and still holding back trickles and gouts of cum. I tried wriggling out from under, but I only got in deeper.
"Cynthia, that's not right! We're supposed to be faithful to each other! How could you?"
"Don, honey, don't be such a stick! You're my husband! I always prefer you! I always give you first crack at me, if you're able to do anything! Anything at all! Night or day! That's being faithful! And you're the only man I truly love, and the only man I ever will love the way I love you! That's being faithful! If I thought you'd take it this way, I'd never have told you! How can you say I'm not being faithful?"
She was genuinely hurt, not far from tears. I reached up to stroke her face. But I had to try again.
"Honey," I said. "If I could, if we didn't make love so frequently, or at least whenever I can, would you want me to go around sleeping with all those other wives? All of the women we know? I could do that, you know!"
"You're so sweet!" She was teased by the thought, and began to tickle my cheeks and the tip of my nose with the ends of her hair. "No you couldn't!"
"Why not?"
"Because you can't. Not when I'm done with you, you can't." She hesitated. "And also because they know you can't!"
"What?" I was speechless again.
"You may as well get used to the idea, honey. None of the women we know will get into bed with you. They think that you're impotent. They think they know you're impotent. We've all talked about it. I've explained to their husbands why I find fucking them so delicious. Because you can't satisfy me. And sooner or later they tell their wives about me, and the wives tell each other. Everyone knows I'm looking around because you don't perform, sweetie!"
I was silent at this. "That's why they feel sorry for you?" I asked finally.
Cynthia didn't seem to hear me. "Marge, she's a psychologist, remember, she thinks its your gender confusion that causes it. It's been a long time since I told them about how you were wearing my panties. I'm sure that by now they all assume you wear my other clothes too. That you want to be a girl. Marge thinks so. She has all kinds of theories about it, but mainly she thinks it's kind of sweet. Nearly everyone else does too."
"You told them I wear your panties?! When? Whatever for? What else did you tell them?!"
"Oh, a few more things. But why are you so upset? That was years ago! A couple of years, anyhow!"
"Years?!" The wives thought they knew, and so did the husbands. I tried to remember if Bill had been simpering or leering at me in the past few months. But nothing came to mind. Anything when we changed clothes for raquetball at the Club, or changed back again? Did he check out my midriff after a shower? Nothing. But I wouldn't have noticed. Who thinks about such things? "What few more things did you tell them?!"
"Oh, a few more. I see no reason to upset you any more than you are right now. We'll discuss this another time."
I calmed down as quickly as I could. "Cynthia," I said in as measured a tone as I could manage. "I'm not upset. Just curious. Why did you tell them I wear your panties? What was the occasion?"
She looked at me with her eyes wide open. Here it comes, I thought. Cynthia was a youngest child, her daddy's little girl, and the ways she'd twisted him to gratify her whims and avoid punishment all through her growing up had carried over into our marriage. I always thought they were cute when she tried them out on me. I never failed to melt when I was on their receiving end. That darling little girl simplicity she could call on any time was one of the many reasons I loved her.
"Why, Marge saw your panties, honey, that time we were all together at that resort hotel. You and the boys were out playing golf while the girls stayed back and did the laundry and gossiped. A whole week's worth! Remember? All mixed together by the time we were through! Then when we all had to sort out each other's things, Marge picked up some of your panties, and I had to claim them."
"Marge?" My voice rose and cracked, and I must have sounded a little frantic, because Cynthia began looking at me closely, those big beautiful eyes fixed on mine. My cock was soft, but still tucked into her. Would it toughen up again? That hadn't happened for a few years!
I resumed control. "Cynthia, I don't wear your panties."
I was trying to be calm and reasonable and matter-of fact, but all sorts of thoughts tumbled through my head. Marge was there, and Chelsea, Eric's Chelsea. Cathy too. All the couples of our bridge-playing set -- that's what we were there to do, golf and play bridge. And to do laundry too, apparently. And to do me, to undo my reputation. "Why did she think I wore your panties? I don't wear your panties!"
"But you do, sweetheart," she said, still wide-eyed, a reassuring smile beginning to brighten her face. "Hanes Her Way cotton Hi-Leg panties, the same ones I used to wear before you asked me to get sexier down there, and I stocked up on those lacy things you love seeing draped across my ass cheeks and caught tight in my pussy. Remember when you asked me? I thought they were silly, but now I love them. Most men get hard the moment they see me in them!"
She leaned back, then forward, and then she pust have clenched a pussy muscle, because I felt my penis lurch a little. It was returning to life!
She felt it too. "See, even you, just from imagining me in them! You wear some other brands too. I gave all my old cotton panties to you. You never noticed? All those briefs you like to wear, you never noticed that none of them have flies, the way men's briefs do? That there's double fabric too far down in the crotch to do a man much good? Where women get moist?" She wiggled a little.
"No," I said. The mystery was clearing a little, leaving only my reputation among friends murky.
"Well, whenever they came out of the dryer I had to reclaim them, and then the girls got a little silly, and whenever my lacy things were peeled off the pile they'd say 'Here, this must be Don's too,' and we'd laugh and giggle. I'm sure they think we share everything."
"Why didn't you explain to them?"
"Honey, why should I? I could see their attitudes toward you changing, right before my eyes! Some of them used to think you were quite handsome and attractive. They'd tell me so, with that look in their eyes, you know? So I thought, let them think what they think! Then they won't try to take what's mine! Try to play up to you, and maybe cheat me out of one of those moments when you're up and ready for action!"
Again I was silent.
"I didn't lie. Chelsea said she'd love to see you in those frothy tap pants you got me for my birthday, the ones that make you feel so...loving, whenever you see me in them? I told her you'd bought them yourself in Victoria's Secret and that you just love them. They were impressed. In fact they were quiet until Marge asked out of the blue, 'Are his brassieres from Victoria's Secret too? Does he wear a slip?' They're such teases! They were disappointed when I told them no, no slip. But they felt better when I showed them the two brassieres I bought that time you were a little tipsy and nuzzling me and said you wished I wore lower necklines with more cleavage. Remember? I held them up and I said, 'Don wanted these bras, so I got them for him. He loves seeing cleavage when we dress to go out.'"
"Well, sweetie, then they were really impressed! They all started talking at once. 'You two dress to go out? Together? Like that? The same way? My Ellis would never ever! But when you go out, Cynthia, where do you go? What do you do? How does he look?' So I told them usually we go out dancing, but first to a nice restaurant, and after a few drinks and a bottle of wine and a good dinner we feel just lovely, and you look so very lovely at least to me, so we go some place where there's an orchestra and we dance. At first we dance together, I told them, but men begin to cut in to dance with me, so I tell you to go find your own partners. And you do. Like at Joyce and Tim's daughter's wedding, you remember? There are always plenty of singles to dance with. So we may not even see each other for much of the evening. It's so very Romantic!"
"Well, now the girls are sort of solemn. Gail -- she was there too, you remember, your boss's wife, she took over the conversation and everyone else just listened. She got real interested! She asked me if we always leave together after a date like that. I had to tell her 'Not always,' because there was that time we were out with your cousin and his wife, and we got tired, you remember, and you two wanted to see the end of some basketball game on the tube, so you came home later, remember?"
"'One of you uses a hotel room on those occasions?' she asks, and I told her we both do sometimes. It depends on how late it is, and how far we're willing to go for a good time. I mentioned that you're always more eager to spend the night in a hotel than I am. And it's true! You never want to drive back home when we've both had a lot to drink. Isn't that true?"
"Well, when we were going upstairs, Gail told me confidentially that she didn't know we were into kinky things, and that she hoped we'd both come to a dressup dinner for some selected friends some time when she could arrange it. She told me that Geoffrey, your boss, that he looked smashing in a wig and a long gown, and she was anxious to see how you looked. She asked me who does your hair, and I had to tell her you did, when it wasn't mussed, which it is much of the time given the way you get when you're really into things. She said she could understand that, you being a hands on kind of person, and I certainly had to agree to that."
Cynthia smiled to herself and wriggled her bottom into my groin. There was no doubt about it. I was getting harder. She picked up my hands and placed them on her breasts. "Caress me again, lover!" she whispered confidentially. I did just that.
"Well, we've talked about it now and then since that time, all of us, they like to tease me by offering you their dresses and things. Whenever you compliment them on something they're wearing -- and you often do, Don, you're such a gentleman! -- they can't wait to get to the Ladies' with the rest of us and giggle about it, how you'd love for me to buy you the same thing for your next birthday. Mmmmmmmmmm! More!"
I was fully hard again. Cynthia lifted and lowered herself just to make sure, then began plunging at me. That delicious feeling returned to my loins. I flicked her nipples gently in response. She leaned forward and kissed me with passionate intensity.
"Oooh, I do love you, sweetheart! Never doubt it! This kind of talk turns you on, doesn't it? I'll have to remember that! Then last week it was Gail's turn to warn me away from Geoffrey. She understood, she felt sorry for me and all that, she knows how different men have their compulsions, but she wasn't going to tolerate my affair with him. She told me confidentially that he wasn't that much of a lover anyhow, and I had to agree with her, and we got to be quite friendly, gal to gal, comparing notes. She's been around the block a few times too. I told her that Rob had been coming on to me, and she encouraged me to go for it. So that's what I did. And she encouraged me to tell you all about it, that it wasn't fair you were the only one who didn't know what everyone else knows. Or thinks they know. That's why I'm telling you now."
"Oh?" I said. I was feeling a little bitter, but Cynthia had begun to corkscrew her sweet, soft, moist quim into me, and I was having trouble thinking. I kept stroking and cupping her breasts without even realizing it.
"Also because you have to know, now. She's invited us to her house. It's tonight. A dinner party, it's supposed to be a surprise, something about a promotion for you, honey. It must be some kind of costume occasion, formal, because she said we both should wear long gowns and put our hair up properly, and all. That Geoffrey was looking forward to meeting you looking beautiful, the way he'll be dressed. She said you wouldn't regret it."
She was silent for a while, rotating slowly, then faster. Everything became more intense, much more concentrated! When she finally leaned forward to climb higher into the sublime, her ass was in a whirl, frenzied! I had no idea where in all that glorious energy and sensation my cock might be, until we both exploded, shrieking. Both of us! Pure joy!"
When she could breathe again, she continued. "There! Now you're well- drained! No danger now that some other woman'll carry you off and use you. Not until tomorrow the earliest, I know you! Not until the middle of next week. But by then you'll be all mine, I hope, and nobody else's ever!"
She leaned way forward to nuzzle me. I felt numb. I couldn't think. Dinner at my boss's was a rare honor. I'd been only once before, years ago. But wearing a dress?
"I can't do it, Cynthia," I said, torn between regret and fear. "I'd be ridiculous. I'll wear my dinner jacket! Or you'll have to go without me and make my excuses. I can't go dressed like you! Like a woman! I'm a man!"
"You don't have to tell me that, lover! Not right now you don't." Her mouth smiled, lips closed, as if savoring the memory of honey. My prick softened and slithered out, and then cum poured out of her slit and soaked both our crotches. It lubricated the inside of her thighs, and she began rubbing them absent-mindedy on my hips.
She pulled back her gorgeous long brown hair, so it streamed onto her back and shoulders, some strands still sticking onto her skin with perspiration. Still as beautiful as ever, my wife, but what had she done to me? To my reputation? She leaned forward again, but this time she took my head in both her hands before continuing, and stared straight into my eyes, and spoke with intense earnestness.
"You don't have a choice, sweetheart. Don't worry. Tonight you'll only look the way everyone expects you to look. They've known about you for years, remember! Or they think they do. If that's how your boss means to dress, then that's how you'll have to dress too. Or think how embarrassed he'll feel! Gail tells me she's really curious to see how lovely you can look when you're really done up properly! I've boasted about you to her. In fact, she recommended two hotel rooms for later tonight, for us each to stay in after the party. 'Rob will be there,' she said. 'And maybe Don is impotent, but if he's as pretty as you say I'm sure he has some uses still.' I couldn't disagree, whatever it is she has in mind. What do you think?"
I couldn't say. I couldn't say anything.
"It's time you were wearing frillier underwear anyhow," she said. "Just leave everything to me. I've already made the appointments for your hair and nails, and I've already bought you your dress. Slinky satin, like that pale blue gown you told Chelsea you so admired on her. Only yours is cream, with white beading, because you're still a virgin, aren't you, so you can wear white, can't you? As a woman, I mean! Don't worry a bit. You have clear features, and you're not too large. You'll be gorgeous!"
List-Subscribe List- Unsubscribe
Part 2.
I went. Dressed the way women dress. And there followed the worst time of my life, followed by the most confusing, though with compensations I have to confess. Followed by I don't know what, now.
I couldn't believe what cosmetics can do to a man's face when applied by a professional. And that gown was stunning, just as I'd told Chelsea. I did look gorgeous when we mounted the boss's steps and rang the bell. Their butler let us in, perfectly straight-faced, and announced us to everyone assembled.
"Mrs. Donald Ames, and Miss Donna Ames!" he intoned.
Who told him that? As we walked through the doorway and I stumbled down the two steps into Geoffrey and Gail's huge living room, tripped up by my four inch high-heeled evening slippers, but supported on Cynthia's arm as if she were the man and I was the frail woman. Then when I looked up, there was everyone we knew! Standing assembled and facing us! Our entire golf and bridge crowd! The women were in long gowns with their hair piled high up, like mine and Cynthia's, their faces painted sloe-eyed and shadowed and blushed, with their lips bright red, like mine and Cynthia's. We were all gorgeous!
But the men were all wearing ordinary dinner jackets and black ties! The kind of evening wear I'd have worn if Cynthia hadn't told me I had to do it her way. Geoffrey too! No sign of a gown anywhere near him! His dinner jacket was elegantly cut, an Armani, no doubt about it! Decisively, menswear! Only the women were wearing gowns!
And me!
I wanted to die! I tried to shrink into the woodwork. But everyone was standing and looking straight at us, and applauding! Applauding! I stared wide-eyed, and couldn't move.
Geoffrey stepped forward.
"Cynthia and Donna, welcome!" he said in a loud voice. He was delivering a speech, and he expected everyone to listen. "This is an auspicious occasion! For two reasons!"
He turned to Cynthia. "Cynthia, you are one of the bravest women I have ever known. Ever since last week, when you first told Gail that your husband was...ahhh... less of a man and ... ummm... much more of a woman than any of us had previously ever dreamed or suspected, and Gail told me, and told me that now finally you wanted everyone to know, our hearts have gone out to you! You've suffered much, endured much in silence. But I want you to know that we respect you and we love you. There is no stigma attached to your husband's decision to live the rest of his life as a woman. His need to be a woman. To be born transsexual is to endure much, but we are all agreed that it is no disability, and should suffer no penalties. Many men feel a need to cross-dress. But we are awestruck with admiration, Cynthia, that when your husband informed you he wanted to go all the way only a few weeks ago, you decided to stay with him if he'd have you, to preserve your family identity and to maintain the home you two have shared together for so many years."
I couldn't believe what I was hearing, and I replayed the words repeatedly in my head. They came out the same each time.
"Hold your purse at waist level, sweetheart," Cynthia whispered to me. "It's a clutch purse, remember. And keep your elbows close to your sides. And turn one toe out just a bit. It's much more ladylike. You see, over there they're taking pictures of us for the company newsletter, so you'll want to look your best."
My boss turned to me. Now he was holding a champagne flute. So was everyone, I saw. Some were smiling and some were smirking, but everyone had a glass in hand.
"And Donna," he declared. "What can I say? Despite a lifetime of conflict, of anxiety, of struggle against your own nature, of shameful secrecy, at last you've found the courage to be yourself! To live according to your nature, as the woman you know you are, whatever narrow-minded people may think. Your work for all of us, for the Company, for all these years, well, it's been superlative, despite what must have been the distractions, the heartaches of your own divided soul. Just in the past few months you've closed three contracts making up almost a third of our corporate profits for the year! Amazing!"
"Well, even before Cynthia's revelation to us of your true nature, I've been looking for some way to reward such skill, such intelligence, and dedication, and devotion to our common purposes. But I could find nothing really suitable, because as you know, the Board has obliged us to make the next promotions to Corporate Vice President from the ranks of our minority and women employees. And you were neither. Or so it seemed."
"But now we all know better. Our medical and our legal staffs have agreed that you now meet the statutory requirements for promotion, that your plans for sex reassignment surgery -- Cynthia told us about them just this afternoon -- remove any lingering doubt. You're already a lovely woman in your spirit and appearance, and soon you'll also be a lovely woman in all other respects!"
"So Don, farewell! You've been a splendid employee and friend, and we shall miss you. Donna, welcome! Your new office as Vice President for Special Projects will be ready for you when you come to work Monday morning, decorated in a delightfully feminine style, I must say, just as Cynthia and Gail proposed. Because you are the first woman to break through our glass ceiling, an example for all the others we hope will follow! And we share your belief that a woman executive should never hide the fact that she is first of all a woman, even if an utterly feminine kind of woman. Because that way she can prove daily that women can be as effective in business as anyone else, without ceasing to be women! I've told our Board Chairman about this conviction of yours, and he was impressed! He called it forward-looking, evidence of the kind of independent thinking we need to encourage!"
"Moreover, because you deserve it, and also -- I must confess with pride -- to boost our statistics for salaries paid to women employees to the highest in the industry, I'm pleased to announce that the Board has agreed to double your salary and include in it a generous package of stock options. We do reward merit, and we value our valuable employees!"
The boss smiled his most egregious smile. "In conclusion, Donna, I propose a toast. To your newly acknowledged femininity, to the woman you will soon become in body as well as soul, and to our new Corporate Vice President. Donna, I know you won't disappoint us! Welcome!"
Everyone raised their glasses and repeated "Welcome!", and drained them. Then the men, most of them, headed to the bar set up in the foyer for refills or stronger stuff, while the women crowded around me, buzzing and laughing and asking all sorts of questions. "Don't blow it, Donna," Cynthia muttered to me sotto voce. "You know now what's at stake, don't you! Just talk in a high voice, and be pleasant, and try to move with grace, and the whole world is yours! You do deserve it, you know. And this is the only way you're ever going to get it! So accept it, and wait, and I'll explain everything later."
I did. The wives who welcomed me most enthusiastically, I noticed, were the ones Cynthia'd mentioned felt sorry for her, with husbands Cynthia'd slept with. I suppose for them this was a confirmation of sorts, that what Cynthia had told them about my impotence had to be true, that their sympathy wasn't misplaced. Several times various women brought me more champagne as we laughed and chatted and I tried to giggle with them. When I seemed all right, Cynthia began drifting away. Soon she was surrounded by a group of men, all her old lovers I supposed, sparkling and scintillating. I tried to imitate some of her gestures, but decided it would take far more practice. Just try to get through this evening, I said to myself, then get some explanations and decide what to do.
At dinner I was seated between two men, of course. One of them was an elderly bore who sat on the Board and kept realizing and then forgetting that I was the guest of honor. He never did forget to stare down the front of my dress, however, at the two modest mounds of flesh Cynthia had coaxed into visibility with a cunningly designed push-up bra. The other was a hotshot young market analyst on the company's fast-track. He tried and failed several times to find something complimentary to say to me, and when he saw his innuendoes were increasingly resented he turned to entertain someone's simple-minded spouse on his other side. I don't remember swallowing anything on my plate.
Later, when a small orchestra began playing slow music in an alcove, I saw Cynthia dancing with Rob. They were terribly close. She was clasping the back of his neck with both hands, and I saw her pull his head down and kiss him. Her kiss had the same devoted intensity I'd felt when she'd kissed me only that morning, when she'd successfully re-aroused my cock. I was everything to her, she'd assured me then. Never doubt it. So could I doubt it?
As the crowd began to thin, Gail came up and seized my arm. "Donna honey! Come over here and sit down! We must talk!" She dragged me to a far corner and planted me in a huge, soft chair, so we were scarcely visible to anyone else in the room.
"Of course, Gail," I said in my flutey voice. "I'd love to!"
"Don't give me that high-pitched 'I'd love to' crap, Don," she said. "What you'd love is to murder someone, wouldn't you? I would, if I were wearing your high heels right now! Because I know what's going on here, and you obviously don't."
A voice from the real world! At last!
"What's going on here, Gail?" All of a sudden I was all business.
She heard the steel in my voice and smiled. "Well, Donna honey, maybe you're worth that Vice Presidency after all. I've always thought you were a wimp, even though Geoffrey told me you've done some amazing things with customers on no notice at all. That you're really quick off the mark. Sort of like your act tonight! You've almost had me convinced that you really are a transsexual, a real wannabe woman, quite a few times. And I know that it's all improvised on the spot, too! Not that any of that matters any more. You're in! That's what you are now, or will be soon enough, a woman, wannabe or don't wannabe."
"What's going on here, Gail," I repeated a second time, this time laying my long, red-manicured fingers lightly on her sleeve. She looked down at her arm, then up at me.
"When men touch each other, honey, it's often by way of a threat, unless they're gay," she said quietly. "When women touch each other it's by way of sociability, to reassure each other. I hope you know the difference, Donna honey. Because Donna honey, from now on, this is your life! So begin to live it!"
"Please?" I said, my voice softer. I looked pleadingly at her. She looked back at me and took pity.
"OK!" She took a deep breath. "I've been hearing about how your wife has fucked her way through the staff for two years now," she said. "Maybe more. She's very clever! And I've seen what a loyal employee you've been the whole time, working hard, nose to the grindstone, shoulder to the wheel, all those inspirational cliches, never noticing any of it. The old story, the slut wife with the workaholic husband who's always the last to know."
"But I've also seen the two of you together. You make a good couple. You're both obviously deeply in love with each other. And she certainly cares for you! So why does she sleep around? Obviously, it's got to be she's oversexed and you're undersexed, and never the twain shall meet except maybe on weekends. Isn't that right?"
"Some weekdays too," I said, a little hurt. Though not for some time though, I realized. My manhood was being challenged here. I looked at my ruby-tipped fingers. What manhood? "Now and then," I added in a weak voice.
"Well, honey, that's what changes in your life from now on. No more now and then. No more weekends. No more dipping your cock into anyone's pussy ever again! Did you know that?"
"No." I drew myself up. My silicone breast forms were tugging on my bra straps anyhow. "Why do you say that?"
"Why sweetheart, I thought you were quicker on the uptake than that! Didn't you hear Geoffrey's speech? No, probably not, who listens to that windbag? Honeybunch, in a little while longer, no more fucking! Not for you! Not the way men fuck! Hormones will soon wither that stem of yours like a tropical plant in a drought, and then surgery will turn it inside out into a cunt. What's been into cunts becomes a cunt! What fucked gets fucked. There's a sort of poetic justice there, don't you think?"
"Don't look so solemn! There'll be compensations, of course. For one thing, you'll have gorgeous tits, really big ones, guaranteed, with a little prosthetic assistance if you can't grow them full size by yourself. Cynthia tells me you're a tit man. Well, by this time next year you'll be a tit lady! Men will fall all over you, and you'll have your pick. That is, if you at all incline toward men when the hormones have softened you up a little. Some do, some don't, I hear. And you'll have the prettiest, most feminine office on either coast to work in. I've seen it! Anyone who spends an hour in that decor will feel he has to start flouncing around, man or woman. After two days there you may well feel starved for a cock to suck on!"
"Gail," I said, looking her in the eye, trying to regain the high ground, "I don't have to do any of this. I don't know why Cynthia's set me up this way, or where you fit in, but any time after tonight I can walk away. And I mean to. This is humiliating!"
Now Gail put her hands on my arms. Her nails were manicured a different shade, but they were equally beautiful. "Honey, just listen! Walk away from a six-figure salary plus bonuses? Walk away from Beach Resorts and Yachts and the Smart Set and the Good Life? Walk away from finally telling other people how to run things, instead of feeling forced to run things the wrong way? Maybe. But you wouldn't get very far. Not in jail you wouldn't!"
"Because the company would have to bring an action against you for fraud, for misrepresenting your gender and tricking us into misrepresenting statistics for women's salaries to the federal government, for tricking us into promoting you contrary to company policies and commitments, and into paying you for services never rendered. For setting up an elaborate con game. We can prove to any jury that you schemed this with your wife for months. That she's guilty too, and also deserves jail."
She smiled a wicked smile. Conspiratorial, too. "And need I point out that anyone in jail for a scam like this one will end up a woman anyhow, a whore servicing the other inmates? Without getting to wear designer dresses like the one you have on right now? It's just lovely, Donna, incidentally! Really becoming!"
She paused. "And even if the company let you off the hook, consider your reputation from now on. The way you look tonight is your social and corporate identity from here on in. From now on, whenever you're seen wearing men's clothes, you'll seem to be wearing drag! You'll be the dickless, effeminate loser whose wife is on the make for anything in pants!"
I just listened, my head a little lower when she finished talking. She seemed almost sympathetic. Her comment about my gown was obviously intended to cheer me up!
"Please," I said, now much more humbly. "Please, Gail. I don't know what to do. Tell me what's going on."
"Honeybun, live with it. You're fucked! You always will be! I didn't believe it when your wife was dancing in and out of the bedsheets with different men, telling them you're impotent, that you can't get it up, or can't get it up often enough. It's a good ploy. It enlivens her partners' interest and relieves their guilt, because some of them are good friends of yours as I understand it. Sometimes it even hooked their wives' sympathies."
"But a month ago she went too far! She took on my husband! And two weeks ago I found out, and last week we discussed the matter and negotiated a little settlement."
"You see, Geoffrey's susceptible to a hot body like Cynthia's. So I needed to buy her off, or she'd have kept coming on to him, and who knows how it would have ended up. She's not the first woman to turn Geoffrey's head, though she just may be the last." Gail was lost in her thoughts for a moment. Then she said, "Your wife drives a very hard bargain."
"You see, honey, what I wanted was some kind of retribution or revenge. In a manner of speaking. Cynthia stole my husband away from me, so I had to steal hers away from her. But not just for a few nights! For good! I don't forgive easily. Now, you may not know it, but I'm not crazy about sex with men. I can handle Geoffrey all right, but for recreation I prefer women. You didn't know? Maybe nobody knows! Well, you were perfect! I'd heard you were some kind of transvestite in your off hours, you know, word gets around. So I told Cynthia, we'd have to set you up to go all the way. That's how I am! Deprive her of you for good! That's why you aren't going to be a man any more, sweetie. Not for Cynthia, not for anyone. You're a new woman. Maybe mine, if we can get on. One of mine. That was my price."
"Cynthia's price for all this was a promotion for you, with a whopping increase in salary. Not that you don't deserve one. A promotion might have come along after we fulfilled the Board's affirmative action goals, in six or ten more years, with a small salary increment, if you weren't downsized first. But that's what your wife wanted now, if she was to be deprived of your manly services for the rest of her life and yours. A really huge salary! That's reasonable enough, trading sex for money. I did it, lots of women do it."
"So I put a gun to Geoffrey's head, so to speak. It wasn't hard. I told him I'd caught him with his pants draped on his ankles, and he turned pale. But he could easily see the advantages to keeping you on as a top executive, especially if you really became a certifiable woman. And I suppose promoting you helped him discharge his own guilt at getting caught fucking your wife. So we all shook hands and it was a done deal. The rest is history, but someone else will have to write it."
"Donna, you are well and truly pussywhipped! Whipped into behaving like a pussy, too! And whipped into growing a pussy of your very own between your legs!"
She took my hand. "Peace, sweetheart," she said. "Welcome to womanhood! It isn't so bad! You'll love it!" Then as she looked around she added, "But I see the party's over."
I looked around. Everyone was gone. Cynthia too, and Rob.
Gail saw what was on my mind. "They've gone to that hotel I recommended to Cynthia, honey. There's a room reserved there for you and me, too, so let's go! Geoffrey doesn't mind my being bisexual, as long as I don't entertain my lady friends under his roof. That's reasonable. So I'll often spend time at that hotel. It's small and discreet and beautifully appointed. You'll love it."
She stood up. "Come on, honey. This isn't only your coming out night, it's your bridal night. A little bit of additional revenge Cynthia granted me. She screwed my husband, so I screw hers. And this way you get to see the coming attraction of the feature film that follows, Donna the Woman, This Is Your Life!"
I felt trapped. I didn't like feeling trapped. But I was utterly out of my league! I hesitated. Gail reached out her hand, and I took it, and stood up, and teetered for a moment on my heels. She supported me by one elbow until I caught my balance. Then suddenly she leaned forward and kissed me on the mouth. Her lips were fuller than Cynthia's, and softer.
"There you are, honey," she said to me gently. "Remember to take your purse."
"I can't perform tonight," I said. "Cynthia drained me this morning. She's very...passionate."
"I was sure she would," Gail said, smiling at me and tucking her arm under mine. "In fact I told her to do it. I don't want you to be distracted tonight by your cock. No intrusion of manly urges into your new first experience of sex as a lesbian. We'll perform the way women perform. You have a mouth, sweetheart, and hands, and an asshole. That's plenty. We'll find things to do. There's more than one way to skin a pussy! Don't worry, sweetheart."
"Of course like I've said, it's always possible that when you've got a cunt of your own you'll want to use it the old fashioned way. You may not turn out to be a lesbian at all, just one more straight woman filling herself up with straight men! Boring, but who can predict it? Different strokes!"
Gail smiled confidentially to me as she left the house and we settled into her car for the trip to her hotel. "Just between us girls. Geoffrey's upstairs asleep now. That's his punishment for starting up his little affair with Cynthia. She told me about it. Told me the old goat never wanted to sleep at all, just fuck, all night. So every night for the rest of his life I'll slip him a harmless little pill, and he'll be asleep even before he notices I'm not even in bed with him. And one of these days I mean to have silicone balls installed in his scrotum instead of the ones that're there now. He'll never know, but his cock will never salute anthing ever again! No more nookie for my Geoffrey! And all the more time freed up for me to get mine!"
She leaned over and kissed me again, this time passionately. "I told you I don't forgive easily!" she said.
Part 3.
The next morning when I pulled into our driveway there was a strange car blocking my way into the garage. Rob's. They'd spent the night fucking each other under my roof? I felt the hood -- the engine was still quite warm. No, they'd been in their hotel room, just as I'd been in mine.
I got out of the car and staggered up the walk, not only because of those heels, but because I had to walk spraddle-legged. My God, my asshole was sore! Gail had spent half the night plunging a fat rubber dildo in and out of it, my "boy pussy" she called it, until finally I had come in a very strange way, an incredibly intense seizure of my whole body, ethereal sort of, and then came a release and a trickling of fluids from my penis without it once getting erect!
Gail exulted when it happened. "Now you're a woman, honey! And don't let anyone tell you different! That's a woman's orgasm. You can have as many as you want, as often as you want! Now where's that pretty mouth of yours? I want that tongue inside my cunt again NOW!"
When she wasn't fucking me Gail wanted me to suck her pussy, to lick it and poke my tongue into it. Then when she'd had enough straight "tonguefucking," as she called it, she wanted me to force it into her anus. "Geoffrey kisses my ass, honey," she said. "You can do better than that! You'll see soon enough! Keep at it!" It finally happened just after dawn. She was sitting on my face with her cheeks spread wide apart when my tongue finally penetrated her rear, and her sphincters clamped down to hold it inside her. The taste was strange, but she treated me with great affection after I pushed in and out and licked her hole clean. It must have felt especially nice to her, because she told me she wanted to see me some more, since I had this talent, if I didn't mind. I didn't answer. My own hole was still drippy from the enema she'd given me to make way for her dildo, and there was nothing I could do about that. It still felt stretched wide open as I waddled into the house.
Cynthia and Rob were sitting in the living room when I came in limping and kicked off my heels, and then just stood there looking at first one, then the other of them. They'd been talking together quietly.
"Sweetie, you're back!" Cynthia leaped up and ran over and threw her arms around me. "I can't wait to hear all about it! Was it fun? Was it awful? Gail told me she'd clue you in and then break you in, so you'd know why we had to do what we did, why she thinks so, anyhow, why you're really and truly going to become a woman, and she promised she'd give you a little taste of what it's like. Things like that. You'd never have agreed to any of it, I know. But now, doesn't it make sense to you? Doesn't it? I do hope you like getting fucked! Tell me you liked it, honey! Please!"
She stood there, looking into my eyes. I looked into hers. She'd betrayed me in so many ways I couldn't begin to count them! But some of it was for my sake. She loved me, no doubt about that. It was all there in her eyes -- her worry, her concern for me, her hopes for our future, and the teeniest delighted gleam at the practical joke she'd played on me, sort of. And above all, her deepest, deepest affection. I could have drowned in that! I kissed her quickly, gently, twice, once on each eyelid.
"Oh, sweetheart!" she whispered. "Oh, dearest sweetheart!" And she kissed me full on the mouth.
Then she stood back. "I see you've lost your cherry," she said with a twinkle in her eye. "There's a bloodstain on your dress, in back. You shouldn't wear evening gowns when you're making love, or too soon after, honey. Or anything, really, unless you've got a tampon for afterward. The fluids leak. Gail must have gotten a little severe with those tender membranes inside your boy pussy. She did tell me that she likes to fuck her partners hard! Well, strip, and I'll set it to soak before it the stain sets too badly."
"Cynthia," I said. "Not now. You have a guest!" I glared at Rob. My rival. He'd been doing to Cynthia what Gail had done to me! What if she'd enjoyed it as much as I did?
"Oh, sweetie, Rob isn't a guest. Rob's here to stay! We're engaged! I've been engaged to him in my heart for a long time now, ever since there was only you at home, my lovely husband, my lovely husband who's never been able to provide for my needs, and who gets less able each year! I've sometimes felt we were engaged before we were born! It's a spiritual thing!"
I was confused.
"You know Rob's not married any more. First he wore his wife out sexually, and then she didn't want him. I heard she'd turned lesbian. Then she threw him out when I started up with him. Was it two years ago? Less? Honey, Rob is all I've ever wanted or needed for sex. I want you because you're so very sweet, and Rob because he can fuck me senseless! And I've been true to the two of you ever since any of us met. It's always been only you two. I've wanted us to live together for so very long! And now we can!"
"Because I do love you, Donna precious! Even if I were married to Rob right now, I'd still never want to share you with another woman. Not while you're still a man! I just can't bear the thought of some other woman clamping her hips onto that darling prick of yours, and feeling it move around inside her! It's mine! It's mine till death do us part! That's the way it is!"
"That's the way it is right now, anyhow. Gail probably explained it to you, what's going to happen to that dear little thing down there? Pretty soon there'll be no more sex between us, honey. Not when your hormones and your surgery make you more of a woman and no man at all. That's when we'll get divorced, and if things work out I'll marry Rob. But we won't separate, ever, I hope. You'll still live here, sweetheart! We'll still be good friends. Loving friends. Very best girlfriends."
"But then there'll be no more sex. You see, I can't do what Gail does. I'm not much for oral sex or dildoes or other girlie things like that, you know that, sweetie. With me it's always been a stiff dick deep in my wazoo, or else someone else's stiff dick stuck deep inside me! I can sit on a cock, and roll around on one, and slide up and down on one all day long! And all night! I've never had enough of it!"
"And make no mistake, Rob's is impressive. Not just that it's so huge you really can't not know when it's in you. It's that you can't move at all when it's all the way in you, just grunt! It's that it never seems to need to lie down, and when it does, it wakes up again after hardly any time at all! Rob can fuck four times, six times a day! And cum each time, and then fuck again! And at night the same! And again the next day!"
"Donna, how could any girl ever say no to a man like that? I've loved him ever since he came to work for your Company, that first Christmas office party. The bulge in his pants looked like Santa Claus's sack, and he invited me to reach inside to see if there was a present there for me! Was there ever? He's actually too much!"
"Anyhow, honeybun, that's why Rob is moving in with us! We need to live together for a while before we get married. You know. Just to make sure. And because I just might want him four, six times a day, now and then!"
She smiled at that. "Here, let me take care of your dress, while you two get acquainted all over again. You're Miss Vice President Donna, now, lover! Rob works for you! When he isn't working for me, that is! Rob, Donna is my best friend. Remember that. No more secrets from her. She shares everything with me. Even things that are very precious. Treat her with respect, always."
I carefully unsnapped and unzipped and unbuttoned my beaded gown, my bridal gown Gail had called it when we arrived in her suite and it became obvious she meant to deflower me. Cynthia took it and was gone.
I turned to Rob and sat down just across from him. He'd been listening to everything Cynthia'd said, looking at me with mild interest. I saw no mockery or scorn in his eyes.
"That's a very pretty slip, Donna," he said. "My ex had one just like it! Cynthia was so happy when she found it in Victoria's Secret a week ago, after she'd made her deal with Gail. She said it was a perfect match for the bras and things she'd already bought for you for when the big moment came. As it did last night. Drink?"
I shook my head. The elaborate hairdo the salon had pinned up now all tumbled down. Extra hair in it, "falls" and "rats" they called them. I'd prefer a clipped woman's hairstyle, I thought to myself, as I pinned it back up. There are some cute ones. Unless I can find some way out of this. I don't see any, though. "Too early for a drink," I said.
"Coffee, then." Rob went into the kitchen and brought back a small tray with coffee, milk, sugar, a spoon, and even a napkin spread across the bottom of the tray. He really was trying to be solicitous! "I don't know yet how you take it," he said quietly.
He sat down and continued his narrative. "Donna, Cynthia wasn't just happy when she found that white dress of yours, she was ecstatic! 'It's Don, it really is!' she kept saying. 'It's perfect for him!' She's been so happy, shopping for you, planning all kinds of things for last night, and for when you're eventually a woman! And I can't say she wasn't right about the dress. You know, with your slim hips, you'll be a real knockout when your boobs come in! Like a model!"
He meant well, but his encouragement wasn't welcome. "So you were in on this, Rob? From the beginning?"
"No. Well, yes, once Cynthia decided that she couldn't live without coming home to my cock every evening, and having it available all day every weekend. But it was all her planning. I only made suggestions. A year ago or so, when the beginnings occurred to her, when she was spreading it around that she was fucking everyone in sight, I helped her make it credible by setting up some stories with a few friends and their wives who were willing to cooperate. They couldn't figure why she wanted that reputation, but they did spread the word. She's got to be a remarkable woman, they'd tell me when I asked for their help. But I guess you already know that."
"Yes," I said. I was bewildered again, but I knew that Top Management never lets Junior Management know that. "So she never did sleep around, eh?"
"No. Just me. And you, of course. With me on call, why would she ever want anyone else?"
"Why'd she want me to believe she was sleeping around?"
Rob just looked at me. "Two reasons. One was so you couldn't feel jealous of any one man, and then try to do something stupid about it! Something violent. She wanted to protect me from you. And protect you from yourself, too. She tells me you can be a terror when you're mad, testosterone-driven she calls it, and that's why she wants your balls gone real soon, maybe as early as next week. The way she puts it, when fighting bulls become steers, they're no longer interested in fighting. Anyhow, she wanted you to blame her for whatever infidelities you heard about, not the supposed men involved. And not me. So you'd figure it was all her doing, not mine. She never mentioned me at all until just a few days ago, I'll bet."
"Not until yesterday morning, no," I said. "When we were fucking she mentioned it. Not before." It was only yesterday morning? "I never heard about any of the others either. She had to tell me about them. The word never got back to me."
Rob grinned. "Well, that's you. Hardworking and trusting, and outside the gossip loop. When you were fucking she told you, eh? I guess with you when she's fucking she can still use her brains. Clever of her. Nobody ever gets mad in the middle of a good fuck, she must have figured. Anyhow, that was the main reason she wanted to seem to be a loose woman."
"The other reason was to make it sound credible that she was screwing Geoffrey, for when the word got back to Gail. She had to get Gail's attention, and then stay in her line of sight! She had to seem to be a really serious threat so Gail would be willing to go all out and pay a steep price to stop her! And look at you, Miss Vice President! She sure did!"
"She wasn't screwing Geoffrey?"
"Of course not. That old fart? Whatever for? She was prepared to do it, if it came to that. But it wasn't necessary. She flirted with Geoffrey once, and then when Gail confronted him about the so-called 'affair' he denied everything, then came apart and admitted everything. Cynthia told Gail particulars of some pretty kinky stuff they'd supposedly done together. Well, Geoffrey's played around with so many secretaries that when Gail described his kinks he got all flustered and confirmed everything his dirty mind had ever done or imagined about any woman, as if it were solid fact. Gail still thinks they spent some time in the sack together?"
"Yes. She means to keep him asleep every night, and pretty soon castrate him."
"Tough broad. But I guess you know that just from last night!"
"I guess," I said, shifting uneasily on my bottom. It still hurt. Probably it was still leaking into my panties. I'd better ask Cynthia to lend me a tampon, I thought.
Rob noticed. "No, I don't just mean that she likes to ream ass and call that sex. I mean she emasculates men whenever she can! Look at you, for openers. You're a woman, in only one night. And your balls aren't long for this world either!"
I was silent. Was I already mourning their loss? "Who's responsible for that?" I asked. "Was that Cynthia selling my balls to Gail in order to buy my promotion, and my salary package, and a better life for us on my new income?"
"In a way." Rob leaned forward, now looking quite serious, ready to talk man to man. "We knew way back that would have to be a price you'd pay when she left you for me. If she had to leave you. Or something like that price. Because she loves you and she doesn't want to hurt you!"
"What?" I asked, baffled yet again.
"You see, soon after we found each other, when we were head over heels, enraptured, when we couldn't either of us ever get enough of each other, she told me what she wanted to do to you, so that when she finally divorced you and married me, you wouldn't mind."
I leaned forward too. "What was that?"
"She wanted to change your taste in women into a taste for men. To teach you to enjoy sex with men. So that by the time she left you for me you wouldn't even notice she was gone! So you'd be so happy with your nancy boys you wouldn't even remember to send her a Christmas card! She loves you, remember. She can't stand to see you hurt!"
"Is that possible? To make a straight man gay?"
"Maybe, if there are already latent tendencies. With different mood altering drugs and hypno-therapy and positive reinforcement, and the right kind of conditioning. She'd already started you on a drug that would keep you from getting erections -- she's been giving you small doses ever since, she tells me, to help keep you from straying. She's feels so very possessive about you! And she'd already lined up a doctor to provide an antidote and some gay guy's rear end simultaneously, so you'd get the notion that only a man's buns would turn you on ever again. That you could only cum again inside some guy's ass, not even in your own hand. Things like that."
I wondered if that would be preferable to where I was now, sitting in stretched out pantyhose and a slip and wearing an empty bra, leaking into my panties, new breasts and a vagina already in the offing, talking to my wife's lover. Or else in jail and disgrace, certainly for me, probably for Cynthia too.
"Why'd she decide I'd be better off as a woman?" I asked. "Because that's what she is?"
"Partly. But it was partly my idea."
"Your idea?!" My apparently famous temper began to rise up. My rival had schemed with my wife to get me out of the way by turning me into a woman? It sounded like one of those pornographic fantasies you read on the Net, or hear about on the sleazier talk shows, Geraldo or Jerry Springer. "You son of a bitch!"
"Now hold on." Rob remained even-tempered, even equable. "This was some time ago, remember. I was still married. But my wife was already prepared to divorce me, because she'd already taken up with someone else. With the boss's wife! With Gail! That's how I found out that Gail swings both ways. Or really, swings toward women, with gestures toward men!"
I was listening.
"So a much better idea occurred to us. Make you a woman, and a success at work, and a success in the sack with the boss's wife, and if you work at it, a success in your new gender too. Then you won't have to join a persecuted minority like the gays. You could have a respectable new life, and she wouldn't have to leave you, and you wouldn't ever have to leave her. Well, it took a long while, but the plan all came together. The payoff was just last night. With no effort needed on your part at all, I have to point out, and with only the barest cooperation! Cynthia did it all herself, all for you! She's quite a woman, your wife!"
"And yes, she thinks she's giving you a tremendous gift. It's a lot of fun, being a woman. She'd certainly be the first to say so. Just buying clothes and decorating yourself. And teasing men. And scheming schemes when everyone thinks you're a ditz. It can make for a pretty full life! Can't it?"
"I wouldn't know. Not yet, anyhow."
"Well, you will. Cynthia means for you to go shopping with her this afternoon. You two best girlfriends out enjoying your first day together! You'll need some power suits for your first day at the office, and some other things, right off. And lessons in everything feminine -- she's hired a tutor for you, to keep you busy while ... ahhh ...the two of us keep ourselves busy with each other. There's no escaping it now, Donna. Since you're a woman, you'll need to learn how to do things that all women do. And enjoy things that women enjoy. Share everything Cynthia enjoys."
"I see."
"Maybe not yet, Donna. Let me try to be clearer."
He leaned forward intently, until our heads almost touched. "I did just say it, if you heard me. You see, Cynthia really and truly loves you. In fact, she asked me to let you know that if you ever you feel inclined, when your new plumbing is all in place, or even now, just from the excitement of living a whole new kind of life, if you ever want to know just why she had to leave you for me, well, I should be available to help you understand. And I am available to help you understand. Even right now."
"For example, why don't you just reach over here and unzip my fly, and reach in, and take out my cock. Just hold it -- you'll need both hands. Heft it. Feel the heat, and feel it swell up. Maybe squeeze it. Just once. She'd love for you to hold a real man's cock in your hands for once. She's sure that once you've done that, you'll know why things have to be the way they are. And how bright the future can be for all three of us. Here, I'll unzip it. You can do everything else. Really, you owe it to Cynthia to see for yourself. And if I may say so, you owe it to yourself!"
I was shocked! What an indecent proposal! But it wasn't his proposal, it was Cynthia's. A sudden movement caught the corner of my eye, and I looked up toward the front hall. There leaning against a door post, quietly watching us, was Cynthia! How long had she been there? Who knew? She'd been listening closely though. I could tell, because she was looking straight at me, her eyes shining with a love I could see was absolutely undiminished by her love life with Rob! And she'd heard every word Rob had just said. I could tell, because her expression was so eager, so hopeful!
"I know why!" I said. "Why you left me here with Rob! It's because you don't care for oral sex, even with a stud like Rob, but he does, and you want to know his needs are well-attended? Here at home, so he won't stray? Is that it, Cynthia? Is that why?"
"Yes, honey! Yes, there's that! There's always been that. But your needs too, sweetheart! I love you too! I want you to be happy too! Every way imaginable, now and later on, too! Do you love me that much? Oh, honey, please?"
I hesitated. Then I managed to smile, a little kittenishly I hoped. "Maybe," I said. "And maybe not. What's in it for me?"
When she realized I was teasing her, Cynthia's adorable face broke into the most incandescent smile! Radiant! Utterly blinding! My last resentments melted away!
"Oh my darling!" she said, rushing forward toward both of us, her arms outstretched. "My sweetest angel! Let me show you!"
True Love © 1998 by Vickie Tern. May be archived wherever hearts feel free and access is equally free.
Vickie [email protected]
Notice to the Aged: Enjoy!
Notice to the Overaged: You too, if you can! ~ Vickie
May be copied to any free archive, but do let me know!
I looked up, astonished. My wife was perched comfortably in our big easy chair, her nest most evenings when she wasn't out selling a client some building, her legs curled up under her, reading one of her magazines, all as usual. She was gazing at me casually with a mixture of curiosity and mild concern, as if the question had just occurred to her, and the answer didn't much matter, but it might, and she figured she'd ask before returning to her story, or article, or whatever.
"What?!" I asked. I couldn't believe it. She knew I'd wanted to, in fantasy, but she knew that for me fantasy and fact were separate, that I'd never have done it. And in fact she hated the pleasure I felt when decorating myself like a woman! She never allowed reference to it. She didn't want to know! My mind replayed what I'd just heard, and tried to re-hear it. 'Airs,' could that have been the word? 'Pursed?' No, nothing else made sense. But what I'd heard didn't make sense either!
"Your ears," she said patiently. "Didn't you ever want to get them pierced?"
"Well, yes," I replied. I wondered if I could tell her when that was. It was a few years ago, during those intoxicated, golden afternoons when I couldn't help indulging my love of dressing up, just before she came home early one afternoon to discover me dolled up curls to heels in women's clothes, coiffed and jeweled, strutting and posing in front of a mirror until I saw her in the same mirror, standing there watching me, shocked! At that time I was besotted by the fantasy that I could magically become a complete woman, and yet remain a man, no bodily alterations toward femininity being too extreme nor too permanent. Pierced ears were the least of the things I wanted but would never have except in my imagination. Above all, I gloried in imagining that my Monica was as delighted and entranced as I was when I was dressed to look like a woman, even turned on by it. Or at least mildly interested, and perhaps helpful.
But when she actually saw me cross dressed, reality replaced fantasy. Long months of resentment and grief followed while our marriage foundered. She made impossible demands I was too honest to accept, that it was a filthy addiction like smoking I should give up cold turkey, or taper off gradually, that a shrink could cure me, that I should take up golf or tennis instead, that I should settle for flashy men's clothes whenever I felt the urge. She had cross dressing confused with infidelity, as if by dating my mirror image I was being intimate with another woman. I argued in turn that it was harmless, for me a source of great joy, nothing more. Finally she understood that it was a compulsion, delightful to me if perverse to her, but a deep-rooted, powerful compulsion nevertheless, dating maybe even from a prenatal time of life. It was how I was. Finally we agreed that I could keep doing it, since I'd keep doing it anyhow, but it should always be in ways and places where she'd never know or be reminded.
Mostly I'd kept to that arrangement. It was tricky, but possible, and our happiness depended on it. We have a good marriage. We're a little unconventionally matched, maybe, but wonderfully compatible. I do most of my work at home, cost-estimating engineering projects, because home is where I can think more clearly than anywhere else, juggle all the variables in my head and watch them land right side up. Then I pipe in the results by fax or e-mail, and get other data back the same way. I don't much need to talk to anyone. I just do it, and do it better than anyone else. It's not something I especially enjoy, but there are compensations.
I like the arrangement with my company because I'm a deep-dyed homebody. Always have been. The thinking is intricate and conceptual, and it's easy to get lost in your mind. But I love working out the problems while doing simple homey tasks in the real world, like making the beds or fluffing the couch pillows, or scrubbing the kitchen floor, or sewing on shirt buttons, or cooking up intricate dishes for my beloved wife. I know, this is all women's work, but it helps keeps me sane. Early in our marriage we agreed that I would look after our household routines, shopping and cooking and cleaning, and Monica would take charge of the exceptional elements of our marriage, like our social lives or vacations.
This freed Monica for her work, which is selling real estate. She dearly loves it, and is a whiz at it. She's good with people–she has the right combination of charm, persuasiveness, and persistence, and she does her homework too, her endless research on her clients and their needs and the properties she thinks right for them. She can be devious setting up intricate arrangements for a client to walk in, see advantages, and then think he's deciding for himself that this or that building and its financing are perfect for him. It's commonplace for Monica, about to close on an office building, to schedule the closing in another more expensive but more suitable building, lead the client in, and then let him discover that fact for himself. This especially amuses her boss, a smooth operator named Ben who has himself pulled off some very big deals in town. Sometimes he can't believe some scheme she's conceived will work, and they bet her commission on the outcome, double or nothing. He's right just often enough to want to keep betting and losing, and I've sometimes thought Monica schemes even that arrangement. Her job is demanding–it gives her irregular hours additional to the regular work week she spends in her office. Sometimes she's out of the house all day and many evenings, and sometimes whole weekends. But she's hard-driving, and she enjoys it, and she enjoys the payoff. This was convenient. I was too frightened of discovery, too embarrassed by my own desire, to dress feminine anywhere but in my own home with the shades drawn. So I did the housework dressed suitably, in a house dress, and if there were no deadlines then I could lounge through the afternoons fixing my hair to look pretty, or even pretend I was out on the town wearing my one figure-clinging evening gown. After we arrived at our truce I couldn't keep the evidence entirely away from her. A few times panties or a bra unknown to her found their way from my separate laundry into her drawers, and then I'd find them on my bureau to be stowed in my own panty drawer, no comment ever made. It was embarrassing once when we had Ben over for dinner, and Ben commented that with all my domestic talents I'd make someone a fine wife some day. I flushed, maybe too quickly, but Monica leaped in to snap "No, he won't, he's already married to me," and that was that.
Once or twice I'd forget myself, and ask her an idle question about women's styles, what do you call a high waistline, gathered under the breast and falling to a full skirt for example. She'd just bought such a dress. On such occasions she'd only reply sharply, "I told you, I'm not going to discuss such things with you. It would only encourage your sick habit." I didn't dare protest that my question was disinterested and innocent. I didn't dare say anything. It would only have seemed to her to be a deliberate extending of discussion of a forbidden topic, a flouting of our agreement. Where my transvestism was even distantly implied, she was not interested. Period. Until now.
"Then why didn't you get them pierced? Every girl does. Didn't you want to be a girl?"
Why didn't I do the nearly unthinkable, get my ears pierced and become one of the odd men who shared decorated ear lobes with most of the women on the planet? The ten thousand reasons why not flooded at me–shame, fear of exposure, of jeopardizing my manhood, of gibes from my associates, of offending and appalling my wife when she saw the holes. Even fear of my own desires. It seemed dangerous for me to alter my body to match my fantasy desires, even in trivial ways–who knew where that might end?
"Oh, I don't know," I replied evasively. That was too evasive, obviously, so I added, "I didn't want to offend you, I suppose, in part." Then I risked her wrath by asking her an obvious question, and thereby actually extending the discussion, our first since those hideous months before we'd agreed never ever to mention anything about it again. "Why do you ask?" I asked, delicately.
She scarcely noticed. Her turn to be evasive. "Different reasons," she said with a dismissive shrug. Then she realized that sounded too unforthcoming, too secretive, so she volunteered, "I found one of your clip earrings on the kitchen counter a few days ago, so I just wondered. It must have fallen off when you were fixing dinner, and you never noticed. It told me you're still dressing up day times. Though I didn't need to be reminded of that, of course."
I took another chance. "No?" I asked. Then waited for the storm. None came.
"Of course not. You're always leaving lipsticked kleenex in the bathroom. And often I can smell your perfume when we're in bed, when you don't shower first. Always the same perfume, *Enjoli,* which is fortunate for you, or I'd suspect you'd been with some other woman. But I found the bottle once, hidden in your toilet kit on the closet shelf, when you left it a little bit open and the smell had spread all over our bedroom. You're lucky I like the scent–I even borrow a dab now and then. Then there are other things too, of course, like when you're careless about keeping our bras and slips separate, or when you kick off your heels under the bed and then forget they're there. Anyhow, when I found the earring I began wondering what kind of a woman you make. Still strange looking, I suppose, because you don't shave your legs, or fix your eyebrows, and any girl needs to attend to things like that if she means to look pretty. Or even presentable."
"Yes," I said, still too afraid to say anything else. Despite my bewilderment, I was in heaven! '*Our* bras and slips' she'd said, talking about them as if we were equally feminine! *Any* girl, as if I was one of them. And she'd borrowed my perfume! She seemed untroubled to be talking about it. Perfectly easy in fact. And she even seemed to be implying that I should try harder to look pretty. If only I dared!
But there was more. "When I found your earring, dear–those faux seed pearls set in silver? -- it's really lovely–you do have good taste, I've got to grant that–I realized it would go perfectly with my gray suit, the one with the cinched-in waist and flared peplum and short, straight skirt, you know it? You couldn't wear that suit now, but it would be quite becoming on you if you'd lose ten or fifteen pounds, I should think. Anyhow, I can't borrow your clip earrings, because my lobes are much too small for clip-ons. I'd only lose them. So I wondered why you don't have pierced ears, is all. Most women do. Then we could at least borrow each others' jewelry. We'd be like sisters."
My heart swelled to bursting! This conversation was my fondest dream! "Oh, Monica," I began ecstatically....
Then I interrupted myself, and came fully alert. I sat up, and looked at her. Why, after years of detesting my habit, or ignoring it and hoping it would go away, why was it she was now chatting with me like a girlfriend, or–what was it she'd just said? -- like another woman, like a sister. There was something wrong here. This was my dearest fantasy come to life. I was overjoyed, and my suspicions wanted to dissolve into tears of joy. But there was still something wrong.
"Why do you ask, Monica?" I asked her again. "I mean, why now?"
My voice rose into falsetto, then cracked on the word "now" despite myself. I tried to swallow, and couldn't. I saw she was looking at me intently and that she had seen and heard my excitement, and I saw the slightest of smiles play across the corners of her mouth before she stretched her arms out and yawned, then began to settle her eyes back onto the magazine in her lap.
"Oh, I don't know," she said. "But I think I should help you with things like that. You have so much to learn."
And she settled back into her reading as if fascinated by whatever had just caught her eye there, closed off to further discussion.
A revolution had just occurred, and she seemed no more concerned than if she had asked me why I had tossed parmesan into tonight's salad. She had given me the most glorious gift! Not only had she calmly accepted my dressing up, and chatted about it, she'd offered to participate! No, she'd said she felt she should participate. My throat was still choked, and I tried to wipe away the tears in my eyes without being too obvious about it. Maybe it was just that love had finally brought her to acceptance of me as I am? All of me? She knew I was a loving and caring husband, and apart from my transvestism we were well matched. Maybe it was mean and ungenerous for me to question her further.
That night we made tender, passionate love more devotedly than since the early days of our marriage, and she seemed serenely pleased as I held and caressed her, and hugged her close to me, and stroked my penis in and out of her pussy until her arms tightened on my neck and I knew she'd come. Then when we were done, and I was kissing her face gently over and over in sheer gratitude, she whispered "Yes, dear, I know how you feel." She kissed me once in return, then rolled over and instantly fell asleep.
II.
The next day she quit work early When I returned from an errand in the early afternoon I saw Monica's car in the driveway, heard noises upstairs, and went to investigate. There she was, just completing a fast shuffle through the guest-room closet where I kept my skirts, blouses, and dresses. I looked questioningly at her, but she merely looked up, appraised me at once in a single glance, and said, "No, you're no way ready. You have some nice things, dear. I'll bet I could wear some of your smaller dresses right now, and you can certainly borrow some of my loose-cut blouses and jumpers. But you do need to diet. And anyhow you can't quite pass safely yet. We'll have to do it in stages."
"What?" I asked her, again nearly incoherent. Her talk about sharing clothes, again like girlfriends or sisters, filled my heart with joy. But her reference to passing frightened me. Did she mean for me to go out on the street? To be seen?
"Darling, to do womanly things one should feel womanly, and move with a woman's self-assurance. So right now just put on a bra and panties and a short slip, and these slacks–no one will notice there's no fly, and this over-shirt–it's loose enough to hide your breast forms, I think. Are those sneakers unisex? Close enough for now. But no socks–peds if you have any. Then let's go!"
"Monica, go where?" Again my voice rose with a rising hysteria, this time sounding almost flute-like.
"Why, to get your ears pierced, love. So we can share our jewelry and things. You'll love wearing some of my bangles and dangles. And you don't need to worry at all about offending me, not any more. I'm loving the idea already."
She went back to our bedroom, and I began to undress, in order to re-dress myself entirely in women's clothes, as Monica had ordered, though the outer garments were indistinguishable from men's. Nearly. In order to go out. Out into a world of men and women. In order to get my ears pierced. I felt excited and terribly apprehensive, both at the same time.
Almost at once she returned. Or so it seemed. She had changed from her businesswoman's tailored suit to a tight sweater and a mini skirt, for Monica rather sexy apparel. I could see her breasts push out and sag into the sweater's support in the most seductive curves–could it be she wasn't wearing a brassiere? Then her nipples showed in profile, and I knew she wasn't.
"Are you going out like that, Monica?" I tried to ask casually.
But she knew what I meant. She shook her shoulders at me and her breasts bobbed up and down deliciously. "Just want you to be reminded that it takes more than a bra to make a woman, Andy love. Though that is a very pretty bra indeed, I must say. A lovely place to keep breasts when you've got 'em."
I blushed, embarrassed.
"Just remember, it's what's inside that counts the most, pet. For now, just put in your breast forms and hurry. Have you been admiring yourself in the mirror again? What's keeping you? I've changed completely and you're still only halfway there."
I hurried into my slacks, sockless shoes, and oversized T-shirt, and as she predicted, looked merely unisex. I felt a little uneasy about the pants, which were form fit along my calf and snug on my ankles, and made a tight V at my crotch, neatly dividing my balls as if they were labia. But the T-Shirt covered the crotch, with its smooth frontage, so I slipped into my sneakers and declared, "Ready."
"Well, not quite," said Monica. She hauled out a lipstick and began dabbing at my mouth.
I could feel a waxy substance slipping onto my lips and coating them, and was shocked. "Monica!" I cried aghast. "What are you doing?"
"Oh, stop worrying, baby," she said, "You know perfectly well what I'm doing. It's pale pink, nearly invisible. Did you think I want to appear in public with a man who wears lipstick? You know better than that! No, you won't get to wear proper lipstick until it becomes you as a woman. Sooner than you might think. But with this, you can feel you're wearing lipstick, and get used to how it feels. Never leave the house without it. I'm sure you already feel much more womanly because of it, don't you?"
I did.
"All right, we're going to be out for some time. Visit the bathroom, would you honey? And sit down when you do it, just for practice–you'll need to pull down those pants and your panties anyhow. Then let's go! I'll wait for you in the kitchen."
In the kitchen she handed me a small whisky on rocks. She was just finishing hers. "Here, dear. You seem nervous–this'll calm you down." She went away while I sipped and swallowed. The whisky tasted like cheap stuff, but she'd put away the bottle so I couldn't see the brand. I prefer vodka. She returned. "Ready?"
And she swept us both out the door and into her car. "Just sit there, now, dear. I'll drive."
She did, to a rather nondescript part of town where she parked in front of a beauty parlor.
"I'm not going in there," I said, now genuinely frightened. It was one thing to be an imitation woman in privacy, and enjoy the illusion. But this was authentic woman territory, and I was not one of them. To go in there, I thought superstitiously, might make me more of one of them than I wanted. It seemed terribly risky.
"Oh, Andrew, don't be silly. Do you want your ears pierced by some teenager at the earring bazaar in the middle of the mall, in full view of everyone passing by? Or here, privately, by a professional?"
"You're right," I replied morosely. "But Monica, I haven't yet worked out how I'm going to explain pierced ears to clients and people like that. Shouldn't we think these things through a little more?"
"Andrea," she replied. "That's what I'll call you from now on, because that's who you enjoy being, and have always enjoyed being. I suppose ever since you were a little girl raised up to be a boy. Isn't that so? You told me all about that a few years ago, and I've read a lot about it since. Now Andrea, stop being nervous. You've thought about this all your life, haven't you? Now it's time to live your fantasy, and become the woman of your dreams."
"Monica," I replied. "I never said I thought I was a little girl. I said I was a little boy who liked to imagine he was a little girl, and sneaked his mothers' panties now and then to help with the imagining. That's all. There's a difference."
"Andrea, please, let's not quibble. I saw you dressed up to look like a woman, and I've been through your wardrobe. You love being Andrea. Your need to be Andrea almost cost us our marriage a while ago. All I'm saying is, you should be the best Andrea you can be. The prettiest. That's what we're here for."
"What is it we're here for?" I asked, now genuinely apprehensive. To play by myself was one thing, and to play with my wife in the privacy of our own home was so much more. But Monica sounded serious. And this salon was serious woman space, not a mirror in my bedroom.
"Oh, pooh! Look here. If you want to be Andrew now and then, you can always brush your hair longer to cover your ears, or wear just one earring the way most men do, or if you must, remove them both temporarily. But if you want to be sincere, truly yourself, wear whatever earrings you enjoy and show them to the world. I've got some wonderful chandeliers and cascades you'll love, for going out formal. Now, we're going in!"
A large, somewhat well-curved woman walked smiling toward us past three or four chairs, each with neatly arranged rollers, curlers, and hair driers in little pastel plastic bins. The walls were lined with mirrors. There were plastic bottles and sprayers everywhere, marked with elaborate French names in impossible scripts. "Monica!" the woman said. "How lovely to see you again. And you must be Andrea! I'm Joellen! Yes, Monica is right, you have wonderful possibilities. Just sit right here. You can see, Monica, I've cleared my appointments until closing time just as you asked." I was relieved, a bit. The place looked empty.
As I sat down where she indicated, she and Monica went over to a table with different boxes and bottles on it. Joellen showed her some, and they began looking through some picture books, talking animatedly in low voices, nodding frequently. After a moment they stopped, and both of them looked at me and smiled. "Look here," I said, "I'm here to get my ears pierced, because that's what I once thought I wanted, and because Monica sees advantages, and I can't deny there are some advantages." I didn't want to confess to a stranger that the thought of wearing Monica's earrings really turned me on, and had carried me here despite my apprehension. "But what do you mean, I have 'possibilities'? Just the ears are daring enough for me right now."
"Oh, Andrea, that's what we're talking about," said Joellen. "You'll also need a hairdo that can cover your ears when you want to hide them, isn't that true? And show them off when you're wearing something especially pretty. So I need to cut and set your hair. It's nice you've let it grow out, it gives me something to work with. I think enough. Enough after your perm, anyhow."
"What perm??!!" I shouted, and started to get out of the chair.
Monica came around and stared directly at me. "Andrea, behave! I told you this would have to be done in stages. If I'm going to be continue to be married to a man who likes looking like a woman, he will have to look like a presentable woman. And that's that! I think you get my meaning!"
I did. I quieted down.
"I tried ignoring you and pretending you were the man I thought I married. It didn't work. Not for long, anyhow. Now you're going to be the woman I also married, and I want you to be an even better woman than you've been a man. But in stages, so you can get used to things, and learn them. Understood?"
Not really, but I didn't dare do anything other than nod my head.
"My dear," Joellen added in a quieter voice, gently. "I thought you knew. A perm makes hair much more manageable. Then you can set it any way you want. Swept back like a man's might even look cute, with your face. All right?"
What could I say? I nodded to her too.
Three demoralized hours later, Joellen whisked the last of her pink cover-sheets from around my neck and said "There! Now that's just lovely! Nothing freakish about you at all! I think you can go anywhere you wish, and Monica will be proud to accompany you."
Monica was herself sitting in another chair at the far end of the salon, reading a magazine and glancing at my progress now and then. She looked up and studied me, then nodded. "Yes, wonderful! That's perfect, Joellen. Really lovely. Thank you. Andrea, I think we'll move the schedule ahead and go to the next stage tonight. You need more self-confidence. Looking the way you do, I think you'll finish tonight feeling pleased with yourself. Just look!"
I looked. Oh, my ears were pierced all right, and there were little gold posts poked through the holes until the skin could heal over. For the rest of my life there would be little pieces of metal on my ears, I realized, or else little tell-tale dimples. The thought should have been depressing, but to my surprise I didn't much mind. Not at all.
Moreover, my hair was cut and curled up and back, into cute waves softly framing my face. Oddly, now that it was curved and waved and shaped it looked shorter–it occupied more space around my head, but my neck was now visible. And Joellen was right, if I wanted to hide my ears it was now a simple matter to comb some of the side curls back over them. I could even do it with my fingertips, fluff out my hair a little the way she showed me. Not too bad. Of course I'll have to try to brush it straight back when I get home, I thought, so it looks less...well...feminine. I'd wondered how women got that "big" hair look. Gels, sprays, and a body perm underneath it all, Joellen had told me. I supposed that gels and sprays could also return some semblance of a manly look.
More troublesome were my eyebrows. They were plucked thin and high and arch, giving my face a refined and delicate cast. Neat, well-groomed, but definitely not a man's brows. I would have no trouble passing as a woman with that hairdo and those eyebrows. The problem would come when I tried to pass as a man. With my face as it is, I would look like a girl wearing a suit and jacket, I thought. I'd always had a "weak" chin, implying a lack of manly determination But now it just looked small. Cute. Just right. Maybe I should grow a beard, I thought? But no. I've never had much facial hair, and a beard would ruin the effect when I was dressing in private anyhow. But even this thought didn't depress me. All this was what I had wanted, more or less. And it was certainly what Monica wanted.
"Monica," I said a little helplessly.
"A little eye-makeup, Joellen?" Monica said to her. "Just a touch. I think we'll celebrate Andrea's new face by going out to dinner. A casual dinner, we're not really dressed for anything fancy. But we don't want anyone to think she isn't who she is, now, do we."
This last was for my benefit, reminding me I had better act as ladylike as I could, or else suffer the embarrassment I dreaded. I also registered that it was the first time Monica had ever called me "she". It seemed so casual and natural as she said it. Joellen made a few quick strokes on my eyelids, and while she was at it she added a few strokes of dark red lipstick too. "There!" she said. "Just lovely!"
I looked in the mirror, and couldn't disagree.
"Come on, dear," Monica said, picking up her purse. "I know you love to admire yourself in the mirror. But if you're going to be a real woman you'll have to learn to use mirrors just to be sure you look the way you wish, and let other people do the admiring."
As we left the shop I protested, "Monica, this is too fast. I'm not going to be a real woman. Where did you get that notion?"
"Why, from you, dear. Isn't that what you've been dreaming in secret, dressing up all those years? But now that you're on the sidewalk looking like a woman, remember that people can see you. Stand straight and hold your head high, and push out your breasts. Young girls can slouch, but not women. You have a lot yet to learn. You need to do more than look like a woman. You have to behave like a woman, and move like one, and feel yourself to be a woman in your heart. Or you'll fool no one."
"Monica, after all these years, why all of a sudden are you encouraging me? I don't understand."
"You will, dear. Before too much longer. Meanwhile, why don't you count your blessings?"
III.
Our dinner was uneventful, and even pleasant. No, it was better than that. It turned out to be delightful, because despite all of my fears about the way I looked, nothing happened. The "first time" experiences accumulated so fast I didn't even notice many of them after a while, and Monica had to remind me about them.
Monica drove to a modest-priced Italian restaurant, and when I saw it was crowded I protested. "No, that's what we want, dear, for you to be out among lots of people who are paying no attention to you, so you can begin to get used to it. Just remember we're ordinary girls out for dinner and a movie, or something, and don't give it another thought. Of course if you're still nervous about the way you look, you're in pants, so you can believe you still look like a man. But no one else will. Joellen did a fine job with you. Wait and see."
As she got out of the car she looked at me again. "Small steps, dear, and for the present, one foot in front of the other, so you sway your hips just a bit. I think heels might help. No more flats or sneakers for the time being. And you'll need to carry a purse from now on when we're out together. For now no one will notice."
The Maitre D' came over. "A party of two, or are you expecting others to join you?" Others?! The thought flashed across my mind that this whole dinner might be another setup. A terrified pang pierced my vitals! "Monica!" I whispered, not trusting my voice, pleading.
"No, just the two of us tonight," she told the Maitre D'." Then to me, seeing my face, she said. "Don't worry, dear. I have other plans altogether."
"It will be perhaps ten minutes before I can seat you, ladies. Would you like to wait in the bar?"
I followed her in and sat down on an adjoining bar stool. "Oh, my, Andrea, you need to practice everything," she said. "A lady does not climb on a bar stool one haunch at a time. She steps up on the rail, braces with both hands on the edge of the bar, and then settles down onto the stool with her legs together. Like a lady." The bartender came over. "I'll have a vodka on rocks," she said. Then she looked at me and waited. I was on my own.
"A doub...." My voice was much too high. I lowered it a little, and decided to try gentle and breathy too. "A double vodka on the rocks, please." The bartender turned away.
"Not bad, dear," my wife said, amused. "A little like Jackie Kennedy, but not at all bad. There are worse models. Now, see how many firsts already? You've been called a lady, you're out and passing with over fifty people paying no attention to you, you've learned to sit down at a bar, which can be an essential skill in the months ahead, and you've used a woman's voice to get what you want. Do you think you'll be all right using the ladies' room by yourself later, or will you want me to come with you? Try the men's room now, and you'd cause a riot. Maybe even get raped. Wouldn't that be a first? From now on, dear, you have to think about such things." The bartender set down our glasses, and she went on. "Look at that! My but they're generous here. And yours is a double? Well, I suppose those tranquilizers I gave you back at the house have worn off by now, so I suppose it's all right."
"You gave me tranquilizers? Is that why I haven't been scared to death of everything you've been doing to me?" I remembered only at the last second to tone down my voice.
"Of course, dear. Do you mind, now that it's done? I'd never have gotten you out of the house and into a beautician's chair without them. You know that. And now look at us. Two girls out together. Your dream come true. Isn't it?"
"Yes," I had to confess. My voice was a little husky. "Thank you, dear. But you've never answered my question, why are you being so nice to me now, after years of hating..." I hesitated, and finished lamely, "of not wanting to know about...everything like this."
The Maitre d' called out "Jackson, party of two," and Monica said, "That's us. Or strictly speaking, that's you, Andrea. Andrea Jackson, isn't that sweet? Easy to remember, too. I'll keep my married name of course, and Andrew will too whenever he needs a name, but Andrea needed a new name. Do you like it? It's her maiden name. She's not married." She was teasing me again, and I didn't know what to reply.
As we were shown to the table and the Maitre held out my chair for me, I slipped in as daintily as I could, and smiled at him, and sat down. "But why," I asked again. "Why now?"
"Quite simply, because I realized not long ago that a husband who wants to feel like a woman is what I want. It's what I need. I want you to be look and feel the way you are right now all the time. Even more so. Much more so. Like I said, I have plans. For both of us."
Her voice had lost all of its teasing banter. She was quite serious, and as she turned to look directly at me and continued she sounded even more serious.
"Andrea, do you love me?" she asked soberly.
"You know I do."
"Do you trust me?"
"Yes, of course."
"Not 'of course.' I mean really."
I hesitated, and decided to jump off the cliff.
"Yes," I said. "I trust you." I meant it. Unequivocally.
"Good," she said, and she smiled so happily it nearly broke my heart to see it, she looked so beautiful. "Then trust me. You won't regret it. I promise. And we may yet grow old and feebleminded together."
"Monica, is this something serious?"
"Not any more, sweetheart. Shall we order, and then visit the ladies' together?"
"I'd like that," I said.
The final "first time" of the night was, when we got home, Monica asked me to fix my makeup, slip into a short, frilly nightie, and make love to her like a woman. Previously she'd shown no desire in oral sex, and after a while I'd quit trying to interest her. Our sex lives together were fine, I thought. We usually fucked gently and devotedly, one atop the other according to mood, or alongside, and she kissed my mouth, and I kissed her mouth and suckled on her nipples, and we both came, beautifully, usually together. And that was it. It was wonderful. I loved it, and thought she did too. We had no need for contraceptives or worries about pregnancy, because Monica had no patience with children and wanted none, I had no special feelings either way at the time, and we had both agreed as a condition of our marrying that I should get a vasectomy. As I did. Our sex was always pleasant, generous, and without anxiety.
But this time as I kissed the tips of her tits she wrapped her arms around my head and cried out, "Oh!" so passionately, and then "Oh!" again and again, that I almost came on her belly. I'm sure she orgasmed as I nursed her, and she clasped my head tightly to her soft, swelling breasts, first one, then the other, then the first again. "They're so very sensitive!" she said. Then she said, "Let me!" and began to suckle on my teats, small as they were. Gradually a strange and exotic feeling seemed to emanate from her mouth into my breasts, and she reached down to pull gently on my penis while she nursed on me. The feeling grew stronger, and became my whole body's, and as she sucked and pulled and licked I finally came too, in one single grand unclenching, as if all of me was a single throbbing organ.
"Now turn, and lick it up, and lick me, my darling," she whispered into my ear. "I want to kiss your clit."
An exceptional request, but I was enraptured, and turned and began licking my cum from where it had spread like syrup into her navel and all over her swelling, smooth, white belly. Slowly I worked down to her crotch. As my tongue found her clit and my nose began fucking her slit, I felt my limp penis enter her mouth, all warm and wet and delicious, and I felt her tongue working over it, and her lips wrapped around it at the base, pumping, until half-hard, I came again. She swallowed my juice with little squeals as her hips bucked into my face and she came yet again too. Afterward we slept wrapped up snug in each other, a sweet tension spreading through me each time she moved against me.
That was how we made love from then on. It was like falling in love all over again. The next morning she asked me to shave and use a depillatory, and I was delighted to oblige. Then she looked so sadly disappointed when I dressed in jeans and a shirt to take some papers to the office that I faxed them in, then changed to a skirt and blouse, and as she requested, two-inch heels. Then between short sweet kisses, my lipsticked mouth on hers, she told me I felt wonderful wrapped around her, but she'd like me to use some softening lotions on my hands, and she'd love for me to begin a regimen of shots and pills to make my skin just a little smoother and my body softer, more rounded. I could deny her nothing, so that very morning she sent me to a special doctor who told me that many women and some men prefer their bodies that way. I was wearing a skirt and light makeup, as Monica put it, "so we can play on the street with our little secret." I felt awkward, a little silly, but the doctor didn't seem to notice or mind. The first shots she gave me induced a kind of euphoria, and when I commented on it to the nurse she said, "Yes, the doctor puts in just a little extra so her women patients will enjoy their new selves all the more. And to overcome possible nausea or tummy aches from intensive treatments like yours. Don't forget to take your pills every day."
Each night we made love the way women do with each other. As a few weeks passed my skin became smoother, and soon my nipples became hard and pointy, sticking out from my chest, so deliciously sensitive that I felt complete only when Monica's lips were wrapped around them and pulsing gently. Then it was ecstasy! She kept my penis so drained and softened that I couldn't have entered her even if she'd wished it. But I'd almost forgotten that I ever had wanted to.
She went in to work daily, as before, seeing clients and selling real estate, and sitting in her office plotting how to see and sell even more. As ever I did all the housework and prepared all the meals, and faxed in my contracts and figures whenever I was asked for them. But now I dressed like a woman full time. She was always disappointed when she came home and found me dressed like a husband and not a wife, so I gave up on being her husband. I dieted down to where I could wear some of her prettiest clothes, denied only her tight, snug outfits, and we acquired some of my own for me on several afternoons spent shopping at the mall. That was a lovely time, giggling together like schoolgirls. She'd comment how the boys would love to see me wearing this rather daring outfit, or that one, and we'd laugh and hug each other. She asked me to point out fellas I thought looked especially cute, and if she agreed with me we'd speculate how this one was hung, or how long that one would last inside one of us, and then giggle really wickedly.
In fact, Monica seemed to feel sorry for me that I'd had no girlhood of my own, and she talked to me all the time about hers, and about some of her friends'. Everything from how it felt to shop with her mother for her first training bra to games played with dolls, to gossip about boys and dates, and curiosity about sex, and first crushes on guys. Then in detail that made me uneasy at first, about her various experiences with men, cock sucking and seducing them and getting laid, crudely or romantically, depending upon time, place, and the man she was with. Like one intimate girlfriend to another, she'd talk to me about her experiences and feelings making love with different college boys, or with various business associates before she'd met me. She'd talk about how cocks feel in a girl's mouth or pussy, even while we were making love ourselves. She told me how she had once taken a man into her rear end, when he had insisted on it, and found it wasn't too bad. "It felt all snug and comfy," she said. "And that night I swallowed his cum at both ends."
Sometimes she'd forget herself altogether, and say things like, "You know how it is, when you run your lips up and down a huge cock trying to bring a guy off, and his precum keeps dribbling onto your tongue and tasting sweetly salty, but your jaw aches and you wish he'd headfuck you and get it over with?" It was as if she were back in college dating, and I was her room mate. Or, "I remember the first fully erected prick I saw–a huge turkey neck it looked like, but that royal purple head felt so satiny smooth on my lips when I kissed it that I didn't care. Was your first one like that?" Or, "Oh, Andrea, have you ever had a really glorious, delirious fuck, felt filled so completely that the least movement was rapture for you, and each time he pulled out became a hunger for him to plunge himself into you again?" Monica seemed to forget that I wasn't a woman, and when I reminded her that I could only imagine such things, she'd cover me with kisses as if trying to make up to me for my deficient girlhood. She really wanted to believe I was her best girlfriend, and to share everything with me!
Increasingly my pleasure while making love to her, as we kissed and licked and lapped and sucked and caressed each other, as women do, blended with her pleasure remembering different men in her past. I didn't mind–I wanted to share everything I felt with my new sweetheart too. I once asked her if she'd ever had sex with a lesbian, and she said "Before we were married, yes. But since then, only with you, my darling. I do hope to straighten you out soon, though, so you can also enjoy men too the way I do." Had she so completely imagined me to be a woman that she had momentarily forgotten that her wife was a man. Or was it the other way around? It was confusing, but either way it was flattering, and rather dear.
Our jewelry, earrings, and accessories we decreed held in common, and we were each delighted when we saw that one was wearing what had been the other's. Sometimes we went to small, intimate restaurants like two old girlfriends, or to movies. When for some reason Andrew had to replace Andrea to visit and deal with officialdom downtown, or go to the office, I couldn't wait to get back home and be myself again. They were months of pure bliss.
IV.
One morning while we were dressing, Monica for the office and me to do some shopping for dinner that night, Monica said to me, "Oh, never mind that. We've been invited out."
It took a moment for that casual remark to sink in and astonish me. "What?" I said "By who? How?"
"Oh, don't look so shocked! It's nothing! I told two of the girls we deal with at the office about you, that you're pretty much house bound these days, and they asked me to bring you over for dinner to help clear the cobwebs out of your mind. It's nice to meet other people now and then. That's all!"
"That's all? Do you mean meet them as Andrew or as Andrea?"
"Of course as Andrea, silly. I'm proud of you, and want to show you off. You've come such a long way. Though your hair could use a touch up. Don't worry. Run over to Joellen's this afternoon and tell her to do her magic, and I'll pick you up at six. I think your green silk taffeta would be fine." She paused to appraise me. "Ask her to lighten your hair just a touch, and to do your nails. You're a lovely woman now, Andrea, and you have nothing to hide. Time to move on."
I took that to mean she had to leave now, so the discussion was over, so I asked hastily, "Wait a minute. Are these...er...girls married? Will they have dates? Will there be men at this dinner?" For some reason I felt ashamed to be seen by men who knew I was a man. I'd sacrificed all of my manliness, willingly, but they might be offended or amused by it, and think me ridiculous.
"You *are* a shy one, aren't you, love. 'No' to the first question and 'Maybe' to the second. Denise and Tinka are lesbians who have lived together for years and are a respectable couple, like us. Denise is pregnant, and they're both looking forward to having the baby. Then a boy friend may show–she wasn't sure. A friend who's a boy, named Eric. He's the baby's father. But there's no problem between them about it, because he's gay. He wouldn't even screw her once, not even to please a dear friend, so they had to use a gravy baster to deal with his donation. An ideal stud, because all he wants from them ever is conversation. I've met him. He's no way effeminate, just not attracted to women. They're nice people. You'll enjoy them. And they're really looking forward to meeting you! Tell Joellen I'd love to see you in bangs, I think you'd look just darling. Ta ta!"
And she was gone.
I scheduled my session with Joellen for the early afternoon, right after my weekly shot, and I felt so good when I waltzed in that I didn't notice at first that Joellen had four other customers having things done to them, and two other operators combing, teasing, polishing, doing what needed doing. The place was packed! Joellen saw me and came over saying, "There you are, Andrea dear, just sit right here and we'll get right to you. My you look lovely! Your skin seems so much smoother today. Are you doing anything for it?"
"Monica thought I'd feel better if I took some shots," I said with a nervous little laugh. "And I must say, I certainly do!"
"I'll bet!" said Joellen. "Well, let's lighten you and tidy you up for tonight. Monica called and told me what she wants. I agree with her about having bangs, now that your hair's a bit longer. You'll look adorable. But now that you're really into it, this time we go the distance. Nails, facial, waxing, everything. Monica tells me you're never going back. Welcome to the world of women, honey! You'll love it! We should probably talk about some permanent changes to your face, but that can come later."
I'd never told Monica I was never going back, I thought to myself. We'd never discussed it. Did I want to be a woman for good? Well, right now I just loved being a woman with my wife, and that was good enough for me for now. When I left Joellen, there was a spring in my step, and my nails were long and red, and my face felt so perfect it might have been lacquered on. I spent the rest of the afternoon dressing, and practicing my postures and gestures, walking daintily, staying loose-wristed, talking all up and down the scale instead of in a male monotone, things like that. I felt very good about my upcoming coming-out dinner party, and felt like celebrating something. When Monica arrived home to change she was pleased to hear me humming and singing in the kitchen in my sweetest falsetto, no longer nervous. She suggested we have a drink before we left, because the girls were likely to serve only wine. But on top of whatever the doctor gave me I was already two drinks ahead of her, feeling no pain at all.
I remember the first part of the evening well enough, but very little of the rest of it, and nothing at all about how I got home and into bed. In fact the next morning when I woke up, Monica was already half-way out the door to work, with time for only a few amused, cryptic remarks, something about how some girls can't wait to make up for lost time, and how I'd certainly never need a gravy baster. Then as I stepped into the shower I noticed that my rear end was crusty with something or other. But I didn't realize what until later that morning when I was rinsing some of our lingerie. Monica's panties were only lightly soiled, with that heavy, musky aroma I was learning to love dearly, I spent so much time with my nose in her crotch. Mine were stiff with a clear dried fluid in front, which I recognized as my post-vasectomy cum. I wondered how it got there. But the seat of my prettiest panties, the ones I'd worn last night, was stiff with dried, thick stains and streaks, gobbets of them, and I realized it was someone else's heavily laden sperm. What had happened? What had I done?! I spent the day agonized, fearful I had thrown away my new precious relationship with my beloved wife, worried I might have done some perverse thing to disgust her, that now she would leave me.
So when Monica got home I met her at the door with a Martini, and with many kisses and flourishes I fed her the most elaborate meal I knew how to cook. She seemed untroubled. But she'd also seemed untroubled the first day after she'd caught me wearing a dress, that time we nearly broke up over it. That's how she was until she'd calculated how to deal with a problem.
Over dessert I asked her, as casually as I could, what I had done at Denise and her lesbian friend's house.
"You really don't remember any of it?" she asked me, her eyebrows raised. "Not at all?"
"The early part," I replied. "The delicious dinner with Denise and Tinka, I think that was her name. She's a wonderful cook. Four kinds of wine, and she kept refilling my glass I'm afraid. Denise looked huge, almost ready to deliver, but still very beautiful, glowing, and Tinka was looking forward to taking care of the baby when Denise goes back to work and returns to a heavy schedule of out-of-town selling trips. But can that be right?"
"That's right. When the baby's born Tinka will take over. That's how they mean to share the child-rearing. Tinka will do it all. She's the homebody, loves cooking and keeping house, and so on. Denise isn't."
"Now how is it I already know that?"
"You went upstairs with Tinka to look at her recipe files, and promised to send her some of your own. You took a long while at it. She told us you got to talking with her about breast feeding as against bottles. One thing led to another, and you started sampling the alternatives, apparently. Then fell asleep. She said that you looked and felt so sweet at her breast that she hated to take her nipple out of your mouth and wake you."
Monica then grinned broadly. "Don't look so agonized, sweetheart. I didn't mind. It's a normal instinct. I love nursing on your breasts too, such as they are, as you know. And you on mine."
"Yes."
"Anyhow, when you were safely downstairs again and had fixed your face, both women marveled at the way you look now, how convincing a woman you've become. So they decided to put you to the test."
"What test?" I was afraid I was getting closer to solving a mystery I didn't really want to solve.
Monica let out a rich laugh, and gestured to her coffee cup. I hastened to refill it. "Why my dear, dear Andrea, you really don't remember?" She scrutinized me closely. "No, you don't, do you! What a shame! Every girl remembers her first, but it seems you don't, so now you'll have to have your first all over again. In a way that means you're still a virgin!"
"Monica, please!" I couldn't tell if she sounded sympathetic or mocking. "What did I do? Did I do anything wrong? Will you forgive me?"
"Come to the couch, and we'll cuddle, and I'll tell you everything, love."
Like a guilty puppy hoping for forgiveness, I followed her into the living room. She lay down on the couch with her head on the arm rest, and I lay down alongside her, tears now running down my face.
"You need to use waterproof mascara, darling, if you mean to be so emotional in the future. And I can tell you're wearing Enjoli for me tonight. That was very considerate."
"Monica, whatever I did, I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I don't want to lose you! Tell me you still love me!"
"Of course I do, pet. And there's nothing to be sorry about. It was everything I'd hoped for for you. Except that now you're going to have to do it again, so you'll have memories of it to carry into your old age."
She waited until I stopped sobbing into her shoulder, then continued. "Denise decided that Eric could provide an ultimate test of just how feminine you'd become. You remember Denise's sperm donor? Eric? No? Not even his face? Well, Eric must be the world's strictest homosexual, who loves boys and men of all kinds, and women of no kind. Who won't ever let a woman touch him for any reason? Well, when you came back downstairs again Eric had just arrived, expecting to meet my roommate, the woman I've been living with lately so far as he knew. Tinka described what you'd just been doing, how lovingly you'd been suckling at her breast, and Denise wondered aloud if you would suckle on a prick just as lovingly."
"I was trying to stay neutral, so I just said I didn't know. But Eric knew from the moment you walked back into the room that you were not born female, and he seized the opportunity. 'Here, Andrea darling, suckle this,' he said to you without a second's hesitation, and he pulled out, well, I must say, a monster prick. My dear, you may not have a woman's chromosomes, but you certainly have a woman's instincts and desires. Without a second's hesitation you dropped to your knees between his knees and kissed the tip. Then you felt his crown all around with the insides of your lips, running your tongue all around that silky smoothness I've talked about now and then. Then you licked and sucked Eric's whole shaft so lovingly and passionately that we each of us wished we were men, while we watched, so you could do us too. It was the finest blow job I've witnessed, with far more intensity and finesse than I've ever been able to bring to the job. But as you know, I've never been much interested in oral sex. Until recently."
"Then when Eric reached his climax, you swallowed him up without a slurp. It seemed as if he were pumping gallons down your throat, and you swallowed it all, as if grateful for it and hoping for more. I got so wet watching you that I would have leaped on Eric myself, if he'd have let me. He'd never, of course.
"Then after the shortest possible recovery, less than five minutes, while you were still licking his cock clean, he gently turned you around and laid you belly down across Denise's hassock, and lifted your dress and pulled down your panties, and with your own saliva still drenching his cock, he entered you from the rear. You gave such a delicious groan as he went in. I was so happy for you. And you groaned again as he pulled out and then re-entered you, and then again, faster and faster as he fucked you, until you reached a crescendo and your groans had become pulsating shrieks as he came, and you came, simultaneously. No girl ever lost her cherry more gloriously! And you don't remember any of it? What a terrible pity!"
"So darling, in a way you passed the test wonderfully. Your behavior with Eric was immediately, instinctively a woman's. But you failed the test too, because he immediately took you to be a drag queen or transsexual woman, not a genetic woman, and immediately got the hots for you. We argued whether that in itself was relevant evidence of your true femininity, but Eric said he feels the same way about Sylvester Stallone, so we decided that it couldn't count."
"Then Tinka proposed a tie breaker, and it was so effortless that I'll remember it all the days of my life. She was helping you adjust your panties again, and we were wondering whether you needed a tampon or maxipad to get you home, there was so much of Eric's cum flowing out of you, when suddenly she lifted your dress all the way over your head, and lowered your slip off your shoulders, and took off your bra, and sat you down on the floor and sat down alongside you, and took you by the shoulders and began to suckle on you. You know, your little titties really aren't much more than pointy nipples yet, but there's enough there to fill someone's mouth, and Tinka began nursing. Denise joked "Tit for tat," but then we fell silent, because something so beautiful happened. Obviously you were going on instinct alone. Your mind wasn't really there, hadn't been for some time. But your arms came up as if by a miracle, and you ever so gently, so lovingly cradled her head in your arms, and pressed her face to your breast, and held her, and rocked her ever so slightly. Tears came to everyone's eyes. Even Eric's. I suppose no one can be unmoved by the sight of a mother gently nourishing her infant. That's what you seemed to be doing with Tinka."
"Darling, everyone agrees you have true womanly instincts, that you are absolutely convincing, absolutely persuasive. And now think of it! You've also had sex with a man, and enjoyed it. You know what it's like. Now if you want to flirt with a guy and then feel an urge to go the distance, you can, like any other woman. I don't mind, as long as it's with a man, as long as I'm the only real woman in your life. You're the only woman in mine. Please, dear. Take me to you right now. I want to pleasure you. I do love you."
What could I say? What could I do? I lowered my blouse, and unhooked my bra, and nursed my darling first on one of my pouting nipples, then the other, while the most delicious feelings arose as her mouth pulsed on me. I looked down on her dark, curved hair, and I have never felt so tender, so utterly warm and joyous. I whispered my affection and she kissed me, and I kissed her. And then we went to bed and made love as only women can.
V.
A month or so later we were still at it. I had forgotten what it was like to wear men's clothes, and Monica seemed to be so utterly enraptured by my femininity that I couldn't think of displaying anything else to her. True, I had been unfaithful to her when I had made love to Eric, and Eric had made love to me. But somehow that didn't seem to be a violation of my marriage vows. It wasn't with another woman but with a man, a gay man, and I wasn't even aware of it, at least afterward. So Monica thought what the other women thought, that it was merely evidence I had become one of them, except for the technicality that had made it possible for me to relate to Eric. She only regretted that it hadn't happened years earlier, when I was still a teenage girl, so I could have weaved romantic dreams around my memory of it. She only regretted that I had no memory of it at all.
I was still doing cost estimates on various projects and faxing in the results, and still earning a good income, but no one in the office had seen me for many weeks, and I was thinking of quitting and just setting up full time as a homemaker for the two of us. It was what I much preferred doing. And keeping myself pretty for Monica took time.
Monica encouraged me. She was working very hard, many days and evenings spent out with clients showing them real estate. But that was what she loved to do, so it never seemed taxing to her. She was herself her firm's top salesman, and we were banking most of her high commissions on each sale, because we didn't need them to live on. Financially we were set. As she pointed out, the difference between more money than you need and a lot more money than you need is no difference at all. We had no children, and no plans for children, nor any possibility of having them, so it was pointless for us to save for their futures. We lived in our own present. I had begun faxing recipes back and forth with Tinka, and I longed to have more time to try out more of them. We neither of us again referred to the incidents of that night when my mouth and my rear end lost their virginity–that too was in the past.
At least we never again referred to that night until the week I finally quit my job. We both were looking for some way to celebrate my elevation to homemaker full-time, when coincidentally Monica learned she had won a quarterly sales competition run by her firm. The prize was a long weekend free in the most luxurious resort hotel in the state, complete with a suitable new wardrobe, for ourselves and also for any other couple we chose to bring along for company. We selected Denise and Tinka, the only other couple we'd seen since that lovely evening some months back when Monica had changed her mind and heart about my cross-dressing, and had led me into the womanliness I now loved, and she apparently loved too.
Then we all had a fine time selecting new lingerie, dresses, skirts, blouses, shoes, accessories, makeup, everything a woman needs to be stylish and beautiful and playful at a resort. Denise reserved her credits against the day her figure would return to some semblance of acceptable, and Tinka's new wardrobe stressed nursing bras and front-buttoning blouses. But once again, Monica and I were like schoolgirls vying with each other to purchase the most tasteful yet sexy outfits we could find, giggling together the whole time. It was such fun!
The night before we were due to leave, Denise had a false labor scare, the first of several as it turned out. So Denise and Tinka didn't dare come with us. We decided to hold the two double reserved rooms by renaming the occupants Mr. and Mrs. Sloan, my married name with Monica, and Ms Jackson, my "maiden" name. We hoped Denise and Tinka would change their minds, but if not, maybe we'd find some other use for a separate room. "Maybe you'll get lucky, and you won't want me around," Monica said. I kissed her reassuringly.
Apparently, something else did occur to Monica. As we approached the hotel desk she whispered to me "Just follow my lead, and go along with whatever I say."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"Never mind," Monica replied. "You trust me, don't you? Remember?" "Yes," I said. "Absolutely!"
"Then act sexy. Feel sexy. Swish your hips. See if you can distract the registration clerk. Since you're here as a girl, start enjoying the fun parts of it."
I tried, but the main person distracted was me, because I never noticed that Monica was registering us into two separate rooms, until the clerk announced, "There we are. 407 Mrs. Sloan, and 409 Ms. Jackson, adjoining rooms with a door that can be locked on either side. Will your husband be joining you later today, Mrs. Sloan?"
I was taken aback, but Monica seemed to be expecting the question. "I don't know when if ever, " she said to the clerk. "But just a moment."
Then she turned to me, and looked me straight in the eye, and said, "Andrea dear, what do you think? Think carefully now. Will my husband be here this week end, as far as you know?"
A strange question. I wish I'd understood what she really meant, because I answered after only a moment, "No, I don't think so, Monica. I think this is supposed to be a girls' weekend."
"You're sure?"
"Yes, I'm sure. Why do you ask?"
She ignored my question. "Then it's settled, isn't it?"
"What?"
"Isn't it?"
"Yes, I suppose so, Monica." I was absolutely baffled.
"Good," Monica said. "Then we can enjoy ourselves any way we want. This weekend is for fun."
And turning back to the clerk, she answered, astonishingly, "Yes, my husband will be here around six, in plenty of time for dinner–just send him up when he arrives. Mrs. Jackson doesn't have a husband, but we'll make arrangements I'm sure." She smiled at the clerk, who smiled at me. Confused, but playing along, I smiled back.
When we got up to our room I started to unpack, and Monica stopped me. "No, Ms. Jackson's room is right there, " she said. "Through that door there. You heard me, that I'm expecting a gentleman. So if you don't mind, dear, why don't you go in there and change to a bathing suit? This hotel has a famous hot spring pool we'll want to try. And it may be that a girl in a high-cut bathing suit like that one you've brought can make her own arrangements. We'll leave the door open for now. But you might want to close it before this weekend ends. You never know."
I was beginning to understand, and I didn't like what I understood. Monica had a date for the weekend, and had made me promise that there would be no jealous husbands spoiling the fun, just two girls who like to see each other enjoy themselves. I was feeling a little depressed when Monica came in wearing an absolutely smashing yellow flowered bikini with a gauzy top. Reflexively I started to get an erection, even though Monica and I had been making love only "like women do," for the past three months, and I hadn't inserted my penis into her the whole time. Luckily I had already pulled up the bottom half of my one-piece, so my prick was hidden, and Monica didn't have to deal with an irrelevant hard on. I was trying to fit my breasts into the bathing suit's cups when Monica broke into my meditation on my strange sexual half-life.
"Oooh, look!" she said. "You really have a figure! They are coming along beautifully! I'd never noticed before."
"What are?" I asked her. "What's coming along?"
"Your breasts. That bathing suit is really doing a job, squeezing whatever's up there into those cups. You don't need breast forms any more. Was your mother well-endowed? It tends to run from mother to daughter."
"Yes, she was," I replied. "Very. But if big breasts run in my family, they don't run in my direction."
"Don't be too sure, sweetheart," Monica replied, her eyes still on the two distinctive bulges the bathing suit had shaped on my chest. "It's wonderful how quickly things can happen. Let's go check out the pool and the guys. Don't forget your bathing cap, or that sweet curly hairdo Joellen gave you won't survive till dinner."
She handed me my hairbrush from my dresser, and grinned while holding up a lipstick from her own beach bag, and I understood and smiled, and left my lipstick on the bureau. We were still sharing. We still enjoyed the old intimacy. We were still girls together. By the time we got to the pool my mood had changed for the better, and we both teased and joked and flirted with a well-hung young man who was obviously a little young for either of us, but whose Speedo bathing suit left little to our imaginations. We both traded sexual innuendoes with him, and watched him get hard, until it was time to return and change for dinner. Monica was right. There were lots of fun parts to being a girl.
We were just about changed for dinner and I was spraying a stray curl back where it belonged, when there came a knock on Monica's door. The bellhop with something, I thought, so I didn't turn around to glance through the door between our rooms to see who it was. Then when my hair was in place I turned and saw! There was a man in the doorway, and my wife was plastered onto him, her legs wrapped around his waist and her arms tight around his neck, her face buried in his! They seemed to be drowning together in a single, long, passionate kiss. It went on, and on. His head held itself carefully on hers, as if he might be tongue fucking her mouth, and when they finally came up for air I saw that he had been. Monica was now delivering kiss after kiss to the tip of his tongue, and his cheeks, and each of his eyes. I was horrified! Finally he lifted her gently off him, effortlessly, and she unwrapped her legs from him and just stood there close, rubbing her body against his, preening herself on him.
"Well," the man said. "If that's how you mean to greet me every time we see each other, I'm going out and coming back in again!"
"Every time!" my wife said. There was a throaty ferocity in her voice I'd never heard before, an animal hunger. What was going on?
Then I saw. The man bent to pick up his bag and bring it into Monica's room, and as he turned he glimpsed me standing there, beautifully made up, every hair in place, wearing my draped purple silk dress, shocked beyond belief. It was Ben, Monica's boss at the real estate office! I just stood there stock still!
"Well," he said with an instinctive grin, turning on high-powered charm as if it were a searchlight. "Another beautiful lady." He straightened and gave me a relaxed, confident grin, as if he knew that I was going to be delighted to meet him. Ben was planning to spend the weekend with us? Who had invited him? Monica? I just stood there.
"Do we know each other?" he asked, as if knowing my answer had to be every other woman's, 'Never mind, lover, we do now!' The man was incredibly attractive! And he knew it! I could feel fear rising through my shocked astonishment, laced with rising jealousy. Monica's boss! Her business associate! The man she'd worked alongside every day for years! For how long now? My jealousy rose higher. I couldn't compete with all that charm and power! All that wealth at his disposal! I'm losing her! My wife! Monica! I still couldn't move!
"Maybe we do know each other," he said suddenly, and he turned toward Monica. "I thought you said your husband wasn't going to be here this trip."
"He isn't here, Ben," Monica answered, looking me in the eyes. "He promised me he'd stay away. This is my dearest girlfriend, Andrea. Andrea, I'd like you to meet Ben. I've been wanting you two to get together for some time now."
"All right," Ben said. He turned toward me and his brilliant personality re-lit itself. "I'm delighted to meet you, Andrea. Monica's told me so much about you!" What had she told him?! Everything?
"Just a minute, darling," Monica said to him. "I want to speak with Andrea a moment, and then the three of us will go to dinner." She smiled at him, then let go his hand and walked into my room, almost closing the door behind her.
"Are you all right, honey?" she asked me, still searching my eyes.
"I don't know," I said. A sob rose up. "Monica, what's going on?"
"Andrea, I'll tell you what's going on. Listen very closely, because I'll say this only once. Ben is my lover. He's been my lover for months now. Many months. He is the greatest lay a girl could ever hope for, and I'm going to spend the entire night tonight with him. In that room. Not with you. I'm looking forward to it. I have been all day. In fact if a day or two passes when we haven't got time to make love, I start to day dream about him and can't tend to business. But so you don't feel left out, I'm going to ask him to make love to you first. I want you to make love to him too, with real desire in every move you make. In fact I insist. And I want you to watch us fuck at least once, before we close you out and do our private things together for the rest of the night."
"I know how you're feeling at this very moment, but remember, you've had Eric. You'll be glad to have Ben too. Trust me."
"Now, we're going to have dinner together, the three of us. The whole time we're at dinner, I want you to be looking at him and imagining yourself in bed making love to him, because that's where you'll be soon afterward. Think about what you'll do with him first, and then what next. How you'll suck his cock, or maybe just lick it. Wonder if his cock is so huge it will hurt your rear pussy when he pushes into you. Wonder if his cum is sweet, or salty, or creamy, or a little sour, like buttermilk. Whether you want to wrap your legs around his neck or his waist when he fucks you, or whether you'd rather have him do it doggie style. He's your man tonight, for a little while, and I want you to have a girl's most romantic anticipations about what he might do, to be really eager for him. Don't be nervous. You'll love it. It's nothing really new for you. Just keep thinking that it'll be better than with Eric. Much better. Trust me, darling, it will be much better!"
She paused, then kissed her fingertips and touched them to my lips. "At least I'm sure you'll remember this experience, love, you first real deflowering. Just hold in mind that Andrew isn't here. That Ben isn't your rival. Ben is a dear friend of your dearest girlfriend, and she wants to share him as a special gift, and soon he'll be your special friend too."
And with that Monica turned, went back to Ben and kissed his cheek, then took his arm and looked back at me. Ben extended his other arm, and I took it as we started out. Then I remembered what Monica had asked me to do, and as we waited for the elevator, I placed my other hand on his arm as well, as if I were hugging it. I could feel iron muscles under his jacket. I felt utterly helpless.
VI.
Dinner was a confused memory even while it was happening. I couldn't remember anything Monica wanted me to practice about how ladies dine out. I didn't hear the waiter ask for my order, and then realized I hadn't even read the menu. When I said, flustered, "Oh, just a salad, no dressing, thank you", Monica smiled approval–she was always after me to look more svelte, and I'd already gone down two dress sizes since she'd begun my full scale feminizing. Several times she grinned mischievously when she saw me staring at Ben's crotch. He had huge shoulders, yet he moved like a dancer.
In fact Ben was the soul of affability, and tried to compliment me on my dress, and my hair, and my perfume, and he asked me with sincere interest how I spend my time now I've retired from work, his eyes penetrating into mine. I tried to reply politely in my littlest girl voice, because that was all I could muster. Yet, my imagination kept feeling him penetrate my asshole with his prick, his hidden meat burying itself in that very same pristine bottom I was sitting on at that very moment, and I was disconcerted. Monica knew what was happening of course, and was vastly amused. When we left him to go to the ladies, she clutched my arm and barely suppressed her hilarity, and said, "Isn't this fun?" For her it was.
I have to admit it, after we got back to the room, for me it was too. A little. This time I drank very little wine. I wanted to be all there. Both of us took off our dresses and put on our sexiest negligees–Monica told me to slip into the new one she'd bought me just last week, and I realized she'd bought it for just this purpose. Ben stripped himself naked, and lounged back in a soft chair like a Lord of the Manor accustomed to being served. As indeed he was. He was solidly built, muscular, and looked regal, somehow commanding, fully in charge. As he studied my figure in its flowing, lacy satin, I felt suddenly naked and vulnerable and helpless. All of a sudden I hoped anxiously that I could somehow please him. Monica seemed to know he would have this effect on me. "Isn't he gorgeous?" she asked me. "All right, darling," and she sat down in a chair to watch and curled up her legs, her favorite relaxed position. "My pretty cock sucker darling. Show my man what kind of a woman you are now! Don't worry. He'll be gentle."
He was gentle, as if he knew this was all new to me, my maiden voyage all over again. He suggested that I kneel between his legs and kiss his thighs and just get used to things first, just hold his penis gently, and stroke it, with one hand or both, and kiss it only if the mood took me. I felt very strange, very humble, kneeling in front of this powerful naked God. I gently, timidly took up his soft cock in one hand, and found that it was quite heavy. I needed both hands to grasp it all around, and then it started to grow. After a minute or so I kissed it shyly, and then kissed it again. It got bigger. When it was half-hard I looked up at him, feeling like a very little girl indeed, because its size already worried me. Could I get it into my mouth? He smiled encouragement.
So I began to lick it, ever so daintily, on its very tip. He felt deliciously smooth on my tongue, just as Monica had described it, and his pre-cum tasted like sweet cream. I tried to remember how Monica told me I had blown Eric. I tried to remember what girls had done with my penis in high school, when they wanted me to know they liked me. I tried to remember everything Monica had resurrected about giving head when she was a girl, those old memories she had been so eager to share with me. Was it for this? I slid my tongue down his shaft, and worshipped it with my lips and tongue, and cupped the huge purple head in my lips, opening my jaw wide. I felt my face strain, but finally the entire head was stuffing my mouth, and I started to suck. Now, at this moment, I thought to myself, I am a cock sucker. A true cock sucker. I am just what my wife called me. I am sucking a man's cock. The idea that I was a man sucking another man's cock was intolerable, so I concentrated on feeling myself to be a woman sucking a man's cock. I am a beautiful, desirable woman sucking her man's cock, I repeated to myself. I felt it! My head arched coyly, sinuously, until it pressed into his beautifully muscled abdomen, and I lunged down.
His silky smooth cock head entered my throat, and I tried to swallow it whole, even with his whole body attached. For a moment I gagged, then I felt the whole of him slither freely in and out of my mouth and down and up my throat. Then I lost it. I began to face-fuck him furiously, my arms resting on his thighs and my hands lightly caressing his groin. My saliva slicked his pole as I bobbed my head over him repeatedly, mindlessly,, and felt him begin to swell, then to throb. Then cream poured out of him into my mouth and all over my face, no matter how frantically I tried to suck and lick and swallow it all. I tried to catch my breath, and heard him breathing heavily. Then we both held still for a moment. When he put his hands on either side of my head, pressing his palms on my curls, and turned my face to look up at him, I saw he was satisfied, and I smiled. I felt a delicious warmth in my tummy. I glanced down, and saw his cock still staring up at me, glistening, enormous, like a small baseball bat. It hadn't gone down at all. I'd had that in my mouth and down my throat?
"It's time, little lady," he said to me. Incredibly, with a single bend and twist, he stood and then scooped me up and carried me over to the bed. I felt so utterly helpless! So dependent! I gazed into his eyes, and saw there only tender concern. "How shall I set you down, Andrea dear?" he asked. "Back or tummy?"
"On my back, please" I replied. Then as if I were someone else, I said, "I want to see your face, and kiss it. You're wonderful!" Over his shoulder I saw Monica leaning forward, her finger tips propped up under her chin, attentive to everything that had been happening. When she heard me say that, she positively glowed! "Isn't he?" she said when my glance caught her eye.
Then this superb man screwed me thoroughly, inside out! He wrapped my legs around his neck and leaned on the undersides of my thighs, and told me to grasp the ornate bed stead behind me to brace myself, so I could move under him if I couldn't bear just lying there. Then he pressed that huge soft cock head against my anus, then paused, then proceeded further. His incredible cock was still soaked in our juices, and feeling I was giving birth, or being born, I felt him split me wide and enter into me. Just the cock head, but the feeling of pressure was incredible, at first almost painful. But it soon changed to a different kind of pressure, a richer, joyous feeling of fullness, a sweet yearning slowly building as he moved the enormous length of his member deeper into me and then pulled it out again, and in and out, until just as Monica had described, my breathing became moans and my moans became shrieks, and they coruscated one after another. Faster, as my body rose to meet every thrust, and then began to fly. The pressure in my loins crested, then suddenly transmuted into pure bliss. I felt like one whole, perfect, incandescent orgasm! At that moment I felt him straining and lunging toward an impossible goal, and then suddenly he went rigid, and his prick throbbed an ocean of cum into me, or so it seemed. We just lay there quietly a second time, again breathing heavily. He smiled at me. I raised my head and kissed him on the lips, tenderly, then lay back satisfied. I had never felt more like a woman. He withdrew and rolled off me, and I felt a yearning emptiness.
After a moment I sat up and looked over at Monica. She was all smiles. "You were wonderful, Andrea," she said. "I felt like applauding. This time you'll remember. I'm sure of it. Isn't being a woman just marvelous, when there are such men? But now come sit over here. It's my turn now."
I sat down, and my wife sat down on the bed and leaned over Ben's face while he looked up at her. She licked his lips and then his tongue the way I had licked his cock. There was a coiled tension about the way she moved, and he reached into her crotch to finger fuck her, his wrist undulating in an almost snake-like movement. And so they played with each other for a few minutes, their desire for each other building, until as I could see his cock was even larger than I had remembered, a tower standing sky high. Then suddenly my Monica pushed him down, rose over him, and impaled herself on it. Her whole cunt swallowed it up, how I can't imagine, in one single savage thrust. Ben then rolled over her, and I was altogether forgotten. He humped her with brutal force, his great body plunging in at her over and over, but she loved it. Each time he lunged she cried out "Yes!" and then louder, "Yes!" and then louder still, "YES!!" It went on and on. They were like some enormous power plant, their whole bodies pulsating and surging and pistoning against each other, desire rising higher and higher even as they gratified it. Finally there was a tremendous explosion, both of them together shouting through choked throats, loud deep guttural cries, and the bed seemed to shake. When I could see them again they were both soaked, and so wrapped up in each other there was no way to tell where one began and the other left off. Monica's eyes were glazed, but as they crossed my line of sight I smiled at her, and she seemed to smile wanly back.
A terrible thought suddenly crossed my mind. Her cunt was loaded with his cum. His huge prick was still crammed deep into her, bottling it all up. She disliked contraceptives of all kinds, and of course she never used them, which was why she'd asked me to have a vasectomy. But Ben hadn't had a vasectomy. His cum was thick, clotted, dense with sperm, I was sure. I could see it on the towel I had been sitting on, already soaked, with cum still flowing out of me. I knew she'd had no period within the past two weeks -- I couldn't remember seeing menstrual blood on her panties recently when I'd rinsed them out for her. She might be at the peak of her fertility right now!
"Monica!" I called to her in alarm!
Monica looked over at me serenely, her draped body now at peace, deeply satisfied in some primal, special way. "Andrea," she said. "Now go to bed. Show's over. I wanted you to see for yourself that I'm having sex with a real man, and no mistake about it. Now you know. Good night! Ben and I have some things to do now that are just between us. I'll see you in the morning. We'll have a swim before breakfast. Any time after seven. Don't worry about waking me, I'll still be up."
And she turned her attention back to the man she was wrapped around. I stood up, and walked into my room, and closed the door. For the rest of the night, I heard occasional strange moans and cries and grunts coming from their room, but didn't dare imagine what might be causing them.
VII.
The next morning as we walked down to the pool I tried to take Monica aside to ask if she had taken precautions, but she clung to Ben the whole time, and he gazed down fondly on her, and there was no opportunity. The well-hung young man was at the pool again, and with easy affability Ben introduced himself and then introduced us all around–his name was Jeff–and then organized the four of us into a game of water polo, boys against girls. The young man fell against me repeatedly in his efforts to block my shots, and it became obvious he was trying to feel me up. This was new for me, and made me uneasy. But my bathing suit molded me beautifully, and after last night's escapades I decided to let him. Then there was no getting rid of him. In fact, with a glance toward me, Monica invited him to breakfast with us, and then to play golf with us, then tennis. As we dressed in our tennis outfits with their short, flirty skirts, she suggested I wear black panties fringed in French lace, not my proper tennis panties. So Jeff never took his eyes off my pretty bottom, and I beat him easily even though I was trying to play like an inexperienced girl, as girls do with boys they like. We spent the whole day together.
As we dressed for cocktails that night, Monica told me, "Ben and I are going out for drinks and dinner tonight. Just the two of us. We'll be back late. Jeff'll be here to pick you up in a few minutes. Do you know how to dance young people's dances these days? Have fun!"
That night, tired out from slow dancing, and dirty dancing, and hop dancing, I couldn't think how to turn Jeff off at the door, so he came into my room for a nightcap. He'd been wonderfully personable and attentive all through dinner, and at the dance he'd been lighthearted and increasingly affectionate, but always gentlemanly. He fixed drinks for the two of us, then sat down on the couch next to me, and we talked.
Then he stayed the night. He surprised me with a soft kiss full on the mouth, and I surprised myself by kissing him back. He began playing with my nipples and the little titties that seemed to be behind them, and I melted, and my mind roamed to the feel of Ben's cock inside me, and I wondered what Jeff's might feel like. He sensed my surrender. I was terrified he'd find out I wasn't a true woman when he reached into my crotch. But when he felt the Super-Max Pad I kept there to simulate a mound of Venus and cover my male equipment, he smiled.
"It's just as well," he said. "I don't have a condom with me anyhow. But if you don't mind, I can try to please you through your back door. Have you ever made love that way? Do you mind...? Would you...?" I kissed him even more deeply, and my hands stroked his thin, strong shoulders. I had my own Ben!
I didn't mind. I would. It was as if I had been mesmerized by this new kind of sex for me, being penetrated and entered and filled by someone firm, attentive, and considerate. Some time during the night Monica and Ben came home, and I half-woke to see that Monica was looking in on me. When the light from her room fell across my bed and revealed me sprawled across Jeff, our bed covers tangled on the floor and his long cock still in my hand, I heard her enter and pick up a blanket, then cover the two of us. Then I felt her kiss me softly on the cheek, and retreating, close the door behind her.
And so the weekend went. Jeff and I were together almost constantly, and he fucked and screwed and sucked and licked me as often as I did these things to him. I managed to speak to Monica briefly in the Women's Locker Room about the risk she ran of getting pregnant by Ben. But she was strangely unconcerned. "Do you think so? she said. "Well then. He just pumped another load into me in the Sauna, when I was sitting in his lap. He's inexhaustible, that man. You didn't notice? Here, suck it out of me."
And she leaned way back on a bench and spread her legs wide, and looked at me imperiously, waiting. So I dropped to my knees and leaned way in, and lapped and sucked and scrubbed her slit and her pussy with my tongue, as best I could. His cum still tasted like heavy sweet cream, I found as I cleaned her out, unlike Jeff's, which was also delicious but a little salty. She had a small orgasm, nothing like those wrenching cataclysms she and Ben shared, but she smiled gratefully at me.
"Feel better, now? Andrea, you can't follow me and Ben around like a puppy, or a human douche bag, waiting to slip your tongue into my pussy. The two of us fuck all the time. You'll just have to wait until we get home, and then I'll explain things to my husband. But he's not here, remember?"
I had no choice.
We wore every outfit we had bought for the weekend, and Sunday night as we gathered up our luggage to go home, Monica was amused that I was limping, walking a little spraddle-legged. I might have overdone it with Jeff, I was thinking to myself. But he'd been so sweet, I couldn't refuse him! And he felt so good in my mouth or my rear!
"Andrea dear," Monica said. "Try to walk a bit more respectably. You are the very image of a well-fucked woman. Ben's just gone off at a business meeting in Detroit now, but I hope he gave Jeff a handsome bonus before he left. Obviously he was worth every penny."
I was shocked! But also a little depressed! "Jeff was a prostitute? He did it for pay? Not for me, because he admired me?"
"Oh, my dearest Angela, he did admire you! He's one of the highest-paid male escorts in the business, and he takes on no clients that don't interest him. That first time we met him at the pool, he was looking you over. He told Ben later that he was willing to romance you for half his fee, and even to sleep with you for no fee at all. You have a delightfully sluttish innocence, he said, and certainly know how to enjoy a man who knows how to enjoy you. But he has to earn a living, so we paid him in full. He was worth every penny just to keep you busy while Ben and I played with each other round the clock, and also in furthering your education as to what it means to be a woman. How wonderful it can be. And doing it safely, without risk. Now we really can talk to each other about how different guys feel inside us, can't we?"
And Monica linked her arm into mine and laughed a voluptuous, knowing laugh. I felt even more uneasy. "Oh, c'mon," she said. "Didn't you have a perfectly scrumptious time?" I had to admit it.
When we got home, Monica suggested we have a long talk. "Andrea, now my beloved spouse returned to me," she said, "I have some things I need to tell you that you need to know. But we'll talk in a restaurant. In a public place, because I don't know if you'll be upset or not when you hear them."
She took one long look at my face, and then broke out, "Oh, my dear, my darling, my lovely pet, please don't look so sad. You look ready to dissolve! No, I'm not going to leave you! I'm never going to leave you! I love you! I need you! Now more than ever! You don't know how much! But when you hear what I have to say, maybe you'll want to leave me. I hope not. I'd feel desolated! Maybe even betrayed. But not by you. So we need to talk things over quietly!"
We said very little to each other as we drove to our favorite restaurant, the little Italian restaurant where we had first met, as it were, as girl friends, and I had first learned not to be afraid to show my femininity to the world. Again, it was crowded. Once the Maitre d' had seated us, and we had ordered drinks, I just looked mournfully at Monica and said nothing. This was her sell, and I didn't even know what kind of property she had in mind.
She took a deep breath and began. "First of all, I want to tell you again, I love you, and I don't ever want to lose you. No matter what. I'm not going to tell you everything now, just enough for now. More later when the time comes. I'm not hiding anything, but I do want you to come to the same conclusions I've reached, all on your own. And that means thinking things through a little at a time. I think I know what you want most from life, and from our marriage. But I'm not sure you know, yet. All right?"
I nodded.
"You saw that I've been having an affair with Ben. It hasn't been for too long. Maybe three or four months. He's been hitting on me for years, and I've been turning him down for years, but he's a man of enormous persuasive charm, and I confess it, one afternoon when the office had closed down, and I knew you were prancing around in your skirts and negligees and things at home, not too eager to see me home early, I thought I'd just try him out.
"Well, he overwhelmed me! Like a summer storm! Sudden down pouring fury, thunder, lightning, all of it! I couldn't get enough of that massive cock into me! It's very special, gentle yet thick enough to stretch anyone, and so insatiable, you know? Yes, you do know, now. I couldn't get enough of his ferocious energy into me either! All that vitality! You know that now too. Could you resist him? No, not even with all of your male conditioning to avoid sex with men. How could I, once he'd reached me."
"I'd gotten too used to you, I guess. You're gentle, and considerate, and sweet, and everything I've always wanted in a man. You're also everything I might want in a woman too, they're the same traits. I asked you to get that vasectomy, and you did, with no hesitation. Giving up for me your whole posterity! All of your wonderful potential as a parent! For me! Because I asked you to do it, and it was done, and you've never said a word to me about it since! You are a priceless marvel! I bet if I was to ask you to give up your manhood altogether, your balls, you'd do it. I've been thinking of asking, because they aren't doing anything for you now any more, and they're interfering with your womanhood in some ways. But all in good time."
"I can't say Ben is selfless. Ben gives nothing, you negotiate with Ben. He's not nice. But in bed he's a force of nature, with that huge cock, and those power-hammering, pile-driving fucks. He can keep it up all night! After that first afternoon, I couldn't give him up. I wanted all that too!"
I was getting very uncomfortable with the direction this conversation was taking, so I asked, "But why did you bring me in on this? Why did you set me up to have sex with your boy friend? To humiliate me?"
"Humiliate you? My dear, dear, sweet Andrea, I heard those shrieks of joy while he was reaming your ass, and I saw your expression when you were slurping down mouthfuls of his cum. That huge prick of his really can get to a girl. I saw how eagerly you sucked him. You even deep throated him, and that's not easy with a cock like that, is it? I suspect that when he finally came in your bowels, you felt an incredibly deep satisfaction that you'd brought off such a man, and that now you possessed his seed. That's all part of being a girl. Isn't it?"
"I couldn't stop with Ben, so I wanted to share him with you. I wanted my lover to be yours too. That's what I wanted for you! That's all part of being married. We're life-partners. We share everything. Especially our feelings as women. And you've wanted to be a woman, haven't you? To feel like one? And now, don't you?"
There was something troubling about this last statement. The distinction between wanting to be a woman and wanting merely to feel like one no longer quite made sense to me. "Woman or no woman," I told Monica. "I'd never have consented to sex with Ben if I hadn't already gone that route. I suppose I felt that after Eric had done me, and I'd done him, I'd crossed the line. I was no longer a virgin, and as they say, another slice off a cut cake is never missed."
"I suppose so, dear," Monica replied. "But remember, I've spent months preparing you to enjoy sex with men, so it would be enjoyable esthetically and all other ways, and not seem some kind of sick perversion. Men have all kinds of inhibitions against sex with other men, and we've had to overcome them, the two of us. And we have overcome them, haven't we? You wanted Ben to push himself into you any way he could, so you could give and get pleasure with him any which way, didn't you? And once you'd tasted Ben, you wanted Jeff. It does seem you couldn't get enough of Jeff, doesn't it? That's what I wanted for you!"
She smiled at me. "I think you know that already, darling. We women know. Could you resist either of those men? And now, you've got some wonderful romantic memories of your first times with men, no matter how many other men you may sleep with before we retire together as two little old ladies. Still sleeping together I hope."
It was time to get to the heart of the matter. I suppose as far as infidelities went, I couldn't protest. I'd already fucked three men out of wedlock, and Monica only one, so far as I knew. Mine were after she'd begun her affair, but still....
So I came out with it. "There's something else, too. You just spent three days getting pumped full of cum, and that man is a fountain, and I'm sure he's potent as a goat! You didn't douche once, and you didn't use contraception, and I'll bet that except for the cum I tried to suck out of you, and whatever's dripped out of you since then, it's all still there."
"Probably, darling. I slipped in a tampon to be sure. I love the thought that I'm keeping part of him in there with me."
My voice rose a little. I didn't know if I was desperate or exasperated, but I wasn't getting through! "Monica! You'll get pregnant! You may already be pregnant!"
"No, darling, I can't get pregnant. I already am pregnant. Over three months pregnant. Ben must have struck gold right off, that afternoon we first took up with each other. I never thought about protection that afternoon. I guess I was too used to you."
I just sat there, too staggered to move, even to blink.
"Anyhow, when I found I was pregnant, I decided, OK, it's just as well. As I just said, I love the thought that part of him is in there with me. But how do we care for the baby? I'm a businesswoman, not a care giver. I don't want to be tied to feedings, and diaper changing. Should I get rid of it? So I went and talked with Denise and Tinka about what they were doing, now that Denise was pregnant, and Denise pointed out that I might not be much of a care giver, but you certainly are. You love domesticity, and you have the most generous and tender heart in the world. And then the rest just fell into place. I would have the baby, and then you would take care of it. Completely! You've been flirting with womanliness for years and years, and motherhood is a woman's highest estate!"
"Darling, this really is what you want. Trust me. I know! It'll take more time for you to get used to the idea, and you'll certainly want to talk with Denise and Tinka about what's entailed. But you'll love it. I know you'll love it."
"There's one other thing, and I couldn't tell you before now, only now, but it's very important to me. Another reason why I wanted to set you up with Ben. I thought to myself, after all, Andrea and I are both going to have Ben's baby. It's only fair that Andrea should share in the fun first. So we should both get laid by Ben, not just me. We both should be knocked up by him. His sperm should be planted in both of us. You can't say you didn't enjoy it, can you, Andrea? He plays a lovely tune, even though you're now like lots of girls who have been indiscreet. Now you have to pay the piper."
I sat there dumbfounded. I couldn't even think.
"Wasn't that a delicious dinner, darling," Monica asked? "But you've scarcely touched yours! Well, no matter. Your figure is coming along so beautifully. That nice, round tush! I can't keep my hands off it! Let's call the waiter for the check. Which one of us should pay this time, do you think?"
A few weeks later Denise and Tinka had their baby, well past term, a ten pound boy, and they were both delighted with their heaven-sent opportunity to raise a male properly for once. Denise returned to work and Tinka took over complete care of the infant.
A month later still, Monica and I were both amused to see how we had both swollen, Monica in the belly, and me in the breast. "Sympathetic vibrations" Monica called them, though I was convinced my now-distinctive breasts were a by-product of the doctor's shots and my own wish-fulfillment, and also of Monica's near-constant stimulation of my nipples with her tongue whenever we were having woman sex. She said I'd changed so much she'd now feel strange, to be penetrated by a woman with a penis, so there would be no more of that ever. But whenever we were spooned with my head in her pussy, she loved to flick my penis with her tongue as if I had a long clit.
That felt exquisite! I no longer ejaculated, but we both had the most marvelous orgasms, repeatedly, each session.
I asked Monica if she was still seeing Ben, and she replied that ladies don't kiss and tell, and asked me slyly if I was jealous of him or her or both? Then she answered me more seriously.
"Sweetheart," she said. "I love to feel a man inside me. You're no longer able, and I want you to be more and more able to do womanly things. That's why, from the moment I realized we could be partners with this baby, I wanted to have only woman sex with you, not man sex. I knew I'd want you to become more of a woman, whatever your more limited desires for womanhood at the time. But I don't want to sneak around getting laid. So if you'd like to double date, just tell me, and we'll arrange it. Any man should feel privileged to stroke his pole into you, if that's what you want."
"Of course, you may find you're more and more a lesbian as you grow deeper into your womanhood. And that's fine with me. I'm certainly a lesbian as far as you're concerned. And as a lesbian I am absolutely faithful to you. Why don't you go over and have a long talk with Denise and Tinka about all this. It's time for you to visit their baby and see how things are, anyhow. I would, but I have a very big transaction in process, a whole high-rise skyscraper I mean to sell to someone who thinks he prefers a two-story office park. He doesn't realize yet that the skyscraper is far better for him given its location. He will, but it takes time, right now all of my time."
"So I'll be home late tonight. Some of it will be dealing with the client, and then some of it will be Ben. He loves pushing that gorgeous cock into my round tummy, pouring sperm into me like a fire hose, he says, introducing his baby in my tummy to tens of thousands of its brothers and sisters. I still can't get enough of him! But I'll be thinking of you, love! Don't wait up."
VIII.
What could I say? I called Denise, and she asked me over for supper and the evening–Tinka was trying out a variety of mushroom souffles to see which should be served at the baby's christening, and they wanted me to settle an old dispute between them about onions versus garlic. They sounded like an old married couple, I thought to myself. But then, that's what they are.
So when I arrived, the first thing they did was take me into the nursery. There lay Mikki, the sweetest little creature in all the world, all dimples and puffy cheeks, sound asleep, working his teeny, delicate lips as if he was nursing, now and then jerking his little limbs as if dreaming, and as I watched, a miracle, a full-scale sneeze from someone much too tiny to accomplish anything so complicated. So very, very precious! I was absolutely smitten, and they had to lead me back to the living room, or I'd be there yet.
"Have a stiff drink, Andrea" Denise said. "At least you're not pregnant. Not at the moment, anyhow. I can tell you've been spinning in one of your wife's webs, and that's why you're here. She's a wonderful woman and we all love her, and you're lucky to have her and that she loves you to pieces, and that's the truth. But she does make her own plans and keep her own counsel."
So I just unburdened everything: Monica's affair with Ben, her sudden change of heart about my cross-dressing, her encouraging me, no, pushing me into a womanhood I now knew was irreversible, and didn't want to reverse, how my little liaison with Eric had prepared me to suck and be fucked by her lover Ben and even to enjoy a brief affair with a young man she hired for the purpose, even her too-swift assumption that I would be willing to care for the child of her adultery, her infidelity, my rival's baby, just because she knew I was sufficiently tender-hearted, and had also gotten laid by the father. I set it all out. I assured them that I loved Monica this side of distraction, and that life without her was inconceivable to me. But in all of these matters there were questions that had never been answered, and without answers, I just didn't know what to think. How to feel.
Denise asked Tinka to bring me another double, and waited until I had it. We were sitting in the living room, and our conversation continued through dinner–a delicious dinner I want to cook for Monica real soon, maybe even also Ben, so I left with all the recipes–and it didn't finish until I was standing on their front steps saying good night yet again, many hours later, thanking them profusely for all their help. Because finally, I understood.
Denise took charge. "Andrea, to begin with, Andrew is dead. I saw you with that baby. I've listened to you. Give up on him. Cut off his balls. Castrate him as punishment for distracting you from your proper role in life. You're a woman. Maybe you never were a transvestite. Maybe you were always a woman, or most of you was, but you were too womanly, too hesitant, too scared to take the plunge. Anyhow, it doesn't matter now. Monica did you a favor, bringing your real femininity out into the open, and letting you learn to enjoy it."
"But she didn't do it for your sake alone. Like most women she was raised to think that effeminate men are contemptible, not admirable for wanting to be the same thing they are. It's a kind of self-hatred many women feel, maybe. Especially wives. Or maybe, like Monica at this very moment filled to the hilt by that thing of Ben's, they get hung up on a single concept of cock and cock alone being desirable, and then they just hang there. A man who doesn't act like a man isn't a man, they think. Well, duh! So he must be a woman. One or the other. But why? Different strokes."
"You must certainly have noticed that a lot of things happened at the same time around five months ago. Monica got bored with your gentle decency and fucked someone with balls, and got her cunt planted by one of the great cocksmen in this part of the country. Then she breached a hard-argued three year old agreement with her husband never to say anything about his compulsive cross-dressing, and instead she started to encourage it, in fact to push him over the edge. And she stopped fucking her husband, who was more and more becoming her wife, and turned exclusively lesbian with her–only with her husband, not with the big prick she's still teamed with and is no doubt at this very moment twisting into her pussy. And she sends her former husband off to a willing endocrinologist for hormones, to get him physically converted as quickly as possible into a wife. Complete with breasts. Breasts are crucial in this equation. Real ones, implants need not apply. How they hangin'?
"I may need to shift to a C cup," I replied. "They're beautiful. I love them. So does Monica. She's always kissing and sucking on them."
"I'll bet. Puts you in the mood, doesn't it? Tinka, do you want to tell our sister here something that she ought to know?"
The baby had awakened and started crying, so Tinka said, "Just a moment. I want to get Mikki and change his diaper. Then I'll bring him back in here for his feeding."
She did. That sweet little thing was already nuzzling her breasts. She opened her blouse and unhooked a flap on one of her bra cups, and the darling dived right in. In a moment he was nursing and sucking and grunting on Tinka's breast, and Tinka had blissed out while she hugged him. But, I realized, it was Denise who had had the baby, not Tinka. How could this be?
"Easy," said Denise when I asked her. "I had the baby. Tinka had the breasts and the desire to nurture another human life. Our endo had the hormone women secrete at birth that causes breasts to make milk. Put them all together, and what you see is what you get."
Tinka smiled up at me. "That's right, Andrea honey. If you have real breasts, you can make real milk. You do have real breasts, courtesy of your pregnant wife. Does that suggest anything to you?"
"Did Monica know about this plan of yours, Denise to carry the baby, and Tinka to nurse it?" I was feeling resentful yet elated. Cheated yet victorious. I couldn't sort out my own feelings. What had Monica done to me? Did I mind?
"Not when we decided on it," Denise said. "Only when she first found she was pregnant. I'll bet just about when she discovered that having a sweet-tempered, cross-dressing, home loving husband has certain advantages. Especially if he likes filling his bras with real tits."
Tinka broke in. "Oh, Denise, you're too harsh on poor Monica. Let me put it a different way. She loves you, Andrea. Very dearly. This is for you, in a way. It's her gift to you. For the two of you. When you got your vasectomy, she didn't know how womanly you wanted to be. She had no idea. She did know that she didn't want to be a mother, that she didn't have the time, or patience, or certainly the desire. So when Ben knocked her up she was going to get rid of it. It was intrusive on her, and certainly on the two of you. But by then she'd seen what a wonderful little homemaker you are, and she got to thinking that she'd deprived you of one of the great joys of life, parenting, when she asked you to sterilize yourself and because you're sweet, and loving, and obliging, that's what you did. She realized you'd love to raise the baby, and that with you in charge she'd lose no more time from her work than it takes for a peasant woman to give birth and get back into the field. A few days, a week at most, with no infant to tire her out. She could have her cake and eat it. Motherhood and a career both, with no conflict between them.
Denise added, "Motherhood for her husband, anyhow, once she'd made him into her wife. Very clever. I'd do it myself, if I hadn't already thought of it and done it."
Tinka smiled at her and blew her a kiss. The baby seemed to be asleep at her breast, his little hand lying lightly on her soft curves, but his mouth was still working. She covered him with a light blanket and held him close.
"Andrea," Denise said. "Pardon me for being suspicious, but when someone mentions cheese, I smell a rat. What's this "liaison" with Eric you mentioned? What kind of liaison?"
I told her what Monica had told me, that when we last visited together, after talking babies and bottles and breasts upstairs with Tinka I came downstairs absolutely zonked, and Eric got me to cock sucking him before he corn holed me, and that I loved it. All of this supposedly being proof that I was a true woman, finally. Or maybe that I wasn't."
When I finished, Tinka was smiling, and Denise the same, even more broadly, "I don't believe that woman!" she said. "She should be Ambassador to the Universe! President of the World!"
Tinka explained. "Oh, we went upstairs for my recipes and started talking babies and nursing, all right, you and me. I could see you were over the hill and not likely to remember anything, so I told you our little secret, that I meant to breast-feed Denise's baby, our baby. You asked how, and I took you to my breast, and you were soon sound asleep. It was so very dear. Then you didn't wake up until Monica came to get you and take you home. Eric never did show up that night."
Again, I was astounded! "He didn't? But Monica....But there was cum all over my panties the next day!"
"Oh, these days Monica's got no shortage of cum to redistribute any way she pleases. She's wonderful, your wife," Denise said. "She'll say all kinds of things to get people to do what she wants, because she knows it's what they really want themselves, that it's the right thing for them in the long run. And she's always right. It's uncanny. Think about it. Anyhow, you should meet Eric some time–he's all man, you'd never guess he's gay. Girls feel flattered by his attention because he's so good looking, but he's perfectly safe. He'd never hit on Denise or me. Nor on you either, I should think. You're not his type. He likes guys who look even more manly than he is. Tight buns, hard pecs, you know, weight lifter macho types. He'd go for Ben, but Ben would probably flatten him. Girls like us are safe enough."
Now I was really dumbfounded! "My own wife seduced me into blowing and getting fucked by her boyfriend, partly by telling me a fairy tale about my already having sex with Eric, so it didn't matter! Why!? And she has gotten herself pregnant by him, and gotten me physically rearranged to nurse and raise their baby. Why? She's not that cruel. Nor that vindictive. I never did anything like that to her! I've tried to be a devoted husband! Or wife, anyhow! Why?"
Denise began speaking to me much more gently, but very firmly. She could hear my pain, my fear that my wife was really another woman, a stranger, my bafflement. So she started right in.
"Monica told you all the reasons, I'm sure. Didn't she? Right after you got laid by the man who is now the father of your child? I'm sure she did. She's very up front and honest. That's why people trust her. Because she knows what people really want, and she knows how to sell it to them. She's a real ace at it. It's what she does!"
"Think of it this way. She could have told you that she got you fucked by her boy friend because you're a nice guy, and she was feeling guilty that she had been unfaithful to you, so she thought she'd make you think you'd done something like that yourself, and that would get her off the hook, even the score. So she invented this story about you and Eric getting it on. But it didn't work. If you did it, you didn't know what you were doing, so it didn't count, but anyhow you didn't do it! That story didn't wash her conscience clean. So next she seduced you into her lover's bed. Then she felt better. I'm sure that's why she did it. Among many reasons why. But that reason if she'd confessed it to you wouldn't bring you to the next step of your enlightenment, finding out what you really want. You might not forgive her. You might even divorce her. It's quite a betrayal, looked at one way. So I'm sure she didn't tell you . Right?"
"Right, I guess," I said. Monica confesses her sins to nobody. "All right. She got me to fuck Ben for all of the above reasons, and I'm not sorry I did it. I'm glad.
"I'll bet you're glad," Tinka broke in. "You're a woman, right? And that stud is God's gift to women! Monica had yet another reason to get you well and truly laid. You didn't think you were a woman until recently, right? You were a transvestite, not a transsexual. You liked looking like a woman, and feeling the way you think women feel, and doing womanly things. But that's not being a woman. That's being a man who enjoys expressing his feminine sides, which all men have and most men suppress."
"A heterosexual man, that is. I'll bet even during your flounciest cross dressing, you hated the idea that you might be gay, a man who wants to have sex with men. Most men hate that idea. Its unbearable, unendurable. But there you were, getting fucked by Ben and loving it. So you had to think, either you really are a faggot, a fairy, one of those pathetic nancies like Eric, or else you're really a woman. Right? So at that moment you decided you're really a woman, not pretending but actual, though in a man's body. Didn't you? I thought so. You crossed the line. Monica set you up with that stud to drive you so deep into your own femininity you'd never emerge, and never want to emerge. Never again feel ashamed to think of yourself as a woman. And it worked! Didn't it?"
I had to admit that Tinka had a point. "But that still doesn't tell me why she decided to keep the baby," I said. I had a feeling I was fighting a losing battle but winning a war. "Maybe she did worry that I had deprived myself of fatherhood, or motherhood, or whatever, and wanted to make it up to me. But why didn't she tell me? We could have worked it out together. Why all this elaborate manipulation?"
"Two reasons," Denise said. One is that as she got to know you, she saw that you'd make her a perfect wife and mother, but she knew there was no way you'd agree. Not a prayer. That's much too weird a notion for you. For any man! Especially any heterosexual man so ashamed of his cross dressing he couldn't confess it even to his wife."
"But there's more. I'm sure she plans to tell you this after the baby's born, to surprise and delight you with the news. She didn't let Ben off the hook. She gambles. When she first found she was pregnant, Ben offered to pay all the costs. He's never had a kid of his own, and he wanted her to carry it to term.
She saw he wanted it, so she put that little brain of hers to work. She saw a way to get as close to Ben's money as she already was to his cock. To get it inside her. She set conditions. She made a bet with Ben that she could do the impossible, have the baby and turn her husband into a woman to nurse it and raise it, so she could keep working full time on this big real estate deal they've got going. And, so that psychologically it would really seem to her husband to be his very own baby, she would get him to accept Ben fucking him, getting filled with Ben's sperm at both ends. It was a big gamble. The bet was a full partnership for her if she could sell her husband that proposition."
"Well, Ben thought it was a safe enough bet. If a woman can sell her own husband that, she can sell anyone anything, and is well worth a partnership. So if he loses, he wins. But Ben didn't think he'd lose. Would any man alive agree to get fucked three ways like that? To suck your own wife's lover's cock, and to open your own ass for him to plow at will, then to stay home and raise his baby while your wife is still getting it on with her lover nights and weekends?"
"Ben was right. No man would do those things. But Monica knew that another woman might. And that you liked looking and feeling like a woman, close enough for openers. And that Ben wanted that baby, and that this was his chance to have one, and he was sure he'd win. So the bet was all signed and sealed, and all Monica had to do is deliver. Including, deliver you from your peculiar notion that you're a man, and then deliver you to get fucked over by your wife's lover. She saw no problem. When she first told us about all this, way back, before you had even the slightest notion, she was having an affair, before you even dreamed that your relationship with her was about to change, she was already amusing herself by calling it her sucker bet."
"But it's an open question who got more fucked over. In effect, from now on you'll have Ben working for you half-time to make you even richer than you are. Soon the two of you will share a full half of Ben's big deals as well as a full half of Monica's, not just a percentage. That's a very big piece of money. Eventually, if you think about it, the baby will get it all, which may be why Ben finally agreed. He's got no wife as well as no kids–he's been too successful with the ladies to want to settle down and raise a family. So Monica decided that she knew better than you what you really wanted, and better than Ben what Ben really wanted, and she figured a way to get the two of you to agree on what you both wanted, and in that way get what she wanted. So she made the bet."
"You're practically a multi-millionaire. You can set up as a society lady if you want, and even get a nanny to raise the kid if it seems like too much bother. Even get a wet nurse, if you really want to spend your life polishing your nails and doing nothing else. You're married to a great provider, and she's provided for you and the kid for life. You didn't know that?"
Tinka finished with Mikki and put him back in his bassinet, and sat back down on the couch. "Oh, look at that look on your face," she said. "I can't tell whether you're laughing or crying. Come here."
I went over and sat down next to her, absolutely blown away. Like that day when Eric didn't show, and I never sucked his cock, and he never fucked me. Tinka took me in her arms.
"Precious baby," she said. "This has all been very confusing for you. All of this scheming so you can be happy and everyone else can be too. Come drink me. Soon you'll be nursing your own baby, and we'll have such good times together. There are so many things for us to share about raising babies. Much better than trading recipes."
"For instance, my sister Carol wants to get her baby weaned to whole milk in bottles in just a few months, so as not to bother breast feeding at all. Her pediatrician doesn't mind if she tries. I think she's wrong. Breast milk is far better for an infant than bottled. It provides the little dears more of the mothers' antibodies, to protect them when they're most vulnerable. So Betsy, my neighbor down the road, says she means to nurse her Billy until he gives it up all by himself. He's already past two now, with no sign of quitting. Why should he ever quit? Some little boys just can't ever get enough, I guess, even when they're supposed to be grown men."
"That's it, darling, suck deep. I've got lots, and it's good for me to be fully drained now and then, and little Mikki's always falling asleep before he's emptied me. It's so comforting, isn't it. Anyhow, that doctor's done wonders with you. You're not even lactating yet, and look how your breasts are already quite heavy. You'll probably be able to nurse Ben and Monica's baby until he goes away to college. Or if she's a girl, until she gets married and has babies of her own, and you're a grandma."
"But most likely it'll be until Ben and Monica present you with yet another baby. And then another. Remember, Monica's always thinking ahead to the next move. She's usually way ahead of all of us! Monica's probably confessed to you that she now knows she loves feeling a fat cock ramming and thrusting into her, day in and day out, her pussy overflowing with spunk, that she can't do without it. Ben's got one of the best, as you already know, and he's attractive and available. And you also already know that Monica doesn't like contraceptives. So once she's set you up to take care of one pretty, sweet little creature, and to nurse and nurture and care for the darling out of your most profound innermost desires, what happens next seems to me pretty inevitable."
"Your life is pretty well laid out for you. You can't complain she's having all the fun and you're doing all the work, because she's also bringing in all the money, and you're always invited to join in the fun. You can always schedule Ben for a rerun into your mouth and ass. Or you can always give up on those dangling things down there altogether, and get yourself a proper vagina for him to stuff with his meat, or go find someone else's cock when you feel like a fling."
"Or if you still prefer women, you might plan to spend the night with us now and then–you're a dear friend, we'd just love to have you, and under these circumstances I see no need to kiss and tell. You can make up for all those pyjama parties you missed because when you were a girl, you thought you were a boy, and never suspected that you were going to be the lovely woman Monica's made you! You'll taste delicious when your milk comes in, and look at you now, sucking so sweetly. It feels so good! We can taste each other in lots of places. Three girls can have so much fun together!"
"Now, don't tell me none of these ideas appeal! Andrea, to sing the old song, 'She made you what you are today, I hope you're satisfied.' I'm sure she's satisfied. I'll bet you are. Really satisfied, deep down. Aren't you?"
Copyright © 1996, 2010 by Vickie Tern. May be archived to free archives only, single-copied for personal use, but not sold.
Vickie [email protected]
Not to be believed!
Not because they were all gorgeous. I've seen gatherings of gorgeous young women like these, during college outings and once when a cousin took me backstage where a whole chorus line was about to go on stage. But none of them looked like these! No way! These girls were practically naked! Wearing almost nothing. Sitting around, all of them in their ... wearing only ... brassieres! Everywhere under their pretty faces I saw delicate satin straps on their dainty shoulders and below those, pink female flesh, transparent lacy cups bulging with abundant breasts. Overflowing, creamy encased globes pushing dark-tipped nipples way forward.
I could have reached out to touch those nipples, they were that close. Yet these girls were sitting around being as nonchalant as if they were wearing bikini swim wear or terry cloth covers by a swimming pool, not their most intimate of undies!
The two immediately opposite me happened to look toward me, then glance at each other, then again look at me. One smiled directly at me as if to reassure me, while the other watched as if merely curious. Two others girls nearby seemed lost in their own thoughts, daydreaming at the crumbs on the plates in front of them. Maybe they'd been talking to each other and then stopped? An utterly naked girl at the far end of the room -- my God not even wearing a bra! -- was curled up on herself, deep in a paperback novel. Maybe she was wearing panties at least -- I couldn't see -- but one naked boob was jutting straight out and staring at me, while the other seemed as absorbed in her book as she was.
The sun shone in. It was a lovely morning. But unlike any morning I'd ever known!
"Well, I see Katie's finally awake," the smiling girl said to the other one, turning her head slightly toward her.
"I guess so," said the other, lifting a cup of coffee to her red lips and sipping, all the while continuing to watch me. "Right on schedule."
'Schedule'? That sounded odd. Not wrong but ... well, odd. My eyes closed again. Heavy. Just to rest, but now my mind stayed awake. The second voice continued in its smooth, soft, flute voice, "This is always such a fun time, you know, Melanie? I remember when ... who was it, Audrey? When Audrey came around ... well, you've never seen anyone so delighted with herself! She couldn't keep her hands off any part of her. She'd become everything she'd asked for."
"Oh, Brooke, Audrey'd always wanted to be the girliest of all girls! She loved everything feminine, so of course she was pleased with herself."
That was the smiling one talking again. Her name was Melanie? She smiled indulgently, then went on.
"Audrey lived in a cloud of perfume as sweet as candy, in her own bubble. Couldn't care less when she finally found out how come and what it all meant. Even after she'd thought about it a while. She once told me why she was so always so happy. 'Which would you prefer, for goodness sake?' she asked me. 'Flogging real estate in some dingy sales office somewhere and getting cheated by the sales manager? Or spending all your time making yourself pretty and enjoying yourself with people who really appreciate you, and actually getting paid to do it?'"
"Well," Brooke replied, "Eventually that stockbroker, whatsisname, the guy who used to visit her here regularly, every week or so, he appreciated her enough to carry her off and make her his one and only. You know what, Melanie? I heard from someone that he knew her from way back and that he'd paid her way here, advanced all the money for her training, specified what kind of girl she should end up as and everything. That he was gay but wanted to appear respectable so he found himself the right kind of boyfriend and then ordered up the whole thing."
"You do hear things," Melanie replied. "I heard something like that's true of Katie too. That she was sent here by some couple who wanted her out of the way until she was completely reformed and rehabituated, and that they paid for the whole thing in advance. And now that it's done, now that she's completely what they want, next week she's going back to wherever she came from to live as her new self for the rest of her life. That's what I hear. Could be, it's happened before."
Brook looked directly at me. I stared back blankly. "It's likely. You know, I'll miss her. I really will. Katie's always been so nice to everyone. Always ready to help out whenever anyone's got a problem. Some guy wants a two-girl sandwich, there she is ready to work with you, under, on top, alongside, suck his cock, whatever, and she never even asks for her share of the fee. She's really so sweet! And I mean all the time she's that way!"
Melanie glanced at me as if I wasn't there. Wherever I was. "Well, Brooke," she said. "Remember, that's how these transitioning girls get conditioned to be. The drugs make them seem simpleminded, eager to please. You know how it is -- our clients like girls who're naive, maybe even a little ditzy, but even so, dedicated to the basic pleasures, you know? Eager to do anything to make a customer feel good. Yes, Katie's sweet, I grant you that, she's a doll. She does sometimes remind me a little of Audrey that way. But Audrey really was a ditz, I don't think she was ever anything else, while our girl Katie here, now and then she's shown she's got a mind of her own. It pops up sometimes. For instance, months ago she insisted that she'd be the one to decide when she'd swallow a man and when he'd squirt into her somewhere else. Can you imagine? 'If I like him maybe he can cum into my tummy and maybe he can cum into my guts,' she told me. 'Maybe neither.' That's what she said, plain and simple and there was no arguing with her. I'm curious to see if that's the real her, now that she's off her meds. We'll soon know." She looked at me again.
"Katie got fussy about that? That's odd. I swallow or squeeze guys off all the time. That's my job, after all, it's what I do! What's the big deal?"
I was almost all the way awake now. This talk was as strange as any I'd ever heard. Yet Melanie and Brooke seemed vaguely familiar, and this kind of talk seemed reassuringly familiar, too, as if it were just more of the same breakfast gossip and chitchat I'd been hearing here every morning. No different from any of the talk on any of the other mornings. The many other mornings.
But how many mornings? And where was 'here'? Had I really been here before this morning?
I mean, Jesus, that's right! It's morning! It isn't last night any more, that's for sure! And this place is not where I was last night, that's even more sure!
My mind began racing, and immediately began to feel addled! I'd better take this slow, I was thinking. This is not the Casino where I sat down last night to play the slots, to kill time while Russell and his buddies were hitting the blackjack tables and Barbara, my wife Barbara, she was upstairs in our room. She didn't care to gamble, she'd said -- she liked only sure things, so she'd stay and finish her novel. And that's what she did. I'd watched Russell play a few hands, then went off by myself to feed coins into the one-armed bandits.
How much did I have to drink last night, for God's sake? I couldn't remember even the first one!
I blinked and opened my eyes again, and this time I looked around. No, no way was this the hotel, or its Casino, or anywhere else I'd ever been! No way would I have forgotten this place!
There in front of me were those same luscious babes, the ones called Melanie and Brooke right across the table in front of me and a few others around me. All variously finishing breakfast. All nearly naked, all stunning women, each with long full hair draped on bare shoulders, falling over their backs or their boobs. All of their boobs soft and generous, rising high above overstuffed brassieres. Except for that girl at the end who wore no brassiere at all. Her abundant breasts hung there, tipped with distended nipples, her shoulders naked, not covered even by a wrap or a dressing gown. She wore nothing!
Everywhere I looked I saw smooth pink flesh and alluring dark eyes and red lips and fingertips. And large, full breasts barely contained in their satin cones. All of them belonging to girls utterly at ease with each other, as unashamed to be underdressed as women would be in a harem, or maybe as suite mates in a college dorm.
How come? I mean, not even my wife exposes her body this casually, not even to me, especially not while she's eating! Certainly not at breakfast! There's always a bathrobe, or a wrapper, or a negligee, or a peignoir she once called one of those things. Even when coming out of the bathroom, a towel! Something!
But these gorgeous women, these babes, they were wearing only different kinds and colors of bras -- smooth, silky, shiny, lace-edged, lace-covered, rosy, pale green, white, flesh-toned. Push-up, demi, full-coverage, I recognized the styles from when I'd been a kid and studied the brassiere ads. No robes or scarves, nothing to preserve even a vague pretense of modesty. Their naked arms and shoulders seemed all the more naked because of those colorful cups on their chests, all of them filled full and spilling over.
Where was I? How did I get here? What was I doing in a place like this with women like this? No way did I dare close my eyes again! Nor did I want to! I did look away for a moment, embarrassed, and then I looked back at them, at Melanie and Brooke in particular. They were still there. There really was nowhere else to look!
I finally noticed yet another girl standing at a kitchen counter with her back to us, apparently waiting for a toaster-oven to go 'ding.' She stood casually, weight on one leg, one hand resting on her out-thrust hip. Dark hair hung down her back almost as far as the band of her scant pale purple panties, the same shade as her pale purple bra strap. Was that what they call a thong, that thin waist band with a thread attached that rose out of the crack between her arched, fully rounded, bubble-shaped buns? Those luscious buttocks? From that I surmised that the others in bras were also wearing matching panties, or maybe also matching thongs. So when one of them stood up at least I wouldn't be facing a bare beaver, wondering what one says to a girl in a bra who's standing in front of you with a bare beaver.
Except for that girl on the end -- was she as bare-pussied as she was bare-breasted?
So here we were. In a place where everyone goes to breakfast wearing underwear and nothing else, and everyone feels there's nothing to hide. Why was I here? There was a faintly floral scent in the air. Body powder or cologne? The natural smell of all that perfumed hair and skin? Probably.
I was now fully awake but still concerned that I was hallucinating. That I was imagining myself in the middle of one of those full color double spread brassiere ads! Maybe I'd fallen asleep at my desk while studying a Victoria's Secret or Playtex catalogue and playing with myself? Maybe I wasn't awake, I was only dreaming I was awake?
I shook my head, which did feel peculiarly heavy, as if I hadn't yet raised it up. Yet I was sitting erect. I reached up to rub my eyes. Then looked yet again.
No change. Yes, there they all were, same as before. Maybe six or seven gorgeous women with perfect faces, their hair impeccably groomed, even their fingernails, clad in nothing but colorful, form fitting undies, naked skin everywhere, lounging relaxed over their coffee and altogether unconcerned that there was a man in their midst and that the man was me! A few were now looking at me mildly, but saying nothing.
The girl in a thong standing at the far end of the table had turned to watch me return to consciousness, and inspected me more intently than the others. I saw she too had magnificent boobs, with a deep cleft between them. My God were huge boobs the price of admission to this enclave? Did Barbara, my wife, did she know I'd somehow ended up here? The girl leaned slightly forward toward me and broadened her smile by way of encouragement. She was encouraging me. Or so it seemed. Was she coming on to me?
"Hi, honey," she said. "You OK? You know where you are yet?"
I tried to speak. At first nothing. Then, "You're all wearing brassieres." I said in an odd, husky squeal.
Wow! How much had I drunk last night? Where was I really? Was this a live photo-shoot for those bra catalogues? A movie set? A sorority breakfast? No, these girls were all past college age, mid-late twenties or a touch more, though they all did seem to be as poised and at ease and as comfortable with each other as if this was just one more sorority. They were old friends and acquaintances sitting around in the kitchen finishing breakfast? Who'd believe this? Was this somebody's joke? Why was I here? How did I get here?
The standing girl's perfect pink lips parted in an even wider smile. "Duh!" she replied gently, and smiled even more broadly. "Yes, we're all wearing brassieres. That's what girls wear. You too, honey! You think we should all go around sagging?"
I stared back at her, unable to reply. My tongue was too heavy.
"You too, honey," she repeated. She seemed to be enjoying my confusion. She stared at me gently but steadily, as if she'd just told me something I should know, something important, and was waiting for me to understand it and reply to her.
Me too? I glanced down at my chest. Sure enough, I was also wearing a brassiere! Mine was a pale salmon shade covered in lace as it curved down and around to hold up my ... they were ... no avoiding it, my generous ... breasts. My God, I had huge breasts jutting from my ...! Bursting out from my bra's confines. Is that what they were? I clutched at them! Soft breasts! More than generous -- they were mountainous! I stared into the deep, dark cleft just under my nose. I had breasts! Big boobs barely held up by a salmon-colored, lacy bra. My God!
"We all need bras for support when we're not being naked for some other reason," she added when she saw no hint of understanding in my face. "All of us! I love yours, Katie. When someone's as well-endowed as you are, the strength of an underwire is practically essential ...."
But I no longer heard her. A streak of fright shot through me and I half rose from my chair. They rose with me! "Ahhhhhh!" I cried out in a high-pitched scream, my heart suddenly pounding. Oh, my God, what is this, are these things real? I reached for them with both hands and hefted them. They were me! I felt my hands lift them! They were real! And heavy? "Ohhhhhhhhhh!" I sounded out yet again, this time as a wail.
I had to be asleep! I tried to stand! Those things really were heavy! They bobbled. I sat down again, still holding them, one on each hand.
The standing girl in pale purple turned to address the other women. "For God's sake, you people," she said in a disgusted tone. "Stop playing games with Katie! That's mean! Can't you see she's terrified?" Then she said to me in a commanding tone, "Just sit back down, honey. Sit!"
That's what I was doing. So that's what I did.
"Good girl!" she said reflexively, as if I were a pet dog, and smiled to herself. Then looked faintly apologetic. "It's all right, honey," she continued. "You're fine. Rest easy. You've been with us a long time now, months and months. You just haven't known it, that's all. Your name is 'Katie' now, whatever it might have been somewhere else long ago. Now that you're really with us, you'll soon understand everything else you need to know. Soon enough!" She nodded, to reassure me she spoke the truth.
"Don't call her a good girl, Gina," the girl reading a novel at the other end of the table commented, not bothering to look up. "She may be good but she isn't a girl."
That girl had thick, brown hair that framed her face and divided to tumble down her back and over breasts that were aimed like missile warheads in their satin casings. "She's still got her penis. So she's really a 'girlyboy,' that's what Mrs. Eliot calls crossovers. That's what he is, I mean. A she male. He's still got boy bits." She sighed, reached out, and began spreading jam on her toast. "Not that they're much use to her any more."
Melanie spoke up. "Oh, her cock works just fine when the right girl offers the right kind of opening. We've all tested it, remember? Anyhow, Mrs. Eliot told us not to call any of our crossover girls 'shales'! It isn't polite! She said we should treat Katie the same as before, same as any of us, 'cause that's what she is! The same way we treat each other!"
This seemed to amuse the dark haired stark nude at the end of the table. "You mean bitch about her all day the way we do with each other?" She put down her coffee cup. "Strictly speaking, she won't be one of us till she's got a cunt like the one they gave Audrey," she stated firmly. "Or the ones we were born with."
"What she's got works well enough," Melanie said. "Pole in front, hole in back. Those gay guys who used them last night had no complaints! Neither do any of the women. Katie gives as good as she gets."
"She'll be one of us when she's fucking her fair share," the nude truculently replied. There was a cynical, slightly resentful edge to her voice. "When she's earning five big ones a night every night of every week, give or take, same as the rest of us."
"Oh, Lara, you're such a grump!" Melanie said. "Don't you know? She's done better than five a night for months! Practically since her conditioning ended, her conversion, whatever they call it, since they put her in with us. She's brought in way more than her costs I hear. That's why Mrs. Eliot says it's finally time for Katie to wake up and smell the coffee and move on -- everything's been paid up in full and more, everyone's been paid off, and what I hear is, her people want her back. I don't know about you, but I'll miss her." She looked at me, concerned. "Are you feeling better now, honey?" she asked me. "Do you remember me? I'm Melanie."
I didn't know what to say. The toaster went "Ping!"
"Here's more toast ready!" said the standing girl in the pale purple bra and thong with the perfect ass.
"I'll take one, Gina, if it isn't too much trouble," a girl to my right said.
Gina took down a plate and gave her a piece of toast, then passed another one over to me. I stared at it and then at her, wide-eyed. My heart was still racing! I mean, I was a man with breasts! A monster! Yet no one seemed to see anything wrong.
Gina's own huge breasts leaned over the table. "Spread some jam on that toast real thick, Katie. Now that you're off your meds you'll want lots of sugar to help you get back to normal. Whatever's normal for you now." She smiled. Reassuringly? "Yes, that's mostly carbs and calories, but you could do with a bigger tush if that's where your carbs and calories happen to settle." She waggled her own glorious buttocks to prove it.
Katie? They were all calling me Katie? That wasn't my name! Close, but my name is Cody. Cody Wilmott. I'm Cody Wilmott. And I'm on an all-expenses paid vacation. I'm on a resort town on a trip my wife Barbara won in some beauty shop raffle. When we arrived we ran into Russell. And his friends. So I went with them to the Hotel Casino. How did I get here? And what about these things on my chest?
I shook my head to clear it. My God, my hair was as long as theirs! I lifted my hands to push it off my face and saw my long scarlet fingernails. They also looked like a girl's! They were a girl's!
Gina turned to the other girls and picked up their argument. "Katie's one of us and that's that! Just look at her. We all have our specialties and she has hers, that's all. She's a girlyboy and that's her specialty, like Melanie says. A chick with a dick, a girl with a little something extra. All set and accustomed, I guess it's been a year now, so it might as well have been a lifetime. You all know she loves her work and she's good at it, that she has lots of steadies who keep coming back and that's the proof. Men and women both. This last week for her will be different only one way. She'll do her job as usual, same way she's always done it. But now for the first time she'll know she's doing it. Maybe she'll really put her mind to it, her own mind, and really enjoy it. Maybe her reflexes will take over and she'll do it despite herself! That's the only difference!" She tossed her head and turned away again to put jam on an English muffin, then emphatically, bit into it.
Brooke mock-pouted. "She's aware of everything now? That's too bad. I preferred her as a bimbo. I mean, when was mindless, I'd ask her to do something for me, anything, and then she'd do it, for hours if I didn't tell her to stop. I mean, anything! It was so delicious!" She wriggled in her seat, remembering.
Gina shot a look at Brooke. "I'm sure whatever anyone asks, she'll be as good at it as she ever was," she continued. "Everyone loves her. Johns and Janes, both kinds of clients, because she's got what they both want. She's more popular than our chief gay guy Nelson, and you know how all of our gay clients dote on Nelson, how they can't seem to get enough of him. Well, months ago Katie and Nelson made up a kind of a team. Nelson would take on the supposed tough guys who come here, the leather and muscle men, and in a few hours he'd reduce them to fairy dust, I mean he'd turn them into real mincing femmy ponces. Then Katie would take them on and remind them again what girls are for, especially girls who are boys, and make them feel like real men again. Then they'd go home to their partners or boyfriends or wives or whoever it is they live with, and they'd feel really proud of what they've done and can do. That they'd learned to love swinging both ways. That's why they always come back for more."
"Sometimes their wives send them here to learn how to really please a woman," Melissa said. "Katie's taught lots of guys how to send someone over the moon. Also how wives can send husbands into orbit, or whoever they're sleeping with. Whatever's wanted."
She and Gina both nodded at me appreciatively, as if they were both reassuring me of something. I could only stare back. What they were saying about this 'Katie' sounded vaguely familiar, not at all disturbing. It was all of it complimentary. Yet strange.
"You know," Gina said. "It's funny. Remember how Katie once turned a guy bisexual in only one night, Max I think his name was? Remember him? No? Well, a friend of his told me just yesterday that Max was talking in his sleep and his wife heard him ask a 'Katie' to suck his dick. She figured out that this 'Katie' was a whore, a piece of ass he'd had on the side, no threat to her marriage but good for intimidating him. Then she heard him ask Katie to fuck his ass 'again' and cum inside him 'again.' Well, that was news! In the end she decided to act furious, so for the sake of peace Max confessed everything. Then what else could he do to calm her down? He went out and bought her an expensive necklace, a peace offering, that was a lot cheaper than a divorce. She accepted it, and to show there was no resentment she went out and bought a strap on to use on him, and also a dildo he can use on himself when she's busy with a boy friend and won't be home till late. Max still comes here now and then for a refresher round with Katie."
I remembered something vague. The name 'Max' brought to my mind an eager little man and a sweet feeling in my cock and my ass both. Yes, we'd fucked each other. 'Katie' was seeming more familiar to me now too.
Melissa agreed. "With Katie any man can have it both ways. No need to choose. Women who don't know their men are bisexual think Katie's only a cunt where their philandering husbands wet their dicks, nothing more, nothing to worry about. They don't dream that Katie's also a fat prick sliding in and out of their husbands' assholes, and that their men love it and keep coming back here for more. Then there are the women who come here for the same thing, because Katie's a woman herself and knows how to make them feel marvelous. She gets proposals of marriage from both sexes, did you know that? Mrs. Eliot's always explaining to her clients that she's already married and that her wife wouldn't want her to marry anyone else. And that anyhow, she's only on loan here -- she still belongs top her wife."
"She's bent some strictly straight guys, gotten them ready for Nelson to work with," Gina added. "You know how Nelson explains it? 'When Katie's dick gets in a crack, Not one of her lovers ever goes back.' Lesbians love her too. You know that Red Hat Club that comes here sometimes, those older women who do a Girls' Night to get fucked every month or so, their men think they're going to see a show or something? It's become a routine. Katie does a slow dance for them -- she's as seductive as anyone now that she has those wide hips -- and then she takes them into her room one by one and ... well, you know. They know too, or if they don't they sure find out! A few of the married ones then send their husbands here to learn how to do whatever it is Katie does, so Katie does it to their husbands and they get to love it too. So they both keep coming back on their own. Some of them think she's a woman who's using a pre-heated strap-on dildo of some kind. Though why anyone would want a dildo that goes soft now and then baffles me."
"Lezzies do get pretty excited about her," Brooke said. "No need to wonder why straight women too -- I mean, hot is hot! Only two weeks ago Penny Garrison, you remember, the auto industry widow? She thought that once she paid her money she was entitled to ride Katie's cock all night. She sure did try! We had to unhook her forcibly and carry her out to a taxi and send her away still wriggling! I mean, Katie had other women and other men standing outside her door waiting their turn!"
Melanie nodded. "I saw them, I thought there'd been a fire drill or something."
Gina took a last sip of coffee. "People do find Katie attractive," she said. "But even when she's just lying around the lounge being voluptuous, hanging out, word gets around. Lots of customers look at her and decide to stay for a second go round, if not with Katie then with one of the rest of us. We all owe her. We will miss her!"
She looked down at me and patted my shoulder reassuringly. My naked shoulder, like theirs, my bra strap tugging on it, like theirs, supporting heavy boobs like theirs. I was one of them. One of the girls. No one seemed to doubt it. Yet even if I was this Katie they were talking about, I recalled little of what they described. I felt like an impostor. Yet, also, I felt comforted. They respected me for being good at my job, whatever that was. Sex work? It certainly sounded like sex work! Was this place a brothel?
Gina then spoke directly to me. "You'll be fine, babe," she said. "You still have those embarrassing things dangling below, but for you that's an advantage. And they're still in working condition -- they still make and squirt prime white stuff your customers can feel proud to carry away in whatever their openings. Men or women, they treat your semen like trophies!"
She grinned to herself, as if recalling something. Then, "So Katie, I know this can be confusing. Just finish your breakfast and we'll talk and pretty soon I'll take you in to see Mrs. Eliot, and she'll explain everything that's been happening to you and what's in store for you. And answer your questions. When you see yourself in a mirror I'm sure you'll have a question or two you'll want to ask her."
She glanced away mischievously, stifling a smile, then back at me. "I'm Gina, by the way. The head whore here. Mrs. Eliot likes to call us 'Personal Service Consultants,' PSC's, that's pronounced 'pussies.' But being a pussy doesn't change what we do, only the fees."
I'd been sitting still, listening quietly while my head was returning to a semblance of its old familiar self. Until I could grasp what was going on. This was someone's idea of a joke? I now looked directly at Gina. I need to take charge of this ... situation somehow, I was thinking. Find out what's happening and what I can do about it. But with this ... these ... these things on my chest? I looked down at them and then hefted them, one in each hand. They were real all right, and heavy, I needed that bra to help me carry them. And my fingernails were red, and long! Women's fingernails!
"I'm sorry," I started to say. "I appreciate what you're ... " and then I stopped short. My hand flew to my mouth. Was that my voice, that high, squeezed, little girl falsetto? "I've ... ooooh, my voice is so different!"
She looked amused. "Is it really? It sounds the same to me, same as for months. Really cute, sweetie. I guess you've been so zonked you haven't listened to yourself. A sweet bimbo sound was what was your sponsor wanted, so that's what you've got. Men love fucking big girls who sound like little girls. A few changes in the shape of your glottis when your vocal cords were being tied off and your jaw was being reshaped, then a bit of training with a voice coach, and now it's perfect! Simple and sweet and clear and innocent! It did take over a month for the fog in your throat to clear up, but the doc was sure you'd be fine and he was right.
"You changed my voice?" The answer was obvious in the high pitched squeal with which my question ended. I sounded like an excited six year old asking for a cookie.
"Not me, honey. The medical people. That was one of your surgical enhancements. One of many. Really, it was a favor to you after everything else they'd already done! Imagine a sweet young dollface like you who sounds like a linebacker gargling gravel. You'd be a freak! But now your voice matches your face perfectly, it's just darling, the voice of a child who hopes some day she'll grow up to be a big girl and then discovers she already has!".
I was still thinking slowly, but even so I'd about decided where I was. Some kind of whore house certainly. A high class bordello offering special services to men, women, and mixed and matched men and women, no doubt for high class fees. One such service, apparently, was feminizing men and making them into whores when paid to do so. This had been done to 'Audrey' and also to me. And how many others? I'd been physically altered, then conditioned, made into a whore in body and soul over a considerable period of time. A year she'd said? Unawares, I'd been trained to give pleasure as a woman or a man to men or to women. And apparently I'd been very good at it. It would appear I've been fucking and sucking a lot of people of both sexes, and they me. Though I now had no memory of any of it. I didn't even know how I felt about it.
The other girls took it all in stride. They'd seen it before. I'd been a man and now I was a 'girlyboy' as Melanie said, that's all. Not the first man turned girl to live and work with them, and probably not the last. I'd been given one of the special services the place offered to people who wanted them and could pay for them. I was a cock with boobs and a cunt. No, no cunt, but an opening further back that could function as one. And had done so.
I wriggled my bottom experimentally. Sure enough, my anus felt different, stretched out maybe, but ... well, reassuring, comfy. It seemed well-adapted for -- yes, fucking. I'd been fucked there many times, I could sense it. My conversion may have been expensive, but apparently my ass had reimbursed the costs. And it had felt good.
I smiled at Gina and then concentrated on spreading marmalade on my toast. I had to think this thing through carefully. How long had I been out of action? Or rather, how long had I been engaging in this kind of action?
And why? Why me? What was this? How come? Arranged how? By whom? Whorehouses provide all kinds of sex-related services for money, but always for money up front. Whoever arranged these alterations of my body and my mind had also arranged for the house to use my services until they were fully repaid for their trouble. What for? Was I now a capitalized business investment? Did they ask whoever runs this place to share the investment against a expected future return for both of them? Did they plan to rent me out, convert me into a call-girl, a fully amortized income-producing property? If so, I knew I'd have a say in it for sure!
So what the hell was this? Why did anyone do this to me?
I'm a lawyer, or anyhow I was one until unawares I took on this older profession -- the old joke has always been that they're the same profession, though I'm sure I gave a lot less satisfaction as a lawyer. Anyhow, I'm accustomed to getting to the point quickly, so I began to concentrate. Follow the money. Who was most advantaged by me turning into a whore and turning tricks? The whorehouse surely -- if they'd advanced the costs of my conversion, they'd paid themselves back with my earnings, with interest. But converting men into women and women into whores seems to be only one of the services they provide, preliminary and incidental to the main source of their income, which is providing sex to 'clients.' They do it for people who want to be converted, apparently, as well as people who want someone else to be converted. But it would work only if kept confidential, so they'd do it only for clients who could be trusted to keep it confidential. Who could these clients be in my case? Who was advantaged?
It had to be some one person or group of people who wanted me out of the way. To change a person's identity is a preferred way to get him out of the way, short of killing him. To change his gender, even better. To make him a whore, better still, because then he could be useful, self-supporting even if he found his new profession distasteful. In this case, whoever had done this to me knew that if I was ever liberated, or if I ever escaped, I'd be reluctant to expose exactly what had happened. I'd feel too ashamed.
Moreover, if I did try to blow the whistle, who'd believe me? I'm now a transvestite with breasts, a whore, a scum bag for hire, a whore house PSC, a 'pussy'. How could I claim I was once a respectable member of the legal community? Especially when I have no memory of the time spent here. Spent how? Apparently whoring, servicing men and women and gays and straights, whoever came my way. No way would anyone believe me! I'd end up in jail for prostitution, or soliciting, or failing to provide a duly appointed officer an adequate bribe. Or for something else. Lunacy, if not chicanery.
Did it really happen? Yes. The girls here had seen it, for them it was just one more of those things that happen, like a sunny day or a broken fingernail. Should I believe them? Yes. Just look at these boobs! I couldn't help but look at them -- they filled my lower peripheral vision no matter where I looked. I couldn't see my crotch or my feet -- they blocked the view!
Think harder! Who might be advantaged by my ... transformation, my absence from my usual haunts, my home and office and so on? Well, there's Barbara, my wife. Our marriage was going none too well when I last saw her. She'd accumulated and displayed all sorts of discontents I'd thought we could straighten out when I finally got less busy. But she knew nothing of whore houses, certainly nothing of this house's special medical services, the sex reversals. Truth be told, she'd never been an especially sexual person at all, not with me nor with the guys she'd gone with before me, before she agreed finally to marry me. Moreover, she was an equal partner in our law firm -- she had nothing to gain from getting me out of the way, removing my income-generating capabilities. I kept the books, and I knew even if she didn't that I billed many more hours, that I brought in much more money than she did! If she'd put me here to be rid of me she'd lost out, at least financially.
All right then, were there any opposing litigants who'd be advantaged by putting me out of the way? None I knew of -- I'd need to check, but I could think of none. Our practice didn't include life and death decisions, not for corporations nor individuals. Just petty lawsuits and contracts. The usual legal stuff, mostly uncontested.
That left my old buddy Russell, the last person to see me as I once was, if I remembered right. So he'd be the first person for me to look up when I got out of here. I'd have to move on him carefully, because he's no fool, and he's a gambler -- he doesn't mind taking chances. As I thought more about it, I saw how he could easily have instigated this whole thing. But why? To get me out of the way so he could make moves on Barb? Yes, he's always admired Barb, and he'd made no secret of that, not even from me. Then to cheat her of whatever money she could gain from my absence? That too.
Yes, Russell was my suspect number one. But as of when?
"Gina," I said in my piping little voice. "If you don't mind saying, how long have I been here?"
She looked at me, evaluating something. "Just about a year," she said casually. "A half-year in the medical wing becoming a girl, and the rest of the time in this building, working with us. Enjoying it I must say, learning your new skills and practicing them. You're now as good at it as any of us, utterly devoted to whatever the cock or cunt you happen to be servicing."
"I see," I said, though I didn't at all.
"It's instinctive," Gina replied, sensing my uncertainty. "You'll see. When the moment comes, you'll always know what to do. Finished with your breakfast? Come along then, Mrs. Eliot told me she wants to see you when you finally come fully to yourself. You'll need to put on a dress first though -- she doesn't like us showing up in her offices in our work clothes, our bras and panties and heels. She won't even accept a cover like a negligee or peignoir. Business is business and proper is proper, that's what she believes. So we'll stop by your room for a suitable clothing. We can talk along the way."
I stood up and looked down and saw for the first time that like Gina I was indeed wearing panties matched to my bra. Also salmon in shade, also lace trimmed. Moreover, I saw that I had a girl's wide hips and narrow waist, and a quick hand-check confirmed that I had a girl's well-rounded buns too! My God! Even if my huge boobs were removed my figure would remain female and nothing but!
But unlike the other girls I had a bulge in my crotch. Again I checked -- a cock and balls, well-contained by tight panties but apparently unaltered. And from what they'd said, functioning! Thank God! That may be the only part of me they haven't altered!
"See ya later, honey," Melanie said, wiggling her fingers cheerily. The others also looked up brightly at me as I left, nodding their farewells and then returning to their own conversations and thoughts. They'd all long ago accepted me as one of them, though I myself hadn't known it. Not as a respectable lawyer but a whore, and very good one too. A fellow worker and colleague, at times a friend. I was a stranger to myself, but not to them. I sighed, realizing they were more right than I was.
II.
"First we'll stop at your room so you can change. I don't suppose you remember where that is?" Gina smiled indulgently. "No matter, just follow me."
As we left the breakfast room we entered a wide, generous hallway, not at all like the hotel corridor I somehow expected. More like the capacious passageways of a palace. This was a huge, luxurious mansion!
I felt odd to be walking through a strange house in only my bra and panties -- and that thought itself felt odd, that they were MY bra and panties. Gina was dressed the same way but seemed unconcerned -- apparently bras and panties were the uniform of the day. My legs looked long as well as smooth, and my calves were subtly curved, and I saw bright red toenails peeking out from the tips of my shoes. The effect was incredibly seductive. I felt myself beginning to harden, and decided to distract myself by asking Gina a question. Any question. "How large is this place?" I inquired.
"When you're dressed, I'll give you the grand tour if you like. The whole compound -- we call it 'the Estate' -- was once a luxury resort. It's quite a few acres, with a pool, tennis, a golf course, a salon, just about everything anyone with money might want when they're in the mood to relax. Including sexual companionship -- that's us, and the primary reason people come here. This is the main mansion, the largest of them, but there are other buildings like this one on the property -- a medical facility, a residence for staff and management, and another building we call the Stud Farm -- that's where the male Personal Service Consultants live and work. Like us they're experts in pleasing people sexually, but their people are those who prefer sex with men. We're the PSC 'pussies' and they're the PSC 'pissers.'"
"Why wasn't I put in with the male PSCs?" I asked. I couldn't bring myself to call them 'pissers'.
A closed-mouth smile crossed her face. "Honey, look at you! You've been shaped and ... ahhh ... re-educated to be a girl. Pretty is what was wanted for you, and pretty you are. And just wait till you see how your reflexes kick in the next time there's a man or a woman lying naked next to you, maybe pushing a finger in and out of your bum. How you'll go wild the way any girl would, and even orgasm like a girl. Anyhow, even as a man you'd never have qualified for the Stud Farm. You'd have had to be handsome and horny all the time, with an outsized cock that's ready, willing and able to satisfy anyone or any thing at any time. Some men are born like that. Not many. And no surgeon can graft a big cock onto someone with a weenie, not one that works, not yet anyhow. The guys who work here can make an eighty year old grandmother feel like a teenage slut on prom night, and then a few hours later outlast a nymphomaniac. Could you even at your best?"
"No." I had to admit it. When I was younger I could go and then go again. Now I needed time to recover. And while my penis wasn't smaller than most, it wasn't larger either. A woman taking a vacation from her husband with me wouldn't find she'd travelled very far.
"But as a girl? You're gorgeous! You can fuck all night and love it! Once you became a girlyboy there was no way could you live with them. Can you imagine what your life would be like if you lived with those guys? They'd be pumping cum into your guts all day long, with no time allowed for the stuff to leak out again."
Gina seemed sensible and inclined to be friendly. I wondered how far I could trust her. "Has your name always been Gina?" I asked. That is, was she too once a man? It was obvious from the crease in the tight panties that disappeared between her legs that she was not a man now. There was a generous camel toe.
She knew what I was really asking and smiled at me. "Yes, honey, it happens I'm really Gina and I always have been. From birth, not just here. I love fucking girl style, and I've been doing it ever since I found out that boys like to do with girls what girls like to do with boys, and I'm one of the best."
Then she paused, intent to make a point. She put both hands on my shoulders. "But you need to be clear about something, honey. You are not a man and you will never will be a man again. You are Katie now, though a Katie with balls and a cock, and given what they've done to you you'll be a Katie forever. So give up on imagining you're a guy. You'll be much better off, you'll feel much better about yourself, if you can start imagining that you've always been Katie. You see your body? Distinctly a girl's, as sultry and provocative a girl's body as a girl's body can get, because that's what the doctor ordered. And you'll never have another. So get used to it."
I stared at her, struggling to find a flaw in what she was saying. Nothing came. She saw, and continued. "I hear you once had a guy's name with a similar sound. Oh yes, 'Cody,' wasn't it? Well, Think of Cody as passing phase in your life, no more than that. A dream. He's gone." She gazed at my large breasts, then directly into my eyes. "You've way outgrown him, honey. And believe me, you're way better off!"
She grinned. "You've already got what most men want, and any time you want it most men will give you what most women want."
I still had lots of questions. I used to cross-examine, so I tried
for "yes" or "no" answers, the kind that are least ambiguous and least disturbing. Beginning with questions to which I knew the answers. Gina, as it turned out, was a friendly witness, and didn't hesitate to elaborate on her answers.
"This is a whore house I'm in?"
Gina winced. "Please," she said. "Not a house, a resort for people who can afford it. As I told you this building is the main mansion and there are three others. Some of the people who live and work here don't see each other for weeks at a time. You were in the medical building for months and months before they put you in here with us and you started earning your keep, and none of us even knew."
"Earning my keep by whoring."
Now she looked severe. "Katie, if you aren't going to be nice, I'm not going to talk to you at all. And you'll find that Mrs. Eliot isn't very good at explaining anything she doesn't want you to know. No, not by whoring. By providing personal services to our clients, to men and to women, personal services including sexual services. By making them feel good. By giving pleasure to people who appreciate our skill and our dedication to their well-being, who also appreciate our confidentiality. We are the best. You are too -- you're so well-trained you probably aren't even aware of the things you'll do when aroused."
I didn't think so, and said as much.
She smiled at me, then continued, amused, "Well, sweetie, for example, do you know that right now you're walking with a very tantalizing sway to your hips? Any man watching your rear end undulate couldn't help but come in his pants. And look how daintily you're carrying your hands? If you were a man you'd be instantly thought effeminate, a faggot, but as a girl you're delightful, adorable. The way you hold yourself, the way you move, men can't wait to sink themselves into you. And women feel good when you sink your cock into them because despite that very cock they can't help but think you're no threat or challenge but instead, one of them, as smooth and curved but with a marvelous heated dildo as an added attraction. A super-special girl! Ahh, here we are. Your room."
She opened a door and we entered a padded boudoir, salmon-colored like my undies, the walls hung with satin. In the middle of the room was a huge bed on a platform backed by an outsized headboard with carved cupids blowing trumpets. The place reeked of elaborated, sexy femininity. Also of heavy perfume.
"Do those trumpets sound a fanfare whenever anyone climaxes?" I asked, in order to show that I wasn't impressed, though in fact I was. I then added, because I had to confess it, "This is way over the top."
"No, the trumpets don't sound. Because given what you do to people in here, no one would ever get any sleep. Take a client into this lair and they're overwhelmed before they begin. Man or woman, they turn to jelly and their inhibitions evaporate, and when they lie down on that bed they're eager to be spread or eaten or sucked or fucked, whatever you have in mind. You have no idea how many hours of bliss you yourself have enjoyed on that bed. Now, over there 's your vanity and a mirror -- sit down and fix your make-up while I pick out an appropriate dress for you."
I did as directed, sat down, and for the first time stared into a mirror.
My God! She was right! There was no Cody anywhere in what I saw! I saw a woman who was very much a woman, adorable, with wide, deep-shadowed eyes that were innocent but with a hint of mischief in them. With a delectably small chin, and a delicately up-tilted nose, and straight long hair falling to brush her shoulders. Her expression looked childish, almost helpless.
Yet, the way I held my head seemed challenging. 'Try me' I seemed to be saying. 'Come hither if you're man enough.' Sultry. Yet also perky, as if I enjoyed everything life and wanted to share the fun with others.
"That's right," Gina said, amused to see me tilt my chin higher to magnify the effect. "You're a little girl domme. Incredibly seductive. Men come crawling toward you begging to suck your pussy, and then feel fortunate when instead you allow them to suck your cock."
My mirrored reflection also revealed that my pale pink lipstick was the long lasting kind, undamaged by breakfast, those two slices of toast and marmalade and that cup of coffee. My lips were as neat as they should be. Maybe coat them, give them a uniform satin look? Since I was already seated I picked up a pale shade of lipstick, close to the one I had on, and deftly gave my mouth a few swift swipes. Now I did look perfect, I saw with satisfaction as I compressed my lips. Thank goodness my eye makeup -- pale eye liner and shadow with just a touch of mascara -- was permanent and wouldn't smudge. I'd have to add to it some evenings, but there was no need to do so now.
Now how did I know that? How come I knew that?
"See?" Gina asked quietly. "As I said, you're beautifully trained, and it's now all instinctual. You can't remember ever touching a lipstick in your life, I bet, but pick one up and you can work magic with only two or three strokes. To you a lipstick is a fairy wand. And I could tell by the way you stared into your eyes that you know they need no attention. We all use long-lasting make-up, stains and tattoos that never come off. We don't want to smudge our customers, leave clues on their cheeks or cocks for their wives to discover."
She went to a closet and took down a pale orange shift with a scoop neckline, not too short, the hem half-way down my thigh. Youthful and cheerful. "Here, this sort of matches your undies, and it'll go well with your heels."
Heels? I looked down, amazed to see that the whole time I'd been wearing heels. Incredibly high heels!
Gina looked amused. "You hadn't noticed your shoes, hon? Just discovered you're wearing them? Five inch open toe stilettos? Sexy? Irresistible? You can see for yourself that from your toes on up you're ... well, elegant. Your insteps curve so far backward they seem to be having orgasms. But that's not my point. Can you guess what my point is?"
"No," I said. "What's your point?"
"Have you noticed how you walk?"
I stopped short, walked toward her, turned to walk toward a full length mirror on the back of a closet door, and then came toward her again. "What about how I'm walking?"
"You are teetering on tippy toes atop stilts strapped to your feet, and yet doing it with a ballet dancer's grace. That takes years to learn, and even so most women can't tolerate heels as high as yours. Yet you're doing it without a thought or a glance. It's second nature to you. Katie may have been in a trance when she walked in them from her room to our breakfast area, but Cody's awake now, and even so, he never noticed."
I looked down. She was right. I hadn't noticed. My high, high heels required extraordinary balance and trained ankles, yet I was walking in them as comfortably as if they were carpet slippers.
"If your bottom wiggles seductively, and your legs navigate easily in those kinds of shoes, and you aren't even trying, imagine how skillfully your lips and tongue will do their job when they're called on to suck a dick. Or how gracefully you bend to open your asshole to that dick, then settle onto it, then squirm until the poor man you're bringing off can't stop cumming into your guts. Or how easily your tongue finds and lifts the hood around a woman's clit, and then oh so delicately touches that little nubbin, and then wraps around it and ... oh, what that's like! Really, Katie, you're so very good at so many things now. You've done them so often and so well during the past months you can't not do them well. And you really do love cock -- that's why guys line up to get into your room and look dazed when they leave."
She looked around. "Let me prove it, just a moment," she said, disappearing into my closet again. "Here," she said as she emerged with her hand held out. "Seen one of these before?"
She was holding out a perfect replica of a penis, a jelly dildo, erect but not too large, no way challenging or threatening. Rather, it seemed inviting, reassuring. Familiar. I leaned toward it. It was smooth, luminous, translucent, a beautiful replica, its surface taut and rippling with folds of skin and veins as if it were a real penis. My tummy felt a peculiar anticipation of something, a yearning. My lips pursed as I leaned further forward.
Gina laughed and hid it behind her back. I looked up at her, disappointed. Yes, up, I was on my knees! I'd gone to my knees to ... to take it into my mouth! To suck on it? Yes, I'd wanted to lick it, suck on it. Desperately!
"See, honey?" she said gently as she helped me back to my feet. "A man sees a dildo like this as an amusing curiosity. But a girl has a special feeling about it. Leave you alone in a room with a cute guy and you'd have no problem at all figuring out how to pass the time. He'd be the one with the problem -- you can be insatiable, you know that? You once nearly fucked a college boy to death, a fraternity make-out king at that. When we finally got him so he could stand up by himself he had to go straight home, and I hear that since then he's found religion and hasn't gone near girls. Boys yes, but not girls."
I tried to calm myself, leaning back against the wall as if relaxed. "For how long have I been like this?" I asked her. "When did I start giving ...personal services?
"How long have you been such a sex pot? From the first day they brought you here to join us. Six months ago, maybe? You were pretty well recovered from surgery by then, your voice and face and figure and so on, and the hormones they'd been shooting into you had given you the complexion of a porn star. You were a beautiful, wide-eyed, innocent Barbie doll. The first month you were here Zena helped you adjust, she's an expert in hypnogogic conditioning. She remade your mind and your instincts and desires the way the doctors remade your body. Taught you all the basics -- make-up and skin care, dressing, movement, posture, chit chat, teasing, flirting, domming, subbing, everything. How to walk with your rear end undulating like a snake in heat. You know.
"No, I don't know." I was beginning to think I didn't want to know.
Gina paused, then grinned. "When you were still a man, or you thought you were, did you ever pose the way you are now, leaning back against a wall with your hands supposedly trapped behind your butt, your chest and pelvis thrust way forward as if daring someone to come at you and shove something into you? Supposedly helpless? The way you are this moment while you listen to me? That's how we tend to stand when we're negotiating a price with a guy. Relaxed yet eager. They can't resist."
I straightened myself at once, and stood erect. Gina continued. "It's an irresistible pose. Give your torso or hips the faintest wiggle when you're like that and men can't wait to drop their pants. Do you think that's accidental? Let's go. It's getting to be time for your appointment."
We started down another corridor. The dress I now wore felt extremely comfortable, moving over my body as my body moved. I liked it. Why should anyone ever want to constrain a crotch in pants? I felt affectionate toward my breasts -- they were me, soft, and they filled out my dress so nicely. So suggestively. How could anyone prefer a flat, hard, bare chest? Well, kissing a flat, hard chest might be fine, but having one?
More hypno-conditioning? Like wanting to lick and suck that dildo, feel it swell in my mouth. Swallow its juices? Was that also conditioning?
"This Zena taught me how to give blow jobs?" I asked as we moved through the corridors.
"No, that was on-the-job training with actual clients, honey. Learn by doing. It seems you have a natural talent. Mrs. Eliot paired you with one of us whenever a client asked to play lucky Pierre. You'd watch and first you'd do whatever we did. Then you'd put your imagination and ingenuity into it and do more than that. You learned incredibly fast. Show you just once how men like their balls licked and in no time you'd have them so ecstatic they'd be licking your balls. You're tireless, Katie! You can lick dripped honey or whipped cream off men or women all day, or do the butterfly flutter on them, or the figure eight with one finger in their anus, or rim them, or straddle them -- you can go on till dawn! You wear out every man you come near!"
"I see," I said. I had no memory of any of this. "And am I still ...ahhh, learning?"
"No, babe, two months ago you were fully certified as a pussy, a fully qualified Personal Service Consultant."
"You mean an accomplished whore, don't you."
Gina glanced at me, hurt. "You still feel resentful, don't you! No. sweetheart, I don't mean that. You need to understand, we aren't ashamed to be 'whores' or 'prostitutes,' people who provide sex for money. But others are, so we don't use that terminology. It's quite hypocritical, really. Everyone on the face of the earth earns their living by providing some kind of service other people want, meeting other people's needs and desires, renting out whatever talents and skills or fingers and bodies they've got. How is a surgeon performing open heart surgery different from a woman performing a blow job? One takes longer to learn, maybe. But both are life-enhancing. Whores are professionals committed to improving the lives of those who come to them for help. So why discriminate? Some people are perverts. They think physical pleasure is bad, so if they hire people to provide them with physical pleasure they feel ashamed. Well, they should be ashamed to feel ashamed!"
I grinned. Gina grinned back, aware she'd said something profound but also silly. "Katie, you have your regular clients and so have I. Yours are mostly gay men but quite a few are straight, and some of them are women who come here for the Stud Farm and then find they prefer a chick with a dick. You've had so many clients and brought in so many fees that you've long since repaid your conversion costs -- there may even be a surplus. I suspect that's why Mrs. Eliot agreed to let you rejoin your old self and return to your sponsors. You're fully trained as contracted, and the Estate employs girls, it doesn't exploit them. There's such a thing as common decency, after all! Ah, here we are."
She turned into a corridor and stopped. I just stood there. "Contracted?" I asked. Was I getting to the heart of this predicament? "Sponsors? Contracted with who?"
She turned back toward me. "Katie baby," she said with deep sympathy. "I haven't seen your paperwork. You want to thank someone? It could be anyone! Maybe a business partner who wanted you out of the way? Friends, because you lost a bet or they were playing a practical joke and didn't know these procedures are irreversible? Wives, to neutralize a husband if he's a tyrant, or make him more understanding of women and their needs? Husbands, to improve a wife's sexual responsiveness? That's not usually good idea, because when a wife returns from here she's pretty adventurous, likely to find her husband boring. Mothers sometimes send grown children here to learn to support themselves, maybe to make themselves eligible for more desirable marriages. Don't you know who sent you here?"
"I didn't know I was sent. I knew nothing at all until a little while ago at breakfast."
This really seemed to amuse her. "Some months ago I heard a rumor that you'd volunteered to come here, that you wanted this change so you'd be more acceptable to your wife and her boyfriend. Better able to service them so they'd be more willing to keep you on."
"Me? My wife? Her boyfriend? That's not possible! She has no boyfriend!"
"Here we are," Gina said, ignoring my last outburst. "Just through those double doors. Mrs. Eliot's expecting you. I'm not dressed properly or I'd accompany you. When you're done you can follow your nose back to your room and then to the lounge -- you'll find them by instinct. Trust all your instincts -- they're well-trained."
She leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek. "One more thing," she said. "You may think you're cunning and clever and all, but you're really just sweet. And out there in the world not everyone appreciates a sweet girl. You have options. You don't have to leave here. If you'd like to stay, discuss terms with Mrs. Eliot and make your own deal. I'm sure she'll mention that we can always use a well-seasoned talent like yours. I'll be in the lounge."
She turned and left. I watched her go, that gorgeous ass swinging down the corridor, then turned to learn what this Mrs. Eliot could tell me.
She rose as her secretary showed me in. A middle aged woman in a tan suit with bright eyes and short, well-coiffed hair and a professional smile. "Come in, Katie, and welcome -- I do love your dress, salmon is definitely your color!" She motioned me to an upholstered chair alongside her desk. The desk was bare except for a computer screen and a keyboard. Nothing else, no papers or folders, no "In" and "Out" baskets. She was a clean desk executive, the kind who works from the data in her head or on a computer. Not likely to leave paper trails to be disclosed or subpoena'd -- the Estate's records were no doubt kept coded on some inaccessible server somewhere like Thailand or Qatar. I'd learn nothing I wasn't told.
"Katie, I have sad news for us but happy news for you," she said, looking at me pleasantly. "Your sponsors will be here in five days, this coming weekend, and on Sunday you'll go home with them to resume the rest of your life or begin another. They want reassurance that you're ready to join them and fit in. If you do what they expect there'll be no problems. If you don't, if you show resentment for example, they'll consider that their obligations to you have ceased and they'll return you here. I'll then have to ask the Board to consider whether you can be useful here or whether -- since you're resentful and troublesome -- you're best sent somewhere else. Somewhere better able to cope with you, better able to maintain the discipline you require. Somewhere out of the country, out of sight, and out of mind.
Plainly, a threat. Conform or else! "Can you do that, Mrs. Eliot?" I asked in my most bimbo-like voice, almost admiringly, taking care to hide that I did indeed feel resentful and troublesome. She seemed to be regarding me as my 'sponsors' property.
She wasn't fooled. "Yes, we can. You think you're still Cody Wilmott." She paused to watch me absorb the impact of that name. "But Cody Wilmott no longer exists. What was once Cody Wilmott has been expunged, along with all evidences of his existence that could be found. His property has been conveyed to his wife, she tells us. His former wife. That process is now completed, and that's why she gave us permission to wake you up. You have no where else to go. You're entirely dependent on the kindness of your former spouse and -- let me see, just a moment."
She tapped on her keyboard and glanced at her screen. "No, I see she's been our sole correspondent. Her boyfriend apparently left the formalities to her."
So it was Barbara who did this to me. My wife. The whole time it's been Barbara. Why? "Her boyfriend?"
"No harm in your knowing -- she refers to him as Russell. Apparently they've been living together in your old place of residence since you first came here to be treated for severe sexual dysphoria. They plan to continue that arrangement. Yes, I see he moved in immediately after their return from that resort hotel where we found you. They intend to provide you with quite adequate living quarters ... I see, on the first floor behind the kitchen, where you're least likely to disturb them and will be conveniently located to make yourself useful." She smiled. "It has its own back entrance, so you can entertain young men there without your mistress knowing, if you're discreet. I know you'll love that!" She grinned conspiratorially.
The old maid's quarters, so-used by a former owner, used by us for storage. We'd had no need for a maid. My mistress? Barbara? But another question first. "I had sexual dysphoria?"
Her eyebrows rose high up on her brow. "My dear Katie, that's why you're here. Our records show that you've always believed yourself to be a woman, that you've always envied other women their femininity, and that you have always wanted to be as feminine as possible yourself. Our medical and psychological people fulfilled your dearest wish. It took fully six months from the time you first arrived to the time until you were ready to join the other girls as a PSC and develop your new sexuality. Your wife canceled your vaginal reconstruction at the last minute -- let's see, why? Here it is. It seems it occurred to her that if you have a pussy you might lose all interest in hers, and also that this Russell person might come to prefer yours, since you'd be far better skilled in its uses. Also she retains an interest in your penis for occasional use, a sentimental nostalgia as it were, since it's a souvenir of old times. Also there were certain financial savings if she left your lower parts as they were. So your castration and vagina are listed here as something to be determined at some later time."
"And that's why I have a cock and balls and no cunt, though pretty much everything else, a woman's face and figure and voice and ... a woman's sexual desires?" I carefully withheld my anger, my fury, at the liberties Barbara and Russell had taken with me.
Mrs. Eliot smiled. "A bi-woman's desires, Katie. You swing both ways. Both men and women turn you on. That's why you've been so valuable to us. I happened to mention to your wife and this Russell that your conversion would cost them nothing if your genitals were left as they were, fully functional, because we often have a vacancy for someone who attracts and is attracted by either sex. Girlyboys are always in great demand as second wives or as partners for closeted gays -- they don't seem to stay with us very long. We calculated that we could make up the cost of your total conversion by employing you feminized with male genitalia for an additional six months. Take out our fees in trade as it were. They liked the idea that your conversion would cost them nothing if we left your crotch intact. They were also delighted that if we employed you, you'd be away an even longer time, a full year, and that when you returned you'd have both the inclination and the equipment to please both of them sexually."
"It must have seemed to them like sending a child to college on a full scholarship," I said.
Mrs. Eliot caught my point and was amused. "There are advantages for you too, Katie. As it happens, you've shown such enthusiasm that you've paid off your fees in half the time we expected. So you now have a considerable credit on our books, enough to complete your sex-change whenever you wish. We can make a marvelous vagina out of your penis and your scrotum once we empty it. And even then there'll be enough money to do someone else completely. I must speak to you some time about donating that surplus to the needy -- perhaps toward the pro bono service we maintain to provide young men in our armed forces an opportunity to become young women.
Her financial honesty and her apparent patriotism impressed me. Apparently she really didn't know that my manhood had not been surrendered but hijacked, that my sexual conversion had been involuntary. Even so, I resented her unknowing complicity in this scheme of Barbara's and Russell's. It annoyed me that I'd been a helpless victim.
The lawyer in me spoke out. "Suppose, Mrs. Eliot, that when I return to civilization I turn around and sue my wife and her boyfriend and maybe you too, for kidnapping and bodily mutilation, or even worse crimes?"
She sighed, unperturbed. "My dear Katie! Cody is dead. If you instituted a legal procedure in his name one you could risk your own arrest as an impostor. Who would believe you? You have an absurd story to tell. 'I was once a man, but they made me into a woman and a prostitute, and they kept me here perfectly free to roam about or leave, though I didn't, and meanwhile I really, truly enjoyed the sex when they sold me to men and women for money. As everyone will attest.'"
I had to grant that didn't sound very persuasive. Then she raised some additional points.
"Remember too, there are no written records to prove you were ever here. And that our clients include the most influential and responsible members of the local community, none of them likely to favor notoriety. Where would you bring this charge? In what court? Many judges in this and neighboring jurisdictions are known to appreciate our services, and none are inclined to appreciate people who make waves."
All true. I had no recourse under the law. For all I knew, I'd already unawares sucked the cocks of half the judges in town. If any recognized me, they'd only want more.
She smiled. "Silly girl!" she added. "Do you think we could do what we do if there were the slightest chance of legal complications? Prostitution is lawful here where we are. We provide the best medical and psychological services, the best training, and the best whores to be found anywhere, and we also provide perfect confidentiality. That's why we're valued and respected. No, you were sent here for renovation and improvement. That service was provided and paid for. I do advise you to accept the facts, accept the consequences, and seek out the advantages. You have every reason to feel grateful, not resentful."
She smiled even more broadly, this time as one woman to another. "Katie dear, there are many ways an attractive woman like you can enjoy and benefit from her sex appeal. Like Circe, you have the power to turn men into swine, or like Guinevere to inspire them to heroic service on your behalf. You can if you choose make men fall all over themselves in their eagerness to please you. Just look at yourself in the mirror -- you're so seductive that the residual man in you is ready to devote his life to your service, I'm sure. And so he should! The great writer Goethe believed that above all, it's 'the eternal feminine' that leads men to do great things. So enjoy yours!"
She stood up behind her desk -- our meeting had ended. I stood too. She reached to take my hand. I took hers. She then placed her other hand on mine in a kindly, protective way, looked into my eyes, and said. "One more thing. When you leave, you'll be issued a debit card so you can draw on the considerable surplus you've earned. It's your money, after all, unless there should be a problem and we need to deny you were ever here. Then it will be our money."
And she turned away. I was dismissed.
I left feeling subdued, thoughtful. So this had been Barbara's doing, no doubt under the influence of Russell. They were now living together and expecting me to live with them in their servant's quarters, no doubt to serve them in various ways. Well, this we shall see.
III.
Hardly paying any attention to my route, as Gina suggested I followed my nose back to my room to shed my dress, slip on a pair of black thi-hi stockings and a garter belt -- fetish gear no man could resist -- darken my eye make-up, and touch my neck and wrists with an Eau Des Fleurs scent I couldn't resist. All quickly and naturally, unaware how I knew where everything was and how to use them. Fully aware that I was disgracefully and provocatively under-dressed in bra, panties, stockings, garter belt, and high stilettos, my ass open for business as it were, I made my way to where I sensed there was a lounge. Now aware who IO was and why I was here, I looked forward to chatting with the other girls -- all similarly dressed -- and awaiting the day's clients. 'The other girls.' One of the girls, that's what I was, I couldn't argue the point with Mrs. Eliot. So for the first time since I'd come back to consciousness I felt fully myself, at ease, looking forward to whatever might happen. Because now I knew what had happened. And I knew that since there was no going back, I had to go forward from where I was, where I now found myself!
When I arrived, Melanie was showing Brooke a trick with her fingers, "Here's the church, and here's the steeple.". I happened to know the children's rhyme that went with it, and recited it in my little girl's voice, and they were both charmed to hear the last line, especially when with "Open it up, and there's the people" I happened to spread my knees apart.
"True enough, they do crowd around when you open your legs, honey," Melanie commented. "Many are surprised by what they find there and don't find there, but some kneel to worship it."
We giggled and teased each other, and eventually a group of college boys showed up looking shy and hopeful. Several of us left to take them on. Then a young wife appeared who wanted to learn what it is whores do that make men so eager to pay them large sums, then come back to pay them even more. I took her by the hand, kissed her cheek gently, led her back to my room, spread her legs wide apart, and followed my nose into her cunt.
Two hours later I lay absolutely still alongside her, too worn out to manage even one more erection or one more wriggle on a two-sided dildo. She was equally exhausted, but kissed my cheek gently, thanked me for the most educational experience of her life, dressed herself, assured that she could pay for my services and tip me as well all with her Visa, and returned to the lounge. Thereafter back to her husband, who would never forget what I'd taught her and she would teach him. "You're perfect," were her parting words to me. "You're just what I've needed for years!" I realized at that moment that I wasn't just a whore, I was a family counselor who helped hold marriages together.
'That husband'll have breasts of his own in a matter of months,' I told myself as I lay there still recovering from her passionate intensity. "like mine." She'd lain on top of me with my prick deep inside her and begun nursing on my breasts, at first tenderly, then fervently, then mercilessly when she found that nipple stimulation drives me to heights of frenzied fucking that in turn arouse her to stratospheric orgasms. 'And in six months they'll be the best of girlfriends' I decided. Both of them blissful.
That evening I took on two men, one incredibly virile. He kept going in me for a half hour before he came, yet my ass loved it, the sliding in-out rhythms, the twisting wriggles. Heaven! I seemed to know just how to manipulate him -- how to delay him, when to lie still and frustrate him, when to arouse him beyond endurance until with excruciating fervor he filled my guts, spurted and spurted and couldn't stop!
The other was an older gentleman, very courtly, who couldn't thank me enough after he'd fucked me, because on a whim I'd sat on his face and wriggled his nose into my ass, and there he'd discovered that cum can have a satisfying flavor. "My wife will never forget you!" he told me.
The next night I arranged three men into a single daisy chain, each one impaled on a prick with his own prick pushing into the buttocks of the man ahead of him. That achieved, we pretended we were a steam locomotive, starting from standstill and finishing at full speed. Then I arranged them so each had another's prick in his own mouth. Each sucked and were sucked. That required a more much more difficult choreography, more like 7-4-7 than a simple 6-9. Yet, I seemed to know all the practical positions and moves, and when all was arranged and our motions found their rhythm, my feelings were ecstatic! I loved it!
The following evening, my last client fucked me slowly, steadily, hour after hour, till dawn. I was beside myself, and felt a deep, tender passion for him when, at last, we clung together, kissed, then separated. He promised to return next week. I didn't have the heart to tell him that next week he would need to find someone else to fuck, that sadly, I would no longer be here. I didn't have the heart to persuade myself either.
But I was back at work and I loved it.
The next weekend it was dusk, and I was sitting on the mansion porch looking out over the lawn at a few of the other buildings and listening to Gina explain her preference for Bikini cut panties to French cut ("If your belly's as beautiful as your buns, flaunt all three curves!"). That led two of the other girls to marvel that men think that their penises, those shriveled chicken necks that flop around when they're not dangling straight down or poking obscenely straight up, are their most precious possessions. I was about to comment that those chicken necks do have their uses, meanwhile idly watching a woman stroll across the lawn hand in hand with a hunk from the Stud Farm, when I suddenly realized that the woman was known to me. That her name was Barbara. She was my wife Barbara! I sat up straight and stared!
They were a little distance away, but it was Barbara unmistakably! She was laughing as she leaned her cheek against her stud's massive bicep and then -- still clutching his hand -- disappeared with him up the front stairs and into the Stud Farm. No concern for me. Did she even know I was here? Of course, she'd come for me, she was due to take me home tomorrow. Or rather, I'd been told she'd be retrieving me and taking me to the maid's quarters of the house I'd formerly called our home. Yet here she was already! Apparently she'd come a day early to sample the pleasures of the place, and would get around to me eventually.
I took a few deep breaths to calm myself.
"That was Brad, that hunk you just saw heading into Studsville with that woman," Melanie observed, thinking I was watching the man, not the woman. "Have you met him yet? God, he's good! Last winter during the slow season I spent a whole night with him, just to see what a really great fuck could be like. Honey, can you believe I passed out twice? He's big, but that isn't why. It's that he's slow and steady. I mean interminable! He goes in and out, and in and out, relentlessly, until you have to scream. So you scream. The top of your head blows off and you black out, and you come to again, and he's still at it. In and out. Until you feel destroyed! You cum so often you feel you're out of your own body. I hope that woman he's with has lots of stamina. I imagine she does. She looks familiar, like one of our regulars. I'd guess she's been enjoying a lot of Class A dick lately."
"Why do you say that?" I asked as casually as I could, watching the sunset spread a brilliant orange glow across the western sky.
"She's been here the past few days. Didn't you notice her walk just now? Her thighs slipping and sliding together on who knows how much leaking cum, and her pelvis rolling as if there were still a thick dick inside and she can't quit fucking it. While she was walking up those stairs to the front entrance she was having yet another orgasm, I'm sure of it!"
"Brad isn't the only stud she's been with this weekend, only the most recent," Gina said. "She won't quit. I bet by now her cunt feels like mine the morning after that Denver hockey team competed to see who could get me off quickest -- or anyhow, how mine felt when they got to the semi-finals." She looked at me. "Didn't you once belong to her, Katie? That very woman? She looks like someone who was watching you screw a client a few weeks ago. You were hot with him, I will say! That may be when she told Mrs. Eliot it was time to wake you up and send you home."
"We did once belong to each other," I said. The past tense sounded odd -- 'but no longer' I seemed to be saying. Did I belong to her now? If Cody no longer existed, was I still married to her? I was now what she'd made me, but financially she'd already been repaid what I'd cost her to make. What I owed her otherwise remained to be seen. Any which way, she owed me explanations big time!
Again, I drew several deep breaths to calm myself down.
"Well," Gina replied. "This is now. If you were converted to her specifications, she thinks you're hers, anyway. You'll have to work it out with her."
Then unexpectedly she added, "Honey, when you're back living with her again, if you ever feel the urge, call me. Any time. For any reason. Even if that Denver team's come back for another go round with me and I'm fully occupied, if the phone rings and it's you I'll pull back from whoever's in my mouth and take your call."
She was trying to make light of it, but she was serious. She sensed something troubling and was offering help. I nodded, moved. We looked into each other's faces but said nothing. There was no need.
"Two limos coming up the drive, girls," Brooke said, staring in that direction. "Time to go to work." She stood up and high-stepped her way into the building like a thoroughbred horse, her ass rotating in high gear. The rest of us followed.
I'd developed a routine with my clients. There's a softly upholstered easy chair in my room -- I use that for lap-fucking. I'd sit down and then a woman or a gay man would sit on me, facing away, my erect cock sunk into their ass or pussy, whichever was offering itself. Or sometimes a gay or straight man would sit in the chair and I'd suck him and then sit on him, working his cock into me and then twisting my ass like a corkscrew to bring him off a second time. Then as I returned him to the lounge I'd hug him like a war bride and rub my tits all over him, and he'd always tip me handsomely. All in an evening's work. When less than a full fuck or a complicated routine involving bondage was required, I'd
simply ask a client to sit in the chair and get his cock sucked, then thank him and return him. Of course when anyone preferred rolling around with me on my bed I always obliged.
This very Saturday night was my last in this bordello, and I'd been conditioned to enjoy my work and I did. The novelty hadn't worn off. I loved what I was doing and I expected to miss it! I'd just brought back my third john of the evening and was looking about for another when I saw who it would be. He was standing in the middle of the lounge.
It was Russell! My former buddy! My wife's bed-partner! The man who'd made me what I am today!
Most of our clients -- both the men and the women who prefer women -- were inclined to select a girl of their choice, chat with her for a few minutes, then disappear into more private areas. But Russell was too far gone for any of this. He was almost too drunk to stand. He stood in the middle of the room loudly demanding a blow job. When Gina saw me reappear she asked me with her eyes to take him away -- he was disturbing the others. Obviously she had no idea who he was or what fucking him or blowing him would cost me, but I was the only girl free at that moment, and she'd already praised my professionalism. So reluctantly, I took him by the hand, smiled into his face, and led him into my private boudoir.
"You cock-sucking bitch!" he shouted at me at random as I sat him in my overstuffed easy chair.
"I hope so," I said in my little girl voice. "If that's what you want." I unzipped his pants and reached in for his cock. Here was my rival for my wife's affections, the man who had utterly unmanned me. Let's get this over with.
A surprise! The penis I found in there was enormous! It's girth resembled the fat end of a baseball bat, and its length was awesome! I needed both hands to grasp it and pull it out! Then once free of his pants it rose up from his crotch like a flagpole, the head swollen larger than a billiard ball, or maybe a baseball. Or a softball.
"Suck on that, you cunt!" he demanded, lolling back, his eyes shut.
Oh, God, there it was! The same urge I'd felt when Gina'd first put that dildo in my face. And quite a few client cocks since. But this one was magnificent, the finest by far of all of them! Just knowing there was such a penis in the world, my tummy yearned and my nipples engorged -- I yearned to embrace it with my lips, to taste whatever juices I could suck from it. True, it was attached to a bastard, a man who'd betrayed me utterly and stolen all that I'd possessed of greatest value. True, I hated him and hated the impulse. But I just couldn't help it, I wanted to wrap my mouth around it and slide my lips along it. Just once. Then again and again.
So I tried.
I couldn't!
The head was simply too fat to fit my mouth, no matter how wide I opened up. I lifted my head and smiled at Russell's unseeing face, chirped "Just a moment!" in a sprightly way, then ran for a bottle of hand lotion. Returned, spread it on my hands and then between my breasts, put my mouth to the tip of that massive thing, and began to suck away at his pee hole as strenuously as I could, as if it were a soda straw. Meanwhile I pressed my breasts around its base and rocked slightly back and forth so it would slide between them. I'd heard of this -- tittyfucking -- but had not yet done it, not that I knew. Now I did it. Occasionally I took the thing into both my lotioned hands and slid my palms along its groins and veins and ridges, all the while rubbing my lips over the top of his cock head, hoping that would give him some sensation.
For what seemed hours I sucked and licked and rubbed and squeezed and rocked that cock. Had he gone to sleep? Finally a groan from deep inside him, and if possible that prick swelled thicker still. I seized it with both hands as it began to pulse, and huge jets of hot cum splashed inside my mouth. Four, five, six times, I swallowed and still it came. More? I wondered when it would stop, if ever. What if he filled my belly and the spouting went on? An enormous bellow from above, and then mercifully that pulsing stream stopped. "Son of a bitch! Motherfucker!" came a shout from up where his face was. "Now, we fuck, OK?"
Even with my anus distended from frequent use all week, that was a frightening prospect! He stood up suddenly. I was knocked backward onto the rug and before I could recover and brace myself he was on me, wrenching my legs apart, that huge staff pressing into me just behind my balls, just short of my asshole, just where I would have had a vagina if I'd had one. My panties blocked its path. He lunged, and the force against my perineum was severe -- I slid along the carpet on my back maybe a foot. God it hurt! His hips reared back to lunge again! He'd kill me if he should slam into my balls, I was thinking, so I reached down to pull my panties aside and I reared up my own butt to present my asshole to that battering ram, hoping I could guide it into me. Somehow. Better a torn rear end. I closed my eyes.
Nothing happened. He suddenly slumped forward and lay like a sack on top of me. And snored. He was out.
Unable to credit my incredible good fortune, I rolled out from under him and came to my knees, intending to stand up.
"Very good, Cody!" came a woman's voice from behind me. "Saved by the bell!"
Barbara's voice! "But I have to remember, you're Katie now, aren't you? A very lucky ... girl. I don't think there's an opening anywhere on anyone's body that can take Russell in, not without days of stretching. If he'd reached your ass he'd have split you open!"
I turned. There was Barbara in the doorway and that stud Brad standing behind her, both of them naked to the waist. I mean, from their necks to their waists. Brad's arm was draped over her shoulder, its hand holding her naked breast as if it were his. I stared, baffled.
"We were visiting next door when we heard Russell's groaning, and just had to see for ourselves how you were doing," she said. "I know about Russell's ... impetuosity, what he can do with that thing of his, and I do still have some feelings for you. They tell me you're different now, even apart from the ... obvious fact that you're a girl. That you have different kinds of feelings and memories. I should think so -- I mean, you're a real whore now, aren't you? But still, we were married to each other once, and for both our sakes we don't want Russell to know who you are, or anyhow who you once were. He knows my husband went to a place like this and is no longer a man, but he ... just doesn't add things up sometimes."
"Oh?" I said in my baby girl voice. My first word to her in over a year.
"He doesn't even know that we're here to get you. It isn't altogether fair to you, nor to me either, leaving you here to earn a living this way when you could be more useful at home. I don't mean by whoring at home, I mean ... well, you're still a lawyer in a way, I mean, you still know what lawyers know. Russell long ago forgot that my intention has always been to bring you back -- not as my husband of course. I reminded him months ago. 'You bring that bastard back here, he can suck my dick!'" that's what he said. Well, you've done that now, haven't you? So now that's out of the way and if he finds out who you are he can't possibly have any further objection. Nor can you if he insists on using you sexually again once we're home. He's supposed to be mine, but I do have to know that there's no manly pride left in you, that you're all girl now, so if it happens I can't really object. I'm glad you didn't object when he proposed that you suck his dick, that you just went right to it. Devoted to your new profession, are you?"
That seemed to be affectionate teasing as well as mocking in her tone of voice. She was letting me know what to expect? What she expected?
"That's what I do, Barbara," I replied in my teeny voice, still unsure how I should address her. "I've been conditioned to suck cock and now I love it. When I see one I can't not."
"Really? You can't not? I don't believe it! Show me! Brad, would you ...?"
The muscular man standing behind her now stepped alongside and made a quick pass over his crotch with his hands. There, steeply angled, striving up from an opening in his pants, was that penis Malanie'd described. Large but not impossible -- I could handle it, once it was down in my throat. Again that delicious craving swelled up in my belly. My mouth opened and my lips began to curl over my teeth to cushion them, and I crept toward that swollen ... oh, what a lovely tube of meat!
"Enough! My goodness, look at that eager expression! My God, it worked, my darling ex-husband is now a cock-starved slut! Russell's cum not yet settled in your belly and yet you crave more? No, you don't get that cock, Cody! Brad's is all mine until tomorrow! You stay just where you are!"
I paused. She took Brad's hand and looked intently into his eyes and began slinking slowly backward, pulling him along. The back of her legs pressed against my bed and she fell backward onto it. Brad followed on top of her, his own eyes now peering deep into hers.
"Now!" she suddenly shouted, her legs spread far apart, knees high up.
In one single swift smooth motion Brad mounted her and that marvelous tube entered her, slid in deep, buried itself. Then pulled way out, then pushed back in! Faster and faster, as if he was a dog and she was his bitch. Faster still, almost like a vibration! There came a series of piercing shrieks from Barbara, each higher than the previous. And he stopped. I had no idea whether he'd come -- it didn't seem so. But she sure had!
We all held still for a moment while Barbara recovered her breath. Then "Lick that cock of his, would you, Katie?" came from somewhere under Brad's huge body. "Clean it for him?"
Brad immediately pulled out, turned, and sat on the bed alongside Barbara's supine body, his legs slightly apart, his cock still glistening with pussy juice. He said not a word, just looked pleasantly at me. It was gorgeous! I felt that same old craving, moved between his knees, and began to lick it. I felt ashamed to be servicing a man in front of my wife, yet it tasted delicious and she wanted it and I wanted more of it. So I began bobbing up and down over it, and soon it was sliding down my throat while I sucked and sucked.
"My God!" Barbara's voice said, sounding surprisingly gentle. "You can stop now, Cody. I just needed to be absolutely sure before I took you in. You never can tell."
I couldn't face her. "You needed to know what?" came out of my mouth in my high-pitched voice. It sounded a little like pleading.
"That you're obedient to my wishes, and that you really are what you are now, and that you know it too."
I stared at her.
"You're all girl and can't help it. I needed to know that before allowing you to live with us. What are you now?
I saw what she wanted me to say. And like a whore determined to please her client, I said it. "I'm a whore, Barbara. A cock crazy, cock sucking whore. A girlyboy." It sounded as if I was insulting myself with this catechism, though I didn't mean to. So I added as a point of pride, "An expert Personal Service Consultant, a pussy without a pussy, and very good at it too! One of the best. Ask any of the other girls here!" That pleased me.
"If Brad wanted to fuck your ass, you'd let him?"
I looked at Brad's cock, still gleaming, still erect from my deep throating, and all I could say was, "God, yes, I'd love it!"
"You've been unfaithful to me. Very. Are you still my husband?"
A trick question! She wanted me to say 'No' of course. She wanted me to acknowledge that we no longer have a relationship with continuing obligations. She wanted to feel liberated, to hear that our vows had been canceled by mutual consent. I'd have obliged her gladly enough after what she'd done to me. But at this moment I didn't want to give her the satisfaction, so I quickly saw a way around the need. "Well, I'm a cuckold, Barbara," I replied. "You've made me one many times over I guess, and just now you've made sure that I know it. So I must still be your husband. If I'm not your husband, I'm not a cuckold, and where's there any satisfaction for you in that?"
She hadn't thought of that, and was taken aback. But finally the answer satisfied her and her eyes gleamed. "Yes," she said. "You are my cock sucking girlyboy cuckold whore. You do everything I say! That's what you are. In your own eyes and in my eyes too. To me and to everyone else, if I say so. Remember that and you'll do fine."
She stood up and her expression turned inward, milder. "I will want to employ you for other things, Katie, now that you're Katie. I hear you're good at other things. I hope we can work it out."
Did she mean legal work? She decided to leave it at that, and turned abrupt. "We leave this place tomorrow morning at ten. Be outside with whatever decent clothing you own. Your lingerie can be as provocative as you like, if it helps you feel feminine and alluring. But your dresses need to look appropriate for where we live." She glanced at my closet door as if wondering how many stripper gowns and how much slut gear filled it. "I run a respectable household in a decent neighborhood."
She stared at me until she was sure I understood her. Then nodded and turned. "Brad, honey? We can go now," she said. She made a hooking gesture with her head toward Russell.
Her hunk lifted Russell's stupefied body as if a mere pillow and draped it on one shoulder. Then all three left.
And left me with a peculiar feeling in the pit of my stomach., I'd just betrayed myself in front of her, three times. By cock sucking her boyfriend, by watching another man fuck her without attempting to intervene, and then by licking that man's cock afterward. She was my wife! But to her I was something like a pet dog.
I couldn't respect myself. Is that why she wanted me back? She needed a pet dog, and I was conveniently available? 'What does she want with a girlyboy?' I asked myself. Why claim me at all? Was it guilt? Remorse for the way she'd treated me? Regret? She's found she needs me for something other than sex? I'm her fullback, insurance of some kind?
Maybe I'd already been insurance of one kind. I'd taken out a million dollar life insurance policy when we started our law practice together. She might be living on that right now, money borrowed against the proceeds when I'm finally declared legally dead, in addition to whatever she still earns practicing law.
In which case Russell was living off the same money too, I was sure. He'd always been a conniving con man. At one time his accounts of his various schemes had amused me, his plans for emptying rich widows' bank accounts. We'd meet after work and have a beer, and with vast amusement he'd tell me what sort of sucker he'd most recently taken in with what sort of scam. He had no respect for anyone who trusted him. Even this moment Barbara was being conned out of whatever she'd gained from him, with interest -- I was sure of that.
I'd been his sucker too. By accompanying him to that resort hotel a year ago, and just now literally, by sucking him off. I wondered if he'd been too drunk to know. Too drunk, I decided. But it wouldn't have mattered -- to him I was only one more whore.
IV.
He didn't recognize me the next morning either, when I appeared at the front portal in my more provocative undies and a somewhat more respectable decollete dress, carrying my luggage, and carrying as well the debit card Mrs. Eliot had mentioned. I hugged all the other girls farewell and got into the car. I was neither his former buddy nor the girl who'd sucked and tittyfucked him last night, then nearly been raped. I was a whore Barbara had decided to reform, to take home as hired help, and as such he'd stood back and made no effort to help me as I put my own bag into the car's trunk. No one would ever accuse Russell of being a gentleman.
The trip home was uneventful. Russell drove, obviously nursing a fierce hangover, occasionally shaking aspirin directly into his mouth and washing it down with a swig of Perrier, saying nothing. Barbara sat next to him, also silent. They seemed no way companionable. Whatever their lovemaking before this trip, however huge Russell might be, she'd just sampled some world class cock and had to be re-evaluating her relationship with him. Despite common belief, I was well aware that size isn't everything, that without technique it isn't much of anything. That was a cheering thought. More and more of the events of my past six months was now returning to memory, days and nights of fulfilling other people's furtive or perverted fantasies as well as different desires for merely wholesome sex. I marveled at the things I'd done and enjoyed doing! No wonder they'd reshaped my body to resemble a teenager's wet dream. An hour later the car pulled into our driveway. Her driveway -- the house had been conveyed to her by an instrument I'd signed long ago to protect my innocent bride from any need ever to return to her parents, who had thrown her out when she was still young for reasons she'd never divulged. The lawn looked the same. The foundation plantings had been cut much lower. I'd liked them high, as high as the front windows, and since the grounds had been my responsibility that's how they'd been. Barbara preferred to think of foundation plants as a kind of ground cover, so that's what they now were. Things here were now done her way.
Russell immediately disappeared into the house without looking back -- obviously disinclined to help unload luggage. "Good, we can talk," Barbara said pleasantly. "We're here at last. You'll be in that room behind the kitchen, Katie, the one with its own bath. Remember, we used it for storage? The old servant's quarters? Move your things in there. I want to be sure you're changed in spirit as well as body here in your old home as well as at the Estate, so you'll find a surprise in there. A gift from your former wife. Go ahead in and go with your impulses."
Rather mysterious. But I picked up a bag and opened the door, and immediately saw that the room had been redecorated in a simple but graciously feminine style, with flowered curtains on the windows, a chenille bedspread, and fresh wallpaper. Not unsuitably, I was now a woman. But my impulses? They were too conflicted for me to act on any of them. This had once been my house, all of it, and now she expected me to live in the servant's quarters behind the kitchen? I was relieved to be back home, in a way, but at the same time demeaned, downright resentful that it wasn't my home any more.
Then my eyes boggled! A large nude man walked slowly out of the room's small adjoining bathroom. Yes, Good God, a nude man! Utterly naked, and very large, hairy skin and muscular build fully exposed, his stride robust, and as I couldn't help but notice, his cock swollen though not yet fully erect. His balls dangling. He crossed the room and sat down on the bed, then glanced at Barbara. Then simply smiled at me. Invitingly. And sat there.
I was speechless, and set down my bag and just stared at him! Yes, masculine, rather large, even commanding, and well-proportioned. But what was he doing here? What was happening? I sensed Barbara standing just a few steps behind me, watching me. I was amazed, but she wasn't! She'd arranged it!
What was happening came clear quickly when he leaned slightly back, spread his knees wide, and grinned at me. The gesture was invitational, and when I glanced at his crotch I saw that his cock was now fully erect, a tall mast standing up firmly, its tip as high as his navel. Maybe higher. That familiar eager excitement began to grow in my tummy. I knew what it was and resisted.
"Go ahead, sweetie!" my wife said somewhere behind me. "Doesn't he make you feel all wet? His name's Steve, if you need to know."
Wet? As if I had a cunt? My mouth, certainly! But that was enough. Mindlessly, with a small squeal I dropped to my knees between his legs, trying not to drool. Oh the joy of anticipation, and then the joy of fulfillment as that hot, pliant tube of meat entered and filled my mouth! A few minutes later I was gobbling him furiously, sucking and jerking him off, and he was coming, and there was deep satisfaction when he came and I felt his spasms on my lips! And tried to swallow all of it, all that slick, salty cum, all at once. And succeeded! When at last I lifted my head, his cock was glistening yet at the same time softening, soon only dangling again. That had been Barbara's succulent welcome-home treat!
But I felt ashamed. Again I'd sucked off a man in front of my own wife! How could she respect such depravity? I kissed that cock once more despite myself, then licked my lips and stood and turned to look at Barbara. What was this? Who was he? Did he come with the room? The mere sight of a naked man had again aroused in me that familiar overwhelming desire to suck cock? OK, I'd been trained to it. But tempted here, in this house? I felt ... exploited! And looked to Barbara for an explanation.
She was smiling broadly. "Mrs. Eliot was right! You are conditioned to service any man whenever!" She said it with awe and admiration. "I could never do that. Fall on a man's penis and devour him the moment I saw it, and bring him off in almost no time at all? You've got to teach me how you did that! My God, with that talent we could rent you out! You're terrific!"
I suddenly saw what she'd done. This had been a test. To see if once away from the Estate I was the same eager whore she'd seen when she and Brad had walked in on me and ... and Russell. Was my reflex in the presence of any cock the same? Would it always be the same?
Because with that reflex she could control me at any time. Threaten to put me into a room filled with naked men if I didn't behave the way she wanted. I'd spend the rest of my days giving free blow jobs. Happily and tirelessly, I couldn't doubt it.
"I have been rented out," I replied simply. "That's what a whore is, Barbara. But I've retired from that trade. I'll still suck, and fuck too, but only as I feel the desire, not because I'm paid. That's the difference between a whore and a woman who's merely sexually active." That statement dodged the issue, my problem, that I knew I'd been conditioned to fuck or suck any cock anywhere any opportunity presented itself. That I had no choice, not yet anyhow. But it puzzled Barbara just enough to give her pause.
The muscular man rose, smiled at Barbara, and as wordlessly as before he retired again to the bathroom to dress, his mission completed. Then reappeared and left the room altogether. "Thank you, Steve," Barbara said to him, half-distracted, as he disappeared.
"No, thank you, Barbara," were his last words as he disappeared. "And you especially, Katie." I realized I was still on my knees, so I stood up.
"Yes, I was a whore," I repeated. Then a little ironically, "Maybe like that 'Steve' -- you paid him to make his body available to me just now, didn't you? So that's what he is. Thank you for the coming-home gift."
Score one for me.
"You loved it! You loved it the way you love your body now that it's everything you ever desired in a woman!"
I stared at her. There was some truth to that. A lot of truth! Score one for her.
She decided to cut off further discussion. "Katie, just change into one of the uniforms you'll find in the closet there, and present yourself to us in the living room in about an hour, and I'll tell you what we expect for lunch," she said. "Understood?"
She now assumed that as a former whore she had liberated to become a house maid, I would do her bidding? That any form of servitude was preferable to the dishonor of pay-for-sex? Had she been reading old-fashioned novels? She didn't know that people often pay whores to take charge -- I'd been a 'domme' often enough when a client wanted. I owed her nothing and I'd agreed to nothing -- we hadn't even discussed salary. So I didn't reply 'Yes Ma'am' or some equivalent as a new house maid should have replied. Instead I only nodded. Civilly if not altogether respectfully.
But until I knew what she'd done and what she intended and could formulate my own plans, I'd be wise to go along with hers. The 'uniforms' in the closet were brand new and my size, obviously purchased for my use. They were knee length, serviceable, gray cotton dresses with white piping on the collars and sleeves and a self-belt at the waist. No nonsense domestic work clothes, and there were four of them -- this was not expected to be a temporary arrangement. The shoes provided were black, slip-ons with one inch heels, sensible, neither formal nor casual. I slipped into one of the dresses and changed into the shoes, and then as if defiantly I pinned up my hair into the most glamorous style I could manage, slathered on my darkest eye shadow and my brightest red lipstick, and headed for the living room as instructed. I must say, with my hair up and my small chin I looked like a sophisticated baby doll, cute as could be! I glanced in the mirror and decided that I'd screw me then and there if there were some way to do it!
The door to the living room was wide open, saving me the embarrassment of knocking for permission to enter. But having entered, I stood just inside and waited for one of them to speak. Russell was standing near the fireplace, scrupulously paying no attention to either of us. Good! This suggested that the house and its management were still Barbara's. He was a permanent guest here, not a new Lord of the Manor.
"Ah, Cody, my but you look nice. I hoped I'd gotten them in your size. You'll find your work aprons and dress aprons hanging in the pantry, use them as appropriate and I'm sure we'll have no problems. Sandwich fixings are in the fridge, toast the bread first, if you please. Russell likes a beer with his lunch, and as you know I prefer tea. All right?"
She was obviously nervous, trying to taking charge of me all at once, to establish this new relationship after over five years of sharing, of partnership in this very household. Did she feel the slightest guilt about what had been done to me during the past year? I would need to play this cautiously. I nodded and then stood silent.
Russell, true to form a pompous ass, spoke up. "Answer your mistress properly, girl, if you expect to remain in this house for any reasonable length of time."
If he did know who I was, he wanted to dissociate me altogether from the friend he'd betrayed into another identity. I decided though that he thought I was only another one of Barbara's do-gooder projects, an abject whore saved from sin by decent employment. If that was what I was I'd have responded appropriately.
I didn't. In a mild voice with only a bare hint of amusement, I replied, "She may be your mistress, sir, but this lady is my employer and not my mistress. And whether I stay in this house for a reasonable or brief time or no time at all is entirely for her to decide. And me." My little girl tones sounded strange within these walls -- they'd once resonated with my baritone. I waited for both of their reactions.
They both came together. I'd guessed right. Russell had not yet conned his way into partial ownership of the house, nor total domination of Barbara -- it was still entirely hers along with the authority to run it. Barbara turned and glared at him. He saw, and turned to gaze out the window, to examine with enormous care the chimney on the house next door. He counted its bricks, or whatever else, during the rest of our talk.
"I'm sorry, Cody. I know how difficult an adjustment this must be for you. I'd very much like for you to stay here for as long as you choose -- under certain set circumstances, of course, those that I ...."
Time to make a slight concession but also take an initiative. "I'm sorry, Mrs....Mrs. Wilmott is it?" I asked. And then waited. The answer mattered.
She nodded.
No reason to let Russell know who I was if he didn't know, either by allowing her to use my former name or by exhibiting overmuch familiarity with hers. So I chose a formal, respectful mode of address for her, and she accepted it. OK. She still answered to her married name, so apparently we were still married. That meant I still might have certain spousal rights over her, and I was sure, since her speciality was corporate law, that she wouldn't know what those could be. I would use "Mrs. Wilmott" whenever Russell or anyone else was around, though I intended to call her 'Barbara' whenever we were alone, to remind her of our former intimacy and encourage her to let her hair down with me, with someone who was once her house mate and could now be a girlfriend. Not merely her servant.
I'd also learned from that single nod that since she hadn't changed her name, our law practice was probably still "Wilmott and Wilmott," and maybe also some of the business's bank accounts. She'd never had patience enough to bother learning about the business end of our partnership, and Russell probably knew nothing about them either. That could be useful. But now to turn the screw a bit tighter.
"I'm sorry then, Mrs. Wilmott, but my name is pronounced 'Katie.' I hear you once knew a 'Cody' but that he's dead. That's what I've heard, anyway."
That threw her off her stride. She tried to recover. "That's right, ahhhh Katie, he's no longer with us."
"My condolences, Mrs. Wilmott. I've heard he was a good man." Raise in her bosom a touch of remorse for what she'd done to me, perhaps?
"That's what many people think, yes," Barbara replied a little tartly.
Oh? I glanced at Russell. The chimney next door still absorbed him utterly!
'What people think'? So there'd been some sort of well-poisoning taking place in my absence? Even before then? A blackening of my name? If so, since Russell was the sole beneficiary, he had to have been the culprit. I'd have to speak with Barbara in private to learn more. But I'd learned enough for now. Time to curtail the rest of this discussion and fix lunch, then disappear into my new identity as a liberated whore turned respectable domestic servant. My camouflage. Time afterward to decide what to do next.
But first I had to lay out my own terms, to be businesslike even though she didn't know how. "I understand I'm to be available to you from 7:00am until I'm dismissed in the evening after cleanup from dinner, for five and a half days, with a half day off on any weekday convenient to you and a full day each weekend, preferably Sunday, as convenient to you. That I will be maintaining the house in good order but the heavy house cleaning will be performed weekly by an outside service. My wages will be $35,000 a year including two weeks of paid vacation. I will expect to assist you in the preparation of meals, shopping, and so on, but the primary decisions and initiatives will remain yours. Or for $50,000 I'll assume full responsibility for meals and for the entire household, advising you about the costs, attentive to your wishes, in effect managing your home as you would wish so you can devote your full attention to other things altogether. May I inquire which option is preferable to you?"
Obviously Barbara had given no thought at all to such contractual formalities. Had she thought that to escape the life of a whore I'd unthinkingly accept a life of humble domestic servitude? Far longer hours of far less enjoyable work for far less pay? Or for no pay, like the husband I once was, with no husbandly privileges? What could she have been thinking?
"Katie," she said. She seemed self-conscious, as if she were trying to regain the initiative. As if the whole topic only amused her by its irrelevance. "The second option I suppose. I'll appreciate your taking over full responsibility for this house. And in addition ...." She paused and glanced at Russell, who was still scrupulously paying no attention. "In addition I'll want to consult you on certain legal matters too, from time to time. To assist me with certain cases in our law office at least one day a week, perhaps more. That would be at a reasonable hourly rate, though I'd allow you to maintain your own modest client base if you wished, those fees going into the partnership and to be divided at the end of the year.."
She'd said 'our' law office. Certainly not Russell's and hers -- Russell was not a lawyer. And 'the partnership.' So in her mind we were still partners in a weird way -- a partner paid an hourly wage -- and I was being invited to think of it that way. And she needed my help. She'd probably lost some of our clients, and she was probably over her head with others. Moreover, I was still a licensed practitioner! With a simple power of attorney, maybe also a change of name procedure -- maybe even none if she'd neglected to file certain affidavits -- I could resume an adequate professional life. Then when I found out what had gone wrong with my former life, as we lawyers like to say, I could examine the options and take appropriate action.
"Very well, Mrs. Wilmott. I'll be glad to assist you there too, appropriately compensated. Meanwhile, I'll prepare lunch now if you don't mind. May I ask if Mr. ... Russell will be joining you for dinner tonight?" His last name, I knew, was Donahue, but he hadn't been introduced to Katie and I was damned if I'd make the slightest concession where he was concerned.
She turned toward him, her eyebrows raised, and he answered without waiting for her to repeat the question -- of course he'd been listening to everything. "No," he said. "I have ... business that will be keeping me out late tonight, perhaps past midnight. You go ahead without me."
"There's been a lot of that lately," Barbara commented in a carefully neutral voice.
"That's how it is," he explained with a shrug. As if that were sufficient. Barbara turned away from him in a single sharp movement.
We all three knew from that moment that Barbara had a rival! Well! This was not a conversation a maid should overhear, nor an ex-husband either, especially one who might still be married to her. I turned to head for the kitchen, to survey the fridge and the pantry, put together lunch, and lay plans for a dinner for two. I left Barbara staring at Russell, pale perhaps with the realization that her days with him were now numbered. And that no doubt because of him she had no husband to fall back on. Only her maid.
I decided on a dinner with an atmosphere as near as I could get it to our early romantic days, when we were each new to being a man and a woman together, deep in each other's confidence, amused and fascinated rather than annoyed by each other's oddities. When we'd shared all our secrets, or anyhow, most of them. Except that now it would be a tete a tete between two women deep in each other's confidence, each with nothing to hide. Such as why I had been sent to a girl-conversion establishment and whore school. Why she'd made me what I am today.
Lunch was sandwiches and a quickly made cole slaw, the food processor still worked, no problem. Then knowing there was much at stake, I went all out for that first evening's dinner for two. I bought some fois gras during a quick trip that afternoon to a strip mall with a gourmet shop alongside superb wine store, and also two bottles of a Chateau Lafitte from a good year, the best I could afford. The canard a l'orange flambe I made myself. The sauce alone used up nearly every pot in the kitchen, but I washed them myself so the it would seem the miracle it was. I set the table for two. The dining room became the most elaborate trap I have ever baited.
That evening when I called Barbara in from her study for dinner I was determined to remain in the character of Katie, a woman just as she was except that our genitals happened to interlock rather than parallel. I had no problem with that, since I looked and sounded like a woman, with all the mannerisms, and had lived exclusively with other women who were paid professionals at being feminine. I realized that I'd have trouble even beginning to act like a man again if I ever had to -- Gina and Mrs. Eliot had both stated categorically that I couldn't possibly. But as Katie I could quickly set Barbara at ease -- we'd be two girls dining together.
Yet at the same time I wanted to assume all of the intimate familiarity Cody had once enjoyed with her -- I wanted still to be a husband who had gone wherever men go when they cease to be men. She of course would not be Mrs. Wilmott to me when we were alone but rather "Barbara" or "Barb." As for years.
"I'll just change, and then we'll eat," I added as I left her study door. "Give me ten minutes." At the dinner table I wanted us to be dinner companions, not mistress and maid. I needed to find out things. She didn't seem to think it peculiar.
The dresses and blouses I'd brought from the Estate were for the most part provocative, designed to call attention to my breasts, but I managed to find a top that was only suggestive, low-cut but not outright seductive, and I paired it with a pair of black capris that were only tight, not skin-tight. Then for a dressy effect I put on black strappy heels and a thin silver necklace and bracelet. The effect was more formal than I wished -- obviously I needed to go shopping.
I began by telling Barbara just that, asking her advice about the best stores for clothing suitable for occasions like this one and also for "when I come to the office." Her face brightened, and conversation soon flowed easily. She was surprised to learn that my actual conscious experience as a whore had been for less than a week, even though my reflexive experience over many months had habituated me to do the right things under any circumstances. I told her for example, smiling conspiratorially, that the main thing I'd learned as a body-for-hire was how to dominate men.
That immediately intrigued her. "You mean, how to drive a man crazy by denying him our favors?" Barbara asked? "I did that sometimes with Cody. Though all it ever really accomplished was to make him angry, maybe also sulky"
I was glad that her "we" and "our" confided in me as a woman, that she was thinking of Cody as someone else. "No," I replied. "The reverse. More wine? Do have a bit more duck too -- it's fantastic, if I do say so! My dear, we control a man by gratifying his desires as if we were awarding him a rare gift -- ourselves. Then they're so afraid we'll take ourselves back they'll do anything for us. I found only this week that my breasts, especially my nipples, they're fantastically erogenous. That when I allow men to bring me off by nursing or caressing my nipples they think I'm doing them a favor. Can you imagine? A friend of mine at the mansion, Melanie, she told me she could get men to suck their own cum out of her pussy just by persuading them it was a privilege she almost never allowed anyone. A few refuse her, but most feel honored."
"That would have worked with Cody," Barbara responded. "I did honor him that way for a while, though I'm sure he never realized it wasn't always all his own cum. But it never worked with Russell."
What a confession! If other men's cum had not recently been a staple of my diet I'd have been outraged or nauseated. Was she was telling me she'd been unfaithful to me even before Russell? Or was it only Russell's cum she'd fed me from her twat along with my own? We were now turning toward the big mystery -- what did happen a year ago. Why did she collaborate with Russell in my emasculation. "Russell does seem moody, drunk like last night or sober like this morning," I commented.
She grinned. "Yes, you've noticed that, Katie, haven't you? Because he isn't getting his way with me, that's all. He wants me to devote myself to him exclusively, but he won't reciprocate in kind. That's why I especially reminded him yesterday that there are many better men than he is, that I can hire them at the Estate any time! My God, back a year or so ago I thought Russell was something else! I thought that size was everything! It certainly helps! But Brad? And Ken, and Marvin? Those moves of theirs?"
So Barbara's fucking at the Stud Farm these last days hadn't been just to gratify herself and humiliate me. It had been to teach Russell a lesson! I was only incidental to that.
"Your husband did devote himself to you, didn't he?" I asked in a casual way, refilling her glass yet again. "Cody, I mean?" That to remind her of his name, in case she'd forgotten she once had a husband. "Yet you preferred Russell?"
"I'd thought Cody was devoted to me, yes. But a girl can be mistaken about such things. About lots of things!" She looked bitter for a moment, and took two deep swallows of the Lafitte. That was no way to drink a great wine. But the moment had come.
"Tell me about it," I said sympathetically. And looked away from her casually as if it were of only incidental importance. Then looked deep into her eyes as if I understood how important it was to her and was with her all the way.
Barbara took a deep breath. "I didn't intend all this, Katie, not at first. To tell you the truth, I didn't intend any of it, it sort of happened. You know Russell -- all irresistible charm and superb self-confidence, a touch of vulnerability, a hint of gentleness. Yet there's also a hard edge. He can be cruel. Utterly without conscience."
I'd seen that in Russell, when he was persuading a recent widow to put all her money into a non-existing Mutual Fund he was promoting, one of his many scams. When he used his persuasive powers to separate blow hard speculators from their cash, I'd found them amusing. When he used them to take money from people who needed it, that was something else. But he didn't care -- money was money no matter how hard-earned or badly needed. I nodded, not at all amused.
"Katie, that can be an attractively dangerous combination for a woman who's been married for a few years and loves her husband but ... well, you know. Russell was fascinating. Even now I get damp just thinking about him that way. Aren't you, just from hearing me talk about that kind of man?"
I wasn't. She inclined to forget that I don't have a pussy. All this past week even without one I'd been driving men out of their minds, gotten them to desire and pleasure me and react in peculiar ways to everything I did to pleasure them. But even so, men simply didn't turn me on. The sight of a cock did of course -- that was an instrument of pleasure specific to my subliminal training. And women's faces and figures still did. Even Barbara at this moment. Even now.
"The night he got to me was unforgettable. I was working on a financial matter with him, something to do with his brokerage and a new federal statute, and he suggested we take a break. We went to dinner. That's when he told me about all of Cody's infidelities."
"His what?" Had I heard her right? Astonishing! I'd touched no other women since my marriage! Not then, anyhow!
"Cody's infidelities. All the women he'd been fucking behind my back. Their names went on and on, Bea, Mandee, Rhonda, Sara, Janelle, even some Jezebel who actually calls herself Jezzie. Who knows how many others?"
I was livid! Who knows? I know! That bastard! No others! None at all! I'd been scrupulously faithful to Barbara back then, especially because we were going through a bad patch -- she was discontent with me or herself or something, for some reason, and I couldn't tell why. When I'd ask she'd just shake her head and refuse to confide in me. I didn't dare introduce the slightest cause for discontent into our marriage. Plainly, my buddy Russell had been out to alienate us, to move in on me and annex my territory. He knew that Barbara knew little about stock markets and brokerage law and so on. He'd pretended she did so he could consult her. Get to her and lie about me. And he'd done it!
"You believed him?" was all I said.
"I was a little high on the wine we'd had for dinner, just like now I'm afraid. I was so mad at the mere idea of it that I couldn't see straight. Then when we got back to the office he proved it. He showed me the e-mails, how they corresponded with different dates when Cody was supposedly out of town or working late."
Of course. Barbara knew nothing about how easy it is to simulate anything on a computer. Russell knew a great deal about that kind of grifting, and delighted in it, even when it wasn't an especially profitable deception. He'd described a few of them to us as practical jokes.
"Well, I was crushed! That was when he moved on me, and I didn't think it would do any harm just once to move back on him. You know, get even? But Katie, that's when I first found out that no one fucks Russell just once. He's a freak of nature! Unbelievable! You know that, you had his cock in your hands just last night. Both hands! And in the end you had to hug it between your breasts! So much flesh attached to one man -- it's like an elephant's! You remember? A girl needs a real pussy to deal with him, a birth canal, an opening designed to stretch to the size of a baby's head. That anal opening you use for a pussy wouldn't have been any use at all, not for a man like Russell, honey. Believe me!"
"I do believe you, Barbara. Last night I was trying to keep from being battered to death when he collapsed, just in time! You told me that if he hadn't quit I'd have been torn apart, and I believe you. Remember?"
"Of course I remember, Cody. Katie, I mean. It's true! But let me finish. You know what I found out? When he climbs on you and takes his time and finally he's worked his way into you, you can't move at all, and you're stretched out and so full it's heaven!. I just lay there under him, absolutely still, and Katie, I couldn't stop orgasming! Spasm after spasm! I just came and came and came! One climax ended and before I could relax and breathe another began without any effort on my part or his. We didn't move, either of us, for maybe an hour. My back was arched and my head bent way back, and every muscle in my body was in continuous convulsion, absolutely taut and ecstatic. One tense delight. I know I brought him off a few times somehow, maybe because my cunt never stopped throbbing, because when he finally pulled out I found I was absolutely filled to the brim and overflowing with his spunk. The couch cushions under us were drenched, soaked like sponges, and his goop had even oozed down a leg of the couch. And yet more was still pouring out of me! But you know about that, don't you? When he came in your mouth I bet he filled your belly near to busting!"
That must have been the time when she suddenly declared that our office decor had to be changed, the walls painted, the drapes changed, and the couch completely reupholstered. She'd insisted, and she never did explain why! Three full months before I'd gone to the Estate to be transformed. So she'd had three months of infidelity with Russell while I was still around and altogether unsuspecting, meanwhile convinced that I was the one being unfaithful. That would be the three months when she'd seemed unaccountably cool toward me, distant and snappish.
"I wanted him back in me almost at once. But it was getting late and we both had to get home. Tomorrow, I promised myself. Maybe for the whole noon hour. And I had to have a whole night with him as soon as possible, I told myself. Katie, you can't imagine how wonderful it was! I had a whole new interest in life. That monster cock. That thick pole of his. Have you ever felt a mad compulsion like that? Isn't it marvelous?"
I heard her. That he was huge I knew well enough. I'd tried to suck him off and ended up tittyfucking him, but neither my lips nor my breasts were as erogenous as her pussy, so of course I hadn't gotten off on him at all. His one cum into my mouth had indeed given me buckets to swallow, but it was only cum. Like other men's cum, not some magical potion. Delicious in its way, like most men's.
"Then what happened?" I asked as if eagerly. She'd just described my first cuckolding, of many to follow, ending in my near-emasculation. I wanted to hear about that, her supposed reasons for agreeing to send me to the Estate. I was appalled but also perversely fascinated.
"He wanted to know if you ever go down on me, and if so, I should invite you to go down on me as soon as I got home from being with him. He wanted to know that you were sharing in his fucking of me, at least that you were sucking up to him, to his cum anyhow. 'Maybe we can get him used to the flavor,' that's what Russell said. For some reason that sounded generous to me, not at all cruel. I really wanted to share him with you despite your unfaithfulness. Maybe because I felt a little guilty and wanted to make it up to you."
"And did you?"
"Not that night. You were working out of town, or so you claimed, and got home too late, and I'd douched by then. Good heavens, if I'd left him in me I'd have soaked the bed. But the next time I had him in me you did lick me out, some, and the day after that too. You didn't want to -- you weren't very good at oral back then, and you thought I tasted funny. But I insisted and gradually you got better at it. When you began cleaning me out routinely I felt much better about Russell fucking me and you fucking someone else. My pussy had stretched by then too. I could actually move a little when he was inside me. A little."
Her hips writhed in recollection. I could almost see her twisting and swiveling on that monster cock, writhing around with what would have become by then a monster cunt. I refilled her glass with the last of the Chateau Lafitte.
"You never noticed? After two or three weeks with Russell I could hardly feel you inside me whenever we made love. I brought in that huge dildo around then to make up for it, you remember? You fitted your little erect penis into it as if you were fitting a finger into a heavy mitten and then you pushed the whole thing into me, and that dildo would fuck me for over an hour. I must say, you were persistent. I'd orgasm innumerable times. But not you, not even once, because of course you couldn't feel anything. That was how I wanted you to fuck me all the time after that, otherwise not to touch me at all. But after a few more tries you refused. And I called you selfish, remember? That was amusing. The only times you could give me orgasms after that was with your mouth, while Russell meanwhile did right by me every time."
She was peaceably reminiscent as I brought out the creme brulee for dessert. "You know, it was always especially exciting for me whenever you slurped Russell's cum out of me, along with my own of course. You thought you'd made me that wet. Last night when you got it direct from the fountainhead, didn't you find the flavor familiar?" She smiled. Maliciously? Truth was, by last night I'd swallowed so much cum from so many different men I couldn't possibly identify anyone's.
She'd shifted to speaking to me as Cody now, I noticed. Confiding in Katie maybe but deliberately seeking to humiliate Cody? Rubbing it in? It was a kind of vengeance. "He tasted a little like this dessert, that's all," I said, because it was true enough. "Slick. sweet. Same feel in the mouth."
She paused, a spoonful of creme brulee already in her mouth, another in her spoon, and silently considered whether that was so. I was amused to see her put down the spoon. "I've tasted gallons of cum recently, Barbara," I said. "It's always different but always the same -- the fresh scent, the slickness. Kind of nice. Like a vintage wine." But she'd now reminded me of the main mystery, so I continued, "What I don't understand is, how did I end up at the Estate? Why change my sex? Russell wanted me out of the competition for you altogether?"
She just looked at me. "You were no competition at all by then, Cody. Not at all. You were just Russell's cleanup man. No, we sent you to the mansion for the opposite reason, to improve your chances with me. To give me two effective lovers, not just one. It was supposed to be a kind of birthday present for me. That's why I went along with it."
Dumbfounding! "How's that?"
"One day when Russell was showing me more of your e-mails to your floosies I commented that I had no idea what those women saw in you. That I'd have no regrets when I left you and married him."
It had gotten that bad between us? And I'd never known? But this was no time for commiseration or regret. "Was that wise, Barbara? I should think mentioning marriage would send a man like him running!"
"Not Russell. He explained that he understood how I felt, but marriage wasn't at all necessary. That I could have both of you. He told me there was a place where a man could learn all sorts of sexual techniques and tricks, how to use whatever he's got to make his partner happy. But that the training took time, months and months."
I saw what was coming. She didn't mean to get rid of me. She'd meant to remake me as a home improvement project!
"I thought that would be just great! Russell could move in with me and take your place while you were out of the way learning how to please me. No more sneaking around. 'I know a wife who sent her husband there,' he said. 'And when he returned he was an altogether different kind of lover. And their love life hasn't been the same since.' Well, that convinced me!"
So! That confirmed that we were still legally married! That had suited Russell's purposes, and she'd bought it! Valuable information! "Did you know what would happen to me when I went there?" I asked her. "That they make men into women?" Was it possible that this was entirely Russell's scheme to get me out of his way, that Barbara wasn't even complicitous?
"I asked Russell how they do it, and he just replied, 'They teach a man to be more aware of how women feel when a man's making love to her. How to put himself in her place. How to give and receive. Afterward a man's much more understanding.' He never did tell me they do it by converting him into a her. Though it does look like that's what they did with you." She grinned, looking at me, plainly pleased with what she saw.
"In all cases that's what they do," I commented. "In my case except for the genitals. That was a cost-saving option."
She looked at me closely. "Oh, honey, you sound resentful! Have you any idea how really beautiful you turned out? I love just looking at you! How can you mind? You're the best of both worlds!"
"How can I mind if you don't?" I asked evasively. She took that as my answer.
In fact at that moment I didn't know how I felt. It was very pleasant, being a woman, desirable and desired, knowing you're attractive. I did resent that I'd had no say in it, that I'd been coerced into femininity. But here I was, and it wasn't at all bad. I pushed up my hair in back with both hands, and recalled how pleased I always felt when I'd gotten my look just right. No, I didn't mind!
"Russell said they were very thorough in this school for husbands. I wasn't so sure I wanted you to learn some things, not from other women. So I asked, 'He'll learn by having sex with other women?' Russell said not necessarily other women. 'Mostly from other men. He'll learn how to do things women should know, and then he can teach them to you. How to pleasure a man better for example.' That's what he said. He was suggesting that I'd then do those things for him, so he'd be the ultimate beneficiary."
"Well, I thought about that some, and I finally told him I wouldn't mind learning that kind of thing from you. It'd take you away from your other women, for sure. It all sounded reasonable, a win/win situation. If you could teach me how to please a man more, Russell would get something out of it, but you'd gain the most in the long run, so how could you object? Meanwhile, while you were in training I'd have all the more free time to spend with Russell, and that was an attraction. Win-win all around! He did warn me you could be away for as long as a year. I thought that was fine. I happened at the time to be sitting very still on his monster cock and feeling wave after wave of orgasms pass through me, so I saw absolutely nothing wrong with that at all. You know how it is!" She smiled at me.
I did know, though not from Russell. I smiled back at her girl to girl, as if I were thoroughly understanding.
"So I said OK. He warned me that there was no way you'd go voluntarily, that it would be too demeaning for you to accept that your lovemaking needs improvement. 'He'll have to be drugged when he's taken there,' Russell said. 'They have people who can do that.' I thought that would be OK too, it was for your own good after all. One way to save our marriage, sort of. I have your power of attorney of course, the same way you have mine. So I signed the consent forms and Russell set up the resort trip with you along with some of his buddies, and I went along you thought to be with you but actually to be with Russell, and the Estate took care of the rest."
"I guess they did," I said. "I woke up a year later. A week ago. An absolutely lost year, except for who knows how many men I fucked during that time, and women too they tell me. Except for learning all sorts of ways to please people with my body. I have snatches of memories of things that happened, but all of the reflexes and habits. When I relax and go with my instincts, 'follow my nose' as Gina advised me, I can be one hot babe!. "
Unexpectedly, Barbara looked delighted. "Then that lost year wasn't lost to me! And you're now a very pretty woman, don't forget that. That's never a loss! I'm looking forward to finding out what you learned about pleasing people with your body!"
"I guess," I said. Oddly, I was getting more and more in agreement that my womanhood had compensating advantages. I did enjoy it. I loved feeling pretty. Looking into a mirror nowadays was deeply satisfying -- when I saw my dainty face with its large, dark eyes and its full lips, my slim yet curved figure, I felt a sense of completion. Of course that was probably hypno conditioning, but the feelings were real enough. I couldn't go back anyhow. More important, I didn't really want to go back. I had to reach for a further objection. "But I didn't agree to it," I added. "That makes it indecent!"
That did seem to disturb Barbara. "True, you didn't consent to go there, and maybe we were a little mean, sending you there without your consent. But you were screwing all those bimbos without my consent, weren't you? I was trying to save our marriage."
She sounded earnest enough. I could see her point of view.
"And remember, when you went, I had no idea that the way they teach you how women feel is by direct experience. I thought you might end up sort of gay, a little, that you'd feel something of how women feel about men. But that would have been a small price. Then when I looked in on you a few months ago I didn't know what to think! It was amazing! You already looked so pretty, and so happy, just darling in fact. You were having such a good time with both of the men I saw you with, teasing them and running your hands all over their arms and chests, one in your mouth and one in your ass and both of them clutching your boobs! Seventh heaven! You reminded me of me when I first graduated from college and got a job in the city and all sorts of men were after me, and I encouraged some and teased others. They told me there was no reversing what they'd done, that was you now. So I thought about how useful you could be as a woman, how you could take care of the house and everything. And I didn't really need you for male sex, not as long as I had Russell. But I also didn't want to lose your cock as a spare. So I agreed when Russell told me how we'd save money if we delayed your big operation."
"Delayed it?"
"Russell figured that when you got out, you'd resent what we'd done. But that you'd be a lot less troublesome if we could still threaten to cut off your balls when you got out. And you were sure to be troublesome. 'Knowing Cody,' he said, 'I figure it's only a matter of time.' That's one reason why I haven't told him that you're Cody. He thinks you're just one more penitent slut. I doubt he remembers there ever was a Cody by now -- he does take things a day at a time, always scheming about the future, never looking back."
But Russell wasn't wrong. I meant to be troublesome. Now there was this new information! "You visited me there? You saw what they were doing to me? While I was being trained? And you approved?" That was news!
"Katie, I even fucked you while you were being trained. God, that first time, and then when you licked your own sperm out of my pussy, oooooh what a difference! They'd taught you how to curl your tongue yet keep it stiff -- Katie, that was soooo much nicer than any time you'd licked yourself or Russell out of me earlier. And that slithering wriggle when your cock was inside me, oh, I'm wet thinking about it! You're small compared to Russell, but that didn't matter any more -- I was thinking you were a woman, not a man, and for a woman you were enormous! And you did know so much more about how women feel when there's meat moving around inside them! You were just great! I was eager to get you home after that!"
"You saw what I'd become, and you did nothing about it?"
"What was there to do? You were well-conditioned to love what you were becoming. Your 'readjustment' as they called it. Your voice was all squeaky -- I suppose your throat hadn't healed fully yet. You did seem a little simple minded -- you didn't recognize me and you barely responded to your own name, and so on. I'd say you had the attention span of a butterfly. But when I got you alone and hugged you? Oh, you were just marvelous! Passionate? My God, it was all worth it! I mean, you didn't lift me into a steady state chain reaction of orgasms the way Russell's cock does just by being there. But you had orchestrated moves of your own with your cock and your fingers and your tongue and the palm of your hand on my clit and my breasts and the sides of my neck that were ... well sublime! Symphonic? Oh, yes! I thought back then and I think now that it was all worth it. If you don't know that yet, well, you will. I hope so! We'll do it again real soon, maybe when Russell next goes on a trip somewhere!"
I saw now what I was dealing with. Barbara had no sense of the enormity of what Russell had done to both of us. His plan had been to use her for his pleasure -- and hers, I had to grant that -- for as long as his pleasure lasted. And when he felt it was time to move on, to dump her back onto a husband who'd been transformed into something she'd find satisfactory enough yet meanwhile no competition for him at all.
That time was now close at hand. Chances were that Russell was with his next paramour at this very moment, no doubt someone else's girlfriend or wife, and that this new woman was impaled blissfully this very moment on that fire hydrant of his, throbbing through successive orgasms but otherwise unable to move. Like Barbara, altogether unconcerned with the eventual costs.
"Shall we clear the dishes?" I asked her.
"That's what you do, Katie," Barbara said abruptly. "I wouldn't deprive you."
Our conviviality had ended. What she'd wished to say, to confess, had been said. She rose slowly. "This was an incredible dinner, I'd forgotten that gourmet cooking was always one of your hobbies. Thank you. I'll be in the living room, if you plan to serve coffee. When Russell isn't here and it's bed time I may occasionally ask you to join me upstairs, to sample some of the delicious things you've learned. But not tonight -- tonight you probably have too much to do settling in."
Not so. At the Estate my working clothes had been a few flimsy undergarments, and I had few others. Even my make-up was the touch and cover kind, since my basic look was already tattooed or stained onto my skin. I'd settled in already, by tossing the contents of my bags into a few drawers. But Barbara was the mistress of the house, so she alone determined reality. We'd returned to her idea of our proper relationship. Our session had ended
But as I reviewed it, I saw it had been altogether successful as a fishing expedition. Knowing what had happened and why, knowing who was responsible, I could begin figuring out what to do about it and how. Soon, because Russell would probably be leaving her soon. They say that the best revenge is living well, and I intended to live well. But first I wanted a different kind of revenge! The old-fashioned kind.
"Yes, Ma'am," I replied. "The living room. Do you still take cream and sugar both?"
V.
The household needed a lot of attention -- Barbara had never been interested in domestic affairs any more than financial. She'd hired a house cleaning firm to sweep into the place now and then, then sweep out again two hours later leaving the beds and kitchen straightened out, for once, the tile floors mopped, and all the rooms dusted and vacuumed. They came the next morning just after Barbara left for the office. As they worked I could see they were unsure why I was there at all, wearing a maid's outfit. But they did stay the full contracted two hours while I watched them and seemingly supervised, frowning until they'd done a thorough job with whatever. Maintaining the household would be relatively easy, I realized, as long as they did the routine work.
Then I changed and went shopping for proper seasonal clothes, some dressy, some casual, some sporty, feeling quite pleased that my debit card liberated me to spend freely. I'd found I had many feminine reflexes -- as I passed through the house I'd straighten lamps, check my make-up in every mirror, touch my hair, even admire men I saw through the window as they strolled or jogged past. But once in the stores I found myself shopping as I'd always shopped, as men do, not as women do. I looked for items I liked and tried them on for size and purchased them if they did the job well enough, without worrying whether they were the best available for the purpose, without experimenting with different looks, without listening to hear whether they "spoke" to me or to each other or not. Then I moved on. I was not interested in "recreational" shopping, the kind women love, entertaining myself by imagining my life transfigured by each item, trying on different items to try on different ways of feeling, different lives. I'd been transfigured quite enough. The Estate had neglected to condition me for shopping as women shop, so I was finished by noon.
While I was out Russell returned from what had apparently been an all nighter, still wearing the same clothes. As I came into the house from my expedition I heard him on the phone talking to Barbara at the office, loudly congratulating himself that he'd managed to make the first plane back from whatever city his 'business' had been in. Barbara said nothing I could make out from his replies.
After he hung up, he looked me over. "You're a whore. If I asked you to suck my dick, would you do it?" he suddenly asked me.
"Of course, if my mistress approves," I replied tartly. "Do you think it's special?"
He nodded. "Women say so," he said. "'Hung like a horse' is what they say."
He remembered nothing about me. But I thought I'd better make certain. "If it doesn't fit my mouth, it'll fit my cunt," I replied, leaving out the conditional in order to whet his appetite..
"Maybe," he said. "But even for a stretched out whore like you it'd be a tight fit."
So he didn't realize after all that I was Barbara's ex, the old buddy he'd kidnapped and gotten made over into a 'girlyboy' whore, gotten out of the way so he could take over my life with my wife. He'd forgotten? There were so many ways he'd dealt with so many husbands of seduced wives that they'd all blurred in memory? He did indeed think I was a standard whore become a standard domestic servant, one more of Barbara's pet projects.
"If mistress approves, I'll be glad to fuck with you," I added. I allowed a gleam into my eye. "I'd look forward to fucking you up and fucking you over!" I smiled as if invitingly.
It was foolish for me phrase it that way and risk revealing my antagonism. But all that happened was, a gleam appeared in his own eyes and he glanced at my crotch. "I just may hold you to it," he said with a leer. Then, visibly weary from his all-night exercises in some other woman's bed, he went to bed.
All very promising. But now to formulate a plan of my own. I changed to an appropriate business suit -- a mid-knee skirt, very solemn, with a chiffon scarf at my neck to soften the effect -- and then followed Barbara to the office, using a city bus. She was surprised to see me there this first day home, but merely introduced me to her secretary as 'Katie Wilmott, my former husband's sister come to help out,' then disappeared into her office. Plainly, she did hope I'd straighten out things she hadn't understood or bothered to understand, but she didn't want to demonstrate dependence or inadequacy. Not to a secretary -- a new one since I'd left. Not to me either.
After sizing up and approving the new secretary's clothes, hairdo, and style of make-up, and silently approving what I saw, I went into what had been my own office and sat down at my own desk and found it exactly as I'd left it a year earlier. It was a shrine to my lost former self. Then I became my old self.
I quickly found that my boobs blocked a near view of the computer keyboard, and my extended nails required a flat-fingered style of typing, but those adjustments came quickly. In fact I loved such reminders that I was now feminine. I wanted to be feminine! I knew of course that I'd been conditioned to feel that way, but that didn't matter, the feelings were real enough, and pleasing enough. My mind even drifted to what it would be like if I did have a cunt and really could fuck a fat club of a cock like Russell's. I mused for a moment on how it would feel if he actually were inside me. The way Barbara reported he'd felt, or she'd felt, like a stuffed animal shuddering in wave after wave of orgasms? My mind drifted.
But no, that bastard was my enemy, the sleaze who'd destroyed my life, so I cut off all further daydreaming and got to work.
First, I saw that Barbara had left our personal checking and savings accounts unchanged, and I had access to both. So the first thing I did at my own computer was start a 'Katie Wilmott' account -- I was my sister now -- and then log onto our old personal accounts as Cody and transfer most of the funds in them -- not all -- into Katie's. I saw in passing that there had been a few mass transfers of money from them to a 'Russell Donahue' -- fairly large sums, probably 'investments' no doubt as Barbara understood them. Lost money -- Russell had been scamming her too, as he would any other widow. It became clear that Russell hadn't yet pulled off what he surely planned as his valedictory scam, cleaned her out altogether and then abandoned her, leaving her deep in debt. Not yet he hadn't. That, I'd known for a long time, was how he always bid farewell to gullible women as he moved on. Then I hadn't cared -- they 'd gotten laid by a great prick and paid the price, and he'd amused his friends by boasting about it. Now I was one of those women, in a way -- I'd been tittyfucked by him anyhow. And Barbara was about to become another.
I didn't attempt a similar hijack of the Wilmott and Wilmott Office account -- it wasn't necessary. It had accumulated a considerable amount of money during the year I'd been away despite no attention at all paid to receivables. I quickly realized that the deposits duly noted had been automatic retainers Barbara might not even know we were getting. I saw no evidence of anything else happening in that account, and recalled that Barbara never knew even its passwords and pin numbers -- I'd dealt myself with all of those boring details. Probably she'd started a second 'Office' account when she'd couldn't find this one or realized she'd have no access to it until I'd completed my training at the Estate. Until I'd supposedly learned how to be more understanding of women, had paid off my tuition by whoring, and then come to work for her. So that money was already Cody's alone. Mine.
I settled in for a few hours of getting up to speed on current cases, and found several I could suggest I take over. But before I closed down the computer for the day I wrote a half-dozen e-mail love letters to Russell as if from several of his other paramours, each dated during the past year, and sent copies of them to Barbara as if from 'A. Friend.'
I then wrote a half-dozen more e-mails, this time signed by 'Barbara' as if to a variety of imaginary lovers, and wrote a few ardent replies as well, and saved the whole fraudulent correspondence to a CD. Those were for later, to prove to her that such letters are easily faked. I wanted her to be furious with Russell because of A. Friend's revelations, and only afterward understand that the letters exposing my supposed infidelities had also been faked. She had to understand as I did that what Russell had shown her earlier, supposedly from me, had been written by him so she'd open her legs to him the first time. After that first time, he knew, she'd find any number of her own reasons to spread for him.
It had worked. He'd screwed her -- if stuffing a cunt and then lying there squeezed by its successive spasms can be called screwing -- and no further deceptions had been needed. The damage was done. I was one more cuckolded husband he'd put out of the way with his wife's approval. My manhood was, anyhow.
I felt especially satisfied as I logged off -- in only a few hours I'd done a good day's work. Before leaving I went to Barbara's office to discuss a few client matters with her, but she waved me away, so I backed off. She seemed to be concentrating ferociously on something -- A. Friend's e-mails perhaps? I decided that this was not a good time to distract her, and left on my own.
Since there was too little time for me to prepare a proper dinner this time, when I got off the bus I stopped at "Jeff's Ribs" and bought supper for the two of them for reheating as if it were my own special recipe, cooked for hours. It wasn't necessary. By the time I'd set the table and announced dinner, prim in my maid's uniform, Barbara was in the living room discussing Russell's supposed e-mails with him in a low, tense voice. He denied everything, of course. They both raised their voices, and Russell stormed out. So far so good.
I thought that Barbara and I would then sit down together for another peaceable dinner, again more as girlfriends than as maid and mistress. I was about to change into the prettiest of the dinner dresses I'd just bought when Barbara came into the kitchen.
"I'm going out, Katie," she announced. "I'm still furious, never mind why, and I need some distraction! That snake! Leave my dinner in the micro for whenever I return, and don't bother waiting up. You might try checking out the television in your room to see whether it's working, and whether there's anything on tonight that interests you. Maybe go out yourself and try to find some people like yourself and make a few friends. Feel free to invite them to see your new quarters if you like, but remember, no strangers in the house past midnight." She looked at me. "And no whoring for money -- this house is not a brothel! Good night." And she was gone.
She couldn't have been clearer. The main parts of the house were for her and her guests, not me and my guests. If I wanted to hook up with someone and get fucked, feel free, I was a woman after all and shouldn't feel deprived. But she made the rules!
I knew that Russell would soon figure that I'd written those e-mails proving he'd been unfaithful to my wife. So immediately after Barbara left I called Gina. After a long wait she came to the phone, her voice deep in her throat. I apologized for perhaps waking her. She chuckled, told me it was only overmuch deep-throating, and added that the girls all missed me. "Lots of guys have asked for you too -- they say they prefer your magic mouth to all the others."
I told her I missed them too, and was surprised to find I felt sincere about it. My heart really was reaching out to where I knew I'd been welcomed and respected. Here I felt isolated and demeaned. I told Gina that.
She made sympathetic noises. "But we all make our own lives, Katie," she said. "If you don't like whatever world you're in, leave! Try another one somewhere else."
"I just did," I said. "Anyhow, I'd rather change the one I'm in." I then described to her what I was plotting. She listened and agreed to put my proposal to Mrs. Eliot. An hour later she called me back and said it was on, that Mrs. Eliot said to thank me and tell me they'd take care of everything. "Don't give it another thought," she said. "Your house will be watched. Just be sure not to lock the front door, that's the only instruction she gave me." I agreed.
Before hanging up, Gina added, "Maybe you haven't found it yet, honey, but you know that pretty jelly dildo you like? It's in a side pocket of your travel bag along with some KY. Emergency gear for when you fall on hard times with no hard cock. You do sound like a girl who needs to relax. Will you promise to do exactly what I say now?"
Gina'd done what I wanted, so I had to reciprocate. "I will," I replied.
"Good. When you hang up the phone, go directly to your room and lie down on the bed, and spread your legs, and then -- are you listening?"
"Yes."
"Go fuck yourself!" she said. And laughed. "I mean it!"
"I will," I promised again. "Thank you!"
"Leaving you all alone!" she muttered. "What can your wife be thinking? I wish I were there to help! Good night, honey!" And she hung up.
I hung up the phone and did just what she'd asked. It felt wonderful to be lost in my own sensations for once, inserting that dildo into my well-sensitized rear end and rolling my hips in bliss. I'd realized that I'd been so concerned with others' sexual pleasure for so long that I'd taken to ignoring my own. It was nice to indulge with a stiff cock in me. I wondered what a soft, wet, throbbing cunt would feel like. Again I considered trading in my cock for a cunt of my own. Maybe. It would depend on .. events in the near future.
The next day Russell still hadn't returned. I spent time shopping for the pantry, organizing the cooking, and attending to other of my duties as Barbara's house maid. Barbara had returned home quite late the previous night and was sleeping in late, so I canceled the house cleaning service as too clamorous. When she finally did come down to breakfast she found me attending to the essentials myself. I'd prepared Eggs Benedict for her, and as I turned them out of the pan she looked up at me.
"You know, Cody," she said. "You're becoming a treasure. You've worked out so well! I can't imagine what it was I saw in Russell when you were still my husband." A compliment, and intended as one. But obviously a little insincere.
"It wasn't what you saw in Russell, Mrs. Wilmott," I reminded her. "It was what you saw hanging from him." I still resented that Russell had persuaded her to dump me and devote herself instead to his huge prick. That she'd agreed to let the Estate 'improve' my lovemaking, and not objected when she found it was by initiating me into girlhood and prostitution. Much as I'd come to love both girlhood and prostitution.
"Also, please remember that I'm Katie now, not Cody. Irreversibly they tell me," I added. To emphasize the point, I thrust out my chest. My breasts jutted out -- this particular uniform had darts in its fitted bust, allowing plenty of room to display them. They needed plenty of room.
"So I see," was all she said. There was a note of approval in her voice. Then surprisingly, came a confession. "They did right by you. I'd been thinking for a long time that you weren't quite the husband I'd hoped for, and I'd wished you could be a little more like a woman, less of a ... guy, less aggressive and insensitive, more understanding, more like a ... a friend. And now you are. Aren't you pleased?"
That was quite a revelation! Was she saying that I'd been unsatisfactory, that if Russell hadn't come along, another man might have? That I'd have ended up less masculine, more feminized anyhow? I stared at Barbara dumbly. This was new!
"I asked you a question. If you're pleased, say so." She was eyeing me dispassionately now, a mistress instructing her maid in modes of proper response.
All in all I was pleased. I was content as a woman, I couldn't deny it. And I knew it wasn't all conditioning -- my body had its own desires. That dildo up my ass wasn't as good as some of the men who'd been in me, but it did remind me of them, and that was amply satisfying. Clamping your ass muscles on a cock or a dildo when you're cumming and cumming and cumming is a joy beyond description, and I'd never have known that if I'd remained a mere man. Last night had reminded me.
And pleasing men, those masses of muscle, by taking that one
unmuscled tube into your mouth and making it rigid, making it spurt, that was satisfying too. Then again, feeling their hands and fingers caress my full breasts -- any hands and fingers -- that could be heaven! I'd never have known that pleasure if I didn't have breasts.
"Yes, Ma'am. I'm very pleased."
Seeing she'd regained the upper hand, Barbara -- Mrs. Wilmott -- felt she could relax. "These eggs are delicious, Katie. I look forward to your other gourmet specialties in the future. Oh, if you won't be coming to the office today, would you see what can be done to clean out the garage? And Mr. Wilmott left some things in the attic we'll be well rid of, since as we both know he's never coming back. See to it, would you?"
She was asking me to eradicate the last vestiges of me? Why not? I said I would. I phoned the cleaning service to tell them to concentrate on the garage tomorrow, and I called the Salvation Army to carry away Mr. Wilmott's clothes, sports equipment, and books from the attic. True enough, he was never coming back.
I worried that Russell also was never coming back, but two days later when Barbara was at the office he returned to collect his clothes and other belongings, this time to leave for good. Clearly, she'd tossed him out past any further argument, foreclosing any planned last scam on her money and credit.
That didn't prevent him from casting a speculative eye on me in passing. Then a real problem. He eyed me slowly, then proposed that we lie down together then and there. "I hear that's what you do best," he said. "Well, so do I. I guarantee that your pussy will never forget me."
I nodded my agreement and smiled at him, then slowly, tantalizingly, unbuttoned the top button of my maid's uniform. Then the next button. Hoping that somehow Mrs. Eliot had made her arrangements. Could I get away with merely tittyfucking him a second time? This time he was cold sober. No.
"So, what are your specialties, Katie?" he asked, starting to unbuckle his belt. "We have all day!"
Apparently he wanted more than a tittyfuck. Incredible! He'd still somehow not yet put Katie, Cody, those e-mails, and Barbara's recent accusations together. Maybe because he'd been so busy with other women these past few days? Even so, when he saw what I had and did not have down below, he'd suddenly know everything, I was sure of that. When his slab of meat was tumescent he was probably single minded, like most men. But he wasn't stupid.
Thank goodness Mrs. Eliot was as efficient with Russell as she'd been with me. Before his pants reached his knees he was blind sided. The house had indeed been watched almost from the hour I'd spoken to Gina, and his return to collect his clothes had been duly reported. Before I got to the third button on my uniform, an ambulance pulled up in front of the house and two men rushed out and rushed through our unlocked front door. There was a whirl of activity in front of my nose while I gaped, and a moment later three men went back out to the ambulance, one of them on a stretcher. The ambulance and Russell then disappeared up the street, bound for the Estate.
So that was how I'd disappeared from that casino? The role reversal was very gratifying. I immediately called Gina to share the good news, and proposed they make Russell into a masochistic girl subject to whatever any sadistic male client required. Gina's response was that I shouldn't give Russell another thought. "'Leave him to us' is what Mrs. Eliot told me to tell you. 'We'll find ways to use him. It's best you don't inquire further.' That's what she said."
So I stopped worrying about Russell. He was now so much meat.
So did Barbara, apparently. As far as she knew, Russell had simply decided never to return. Given her discovery of his other paramours, those I'd invented and his likely actual ones, she no longer cared.
Now, with Russell out of the way and the household much more orderly in his absence, I had less to do. I began going in to the office several times each week, and a few weeks passed. I picked up on the work fairly quickly and began carrying a substantial burden of it again, paperwork and depositions mainly. I also did some of the interviewing of new clients -- as a good-looking and obviously competent woman I had no problem gaining their confidence as they outlined their problems to me and I proposed likely solutions. Barbara was grateful for my help, and in fact, after my second full day she began to feel free to spend free time elsewhere. Sometimes she didn't return to the office at all. The second week after Russell disappeared, night after night she didn't return home until quite late. Past midnight in fact, and once or twice not at all.
Where she spent that time I didn't discover for a long while, but how she spent it soon became apparent enough. One night she announced a return home by knocking on my door. Katie's door, the door to the servant's entrance behind the kitchen.
"Cody, are you with anyone?" she called out. She persisted in calling me that name more often than 'Katie.' It depressed me to be reminded who I'd once been, but that may have been her purpose. It seemed to please her.
I'd been lying in bed reading, anticipating a session with my dildo after lights out. But I merely replied, "No, no one."
She took this as a license to enter my inner sanctum and did so, slamming the door shut and standing for a moment with the door at her back. I saw with a certain distaste that she'd been out on the town. Her hair was loose and messed and her make-up smeared. She looked ... used. When she threw herself on my bed, pulled up her skirt, and spread her legs wide at me there was no question of it. The hair on her cunt was clotted with cum, and as I stared, more pearly, viscous stuff drooled out of her.
She looked at me slyly. "Haven't seen this part of me recently, have you?" she asked, slurring. "Well, you're the whore here. So eat me!" I looked more closely at the gap between her legs. Under her crotch hair, between bloated, red-irritated folds of skin, opalescent fluid dribbled. Her crack reminded me of an open sewer.
In the old days I'd have eaten her as asked. I often did before we made love, always while her cunt was prim and neat and then at her request, sometimes after I'd cum into it. That had seemed nasty at first, but it had seemed to me only fair that I bring her to one more orgasm when I could no longer bring her off the usual way. So I'd sucked her pussy both before and after, not bothering to glance at her crease before burying my face in it. She'd get into bed and lie back and languorously invite me to begin or maybe conclude our lovemaking by giving her a big smooch down there, and I'd do it.
After a while I came to love it because even before I'd cum in her I'd find she was often already wet down there. Dripping wet sometimes. I thought this testimony to her excitement, how much she anticipated the deep pleasure my tongue would give her as it licked and stroked and then invaded her. And her excitement in turn would excite me. A few years later, even when her subtle discontent with our marriage began to be noticeable, I noticed that she'd still get excited down there. And in its excitement, her pussy was still just as wet. Swollen, puffy, and drooling, in fact. Like now.
Oh God! Of course! Unthinkable, back then anyhow, I was so innocent! But now I'd had a year's experience with all sorts of excretions, and I had to think it! What I'd been licking out of her during those years hadn't been her cum or mine. It'd been someone else's. When our marriage began to seem unsatisfying to her she'd amused herself by bringing someone else's cum home and delivering it to my mouth as if it were hers or mine. And I'd trusted her. I'd lapped it all up and smiled.
Russell's too. But now I realized that Russell hadn't been Barbara's first extramarital excursion -- there'd been others earlier. And I'd unwittingly collaborated. Over and over, when her pussy had glutted itself on some other man's cock and was sated, my mouth had provided the dessert. No wonder she'd agreed with Russell to let the Estate improve my oral skills, among others. It had done just that. But should I betray my former self by demonstrating what I'd learned?
"You've been a busy girl tonight, haven't you?" I said, trying to deflect her attention. Better to jolly her now than confront her. "Was he especially good this time?"
My overture didn't work. "Eat me!" was all she repeated.
In itself that was no big deal. I'd swallowed gallons of sperm from all sorts of projections and orifices in my time at the Estate. But now? From her? No way!
"I'm the house maid here," I told Barbara. "Also a paralegal for Wilmott and Wilmott. I'm not the local food critic. And I'm no one's douche bag. If I suck a cunt it has to deserve it!"
I'm not sure she heard me. "It was so good tonight," she reminisced, just lying there. "Two guys at a time are so much better than one ...."
Then thankfully, she fell stone solidly asleep across my bed. Nothing would wake her -- I tried and failed several times. So finally I left her there on my bed and went up to her room and crawled into her bed -- formerly our bed. Then despite all sorts of new tumbling thoughts, I fell asleep.
She remembered none of any of it the next day, and at breakfast I acted as if nothing had happened.
"I found myself in your room this morning," she commented as I brought her a boiled egg and toast. "Maybe I'd had a little too much to drink. You weren't there when I woke up. You were having a late night somewhere else?"
Was she asking if I'd fucked her and sucked her? Or anyone else? I smiled conspiratorially. "When I saw you asleep on my bed I didn't want to disturb you, so I spent the night ... elsewhere," I told her cryptically but truthfully. I'd made up her bed with clean sheets immediately on waking up, leaving no clue where I'd spent the night.
"Elsewhere. That's nice," she said, sipping coffee. "Was he good? Mine were satisfactory, but lacked ... something. I'm afraid I left a mess on your bedspread though."
We seemed to be back to intimate chit-chat, morning-after girl-talk, though she was seated and I was serving her. "No problem, honey," I replied. "It all washes out."
"See what you can do for my skirt then too, Katie. It's silk, I think. I left it for you to deal with." She sighed. "I should carry tampons I guess, but I figured that now that you're back and available you can clean me out the way you used to whenever I'd gone ... elsewhere. But I guess not last night."
I said nothing. She apparently remembered nothing.
She eyed me steadily. "From now on I'll call when I know what time I'll be coming home, so you'll know to stay up and wait for me."
"Another cup of coffee?" was all I replied.
She nodded, and her thoughts drifted to the day's work. Then, "Can you can get to the office later this morning, Katie? There's a contract issue that needs your advice."
"I'll certainly try," I said. I certainly would. She'd just given me more to think about. Whether or not she'd been a dupe of Russell's, as I certainly had, she'd used Russell and she'd certainly used me to gratify her own desires. Me for some time, Russell maybe from the beginning, from that first time she'd plugged him into her cunt and held still while orgasmic waves passed through her. Had I been unjust to Russell, thinking him the prime architect of the end of my marriage and my masculine identity and sending him off to a fate similar to mine? Who had used who?
Which one of them had first proposed sending me to the Estate for treatment? Which one of them even knew of the Estate earlier, and how? I'd assumed Russell, because of all his womanizing and all his womanizing friends. But was Barbara's story of how I got there the whole story?
VI.
Late that afternoon everything finally came clear.
I went to the office, changed the 'Wilmott and Wilmott" office account Barbara didn't know about into a new "Katie Wilmott, Atty," account, started the paperwork establishing 'Katie Wilmott, Atty' as a P.C., and filed a form with the district court officially changing my name from 'Cody' to 'Katie' with all the rights, privileges, and immunities thereof. Our partnership was dissolved, as far as I was concerned, though she'd have no idea for a while yet.
I then picked up the disk containing Barbara's supposed love letters to various men and their replies, and went in to see Barbara.
Our consultation over her contract issue went quickly, and I then put the disk into her computer and booted it. Cautioning her to say nothing until she'd read them all, I brought up her supposed love letters to other men one at a time. She read them with a certain interest, chuckling once or twice at an occasional impassioned purple phrasing.
Then when she'd seen them all, she looked at me and asked, "So?"
This took me aback. It was not the response I'd anticipated. "These supposed love letters were all written by me as if by you, and attributed to you," I said by way if explaining the obvious.
"So?" she asked again
"Barbara, none of the letters Russell showed you supposedly from me to various women were authentic. E-mail letters are easily forged. He persuaded you that I was unfaithful and that you deserved revenge only so he could get into your pants. He got into them. You took your revenge and agreed to commit me to the Estate, and he saw to it that I was committed. But I wasn't unfaithful!"
"He did indeed," Barbara replied. "He got a lot further into me than my pants. And he felt very good in there, too. I still miss the feeling. But I have to ask you again, so what?"
I said nothing. She hesitated a long while, then as she spoke she watched me closely out of the corner of her eye.
"Honey, I didn't mean to tell you any of this until after I began sleeping with you again, but I guess we need to be truthful right off. When I told you that I took up with Russell because you'd supposedly taken up with other women, I was only trying to spare your feelings. I took up with Russell because I'd heard he was a way better lover than you'd ever be. You've seen why -- how could any girl resist? If you had a cunt you'd know why too by now -- that's why I canceled that part of your ... transformation ... I didn't want to share him that way with you ever."
I nodded to show I understood. Here was a confirmation of sorts.
"I always shared him with you afterward, so you can't complain too much. The very first time I came back to you from his hotel room I knew I had to give you a taste of him, just to be fair. He cums in buckets, as you know, and you eagerly slurped him up in buckets. That was so pleasing to me that I always made sure that afterward you got at least a lick of the action, no matter what."
"I thought that was all you," I said. "Didn't you feel a little guilty, even?" Then I thought, maybe better to say nothing.
"At first. Then I thought, how can I make you less my husband, so I'll feel less bad about feeding you another man's cum. That was when I started slipping a birth control pill into the puddle between my labia just before your mouth got to it. So you could become more like me eventually, and I could think of you as someone more like me, not at all the man I'd married."
She'd put me on birth control pills? Was that how I started down this path toward womanhood? "Every time?" I asked her, shocked!
"Every time I left Russell and came back to you, anyhow. Even when I didn't. God, my pussy was so stretched out sometimes I was afraid your head would disappear inside me, you got so devoted to licking his spunk. Then when I came to reclaim you from the Estate I wanted you to see for yourself how irresistible Russell's cock can be, so you'd understand everything I'd done. And anyhow it seemed only fair to let you taste him direct from the source. So when he was too drunk for it to matter, that was when I sent him to you for a blow job. That last night. When I came into your room with Brad and saw you with your mouth clamped around that cathedral dome of a cock head and squeezing it between your brand new breasts ... it was just so lovely, that sight, I was near tears! I knew then that I'd been right, all my elaborate planning. I felt, 'If this is still my husband, he's forgiven me!' But I never expected that Russell would then try to rape you! That was unforgivable!"
Clear confirmation of what I'd just learned, and utterly unexpected that she'd confess it! Did she felt so confident of her power over me now that she felt she could tell me everything? Was she that naive?
But I'd better keep to the issue, I decided, and be absolutely clear about it. "You knew the whole time that I wasn't philandering with some other woman?"
"Of course I knew! Cody, think! If you'd been with some other woman your sex with me would have been much less demanding and much more imaginative. You'd have come onto me only now and then, but ready to try some new move or other, something she'd inspired or taught you. At least there'd be another woman's scent on your clothes, or better, on your body. But no, intimacy with you was always the sameole sameole, reliable but repetitive. Boring. Can you wonder why I went looking for greater variety."
She smiled warmly and sat back in her chair. "Now you know vastly more about satisfying a woman, I'm told. Mrs. Eliot tells me you know how to please a woman as a man or as a woman, because you've given and received pleasure both, as both. Well, that's what I've wanted from you all along, and now that's what I've got. Really, Katie, you need to get used to the idea!"
I had nothing to say. My planned grand confrontation, my effort to make Barbara feel remorse for what she'd done to me, to show her the error of her ways by proving I'd been unimpeachably virtuous, had shown me only the error of my own ways. She didn't really care. She didn't even care that I now knew what she'd done. And Russell, I now knew, hadn't been her first extramarital partner anyhow. There had been others earlier. She hadn't ever needed forged letters as an excuse to fuck him. Why hadn't I realized that?
A larger question. If Russell didn't dupe her about my supposed infidelities, if I'd been no impediment to her own affairs anyhow, why would Russell want me sent to the Estate? Why did she consent to it? She had consented, knowingly. Mrs. Eliot made it clear that Barbara and not Russell was the Estate's contact person, the one who determined what would become of me.
It struck me. Could my own wife have been the prime mover, the person who'd consigned me to my changed sex, not Russell? If so, why? To ease any residual guilt about screwing other men, the same reason she'd fed me hormones out of her pussy? Rather extreme. To keep me occupied elsewhere while she was fucking Russell? Probably. To teach me to be a more venturesome lover? But then why a woman lover? Why pay the costs of converting me, especially the financial costs? True, I'd repaid them out of my own earnings, but when she'd committed me she'd had no reason to believe I ever could. Her boring husband a high-earning whore? Doubtful.
An answer came as we were driving home from the office, Barbara now casting salacious sidelong glances at me, obviously anticipating at last an evening of sampling my new sexual skills. I was uneasy about that. I didn't want to give her the satisfaction, any satisfaction, now that I knew how extensive her betrayals had been. Yet I knew that given my conditioning, my built-in reflexes, my professional pride in my ability to satisfy any woman or man, once she began with me I'd be unable to stop myself, and she'd indeed enjoy a grand evening getting royally fucked by a woman and also by a man, by a woman who could fuck like a man. As we were driving home she suggested we stop for drinks first. There was this little place she knew where she hadn't been for some time. "There's no reason for you to waste your energy cooking and cleaning up afterward tonight, Katie," she said. "There are other things we want to do. And you need to meet some new people, now that you're a new person. You need to know about this place especially."
I agreed, and ten minutes later we found ourselves in a quiet bar off on a side street, all leather and blonde wood panelling. It seemed an ordinary bar, though Barbara had entered it by swiping a card at the door. A private club? I looked around. There were only women to be seen, at the bar or sitting in the booths. With their heads together chatting, or else standing together and ... waiting.
The bartender glanced up as we entered, then greeted Barbara warmly by name. Barbara nodded back at her. Plainly, this was some kind of women only bar. Maybe a lesbian bar? Plainly, Barbara was a regular here.
"Hi, Bree," she said. "I want you to meet Katie -- I'm proposing her for membership. Katie's been making herself indispensable at work -- she's a real dear. I expect she'll end up equally indispensable at home."
"Oh?" Bree said. "You think some day you'll find she's more than a real dear at work, so you'll want to promote her from real dear to real partner, so to speak? At home too? She's your prime candidate to replace your husband in both places?"
"At work? Maybe, there's been no one else. At home I've had one steady since Cody left me, Russell, the guy with a cock that makes you think you're giving birth in reverse, I told you about him? He moved in when Cody moved out. But he got unreliable, so he's gone too now. Katie's my assistant in all things at the office at present, and I hope soon in all things period. As for my husband, I don't expect to see him again and I'm not looking for another. From now on I live with Katie and seek out other women or men only when I need them."
Bree nodded. "Well, you've always declared that as your preference, home life with another woman. Marianne was in the other day wondering where you've been lately. All of your crowd have been wondering -- Sheryl, Dianne, Karen, all the girls you've gone with whenever you've craved your own kind. They thought maybe your husband had come back and you'd taken him in again."
Barbara just shook her head. "No, he's never coming back," she said. I realized yet again, that was true.
"I personally doubted it," Bree continued. "I told them it was this Russell of yours occupying you so completely that you wanted no time off, not off that thing of his anyway. Or else you were spending more time and money at that place you've gone to for years and years, what's it called? Ever since I've known you, from when you first got to town to start law school? Long before your marriage? What's it called again? Not far out of town, sort of like a sports training camp for athletes, only for sex? You'd always come back glowing, well-reamed you'd say, looking altogether satisfied? What did you call that place again?"
An inspiration struck me. "You mean, 'The Estate'?" I asked.
"That's it. You know about it? You've been there too then, Katie?"
I nodded. "Yes," I told her. "Once."
She started explaining what she meant to me. "Then you know how it is. With Barbara, it's all the time. One day she'll just up and say, 'My husband doesn't have it for me this weekend, and my girlfriends' dildos don't have it either, and I'm in between guys, I need a real man!' And the next day no one would know where she was. Call home and her husband Cody would say she was off on a business trip, I suppose that's what she told him she was doing. Then a few days later she'd reappear and it was obvious that she'd been getting herself thoroughly laid, she'd found a man or a gang of men to pump her full of spunk. More than full, overflowing."
Bree turned to Barbara. "I remember, you'd come in here and tell us how you always saved Cody your leftovers and he'd sip and slurp them thinking it was all you. Janet thought it was mean of you to trick him that way. But you always insisted you were sharing, that male cum has this wonderful feel and flavor in the mouth. That if your husband were only a little more open-minded he'd appreciate it the way you do, as well as the fact that you were sharing it with him."
"That's right," Barbara replied, all the while watching me closely. She didn't appreciate Bree revealing all this all at once -- Bree of course thought I was one of the girls, one more of the girls, so she could speak freely. "If Cody had only been a little more like us I might not have had to arrange for him to become ... a little more like us." She then lapsed into silence.
Bree's next comment was directed to me as Barbara's new associate, as both her legal "assistant" and her house mate. "Katie, you know now if you didn't before that every now and then your employer feels the need to go get herself reamed by men. Slammed by hairy, heavy bodies. She isn't always satisfied with our delicate tongues and breasts and fingers and cunts. She's bisexual, not lesbian like the rest of us. Most of the rest of us. She's been intimate with my whole staff here one time or another -- Marianne, Sheryl, all of them. And since she got married she's had her husband's tongue too, as well as his cock. But now and then she says she craves really heavy-duty cock, the kind they have at this Estate of hers, so she goes off for a day or two to fill herself full of them. You'll need to know that if you don't yet, so you won't mind when it happens."
"Don't we all," I said in all apparent innocence, mainly to encourage her to say more. "Crave a fat cock now and then, I mean."
"Oh yes, certainly. I mean, even straight lesbians like me and the girls I employ here need a stiff dildo now and then, a strap-on to fill us full and give us that wonderful feeling of ... completion. That's how we're built, after all. And Barbara here feels the same way, but now and then she likes her dildos live, hot and throbbing. That's probably why she got married to begin with. Too bad it didn't work out." I was learning more here than I wanted to know. Some extraordinary things. Barbara had been a regular at the Estate even before she met and married me? She was an old established customer? No wonder Mrs. Eliot had been willing to extend her the credit needed to change me over, using my body's unproven earning power as collateral. But more to the point, I wasn't sent there by Russell to get me out of the way! I was sent there by Barbara to learn how better to satisfy her, to become more like her in body as well as mind. And by whoring to learn to enjoy it, and incidentally to pay off the costs of my reconditioning. Maybe even to build up credit Barbara could use for hiring Stud Farm cocks in the months and years ahead?
That was why Russell never suspected that Katie was once Cody, not when I was blowing him, not on the trip home, not since! Not ever! He'd had no idea that Cody was anywhere near the Estate. As far as he knew, Cody was conveniently elsewhere and he was filling Cody's space in Barbara's body and Barbara's bed, and the rest was none of his business.
He certainly knew now about the Estate, I thought with a certain malicious pleasure. If he wasn't drugged out by his mind while they were reshaping his body and reconditioning his desires.
"Yes, too bad," I agreed. And turned to Barbara. "Your husband's cock wasn't enough?" I asked her.
Barbara sighed, and then suddenly relaxed. Altogether. She sat down on a stool and leaned on the bar. It was as if she'd decided finally to let her hair down, or at least her body.
And turned to talk to me directly. "Oh, Katie, I loved Cody's cock! Still do! But it was nothing like the ones I'd gotten accustomed to at the Estate. So I'd go there whenever I felt that kind of special need. The night before our wedding, for example, when Cody was at his bachelor party singing lewd songs and so on, I was at the Estate getting gang shagged over and over, fucked hard enough and long enough for me to be satisfied with only Cody's cock for a long time before I felt the need to betray him and go back. I did want to be an honest woman for at least a month, anyhow. So I'd know what it was like, being married and fucking only one man."
"I see," I said. "I'd had no idea." She got herself gang shagged repeatedly so she could be faithful to me for all of a month? Should I express admiration? Gratitude?
Barbara cast a warning eye on me and said, "How could you know anything about it, Katie?" She emphasized my name. I realized I'd blundered. "You and I hadn't yet met when I first married my husband."
But the secret was out. Bree hadn't known who I was, or who I'd been anyhow. But now she did know. She'd quickly understood. "Oh, honey, I see it all now!" she said to me. Her face was luminous with delight. "So you two are still partners, in a way! Wonderful! Well, Cody, be Katie, because if that's who you are now you're much better off! And I want you to know that as a woman you'll always be welcome here! You'll be getting an entry card in the next mail! Let me get a bottle of champagne!"
I glanced at Barbara, to see if she was annoyed. No, she looked relieved. There'd been so much deception lately. Now, at least here, no more was needed.
She turned to me, now in a mood to tell all. "I've had other occasional lovers," she confessed, while Bree opened and poured the champagne. "Like Russell. But they never turn out to be dependable. It's a real shame that a great cock like Russell's has to come attached to an even bigger prick like Russell, so to get the one into her a girl has to put up with the other."
She sipped, eyes steadily looking into mine. I looked back non-commitally.
"I've always had girlfriends too, of course. I made a new one even on our honeymoon -- Zoe, my hairdresser at that hotel, we spent some wonderful hours together in bed while you were off golfing or something somewhere. In fact I talked Zoe into coming back here to this town with us and I introduced her to the crowd here at Bree's, and she's still my hairdresser. She'll soon be yours too, Katie, I'm sure. Just because a girl gets married doesn't mean she has to stop having sex with everybody. I still like boys, but I also like girls lots. Each kind is different and does things differently, so why should any of us ever have to choose? I never felt the need."
Bree nodded. "Too bad I've never liked what boys do. That's why I never married.".
"Oh, Bree, married life is so convenient! What did that playwright say once, marriage is popular because 'it combines a maximum of temptation with a maximum of opportunity'? And it makes all the other daily things easier too. Of course I didn't look forward to marrying a man -- men get so proprietary, you know? They want you for themselves. I'd rather have married a woman, someone raised to keep house for me and keep herself pretty, someone who's always there when I come home from work, someone who knows all sorts of ways to give a woman sexual satisfaction. Like you now, Katie! Lots of men look for women like that -- I didn't see why I shouldn't. Though I'd never forsake all others when I married her -- I'd still want other women now and then, and other men too of course, the exceptionally gifted men anyhow. But I can sacrifice some variety for security and a stable home life. I'm just that way I guess."
I was now sure I was learning more than I wanted to know.
"Unfortunately, in this State a woman can't marry another woman. So the solution seemed to me obvious enough -- marry a man and feminize him, make him a woman, your companion, housekeeper, and lover all three in one. Then help him get to love it. So no matter how far I roam, I can always come back home again to someone I can depend on. And so can he."
"And that's supposed to be me?" I asked, unable to say anything else.
Barbara seemed not to hear. She was on a roll. "Really, our laws are perverted -- they practically require a girl to take her lawfully wedded husband and turn him into her lawfully wedded wife, and then live happily ever after if by some chance he turns out not to mind. If he finds there are compensations." She beamed approvingly at me. "I married my darling intending to do that, and now at last I've done it, and I do hope she doesn't mind. So far I've heard no objections."
True enough. I'd expressed no objections. What good would they do?
Another mystery solved. I now also understood now why Barbara hadn't thought about wages when she'd consigned me to maid status around the house. Why she'd seemed amused when I mentioned them, and agreed at once without hassling. I was her wife now, and wives don't get paid wages. At least not the kind of wife she'd intended me to be, as submissive to her will as a whore to a client's when submissive is what the client wants. A junior partner who does what she's told. Lick or fuck. Be licked or be fucked.
So now I understood all. But what to do about it?
I reminded myself that I was in the process of quietly taking over the whole office practice, all the accounts, licenses, and certifications. Dissolving our partnership. Barbara would soon find that she was only an Associate there, perhaps only a paralegal, no longer a partner. I'd have to do most of the work, but I'd control all of the purse strings. Meanwhile, I decided, at home it seems best to play at being a dutiful wife. That's what a whore does, after all -- enact her client's fantasies.
Barbara was thoughtful, driving home. Then suddenly said, "Katie, I owe you an explanation. I do hope you don't mind what you've just found out. That I haven't been altogether faithful to you. I didn't want to depress you, or give you any reason to brood about being betrayed or anything like that, so I didn't want you to know that our marriage hasn't been what you thought. And then when you came back from the Estate, I didn't want you to feel married to me at all, and betrayed regularly, and feel grieved, and resent me. So I thought it best to keep you on as a maid, not as a husband or even a wife. Because what the mistress of a house does with her love life is not a maid's business -- maids are expected only to change the sheets the next morning, and wash the mistress's crusty undies, and maybe bring me and my man of the evening breakfast in bed if I'd invited him home for the night. That's what I'd expected you to do for me. In return, you'd of course feel free to find your own lovers to take to your own bed in the maid's quarters, selected from whatever available tradesmen and repairmen and others of your social class you could seduce. I didn't think you'd have a problem."
She sighed, and looked at me, and said, "But now that you know that I've always been ... sexually hyperactive, and you don't seem to mind, that makes everything different. So I've made a phone call." She didn't explain what she meant by that last, and I was afraid to ask. She'd be returning me to the Estate? To whoring? She expected me to live out the rest of my life as a shale whore? I was bewildered.
When we arrived home, she set down her purse, then turned to me and took my hand. Then kissed me on the lips for the first time, and without hesitating she began to lead me toward the bedroom. To make it 'our' bedroom again? To consummate her new marriage to me? Apparently she thought that all now being clear and unambiguous, I'd be willing to perform my part as she'd always wished. One last time?
For the first time since coming to consciousness as a whore a few weeks earlier, I felt like a real whore. Though passionately devoted to giving her pleasure as I'd been well-trained, I was feeling frankly ... used. So it seems that from the beginning I'd been an instrument of her pleasure and convenience, I was thinking. Not mine. Not ours. Hers. There'd been nothing mutual.
But when we arrived at her bedroom -- our bedroom again? -- well, incredible! An enormous surprise awaited me. Steve, that buff man whose cock had greeted my mouth and confirmed that I was indeed a cock-hungry servant girl when I first arrived home, was sitting up in the bed, waiting for us with a welcoming smile! He was utterly naked and his cock was erect, a tall, thick pole rising high above his groin.
"Get undressed, honey," Barbara said to me in a low voice. "He's all yours first. I want you to feel overjoyed that you're a woman, to know that pleasure and privilege intimately. To be made love to, not to have to make love if you don't feel like it. So you'll never want to go back to being a man, or even a pussyless PSC at the Estate. This time it's up to Steve to persuade you, and afterward it's up to me to welcome you to your complete womanhood as only another woman can. So you'll really be as happy to spend the rest of your life with me as I will be with you."
She held me by both shoulders and stared into my eyes. Was there a hint of hopeful uncertainty in hers? "Please, darling?" she asked.
There are worse ways to spend my life, and resenting Barbara, taking petty vengeance on her by withholding myself from sex of any kind was certainly one of them. If I'd learned anything at the Estate, sex is sex. "Do it, honey," Barbara added, whispering. "He's very good. Worth every penny. This time, just pay attention to how he makes you feel, and never mind what you can do for him."
That would be a novelty, anyhow. By now I was mostly undressed, down to my bra and panties and ... and there was this man, and I was feeling ... well, feminine. Deliciously sexy! I wriggled my hips as I walked enticingly toward the bed, noticing that my undulations induced a glazed look in his eyes as well as a spasm or two in that enormous erection in the middle of the bed. When I slipped out of my panties and straddled his rippled stomach, he smiled and reached for my breasts with both hands. A moment later I was bent over him and his whole mouth was working on one engorged nipple buried deep against his tongue, while his fingers diddled, caressed, hugged, stroked, and squeezed the other nipple! This was what they were for! An incredibly erotic sensation spread from them down even to my toes, and I wanted more. I was in heaven!
I groaned deep in my throat, sounding plaintive, desiring. He took this as his cue, placed his hands on my hips, and lifted me forward so I was seated on his chest, almost on his neck. And my cock went into his mouth! As if it were some strange third nipple, his tongue licked it and his lips sucked it, and I came! I came into his mouth! I was beside myself!
I may even have passed out, because when I came to I was on my back and he was bending over me. My legs were draped over his shoulders and the most delicious, marvelous sensation was radiating out of my nether areas, intensifying with each repeated slow thrust of his cock into me. The feeling rose higher. "You're beautiful, Katie!" he whispered. I had never felt more beautiful. The joy in my middle, my belly and my crotch, my ass, mounted and became unbearable, and peaked and exploded, and I heard myself shrieking in unashamed ecstasy.
When I came aware again, he was lying flat on top of me and yet didn't seem heavy, and my arms and legs were wrapped around him, hugging his whole body in gratitude. My breathing gradually subsided. His face smiled down on me. "As often as you wish," he said. "Barbara has bought you a year's gift subscription to me. The same one she has."
When I stood, his cum was oozing out of my rump and down my leg. I'd felt that before often at the Estate, after getting fucked by gay or bisexual men. But then as often as not I'd been concerned with their sensations, not mine, and had even faked my orgasms. But there was nothing fake about what I'd just experienced. As I reached for a tissue to blot myself, Barbara slipped into my place in bed next to him, slid under him, and before her arms wrapped around his neck he was already humping her. I watched that splendid man humping my wife, and hoped only that she was enjoying him as much as I had.
And me again twenty minutes later. Then Barbara again. The bed and our bodies became sticky with saliva and cum, but that only brought us a closer sense of intimacy as we hugged each other, together at last in a grand three-for-all. When both Barbara and Steve stroked and licked on my slackened penis and my engorged breasts and nipples, again I fainted. Or perhaps collapsed exhausted, fucked out.
When I awoke it was morning and I could tell from the feel of the bed that Steve was no longer with us. This time it was Barbara who was on top of me, not Steve. Strictly speaking, she was sitting on my face, and her cunt was rising and falling over my nose and mouth as she rode them like an equestrienne, posting up and down. "Lick me again down there, sweetheart," she was saying. "Oh, yes!" And she came!
A few minutes later she was lying on my body with our breasts crushed against each other, moaning again, "Ooooooh! Ahhhhhhh! Now push into me? Ohhh, that's not much, not much more filling than a tampon, but it does feel so very snug and comfortable."
She came again. But plainly she was near the end of a long chain of sustainable orgasms -- this one happened quietly, more as a peaceable tensing and relaxing of her whole body. A comfortable orgasm, as she'd said. It had been a long night for both of us. I did have the impression I'd been fucked once or twice more in my sleep. By which of them I had no idea, but I had never felt better!
Finally Barbara just lay there, her hair across my face and the pillow, and spoke aloud. "With you every day, and a few locals like Steve, and the Stud Farm, and Bree's girls, I'll be so very happy! I won't ever be tempted by anyone as outsized and crude as Russell ever again. I can be as faithful to you as any woman like me ever could to her beloved. Ahhhh! Yes! Now if you'll suck out all that cum again, mine and yours and Steve's, and then lick all of it off my body, I'll lick yours from your nose to your toes. And you'll know why we women love to keep our skin so smooth! To encourage our tongues, and to rub against each other!"
I did. We did.
By late morning we were both at last exhausted, and I'd altogether reconsidered my status in this household. I no longer felt tentative, resentful, exploited, looking for vengeance and then an opportunity to move on. I felt I somehow belonged. Somehow ... married."
Barbara snuggled against me. Our two nightgowns slid against each other, and against our own smooth skin. "You'll move out of your room into this one, honey," she crooned into my ear. "I can't stand the thought of sleeping here and you not in bed with me. We'll sleep here together. Except for the nights you may want to take a man or a woman into your own bed in the maid's room -- and you should feel as free to do that for your own pleasure as I've always felt for mine. And except for the nights I don't come home. This bed and this bedroom will be for us alone. The nights we happen to spend alone in here will be the nights we renew and reinvigorate our appreciation for each other, pleased that the other one is pleasing herself elsewhere. Knowing she'll always return, because nowhere else is there a life as good as this one.
I nodded. It was true. Nowhere else. And from the way my heart was swelling up toward Barbara in appreciation of all she was, all she'd done for me, I knew that at last my uncertainties were at an end. I did finally appreciate what I'd become now.
The next morning was Saturday, and Barbara left after breakfast to go shopping. Feeling a serenity I had never known, I put on one of my maid's uniforms to straighten the house a little, and then sitting over a late morning cup of coffee, sat back and got on the phone again with Gina.
I told her what had happened. Everything. What I'd found out about my situation. How I'd at last found true happiness in what some would merely call an open marriage, though I thought of it as vastly more -- a populated marriage, perhaps. As open and frequently, delightfully occupied a marriage as Barbara's cunt or my asshole, or our two mouths.
"How lovely for you," Gina said, after listening patiently to me exulting. "You've found your true calling. I've always sensed you were too generous and warmhearted to be charging for your favors, that you'd be much happier giving them away and taking your own pleasure at the same time. That you've been a whore in name but never in your deepest desires, never in your heart of hearts. I'm so pleased to have been a part of your awakening to what you are and can be."
"I want to thank you for it. I had a difficult time at first."
"Yes. I've noticed that it ain't whatcha do, it's the way thatcha do it, as the song goes. In your case, what inhibited you despite your desire was a reluctance to do it at all, because you weren't sure it was really you!"
"Well, now it is me. Me as I have been and as I've become. I won't ever be anyone else."
"I'm glad," Gina replied simply. I knew she was. I'd known she would be.
"Oh," I said. "It suddenly occurs to me. Does Russell still swing that fencepost of his? I'm not as intent as I was that he should get castrated and find out what it's like to be on the other side of the sexual divide. It seems he wasn't the guy who got between me and my wife. My wife was."
"Oh don't worry, Katie. There was never any intention to feminize Russell the way we did you. Cut off that thing of his? It would be like chopping down a national monument. Like demolishing the Eiffel Tower or the Leaning Tower of Pisa. No, the medical wing decided that all Russell needed was reconditioning, to become less interested in himself and more concerned for his partners. To live for his partners. And of course never to know who or where he was any more, no more than you knew for most of the year you were with us. Only what he is, and only to want to be the best of what he is, giving pleasure to others. He'll be a great asset to the Stud Farm when he's ready. A real money earner once our women clients hear he's available. There're quite a few we'll offer free access, the widows and other women he's bilked for instance, because in a sense they've already paid heavily for knowing him."
We chatted happily a bit longer. We were like two girlfriends exchanging news of people we knew, and then we hung up. All was well.
The next week I completed the reorganization of the firm and its books. Wilmott and Wilmott was no more -- Katie Wilmott and Associate, Attorneys at Law, was its replacement. When Barbara found out, she didn't insist on retention even of certain cases and clients that amused her. I offered them and she accepted them, and she was content. She even kissed me, thinking I was giving her a gift of freedom to screw other men even during business hours, because she wouldn't be needed full time at the office any more. I returned her kiss, because by then I was feeling so pleased with my new self and my new life that I could think of it as just that too, a return gift to her for the enormous gift she'd given me of my new identity, womanhood, with all the new pleasures appertaining.
Bree's membership card came, and I found that her bar was much more than a bar, much more even than a club. Gradually I got to know all of the women who worked there, the sex workers, waitresses, and entertainers, and most of the club members as well. All of Barb's women friends became mine, and there were many. It was enormously advantageous, being one of them but retaining a functioning cock as well as my make-do vagina. We were generous with each other, and sincerely appreciative.
I might awaken in one of the side rooms with another member in bed with me, or perhaps one of Bree's hostesses, or several, perhaps after an all night party enjoying each other, or perhaps after an arranged sleepover. And then gradually all of us would dress decently according to custom, and wearing our bras, panties, and heels, nothing more, drift down to breakfast in Bree's large dining room. There we were served scrumptiously from an enormous menu.
The scene always reminded me of that earlier time when I'd awakened to find myself surrounded by provocatively-shaped, gorgeous women in their bras, all having breakfast. It was almost the same scene. But those girls had been working girls, and I'd soon learned I was only one more of them. These on the other hand were all women who gathered here of their own will and desire for mutual pleasure, to have our bodies pampered, unconditionally desired by all parties. And that made all the difference.
The first time I encountered Barbara there at breakfast and she saw me, she smiled widely, and with a gleam in her eye she leaned over and said to me confidentially, "Isn't this lovely?"
"Yes," I said. "It is." Because it was.
"I knew you'd love it," she said. "Let me know when you're finished here with whoever you're with -- maybe we can go home together. Then Monday we can go to the office together too. We have nothing more to hide from each other, darling."
And she leaned over to kiss me before leaving hand in hand with Charlene, if that diaphanously weaving ass I glimpsed as they disappeared belonged to Charlene. I knew Charlene's ass vaguely from an orgy I'd attended a short time earlier. I'd sunk myself into it, in fact.
It was true though. We had nothing more to hide. I was content, even blissful. Barbara eventually awakened to find that she was no longer half of Wilmott and Willmot, only an Associate, that while she'd controlled her own love life for the first years of our marriage without my knowing it, I'd be controlling the family money and income for all our remaining years. She didn't mind. She knew she'd always have whatever she wanted or needed as long as she didn't misbehave.
I didn't think she could misbehave. I couldn't for the life of me think of anything she could do from now on that I could think of as misbehaving. Not anything! We were finally completely married, our troth plighted to one another and our two hearts beating as one. It was deeply gratifying, after all the misconceptions and seeming betrayals, after all the secret lives and plotting, to know that now there were no limits. That at last I could trust her implicitly and absolutely to do whatever she chose to do, and that I could then go do likewise.
Copyright © 2009 by Vickie Tern. May be archived to free archives only, single-copied for personal use, but not sold.
Vickie [email protected]
