The following story is a bit more fantastic than my usual, if only because the breast procedure it describes isn't yet generally performed, because it isn't yet anywhere known (at least not to me). Nor for all I know even feasible. I aim for plausible truths readers might wish to believe at least while reading. We all have plenty of actual truths, but if this story helps us uncover a few more about what we wish, that's good too.

The are scenes here depicting plausible if not also actual sex between consenting adults. If not inclined or entitled to read them, don't.

 

Breasts

by Vickie Tern
© 2002

 

i.

"Of course you want your own pair, Barry! Who wouldn't?" She smiled her sweetest, most confidential smile at me, the one that could always persuade me to confess anything to her, because she already knew anyhow. "You're repressing it, that's all! That's why you're so attracted to mine! Well, you should have a pair just like mine for your very own! I won't have you feeling deprived! Believe me, sweetheart, you'll love them!"

"Hayley, no!" I had to insist. "You're right, I love your breasts, of course I do! They're gorgeous! On women, breasts are beautiful, yours especially, especially now that they're ... enhanced! But on a man, well, breasts are ... different. Something else. Inappropriate!"

That was the argument. On and on, day after day! It had begun innocently enough. One morning I gave Hayley's bared breast a tender kiss, waking her up, and she'd returned the favor by kissing my chest. Then she'd complained that I'd gotten the better of the deal, and I'd smugly agreed. She argued petulantly that it wasn't fair, we were each deprived of pleasures we could each enjoy if we both had breasts. I thought she was joking. But the next morning she deliberately raised the subject again, and I ignored her. A mistake, because then it got serious. When she re-raised it the day after that, she meant it.

And each morning afterward, each time more insistent and tense, increasingly resentful, while I dug my heels in deeper. At first I thought it was just one more of her whimsical obsessions -- she threw herself into all sorts of things impulsively and then couldn't understand why the world didn't follow her with equal zeal. She'd been a darling daddy's girl while growing up -- impatient, passionate, willful, a little manipulative. She expected to get her way, and given her cleverness and persistence, her persuasive charm and ruthless determination, she usually did get her way.

And I absolutely adored her! She knew it, and she loved taking advantage of it! Even on our first date. We went to a gay bar to see the sights, and on impulse she urged me to pick up a big bruiser of a guy we saw leaning on the bar. Just for fun -- she promised she'd rescue me in the parking lot before we got to his car. I did it, fearfully, my heart in my mouth. Then very nearly his penis too -- she was enjoying the game so much she decided to wait until we were already in the car before she played her appointed role, that of an outraged wife who has suspected that her husband is gay and has followed him.

"You did it!" she told me afterward, utterly thrilled, stars gleaming in her eyes! "I knew that moment that I'd love you forever! You looked so absolutely darling, holding that man's prick with both hands, staring at it, afraid to go down on it but more afraid not to! And all for me!"

Then another time we went to a sedate lawn party, all proper people, but she told me as we arrived that they were all wild swingers and that this was their monthly orgy, and that she expected me to fit in. We'd just been married, and I knew she loved to flirt, and I knew that her flirting was all very innocent. But now I didn't know what to think as she made the rounds, pursing her lips and weaving her hips and tossing come hither looks at everyone. I was determined to remain true to her no matter what and sort things out with her afterward. So when she hid herself to watch me, she was delighted to see me trying to maintain civil conversations with people while backing away from them into trees and bushes, all the while rolling my eyes in desperation to see where she'd gone.

Each time I survived one of her challenges her love for me deepened, so I did everything she asked. Her least whim became my command. But not this one. This one was way off the charts. I didn't know what to think!

The idea must have come to her soon after she got herself a boob job. She'd never been satisfied with her figure. Though I always found it marvelous, she didn't. She was thin, not much over 110 lbs even after eating a full meal. I thought she was beautifully proportioned, but she thought she was scrawny and I was undiscriminating. She was always experimenting with nutritional fads, flinging herself into them and trying to haul everyone else with her. For weeks we'd dine on grapefruits, then bananas, then only vegetables, once only on red meat, and she had absolute faith in each diet in turn. Or rather, she had absolute faith in her expectations for each diet. In advance she was never wrong. But not in retrospect either. When an experiment failed, she could always explain why with various bizarre rationalizations. I knew she was always disappointed, and I knew she was too shrewd to believe her own arguments, but I could never be sure.

I didn't care, I loved her, and I could always sneak a hamburger with onions or a slice of pizza while at work. She was equally fanatical about various athletic club regimens too, so she kept me in pretty good shape overall anyhow. I thought she was in great shape!

Then she got into breast enhancement. She found this marvelous Doctor Portland, a skilled surgeon and endocrinologist who'd invented a new procedure called "natural" breast augmentation. Dr. Portland inserted implants filled with a whole cocktail of breast growth and lactation hormones and medications in addition to the usual saline, the whole thing designed to be absorbed into the enlarged mammary it was itself creating, eventually to become what the woman was.

Hayley talked her two closest girlfriends Meg and Patti into joining her, also getting their breasts done over by this new method. A week or two was all it required, start to finish, Dr. Portland assured them, from the first consultation on desired size to the sufficiently healed, beautifully shaped new breasts they'd end up with. The process was irreversible, she did warn them, because the implants altered surrounding tissue and glands while being incorporated into them, made part of the host body. But there would be two marvelous side effects. "Enormously increased sensitivity," Dr. Portland promised. And also as a special incentive for lovers to stimulate that sensitivity, when stroked or sucked the breasts would produce a sweet, milky fluid. "Any man you nurse will feel he's in a second infancy," she observed. "He'll smile and do whatever you want."

Two weeks later Hayley's breasts did indeed fall heavily and deliciously out of her spaghetti-strap dresses and nightgowns. The bruising and discoloration were gone, and all swelling was down except around her nipples. These jutted out temptingly as promised, powerfully erogenous, a source of exquisite sensations whenever touched. They begged to be sucked. "That's what's most attractive about this procedure, women tell me," Dr. Portland had told the three women. "the unspeakably intense pleasure!" The three friends had all looked at each other, grinned, and signed up on the spot.

Meg came out way ahead. Before the procedure her figure had been very nearly a boy's, her chest almost flat. After her bandages came off, I thought she looked quite womanly, and told her so. She was pleased, and commented that her husband Mark certainly agreed with me.

"You men!" she said. "You make such a big deal of them! Show you a boob and you drool, then show you a second boob and your brains turn into silly putty! Maybe that's why God gave us two, so we could keep you guys manageable!"

"But aren't there those other advantages besides size?" I asked her. I was wondering whether her nipples had gotten as sensitive and juicy as Hayley's. That is, incredibly!

"Oh, yes," she said. "Oh, yes, Barry! You can't imagine! Yes. It drives me crazy, and then I drive Mark crazy!" And then she said no more.

Hayley's friend Patti was already heavily endowed when she went in, so when she came out she was huge. But that was how her girlfriend Dora wanted it. Patti lived with Dora in what Hayley explained was "a loving partnership just like ours." Dora was so entranced by Patti's new look and Patti's rapturous responses when she touched them that she had her own breasts enhanced too. "Now whenever they visit anywhere they lie around on each other like overstuffed pillows" Hayley told me. "It's so very sweet, really! And they're always touching each other, you know where!"

Hayley's own breasts had been modest though I thought quite adequate before her operation. But now? Plump, generous, voluptuous! Soft, yet heavy! Ripe for lifting, fondling, kissing, or sucking. I loved them!

And now especially! Her nipples were swollen like the tips of ice cream cones! The implant was shaped to bulge just under the nipple, and charged with hormones to stimulate nerve growth just there. When the healing ended and Hayley's prosthetic brassiere came off, I was amazed by those new voluptuous globes, but especially by their pink-tipped protrusions, the cone-shaped nipples with thick nubbins projected way forward! I simply couldn't keep my mouth off them! The moment I saw them, I pressed Hayley gently back onto the bed and licked first one, then the other. Then I took one into my mouth and began to suck.

It was almost as blissful for me as for Hayley! She folded her arms lovingly over my head as I nursed delicately, then vigorously, first on one ripe berry, then on the other. We seemed to melt into each other. In a week or so her nerve sensitivity increased as her body absorbed more of the implants, and she grew even more responsive. I could drive her into a frenzy just by cupping her breasts and rolling her nipples gently between my thumb and forefinger. She'd rise slowly into the concentrated intensity of an orgasm and her body would spasm, and then she'd begin again, rise even higher, and orgasm yet again!

And when I nursed on her? "It's like having three clits," she told me breathlessly while my lips grazed from one breast to the other. "Oh, darling, do it more! Caress me down below too! Oh, more, it's just marvelous, God, more! MORE!" When I finally reached for her slit to prepare to enter her, I found that her crotch and thighs and even the sheets underneath her were already soaked!

But even better, the first time I began nursing on her there was the taste of something rich and sweet in my mouth. I looked and saw a pearly drop oozing from her nipple tip. "That's right, baby," she told me. "Just like after childbirth! When you make me feel really good my glands exude this special sweet milk, like a syrup, delicious and good for both of us. A natural food produced in the most natural way imaginable!"

"God, this doctor of yours is a miracle worker!" I said passionately! First I licked off those milky drops and then I lunged at her sweet pink cones with their distended nipples. I filled my mouth. I grunted and moaned in pleasure, and swallowed, and filled my mouth again. She was just so delicious! And meanwhile, her hips writhed from the pleasure those breasts transmitted! She never stopped climaxing!

A few minutes later Hayley asked me in a small voice what it tasted like. I wordlessly lifted my head and with a deep French kiss I fed her a mouthful from her own breast, from my mouth into hers.

"Oh!" she said, entranced. "Oh! Like melted vanilla ice cream! Only ...."

"Only better!" I said, licking and sipping from her nipple tips.

"Yes!" she said. "More!"

I brought her more. She licked my lips and sucked on my tongue to savor the last of it. And shuddered into yet another orgasm.

So she fed me, and so I fed her. And that became a whole new way we made love. A few swallows for me, then one for her, and delicious licking for the last hint of her flavor. It was so good!

And with all that breast stimulus Hayley was enjoying orgasm after orgasm long before I'd gotten around to the main event even once, finally entered her, and finally cum. Some nights, between her delectable taste and the sensations suffused through her body by my nursing, she got so erotically intense, so passionate, so questing of her next orgasm and then the next, that breast feeding was all we did, and I never climaxed at all! Those times, though, I found more than enough pleasure in her repeated ecstasy, and in the comforting intimacy of her warm, soft flesh pulled deep in my mouth as I drew each breast in turn toward the back of my throat, past my lips and tongue, licking and sucking the sweet, rich nectar she suffused. I was satisfied.

Hayley too, up to a point. Certainly by her delight in her new shape as she dressed to go out and turned herself this way and that in the mirror to see herself from all angles, appreciating the way her clothes now draped and flowed from her full figure. Certainly by the intense sensations she enjoyed in bed. But Hayley was an enthusiast. She threw herself into everything, and had to share everything!

So it seemed innocent enough when she first started arguing that I should know what it was like. One night when we got into bed and I turned toward her she asked in that small voice she uses when she wants something huge if I'd mind visiting her doctor.

I thought I hadn't heard her, but followed through anyhow.

"Why?" I asked in return. "What for?"

"For breasts!" she replied. "For me!"

"You already have yours," I replied. And that doctor is marvelous, I was thinking, but there's no way to improve them.

"No," she said. "I don't have them. You have them! I get from them only what you choose to give me from them."

This was baffling. "You mean your milk?" I asked? "Or whatever that delicious stuff is?"

"It's a kind of colostrum," she replied vaguely. "The implants stimulate particular glands -- and then when I'm rubbed or caressed or nursed I feel the pleasure and it makes me all juicy, so I overflow. The same way my vagina lubricates, and your penis after a while, when it can't hold its semen any more! And that's my point! You get most of it. I want my turn!"

"Your turn at what?"

"My turn at nursing! What we have now is lovely! It's sublime really! I love it! I've never been happier! The way you make me feel now, oh, baby, I just can't tell you!"

This was satisfying! I leaned over to kiss her. But she shook me off.

"No, Barry, I want all of it, the whole pleasure! I have the same deep nursing instincts you do, you know! I was once a baby too, you know, same as you! I want to taste that delicious stuff for myself, to swallow down as much of it as I want the way you do! Not just get it from you now and then as a gift, sort of second hand!"

This seemed to me unfair. "Honey, you get the orgasms! I don't! You keep cumming and cumming while I'm serving both of us that delicious juice you make in there." And with that thought I reached out for her breasts -- I felt an urge to touch a fat nipple again, just once!

She pulled away. "No!" she said. "Barry, you can keep your orgasms!" Then she seemed to think better of what she'd just said. "No, you know I don't mean that, not that way, sweetie. It's wonderful, what you do to me! But you should be having orgasms like those too! Of your very own! I don't want to hog them all for myself! I want to see you get all tense and deliciously screamy too, feeling what I feel!"

This was admirable, typical of Hayley's generosity, I was thinking, but essentially whacko! Men and women are different! Built different to feel different! Everyone knows that! Yet Hayley was really serious!

I tried to lay out the absurdity in simple words. "Are you saying I should go to this Doctor of yours and get breast implants of my own, like yours, along with whatever else she does to make those nipples of yours so .... " I couldn't find an adequate word "...so great?"

She beamed. "Yes! Yes, sweetie! That's what! That's exactly what I want!" And she lay back satisfied, looking at me as if marveling at how dense I could be, but also finally how understanding! Her new bosom rose enticingly. She saw me looking at them. "It does take you a while to hear me, doesn't it, honey!" I reached for her, and she put up her hand. "No, answer me first! Say that you'll do it!"

"Honey, I'm a man! Men don't have breasts." It was like talking to a small child.

And she answered the way a small child would answer. "Who says?"

"They just don't!"

"No? You could have them! You have nipples, don't you. And when you get a little overweight it isn't just chest muscle I see hanging over me when we make love, it's fatty tissue like mine! Inside, you've got all the glands I hear, only undeveloped because they've never been urged to grow properly, the poor things. The same as mine, essentially, but right now they're like a child's, and there's nothing for me to taste when I suck them -- nothing comes out! And there's nothing special you feel there either, nothing like the kind of thing I feel.

"I sometimes do feel a little ... erotic there," I said. "But not with the intensity you have now, no."

"Some men are very sensitive there, I hear. Mark is, Meg says. She tells me it's very handy! She tells me that whenever she wants something and he doesn't, all she has to do is touch him there and he ...." Hayley suddenly closed her mouth, as if she'd said something she shouldn't. Then she concluded, "But even so, most women don't feel anything comparable to this! And you could feel it too!"

"Well," I said. "It still isn't the same thing."

"No, it isn't. But it could be! I want you to feel everything I feel, baby!"

We went round and round a few more times that night, until frustrated and annoyed, Hayley suddenly turned her back to me and shut me out with a pillow over her ears. There was no lovemaking at all that night. Nor the following night when the conversation resumed. Nor any night for the next week. Nor the week after that!

Time passed. We'd get into bed, and instead of turning toward me she'd turn away and say "No! Not until there's complete reciprocity! Not until you're willing to give me everything I'm willing to give you! Not until you're willing to take from me everything I get from you! Not until you learn to be less selfish!"

No sex. Not even breast play. Hayley's manner with me became cool, often sardonic. I had failed her, somehow. She took to going to her office earlier and coming home later. At dinner together, when I'd say something to her, she'd just look at me as if I were the cruelest, most hurtful man alive, and say nothing in return. I began to fear for our marriage. She wouldn't yield and I couldn't!

Then after a month or so there came a crisis. A new and startling element entered into this deadlock.

Hayley was lying in bed staring at the ceiling when I got in beside her and readied myself for one more nightly, pointless bed-time argument, or one more frigid silence.

"Patti's delicious!" she said suddenly.

"Patti?" was all I could reply

"And her flow is so abundant!" Hayley said. "She wanted to bottle it for me to bring back here, but that may not be necessary now that we've figured out what to do. It's different though, more buttery on the tongue. She thinks it's maybe because she's a vegetarian. And you know something else?"

I wasn't sure I did, but I realized that if the something else was as astonishing as what she'd just said, I had to hear it. "No, what?" I asked.

"Meg says that our new breasts transmit the flavor of whatever we've just eaten. Different flavors, and different medications too. She sucked Mark's cock, and she says that Mark tasted his own slick saltiness in her breast fluid soon afterward. And a while ago she noticed that her birth control pills were beginning to affect him too, in certain odd ways. She decided not to say anything about it to him, she says, because it was getting interesting, but eventually she realized she'd have to deny him her tits or else deny herself his cock. So he doesn't get them any more, and she seeks relief for them elsewhere. His skin is now softer, she says. And it takes him much longer to cum -- he needs a lot more coaxing. But it isn't true that what goes up must come down. She says that Mark can now hold his erection and hold off cumming almost indefinitely. He's still as horny than ever, the same way she is, so she still needs to blow him every morning before work, or else he'd carry a big pole in his pants all day long, and that might give other women ideas. But now she can fuck him whenever she wants for as long as she wants. If he'd do all the other things she wants him to do, she says, he'd be perfect. She's checking into different ways to make him perfect.

"Oh?" I said. Why was she telling me this?

"Patti's also found that her medications work their way into her partner. She takes Prozac regularly, always has, she's always been tense. She says that now Dora's on cloud nine most days! And I've got to admit it, I get a little woozy too each time I visit her. More happy-go-lucky than woozy, maybe. I just don't care about lots of things, so we both feel free to do other things with each other too, sometimes. Licking and giggling, you know how I can get. I've never been able to go down on you for some reason, Barry, but on Patti? Well, it's very nice! That's why I'm thinking of moving in with the two of them. They've invited me."

"You've been....?" I just couldn't say it! "You've ....?"

Hayley just looked steadily at me, her cool eyes level, her voice even in tone. "Yes, honey, I have. What do you expect? You won't cooperate. We don't make love any more! Patti's more than happy to oblige. We're friends!"

She watched me. I knew that look. Innocent little girl, but shrewd, calculating. "It's very nice, what we do together, me and Patti, sometimes Dora too!" she added. "Meg too now and then. Maybe Mark too, soon. Patti and Dora aren't interested, but I am!" Then she looked away and closed her eyes.

"You've been unfaithful to me?" I asked. My ire was rising. But even stronger than anger or rage or jealousy or whatever it was, was a deep dark dread growing in the pit of my stomach. I didn't want to lose her! Hayley!

She opened her eyes and looked at me steadily again. "Of course not, Barry! I've been intimate with another woman, yes, more than one, but only in ways you refuse to be intimate. That's not infidelity. It's just tender friendship. Any time you want me not to be intimate that way with Patti, I won't be! But don't ask me until you're prepared to take her place and do those things too, oh loving husband of mine!" And tears came into her eyes!

"Hayley!" I said. But I didn't know what else to say. My sense of dread grew larger! And of desolation! The grounds of our marriage were shifting, and I was powerless to do anything about it. "Tender friendship" looked a lot like a lesbian orgy to me! A different kind of loving altogether! An end to our own marriage. I'd seen it happen! Wives run off with other women all the time these days!

"Does Patti taste you too?" I asked morosely, remembering how I'd always thought of Hayley's breasts and pussy as my own personal grazing ground. It was a pointless, obvious question, and I didn't really want to know the answer anyhow.

Hayley smiled secretly to herself, the way she did whenever I asked her something she considered too intimate, too private even for her spouse to hear. "You mean both above and below?" She hesitated. Then "We're both quite satisfied, honey" was all she said.

A shot in the dark. "And with Meg? Meg too?" I didn't know how to feel! Exasperated? Discouraged? Mainly I felt deeply depressed.

"I don't kiss and tell," Hayley replied. She turned and stared directly into my eyes yet again, and spoke with slow, measured words. "But I will say this. Her husband is a lot more considerate than mine! He's already wants to please her in every way possible, and he's willing to learn new ways!"

My God! I was thinking. These women are all in this together? And what does Meg ask Mark to do to please her? Are Meg's requests as off-the-wall as Hayley's?

I wondered for a crazed moment whether Meg would ever want Mark to get himself a pair of breasts. In his case who'd notice? Mark's frame is large, heavy-set, with broad, square shoulders -- he's built like a defensive lineman. Knockers on Mark would only look like folds of flab, or pecs gone slack. What would be the point?

But on me? I have a much slimmer build, narrow shoulders and very little excess fat. Boobs on me would poke out of my chest like small watermelons. They'd be what everyone noticed about me first of all, the same way I always notice large jugs on small-waisted women, especially when they wear those knit blouses that hug their shape. Sometimes they look to me like large breasts with small women attached to carry them around.

Hayley dressed like that too sometimes, nowadays -- she knew it made me jealous whenever she put her jugs on display like that. And these days she was doing it a lot, I realized. Probably for spite.

Still, was I making too big a deal of this? What was it costing me? What was it risking!

"Hayley!" I said, rising on one elbow in a kind of take charge posture, my voice firm, precisely because I was unsure what to say next and I was really scared! This was no longer an absurd whim of hers, it was serious! Our whole lives together were at stake! It was time to have it out once and for all! "Look here, Hayley!"

But as I gazed down I saw that her eyes were now shut and that she was breathing evenly. She was asleep.

 

ii.

She was up ahead of me the next morning, as happens now and then, doing morning things in the bathroom. I was fully awake almost at once and still anxious, deeply worried by the time she came back into bed for one last lie-in. What could I say? I heard the medicine cabinet door clack open and shut as she got at the toothpaste and so on, but I realized that I hadn't heard the toilet flush. So she'd been up earlier too? Packing, to leave me?

That thought disappeared though as her arms suddenly encircled my neck and she drew me down to her breasts. "Now!" she said. "Drink me!" And she threw her head back.

I did! After all those weeks and weeks it was heavenly! Better than ever! She was so very delicious, her suffusions really rich and aromatic and dense! And her skin seemed to be perfumed! Her saliva-wet breast slid in and out of my mouth, the nipple reaching far back to be licked by the roof of my tongue, then slipping forward and almost out to be tickled by my tongue, then sipped by my lips, then back in, deep, then when my mouth was filled to bursting back out again, all the while I sucked and sucked and swallowed down that sweet cream! Her fluids flowed abundantly from those beautiful mounds!

Then when I rose to share a mouthful, she placed her palm against my lips and turned her face away. "No, just suck me more, baby," she said. "Just drink me and swallow everything!" So I did, first one breast, then the other! She rose up into climax after climax. My stomach filled, yet more fluid came, and I swallowed it all gratefully! Usually she stifled her voice as she gasped and cried out at the height of her orgasms, but this time she screamed out her joy uninhibited! That wild sound only added to the crazy sense of increasingly sweet content I felt! In the midst of her frenzy I grew more calm, comfortable, at ease with myself. Happy.

When my belly was bloated, absolutely swollen, I dipped my head lower to lick her clit, but she pulled me back up again to her breasts. So there was where I loitered, barely able to drink another drop. Then finally she wrapped her legs around my waist, and gave a delicious little wriggle, and my pole slid into the drenched, soaked, sticky, heated grasp of her pussy, and I came almost at once! She grunted her approval as she felt my cock spasm its jism into her.

"Oh!" was all I could say as spurt after spurt of my sperm squirted into her. "Oh! Oh, sweetheart! Oh!"

She looked deeply satisfied. "Oh yes!" she said. Then when we'd both calmed down some and were breathing normally, she just said "See? It could always be like this. Only with more for both of us."

I felt no way argumentative. So I tried to sound conciliatory. "Let's say I agreed," I said. Maybe calm rationality could bring her around at last. "Let's think about it. It's a private matter, what we do to please each other. But think about it. How could I ever show myself in public again, with outcroppings of any size at all? There's no way a man my size with breasts proportional to the rest of me wouldn't look as ridiculous as he felt.

"Breasts would add only maybe three inches to your bust if we gave you a 'C' cup, which is what I'd like for you," she replied, her answer obviously ready. "Give or take. If you were willing to lose a little more weight and exercise a little more selectively, lose a little more muscle mass too in your shoulders, you'd end up with less bust than you've got now overall, maybe, and a whole lot less middle. Let's face it, honey, your chest and your waistline are filling in. You're not yet middle age-thick, but you hint it. I haven't wanted to say anything about it, not while you were being so disagreeable about this other thing. But you could use a different body image to live up to! You need to take more pride in your own figure, the way women do."

I thought about it genially. "I guess that's true," I said agreeably, my mind reaching toward the "but" that would commence my next argument. "You're right, Hayley," I added.

And suddenly everything changed!

I'd meant what I'd just said as a stalling statement, a willingness to consider these things further, meaning, a readiness to argue about them indefinitely. But Hayley heard it as a capitulation! She suddenly came to life! She beamed the most brilliant smile, and she threw her arms wide open! "Oh, darling!" she cried out. "Come to me! Let me give you the biggest hug ever, baby! I'll love it when you have the cute figure I want for you, one that goes in and out instead of straight down like a tree trunk! I'll love everything about it! Oh, you adorable man! I love you! I love you!"

I realized then that she'd misunderstood me, and I realized also with a sinking feeling that there was now no turning back. If I seemed to renege she'd be packed and off to Patti's before I could even get out of bed! Now I had to go real gentle, I had to delay, stall! Was this retrievable? She'd never accept a recantation! "But curves do show," I said. "And not in a way that's appropriate for a man!"

Hayley was amused. "Oh, pooh!" she said, her arms still wide open, still waiting for me to fall between them. "'Appropriate' again? Of course curves show! For you to show me your own curvy breasts is the most appropriate thing in the world for us, especially after all our silly arguing about it! For you to show me yours and me to show you mine! It's the right thing to do, and you certainly know that by now! As for showing them to the public, as if anybody cares, which they don't, if you're concerned about what other people may think, total strangers who don't matter, well, I suppose you could always wear loose shirts when you're out there being seen by other people. Or something. You do wear suits to work, don't you? So who'd know?"

I must have looked dubious, because she added, "But it doesn't matter what other people think! You should care more what I think!"

That was true. She was probably right that I was exaggerating the importance of other people's opinions.#What my darling Hayley wanted was what I should have wanted to provide her.#I sank down between her arms again, and she enclosed my head and shoulders protectively.#Then slowly, with one hand, she lifted up one of er breasts and deliberately offered it to my mouth yet again. Though I'd just nursed myself full, this was different. It was a kind of reward. I bent to receive it. Such a delicious, glorious teat! I began to suck again. Such contentment! I'd been cruel to deny her that same pleasure. I closed my eyes.

But just before settling in to nurse myself back to sleep, now feeling more relaxed than in months, I tried one last time. "How about in warm weather, when I wear T-shirts? And how could ever I go bare-chested at the beach?"

"Sweetie," she said, "No more! You never wear sun-block, you're always saying it's too greasy. So you can always wear cover-ups like mine when we're at the beach, it'd be healthier. You can borrow one of mine, you've often commented on how pretty they are. Or you can get your own. As for T-shirts or thin clothing on hot days, well, there are ways to deal with that problem. Women always wear lighter clothing than men, remember. That problem can solve itself. As for going bare-chested, of course, I agree with you, that would be altogether inappropriate. Because those new boobs of yours are for me, they're all mine, nobody else's! Oh, I can't wait!"

I scarcely heard. Despite Hayley's misunderstanding and my inability to deal with it, I felt so mellow! I was still licking her nipple delicately with the tip of my tongue, and still sipping droplets of that sweet syrup as if through a straw. Exhausted again, I fell asleep.

"...so we can be back by supper time!" Hayley's voice said.

I opened my eyes. Not two inches away were Hayley's eyes, looking sweetly into mine. She was fully dressed. I lifted my head and kissed her nose. She smiled. "It's best that we do this while you're still agreeable, and also while you're still a little spaced out, honey," she said. "So you won't worry about it and get all fretful again."

"Spaced out?" I asked her. Not that it mattered. Nothing much did.

"I was so angry with you last night! Really mad!" Hayley said, "So this morning I took a double dose of Patti's Prozac, so I wouldn't do anything foolish like pack up and leave you and move in with her while I was still angry. And the Prozac worked! I didn't want to leave you! And now I don't have to leave you at all!"

I considered this. "You mean it worked on me too? I filled my tummy with your Prozac and that's why I got so agreeable, and still feel so good? Was that fair?"

"Yes." Hayley replied. "Because it brought you to your senses. All's fair in love, lover. You've had a nice nap now, and here it is already late morning! I hope the effect lasts all day! Because today all my wishes are coming true! Isn't it wonderful? Hurry though. We want to be there for our appointment and be back before dark. Certainly we want to be back before all this good feeling wears off!"

"Hurry where?" Not that it mattered.

"To see Dr. Portland, you silly! She's juggled her schedule and squeezed us in! It wasn't easy, because the whole procedure takes nearly two hours with prepping, and she has a long waiting list! But I told her how you have special needs, and she knows me, so she was willing to make an exception. They're really my special needs though, aren't they?" Hayley grinned at me, her face apologetic yet unabashed, proud of herself. She was so very happy!

Despite what was apparently a stiff dose of tranquilizer still metabolizing in my system, my customary caution spoke out. "Are you sure you want this, Hayley? I mean, it isn't exactly manly for me to have ....!"

"There's only one question and one answer you need to think about now, honey! And it isn't 'am I sure'! Of course I'm sure! It's the one question Dr. Portland's going to ask you, and she's going to listen closely to your answer, because men who want their breasts enlarged are uncommon, so she has to be sure about you. I've told her enough already, and all of the preliminaries and paperwork and so on are being waived or handled by proxy, so right now we're ready to go except that she needs to hear your personal consent. So whatever she asks you, answer her clearly! I need to hear right now what you mean to tell her. The question isn't do I want this, it's do YOU want this?"

She was looking down at me with that level gaze again, level even though straight down. I was still feeling mellow. I wondered about kissing the tip of her nose again. My mind drifted.

Hayley misread my hesitation. "Patti and her partner have invited me to live with them, remember. It's an attractive offer. It would be like sleeping and tumbling around night after night with two soft, overgrown puppies. She's a wonderful friend and all that, honey, and I do mean to go to her if you won't do this for me! But I don't love her. I love you. So I guess now it's a matter of how much you love me. So answer the question!"

"A lot," I said.

"Oh," she said. "I see. You love me a lot. That's nice. I guess you're still in short attention span country. I better be clear. Do you want this procedure?"

"If you do, yes!"

"No ifs, honey. When she asks you, just say 'Yes!'"

"Yes!" Then to reassure her, "Yes, I want it! Yes to everything!"

"What is it you want?" She kissed the tip of my nose.

"Breasts!" I said, looking down at her cleft. Would it distract her if I reached for them? She didn't seem to notice. "I want those breasts!"

"Good!" she said. "You're the most darling man anyone could hope for! I love you. Go shave. I've laid out your biggest flannel shirt, the one you've always called a tent? You'll need it coming home, what with the bandages and everything. We'll just whisk you there and back and it'll soon be all over!"

I vaguely remember some of what happened next, though I wasn't there at all for some of it. This Dr. Portland turned out to be a quick, intelligent woman with short blonde hair, rather attractive, all business. She asked me a raft of questions about transgendered autogynephilia and homoeroticism and transitional strategies, all sorts of wordy jargon I didn't understand, mixed in with alphabet soup talk about RLTs and TGs and TSs and WBTs and DSMs and HRTs and MtFs. Whenever she asked a question I answered "Yes!" as decisively as I could, checking first with Hayley, who was sitting just behind her. I practically stopped listening to her as she read from a checklist of some sort. I remember that at one point she was surprised when I blithely answered "Yes!" to a question, surprised enough for me to look again at Hayley to see if I'd answered wrong.

"Really? Are you sure you won't mind?" Dr. Portland asked me then. "You have a beautiful wife, you're asking a lot of her," she added. And she turned to ask Hayley if she accepted that decision.

Hayley didn't seem to be troubled -- her expression seemed surprised but agreeably resigned, declaring a kind of "Hey, too bad but I can deal with it!" What she said was simply, "If that's what my honey wants, that's what I want! I'll cope."

Dr. Portland turned back to me and said "Some wives feel that way, but many more simply file for divorce. You're fortunate! Very well then. I'll prepare your implants. You'll be fine within a few days, the incisions themselves heal very quickly. But then after a few more days the more drastic changes will begin, and those can be distressing."

"More drastic changes?" I asked.

"Breasts don't just hang from a body in isolation. They need a proper environment. You'll be getting lots of hormones and medications all at once, and they can hit a male body pretty hard at first. It's not used to them. You'll probably be quite sick for a few days, bedridden. But you want it that way? All at once, get it done? You're sure?"

Behind Dr. Portland's back, Hayley nodded her certainty that this was how we wanted it. I nodded that I believed her.

"Good! Just so we understand. It's probably for the best. Then when your body's fully readjusted it'll be much easier for us to do anything further you might want done. Meanwhile I'm sure you'll be pleased."

I hadn't the foggiest idea what she was saying, but I saw that Hayley was now looking at me with real admiration and respect! So whatever I'd agreed to, it was all right. I did so love that woman!

"After the general discomfort, probably some nausea, there'll be a few days or so of gradual recovery, with everything already functioning as intended. And well worth it, that's what I'm told by women like you who've been through this procedure. Just eat lightly, and take lots of nourishing fluids. Try to be active whenever possible. My nurse will visit you to help you through the worst of it. There're other advantages to eating lightly anyhow, as I'm sure you know. By the time your body has accommodated and you're feeling fine, you'll have slimmed down beautifully, and the breasts you want will look just glorious on a slim figure. I suspect you'll end up with a figure as impressive as your wife's -- you're a lucky girl. But do remember to drink fluids when nothing else wants to stay down."

Her reference to "women like you" and her calling me a "lucky girl" made me uneasy, though I supposed it was merely habit, her patients were almost all women, and this pre-operational speech sounded pretty rote. But the way she described my recovery was troubling. Nausea? Hayley and her friends had recovered almost overnight, and their new erogenous sensations had appeared almost as quickly, then intensified over the next weeks with no associated discomfort at all. Was I that different?

Before I could ask, she told me to lie down and signalled a nurse to start up my IV. I was almost immediately out of it. Asleep.

And two hours later we were back home. It was supper time, as Hayley had anticipated. But I wasn't at all hungry. I was still zonked by anesthesia, and my whole body felt under siege, stressed, exhausted, and my chest was terribly, sore, as if I'd had the skin flayed off. I told Hayley that.

"You did have your skin lifted," Hayley replied. "Your implants are now spread out underneath your skin half-way to each armpit. And all sorts of darling things are seeping from them into your nipples and on out, all sorts of medications. You were wonderful, sweetie! I can't tell you how proud I am. In a few days you'll feel fine, for a few days more anyhow. The soreness will be gone and your incisions well on their way to healed. Then as the doctor said, the next wave will hit you, but we'll have a few days first to start getting used to everything."

"Worse than now?" I asked, crawling into bed and carefully lying down on my back.

"Maybe not," she replied. "Dr. Portman says it'll be like morning sickness, a rush of hormones that prepare your body to manufacture its own hormones. That can get pretty stressful, because your whole body changes over into the kind that has boobs. But then afterward you'll be fine, with no more such problems ever. You'll survive, women who have this procedure all survive! And they all love it! And we'll have our whole lives ahead of us! It'll be so great!"

"Yes!" was all I could think to say. I hoped it was still the right thing to say.

I still remembered that much of our conversation when I woke up the next day. I felt much less sore, and my head was a lot clearer. Hayley was sitting beside my bed.

"You took the day off," I said.

"You're awake!" she replied. "Do you know how long you've been asleep?"

"Overnight?" I asked.

"Four days!" she replied. "Dr. Portman thought you'd heal faster if you kept perfectly quiet. So she gave me some shots to keep you peaceful. We're both on one month holiday from work now, I phoned. I figured, you're going through all this for me, so the least I can do for you is stay with you to keep you from being worried and miserable. How do you feel?"

"Better. When I came home my chest felt on fire. Now it's just a little sore.

"It has every reason to be sore. You don't know! When Dr. Portland cut in she did some sculptural reshaping of the pectoral muscles under your boobs too, and she took out your two lower ribs, so your figure could look slimmer still and your boobs more prominent. Barry baby, you now have such a long, thin, lovely waist! I'm so envious! She really is a magician! And the incisions are almost healed, and the swelling practically gone! By tomorrow you'll be up, and the next day you'll feel fine! Your skin is already growing into your implants and incorporating them, and soon it'll be as if you've always had breasts. She says that for a few years you won't absolutely need a bra, no more than most young women with 'C' cups! Bra-less in a satin blouse, you could be a sensation, baby, if you ever wanted to be a sensation. Though like most of us you'll find wearing bras more comfortable I'm sure."

I looked down at my chest for the first time. It was swathed in bandages. Atop them was a heavy cotton Prosthetic bra, the kind Hayley had worn for several days after her procedure. It supported two huge mounds that blocked my view of my toes. "A bra." I said. For some reason, having breasts for Hayley's sake and wearing a bra to support them had never linked up in my mind. I decided that it was best to keep the two ideas separate. A man wearing a bra? C'mon!

Hayley understood me. "That bra's only to hold you in place until the inserts are secure," she said. "Just till tomorrow. Then we can get you the more usual kind. I don't advise going bra-less even

when you're all healed. Women wear bras to look young and firm and well-projected, and so they won't bounce. And also because they like feeling secretly sexy. But you can decide for yourself, there're all sorts, lacy, satin, seductive, support, front hooking, padded, something to delight every heart."

"I have breasts," I said stupidly, still staring at my two huge padded hillocks.

"Yes honey," Hayley answered softly. I think she finally understood that my mind was still waking up to this new world. "They're beautiful. Just like mine. Just what you wanted. Let me give you a sleeping pill and a glass of water, and tomorrow you'll see for yourself. This has been a long few days for you I guess! One very long day, if we subtract all the time you've been asleep."

"Thank you," was all I could reply. A long day, yes. After many weeks of discord and the near dissolution of my marriage. I was glad that Hayley was at last satisfied with me. That was what I wanted. But I did still feel a little bit sore!

 

iii.

Hardly at all the next day. When I awoke, Hayley was sleeping beside me. I sat up and looked at her. Dr. Portland was right, I thought, whatever prompted her to remind me that I have a beautiful wife. A little impetuous, utterly determined to have her way, but still ... my heart melted. She was wearing her soft beige nightgown with a deep-plunging neckline, and one of her enhanced breasts hung out of it like a soft, plump, white sculpture resting gently on the fold of a pleat. It's conical nipple beckoned, and my lips pursed, and I bent down to place a wet, open-mouthed kiss on it. Then I began to suck on her, ever so lightly.

It excited her. "Oh, darling," I heard her moan, though she was still asleep. "Why can't I ever get enough of you? Come into me, fill me up! Fuck me!" Her voice grew imperious, as she spread her legs to accommodate some spectral dream-lover, and then she began to writhe her pelvis.

I considered mounting her, but that seemed pretty strenuous at the moment, and anyhow my cock was still soft. And it was only a dream! Was she remembering me from some earlier time? She'd never spoken to me that passionately! Maybe she was talking to some fantasy hero of one of the pot boiler romantic novels she loved to read? Probably. We hadn't been intimate for a long time -- when I finally surrendered to this thing of hers about breasts she'd hustled me into surgery before I could rethink anything.

So I sucked on her breast even more devotedly, and placed a hand on her mound, then slipped my middle finger into her moist slit and found her clit. Her legs thrashed as if feeling for a waist to wrap themselves around. Then she was awake. She placed her palm against my cheek, so she could feel my cheek muscles working to draw the first flow of her creamy fluids into my mouth. I drank, and stroked the moist fold of her clit with my fingertip, until she went all tense, then relaxed. Then I lifted my head from her breast.

"Lovely," she said. "Lovely, honey. That was almost as good as my dream. You'll see!"

"As good as what?" I asked. "What were you dreaming?"

"About making love," she said vaguely. "I was talking in my sleep, wasn't I? Did I name anyone?"

"Someone called 'darling'," I said with a certain self-satisfaction. "That's me I guess."

"Yes, you're my darling," she said reassuringly. She sat up. "Today we take off those bandages, Barry honey, so we can see what we've got. The swelling is down, and any discoloration will be fading by now. Can you stand up in front of the mirror? Go slow, baby!"

I stood carefully, then took small steps toward the full-length mirror on the closet door. I was all bare from my crotch on down, I saw. At some point Hayley had seen fit to strip off my flannel sleep-shirt and dress me in one of her baby dolls. Pink, with a pink ribbon sewn just below the huge outcropping of bandages and bra that was now my chest. I looked at her inquiringly.

"The weather changed, honey! The warm weather's here. You were perspiring, and I thought you'd be more comfortable wearing something smooth and dry I could easily slip over your head! Big in front. So I did. You don't mind, do you? I think you look sweet!"

I was about to comment that she might have been a little more respectful of my masculinity when she dressed me in something so frivolous girly, but with my boobs pushed and padded way forward, I realized that such a remark would be as absurd as it was ungracious.

"Thank you," I said to her sincerely, instead. "That was thoughtful. You're a doll!"

"You are too, honeybuns," she said, checking out my exposed rear end with an amused gleam in her eye. "And that's what those buns look like, too! If you're that pleased with that nightie, it's yours, wear it all the time. And seduce me over and over while wearing it -- you look so precious I can't possibly resist! But now it's time to take it off. Take it all off!"

I found I could just barely raise my arms, so Hayley helped me perform my striptease, lifting off the babydoll nightie and then unhitching the heavy bra and unwinding the bandages wrapped around my whole torso. Round and round. "Don't look just yet!" she said. "Close your eyes!" Then, "Now, hands on hips, twist your torso a little, and push out your chest!" Then "Now look!"

And I looked. Stark naked, me. Much leaner than I remembered me, gaunt, my cheekbones prominent, with thin arms and legs. But then, I hadn't eaten for days, and I hadn't felt much like eating for weeks while Hayley and I were still quarreling.

I was leaner in another way too. My sides, instead of coming straight down from my armpits to my hips as usual, tapered gradually inward from my underarms to my hips, then flared out at my hips in a steep curve. The impression created was of a narrow chest, a teeny waist, and wide hip-bones atop which my hands rested like a model's in a fashion magazine. It was a girl's frontal view! I had a girl's figure!

"Yes," Hayley said thoughtfully. "I was right to ask Dr. Portland to take out those lower ribs." She looked more closely, and her face brightened! "Adam didn't have any lower ribs either after Eve took away one and that bad girl Lilith took away the other. You won't miss them. Sweetheart, the effect is marvelous! And just look at your new boobs, framed against your remodeled chest. Scrumptious!"

I couldn't help but look! There they were! Beauties, I'd call them, if I saw them hanging from any girl's naked body! Swelling proudly out from my now-narrowed torso, voluptuous and full-bodied, seemingly all the larger for the implied fragility of the chest holding them up! They looked huge! Two stunning half-melons! My new breasts, draping generously from my collarbones, thrust out and up as if suspended from their tips, but then rounded generously underneath as they curved back to my chest! Each massive orb tipped with a large pink circle with the dot of a developing nipple centered inside each, now poking out instead of lying flat! To my eyes, formidable! Generous, to say the least! And attractive too! I felt a stirring in my loins. Finally coming back to life? No, I saw after glancing down. But it felt like it!

I saw too that I was hairless! My whole body! I'd never had much hair, but still ...!

"Don't be disappointed, babydoll!" said Hayley. "Your nipples will get bigger as your implants do their thing and tell them to get bigger, you'll feel it happen in a few more days. Dr. Portland says they'll probably end up fatter than mine, and at least as sensitive, maybe even more. And that's the lovely, lovely sensation I want to share with you when I drink you the way you drink me! Soon. Don't be impatient! Oh, and Dr. Portman took care of your chest hair of course, breasts don't have hair. So I had the rest of you done here while you were asleep. The effect is much more in keeping, don't you think?"

I simply stared. I'd expected to see a man standing there, me, a man who happened to have breasts. That was a sight I could deal with, I'd decided. But what I saw was something else. There was my head. But below the neck, I saw a girl, a superbly endowed girl, the kind I've always admired and desired, her white, gleaming breasts swelling out from her thin, fragile-looking chest and perked over a narrow waist. Below the neck I looked unmistakably female! Insistently female, as if my breasts comprised a third of my body weight! I gulped. How could anyone disguise or hide these tits? Above them, my face, way below them, dwarfed and half hiding as if half-ashamed, quite out of place, my cock and balls.

"You said these are 'C' cups?" I asked in a high, small voice. My God, I was so intimidated by my own image that I was even sounding feminine!

"Oooh, you sound as wonderful as you look!" Hayley said. "You should practice that voice! They're 'C' cups in a 'B' cup world, honey! Your band size -- that's the chest measurement below those beautiful balloons -- is only 34, so those things swollen out in front of you look bigger than they are. I know women who'd kill for boobs like yours. And men have killed to get their hands on those kinds of boobs! I was watching your expression just now, and I agree with you, you are gorgeous! I'm so very pleased! Do you mind if I cop a feel?" She grinned and reached for me.

I tried to stand my ground, but despite myself I stiffened. "Don't worry, sweetheart," she said sympathetically, no longer trying to tease me. "I know they still hurt a little, and that they haven't even begun to get ... erotic ... well, you know the feeling, maybe. That 'blow in her ear and she'll follow you anywhere' feeling? Those implants have only begun their work. In another few days you'll begin to feel something of what I feel when you touch me there. That's what I want you to feel. And that's when I mean to claim sole possession of those boobs, make them altogether mine for whatever my purposes. Though I hereby appoint you their caretaker!"

Gently, her fingers traced thin red lines in the crease just under my breasts, and another set just above my waist where my lowest ribs had once been. "You heal fast, almost all better," she said to them in her consoling, little girl voice. She was serious, though. I could tell she'd been concerned about me.

"Hayley, they're enormous!" I said, carefully modulating my voice a little lower. I was pleased that she cared so deeply, but I was still a little stunned. I couldn't see how I could survive life as a man from now on, given my spectacular woman's figure. "I'm not so sure that big shirts and oversized jackets will cover these ... things and preserve my masculine appearance. They poke way out ahead of me. And they're heavy! I don't want to bind them tight until they've healed completely."

"Don't you dare try binding them, ever," Hayley said, suddenly frightened. "You might stretch them out of shape! They're beautiful! And anyhow, they may be on you, but they're mine!" She was quite serious now.

Well, all right. They were hers. They were my gift to her. But I still had a problem. "I was worried about warm weather before, remember? How once the warm weather came I could ever wear T-shirts or light clothes and not reveal to everyone that I have these things, that I'm a weird pervert, a ridiculous spectacle? How can I hide them?"

"Hide anything so beautiful? Why in the world would you want to do that?"

"Hayley, I'm a man! Men don't have breasts!"

"Well, then?"

I just stared at her!

"There's no problem here, sweetie! Not at all! Yes, if you did just toss a thin T-shirt onto those headlights and step outside, people would certainly go blind staring at you, I don't doubt it! They really are impressive!"

Hayley grinned, and elaborated. "You really do need to wear a bra! If you were to exhibit jugs like those without a bra, other women would wonder where your decency had gone, and men would be dragging their tongues all over the sidewalk. Also, breasts feel much heavier when they're self-supported, you need to distribute some of the weight to your shoulders, the way women do when they wear bras. If you're worried about your appearance, that's where the answer lies!"

"Where?" I was seriously worried now. Would I end up explaining to everyone at the office, and every passerby, that I'd done this for my wife, it wasn't really me? They'd know better, because it was really me! Talk about confessing that you're pussy whipped!

"If you can't raise the bridge, honey," Hayley said, enjoying my mystification, teasing me again, "then lower the river!"

"What do you mean by that?"

"I'll show you. Let's go visiting!"

"HAYLEY! The way I am??!" A pang of terror stabbed me in the vitals! I tried to control myself. "How can I do that? Visit who?"

"Oh, baby, don't be a baby! Only go visiting Meg! Meg knows all about you! She's all sympathy, believe me. And she knows how much I care about you, she'd never laugh. She cares about you too, really, she likes you! She appreciates what you're doing for me! Anyway, we'll stay there for only maybe five minutes, then we'll come back here. We need to take it slow the first day anyhow, that's what the doctor ordered."

I was near tears! "Hayley, go all the way across town to see Meg, and stay only five minutes?"

"Not for the five minutes, honey. For the coming and going. You need to learn something about having breasts as beautiful as those! You're too worried about what other people may think, and you're too worried about your appearance. Well, people will think they're gorgeous! You need to think so too. So we'll make this little trip, and you'll be a different person when you arrive back here, I can promise you that!"

I had no argument against that kind of certainty, but the panic I felt in my guts persisted. "If we visit Meg, what about Mark? I can't let Mark see me with these things! He'll think it's ridiculous! What kind of man lets his wife persuade him to get breasts? What would he think? He'd tell the other guys! I'd be ruined!" I suddenly closed my mouth. Not smart! I had just told Hayley that I was ashamed of them, ashamed that I'd tried to please her, done what my beloved spouse wanted me to do. That in my heart I thought I should have ignored her, that I should have been a man and stood my ground. Hayley had to regard me with contempt after hearing such a confession!

In fact she did. "First of all, dear," she said a bit bitingly, "They aren't 'these things.' They're 'my beautiful breasts' or 'my pretty figure'! Aren't you able to call them that?" She waited. Then waited longer.

I realized that she expected me to say something. "They're certainly beautiful," I responded. "But Mark may not think that about the rest of me after he sees them." Now I was feeling really depressed. I'd given Hayley what she wanted at some considerable cost to my self-respect, and I was losing her respect anyway.

"Is that your problem?" she asked. "Vanity? You don't think Mark will admire you as much as I do? Well, let me assure you that Mark will think no less of you. He has no reason to think any the less of you! But there's this other thing I find shocking! Do you really care more what a man thinks about your masculinity, or your supposed lack of masculinity, than what women think of it? Does any man's opinion matter more to you than your own wife's, or her best friend's, Meg's? Is that how it goes? Is that how you men keep yourselves in line?"

I was downcast. "No, Hayley, that's not how it goes." But it was. And that seemed all the more shameful. I was confused, this was more than I could handle. I backed away from the mirror and sat down on the bed again, depressed. In another minute, I thought, I really would start to cry, for the first time since my early teens. Men don't cry. But I was a man who now had a woman's torso and who knows what else working its way through my bloodstream. Reason enough!

Hayley sat down close beside me. "Sweetheart, I know," she said in the most gentle voice imaginable. "I know. Don't worry. I was only teasing you some more. I love the way you look. I wish you could feel proud that you did this for your wife out of selfless love, because you did. But that'll take time, and it might never happen. Meanwhile, I know how to get you to Meg's house and back without anyone giving you a second glance. And that's what you want, isn't it?"

"In the trunk of our car?" I asked.

She was happy to see that my sense of humor had returned. My sense of proportion. "No, you'll see. Just sit here. Oh, and don't worry about Mark at all. He isn't home. He's away for training, not due back for another week or so. It's just Meg there, no one else. She may even be feeling lonely without her hubby. I know she'll welcome our visit. OK?" She took my face in both hands, and looked earnestly into my eyes. "And I'm proud of you, I want to show you off!"

What could I say? "OK," I said. "Sure. But how can you get me to Meg's house without causing all sorts of ruckus? Or worse, ridicule. If some man, or woman, or child, points a finger at me and laughs, I know I'll come apart! I just know it!"

She looked stern and protective, all at once. "It's easy, sweetie. We'll just hide you in plain sight, and then no one will know! You don't want to be seen as a man with breasts? No problem! We'll fix you up to look like a woman with breasts. Trust me! All right?"

I took several deep breaths. That was my problem, I wasn't feeling very manly any longer, and knew I didn't look it! So I certainly didn't want to look womanly. Did she mean to put me in a dress? No way!

"Hayley," I said. "I've got to draw a line in the sand! I'm a man. I won't wear drag, only men's clothes, and that's that! I need to hold onto the few shreds of masculine pride I've got left right now. I mean, I'm sorry honey, I know you wanted me to have these breasts, and I've got them now, and I hope you're happy that I have them. But I'm still what I am. A man who wears men's clothes."

She paused a moment, and then surprised me. She agreed! "Good!" she said. "All right. If you feel that way. No drag. Only men's clothes. But you really need to wear a bra for another day or two. For support -- you don't want those beautiful things to sag or stretch before your chest muscles strengthen, Would the fact of a bra, or the fear of it, reduce your manhood to quivering jello?"

"Yes," I replied. "I mean, I can't possibly wear anything so altogether feminine as a brassiere, and yes even the thought of it turns me to jello. I need time, Hayley! This is too much too soon!" For some reason, imagining myself caught dead while wearing a bra terrified me more than death itself. I said that.

"Well, I need to insist." She looked concerned, now. "You get to choose. This heavy prosthetic bra you've been wearing, or a light underwire I can lend you, one you'll scarcely notice you've got on. And that's that!"

She was determined, and she meant well. I had to agree. "The underwire then," I said. "But I don't want to look like a woman!"

She smiled to herself and said nothing. She brought out the underwire bra and slipped it over my arms, and clipped it behind me. Now my new breasts and their surrounding tissue and muscles were gathered up and thrust far forward, two massive compact globes. Again I couldn't see my toes. Then she went quickly to our closet and visited various drawers. "Here, Barry. Your boxer shorts won't do I'm afraid, they're too large for your waistline now. You need briefs, so slip these on, they'll do for now. Calvin's, mine, but they're cotton, and cut almost the way he cuts men's briefs. Perfect for your figure as it is now! A little more hi-leg than men like to wear, maybe, though why men shy away from showing long legs I don't know. Can your masculinity survive a pair of my panties?"

I said it could. They almost looked male. And they fit comfortably enough.

"Now put this shirt on, and button it up, but leave the top three buttons open so it'll fit despite your breasts, and roll the sleeves up neatly until they're just below your elbow."

She handed me one of my ordinary dress shirts, plain white. Most of my shirts were tailored for a snug fit on a body I no longer possessed -- now they'd be too baggy below the rib cage and too tight across my bust. They'd compress my boobs, a no-no for now. But this one was a stock size I'd bought at a department store sale, large, with lots of room for my breasts to hang from their bra straps while they finished healing.

I slipped it on. With its top buttons open it covered my chest but shaped itself to grasp my new boobs from underneath and lift them, just a little. They pressed gently against the front plackets and opened my neckline even wider. My nipples rubbed on the broadcloth, and felt strange. I saw the clear outline of a bra through the material.

"Your bra is visible under my shirt, Hayley," I told her.

"My bra is visible under my shirt," she corrected me. "Say it!"

"My bra," I said after a moment's pause.

"Yes! You're wearing it, it's yours. Now if you were a woman, this would be such a sexy look that men would go mad, what with the way you protrude and the way your cleft peeks out where you're unbuttoned, oh so inviting, and what with the mystery implied by those dark places where your nipples show. But you're a man, so it isn't sexy at all, is it?"

I was silent.

"Well, men may go mad when they see you anyhow, but they'll wonder about themselves!" She grinned.

"This is a man's shirt," I said stubbornly. "There's nothing sexy about a man's shirt."

"Spoken like a man," Hayley replied. "I'm glad you don't think you're cross-dressing. Let me break the news to you gently, sweetie. Women wear men's shirts all the time. To women, men's shirts are sexy. They're 'man-tailored,' our favorite kind. And the way your shirt's shaped around you now is obviously the way you are now, which is how women like to be seen. The effect is decidedly feminine, that of a woman taking over and surrounding herself with a man's prerogatives, in this case a man-tailored shirt that even buttons a man's way. The contrast only emphasizes the wearer's femininity, if the wearer has breasts. Anyone can see that you aren't wearing an undershirt but a bra, and that there are impressive breasts inside that bra. Your pretense to modesty is preserved by the shirt, but it's obvious that you have a woman's figure. So live with it!"

"Even so," I said, "I'm still a man!" I had to insist on that!

"Oh? Still stubborn? Are you prepared to open that fourth button and let it all hang out?" She tossed her head and sniffed, and then smiled slyly. "I'd love to see you do that! Baby, think a moment. We're talking about snap perceptions here, quick judgments, what people see in passing. Your body is now a woman's wearing a man's shirt, and that's what people will see. A woman who dresses in casual attire, very feminine."

I could see that. I tried slumping my shoulders forward, but all that happened was, I looked like a girl with bad posture. I was struggling and losing. "Well, anyhow, pants!" I said. "No skirts!"

"You think that's where respectability lies, honey? All right, pants. Let's see what we'll follow up with next. We could haul out some chuffy oversized overalls, carpenters' or railroad men's, but they've been a look for women for so long now that even carpenters and railroad men who wear them look feminine. Here, try on these jeans you bought by mistake two years ago. Remember them, they were too tight in the waist, and you thought they were also too snug in the thigh and the butt? And you always meant to return them, but the months and years have gone by? Well, pull them on now, Barry baby -- I bet they'll fit you just fine. Nice and snug, the way women's jeans are supposed to fit."

I did that. I could barely bend over in them. "I'm still wearing men's clothes," I said, but in a wan voice. I saw perfectly clearly what Hayley was driving at, that my insistence on male clothing was getting more and more whimsical. Even silly. I'd have to bind my breasts and pad out my waistline to look male, and I couldn't do that now. But I refused to be ridiculed! "I need to look like what I am!" I said.

"You mean, you need to look like a man with breasts? That's not the way, Barry!" She shook her head. "You have so much to learn! But I guess first you'll need to want to learn it."

She was right. I had no choice. I gave in. "What can I do?" I asked.

"We do this my way? Good. First, undress again and go shower, and while you're there run your hands over your nice, smooth, hairless body. Feel yourself up, enjoy your breasts! Persuade yourself that you're a man while you're doing that! Meanwhile I'll gather up the rest of the things we need, OK? We'll disguise you so no one will look twice at what you were. Not drag, just a hint here and a suggestion there, and you watch, you'll be a new person!"

"All right, honey," I said. "I'll try to be a man tomorrow. Today I need to hide."

"No!" she said. "Not hide! I don't want you to hide! I want you to be someone else, visibly! I want you to feel proud that you're someone else! Because now, that's what you are!"

When I came back and put my women's underwear and men's shirt and pants back on, Hayley produced a wide belt. "Shirt-tail out, and cinch this tight around your waist, Barry. It'll emphasize how teeny your waistline is, and it'll create a blouson effect, and the shirt-tail will flare out onto your hips, and seem to widen them. And that in turn will seem to slim your thighs, as if they needed it! See, it's all in the outfit! You're the dearest man I know, and now it's time for you to suggest that you're also the dearest woman!"

Soon afterward I was seated nervously in our car while Hayley drove us toward Meg's house. Under instruction my knees were together, my ankles crossed, my hands were folded atop the purse in my lap, and my strappy sandals were tippytoe. My eyelashes felt heavily curtained by the five or six coats of mascara Hayley had stroked on them, and my lips were creamed with "Blushing Rose."

"That's all it takes," Hayley had explained. "Mascara and a dash of lipstick. No need for earrings or nail polish or skirts. Not even eye shadow. You hair's naturally wavy and still abundant, so when I brought it down over your forehead, voila, a hairdo! And when your brow's covered, it makes your sweet face into a doll face, even smaller." She'd kissed my doll face.

I now sat still in the car, defeated, feeling a little bit humiliated, too. Hayley seemed not to notice.

"Now, with your face as it is and those marvelous boobs, no matter what else you're a woman, Barry. To anyone. Period. All the clues are there. You could live your whole life as a woman dressed like this, if you had to."

I felt grumpy. I felt like I was still me! This was me, after all! "I don't see any clues, Hayley. I don't feel like a woman." I couldn't tell whether Hayley was helping me or playing some enormous practical joke on me. "I feel like a man pretending to be a woman! Effeminate! A sissy girl. Just look at me!"

She cast a sidelong glance at me, then returned her eyes to the road. "You look fine, baby," she said quietly. Her voice had an edge to it. Was I protesting too much? "Very attractive."

"But attractive as a man? Would you want me in bed with you, could you make love to me knowing I've dressed like this?" Here was a new concern! Was she casting me off as a man? I couldn't see how I could still appeal to her.

"Not dressed like that, no, honeybuns. Undressed is the way I want you. The way I like Patti and Dora too! Would I throw you out of my bed? No, I want you as a permanent resident in my bed! That's what all this is about, sweetie!"

"But can you think of me as a man, dressed like this?"

Another more serious glance. "That's up to you, Barry. Underneath the lipstick and behind those tits, would you say you're still a man?"

Finally I broke. "Hayley," I cried out in despair, "Would a man be sitting here wearing breasts, his face lipsticked and mascara'd, clutching a purse? I'm not a man, I'm a pussy whipped wimp! I'm so ashamed! Look at me! Look what you've done to me!"

Not smart, I thought, even as I said it. Well, it was too late to haul the words back now!

Hayley suddenly swerved the car into a large mall area, pulled up close to an entrance, leaned across me, and opened my door.

"Get out, honey!" she said in a level voice. "You need to learn something important!"

 

iv.

I did, startled, and stood alongside the car, and glanced warily up and down the ranks of other cars. I felt somehow guilty of some unspoken crime, exposed to ridicule. I'm wearing regular men's clothes, I tried to assure myself. But I didn't feel like one. No, I was wearing a bulging bra and panties and lipstick and my eyelashes were black. And I was clutching a purse! If I was a man, I was a grotesque parody of a man! That was what I felt like, and anyone could see it! I was a freak!

Haley stayed behind the wheel, the engine still running, and continued to lean toward me. "Babydoll!" she said. "Welcome to the real world. This is the situation. I'll phone Meg and tell her we'll be a little late. You need to find out for yourself what you are. You've been acting as if your breasts were a disgrace, trying to hide them, and that insults every woman everywhere in the world. So now you're going to acknowledge them. You're going to get in there and do some shopping for yourself. Unless you really do want to be ridiculed, don't dream of trying it like a man! Take short steps and make sure your thighs rub when you walk, you hear, and keep your elbows close to your sides, and hold your hands waist high or higher. And use that lovely high voice. You're going to act like a woman, because that's the only way you can survive this with any dignity! And women don't walk like John Wayne!"

"Hayley!" I said, my voice trying to sound commanding, but only sounding frightened. High pitched, as requested. Girlish, "Let me get back in the car! Please!" Why did I get out when she told me to get out?

"Now first of all, you're going to buy yourself your own bra -- you seem to be ashamed of mine, so I want it back! But you need one! Any style you think is pretty, you know your bra size, 34 C. But each bra fits differently, so see if you can get a salesgirl to help you."

I stood there stunned! What was she saying?

"Or if you can't bring yourself to ask a strange woman to fondle your tits and adjust your bra straps, then live dangerously and buy one on your own and then go to a fitting room and put it on yourself and adjust it yourself! I suggest a "firm support" for those gorgeous breasts you seem so eager to hide, like the one you're wearing now, in a pale shade so it won't be too obvious under your shirt. But you want it to show a little! You have breasts, and that's that! And from now on you'll wear a bra, and that's that! I won't have you disgrace me by going bra-less unless you mean it, unless you're out trying to seduce some man!"

"I can't do that!" I said. "Buy my own bra?" It frightened me, and I began to shake. Any salesgirl could see that I was a fraud!

"You'd better. And a decent one, not something smutty from Fredericks of Hollywood! Because your next task will be to buy yourself the frilliest, femmiest woman's blouse you can find, and to make sure it fits you perfectly! If your new bra is smutty, the salesgirl helping you will assume you're a slut and will bring you only provocative blouses, not the dainty and tasteful kinds you should be wearing. If you buy something whorish you may be sure I'll make you wear it all over the neighborhood! Now, you don't know your blouse size, and I want you to have the full experience, to try on item after item in a women's store with a salesgirl bringing you more! Until it's second nature, and no big deal! Whether you end up wearing the blouse or carrying it out of the store is up to you. That man-tailored shirt you're wearing now is quite flattering, so I won't mind if you want to keep wearing it. But with your new bra underneath!"

She was serious! I looked at her, petrified! She continued, unconcerned.

"Then you'll go to a different store and buy a long pull on skirt, jersey would be nice, or maybe a jeans skirt, mid-calf or longer. Do that, and leave those jeans you're wearing now in whatever the fitting room you find yourself in -- they're men's tight, not women's tight. They give you a flat bottom, and you need a girly bubble tush to go with those boobs of yours. So I don't want to see you wearing them any more. If you'd rather buy yourself a really tight pair of women's stretch jeans, I wouldn't mind, suit yourself. We'll buy some for you later anyhow. Understood?"

I still stood there astonished. Hayley continued to issue her instructions.

"Your credit card and any cash you may need are already in your purse. Let's see, there're also a few tampons in your purse -- women always carry tampons for emergencies. So when you've bought your skirt and you're wearing it, go to the Ladies' and insert a tampon -- see if you can figure out where and how. Then I'll meet you at the Mall entrance opposite this one, on the far, far side of the building. I'll want to know there's a little string dangling out of your bottom, so be prepared to lift your skirt and pull aside your panties to show me if I ask you. No faking it!"

I could only stare at Hayley! What was she doing? What was this? What she was asking of me was terrifying! Impossible! I opened my mouth, but nothing emerged.

"You've been doing much too much whining, Barry! I wanted you to have breasts, to enjoy the same pleasures I've been enjoying, and this is the thanks I get? Blame? Did you think your breasts would come as add-on attachments, take 'em or leave 'em behind? When you agreed to have them, you agreed to lots of other things too! I suspect you don't know yet how your life has changed! Well, first of all you need to learn to live with yourself as you are now, if you want to continue to live with me! Is that understood?"

She waited, glaring. "Yes," I said. Though I scarcely knew what she meant. Was she punishing me?

"Oh yes, of course! Right by that other entrance where I'll be waiting for you there's an earring kiosk. Get your ears pierced, honeybuns! Once in each ear is ample, and come out wearing some dainty starter hoops or maybe some gold studs. Select a pair you'd love to see me wear, so I'll know you like them. I want you to like them. I want you to love knowing they're pretty, that everyone can see they're pretty, like your breasts, and that there's no way you can hide them. So you won't even try to hide them! Do you understand me? Do I need to repeat any of this?"

I shook my head in amazement! "Hayley," I tried again.

"Good! I'll see you in less than two hours. Don't dawdle!" she said.

And she pulled the car door shut and was gone, down the Mall lot and into the distance and then around a corner of the huge building.

I stared where the car had disappeared. Then I looked down at my sandals and up toward the mall entrance. Then slowly, thighs rubbing together, elbows pressed against my sides, I started walking toward it. My breasts felt so exposed! A woman passed me going the other way, and I expected her to stare at me and then either glare or smirk. Instead, she flashed a quick friendly smile and moved on. She thought I was a woman!

That was how to survive this! Pretend to be a woman! I walked into the Mall and in a high, tense voice asked a pleasant young woman at the information desk for an "intimate wear" shop. She pointed the way. Not long afterward I'd bought a brassiere, a "Flower Bali," from a salesgirl who told me it was a classic and insisted on fitting it to me. I was grateful that my boobs were real, unmistakably real, no embarrassed explanations needed! She put Hayley's bra into a bag with the store's monogram on it. I carried the bag ostentatiously, where everyone could see it, additional proof that I was what I looked like, a genuine woman, not a perverted man.

And so it went. An hour and a half later I walked out the other Mall Entrance wearing my denim skirt, my ears still stinging and my rear end stuffed, carrying the blouse I'd bought in another boutique bag, an antique white silk with a draped neckline the saleslady had told me was very dressy. "Suitable for card parties, afternoon teas, or special dinners with a special someone," she assured me. "It's very pretty! Perfect for you!"

There was Hayley, parked by the curb, where I couldn't miss seeing her. I got into the car wordlessly.

"You did it all?" she asked. "All of it?" She seemed now -- oddly -- respectful. Did she think she might have gone too far? Demanded too much of me?

"Yes," I said.

"And did anyone think you were a man?"

"No," I said. "No one."

"And was it difficult?"

"Yes," I said. "Very." I thought a moment. "At first," I added.

Hayley remained silent, waiting to hear more. I began to understand what she'd done. Total immersion -- Hayley had thrown me into the deep end of the pool to force me to sink or swim, trusting I would swim. And that's what I'd done!

Slowly, reluctantly, I described what had happened and how I'd felt. She listened and made little sympathetic noises, and it gradually became obvious that she was proud of me. I hadn't done much, nothing any other woman hadn't done often, but she thought it was tremendous! I suppose it was! So I began to feel proud too!

"At first it was horrible, Hayley," I told her. "When you drove away was the worst moment of my life! Until I realized that it didn't have to be, that I could get through it if I pretended to be what I seemed to be. If I could persuade myself I'm a woman long enough to persuade others. An ordinary woman doing ordinary things. You thought I could do it!"

"Yes," Hayley said.

"So I did it, and each time it got easier. And each item I bought gave me more camouflage. Until by the time I got to the earring kiosk, it wasn't camouflage, it was just me! I selected the most feminine studs they had, because I knew you'd like them! Aren't they pretty? And when the girl there pierced my ears, it seemed like nothing! Girls do it, I was thinking, and women do it, so I can do it! So I did it. It was nothing!"

Hayley's eyes glowed with love.

"The girl asked me how come I hadn't gotten my ears pierced a few years back when I was still a teenager, so I could be pretty for the boys. I told her I'd been afraid it might hurt. She sympathized. She told me she'd felt the same way about her first sex as a teenager, about going all the way, but never about getting her ears pierced. 'That's just something you do when you get your first period,' is what she said. Then she told me all about her first time, it was with a boy who couldn't find her vagina -- only what she called it was her 'snatch'! She had to stick him into her snatch and when he squirted he crossed his eyes and looked like an absolute goon! That's what she said. Do all women tell each other everything like that?"

Hayley was impressed. "Some women. When they sense that whoever's listening will sympathize. Women like to share. Oh, sweetheart, that's just what I'd hoped would happen. You felt like a woman, and the girl sensed it. You are so marvelous, sweetie, no wonder I had to marry you!"

And she kissed me. We were still parked in front of the Mall. A woman coming out saw, and looked attentively at the two of us for a moment, startled, then smiled. I realized she'd just seen two women kissing tenderly, lovingly.

"So, now back to my original question," Hayley said. Her voice was once again serious. "You were feeling so ashamed of yourself you couldn't imagine that I wanted you in my bed. Because you weren't a man. How about now? Are you a man?"

Exasperated, I turned toward her. "Hayley, that's what I've had to be for the past hour or so, haven't I? In fact, ever since I first said yes to you and then woke up with these jugs on my chest! Over and over in these different stores I've had to tell myself, 'Be a man, you can do it!' And I did do it! So I must be a man!"

It sounded odd.

"Yes," Hayley said. "I understand. Be a man and buy a bra and a blouse and a skirt and push a tampax into your snatch and get your ears pierced. You did do those things, didn't you, my manly man?"

That really tied it! Hurt and furious, I was about to vent my whole heart's humiliations to her, list all the pains and risks I'd endured at her bidding. But suddenly she put a finger across my Blushing Rose lips.

"Shhh, love," she said. "I know! And I know what I want! You just needed to find out what for yourself how to be the person I want you to be now that you have those lovely breasts! You were a man, and now you can be a woman too! That's what I want! So now you're free to be whatever, without apologizing to anyone. If your breasts embarrass you, you can always feel like the woman you just were, and know that the man in you is buried way down somewhere else where he belongs, deep inside you, and that no one will ever know he's there. Or if you're proud of your breasts, as you should be, you can remind yourself that you're the proud woman who owns them! Either way you're fine now, proud of yourself or whatever you're pretending you are! Because as you say, it's nothing. We all do it, all of us women! When a man can be a woman, that's a great achievement. Isn't that so?"

That silenced me. I remained silent all the rest of the way to Meg's house. She was right. Here I was, wearing a skirt and a tampon and earrings, dressed as a woman and feeling altogether comfortable. I'd gotten accustomed to it, and I didn't feel the least bit emasculated. Masculinity as an issue simply never arose.

Did that make me a man? Manly traits like determination, courage, devotion, had sustained me through my long Mall walk, I'd been telling myself. I'd had to gird myself up, be a man, in order to be a woman. But those traits aren't gendered. Women have them too. The base line was, a fearful person ashamed of his appearance had walked into that mall, and a confident person proud of her appearance had emerged. I felt proud. Whether as a man or a woman no longer seemed to matter that much.

That seemed odd too!

Walking up Meg's driveway toward her front door, I felt a momentary twinge, and told Hayley. What would Meg think of me? Her friend's husband now in full drag!

"No problem," she said. "She'll think what you think. If you're ashamed, she'll think its shameful. If you're proud, she'll be proud of you too. Greet her as you always do, respond to her comments as you wish, and sit modestly, knees together, don't sprawl. That's all. We won't stay long."

And it was just that easy. We walked into Meg's house as we had often before and she greeted us like ... sisters. "Hayley, you're looking wonderful, Barry you too! I'm so glad you could stop by. I've heard all about this new you, Barry, congratulations! Is that a new skirt? It's very flattering! I wish I had your hips!"

Was she teasing me? I couldn't tell. But it sounded affectionate. "Yes, it is," I said as we sat down. "Thank you!"

"You chose well, A-lines have such flair. And denim is timeless, I still have my first denim skirt, I love it. Of course I've had to let out the waist just a little, but you don't look as though you'll have that problem for a long time to come! Not at all!"

"I hope not," I said. It seemed the right thing to say. My first real compliment as a woman! Why did it feel so good? But my not needing to let out my skirt for 'a long time to come' made me feel uneasy as well as reassured.

"I do so envy you, Hayley, having a husband who can look so cute! Mark is an ox! I tried to get him into a blouse and skirt once, but he simply looked silly. He's better off with what we finally decided. The office phoned last night, by the way. They said it's going so well they may let him loose a few days early."

"How nice for you," Hayley said,

"For all of us, maybe," Meg replied cryptically. "I have an idea you might like." Then "Barry, you really are looking lovely now. Hayley says you wanted to go out bare-breasted at first, like some Amazon or a woman in heat. I'm glad you decided not to. Bras really aren't optional unless you're very young or very risque."

"I suppose not," I said agreeably. She seemed to think along with Hayley that people with breasts must wear bras, no option. That could be a problem when I finally went back to men's clothes and to looking like a man. Bras lift and separate bosoms, and put the fact that you have breasts on exhibition to the world. I still thought that without one I could squeeze myself into a mannish shape of some kind and resume my life.

"Anyhow, you'll find that after next week you won't want people accidentally brushing against your unprotected nipples. Especially if they're men." She grinned at Hayley. "I've found that if a man just barely touches one of my nipples these days, I want to plaster myself onto him. And that can lead to all sorts of missed appointments for the rest of the day!" Hayley grinned back, and Meg turned to me. "If you know what I mean," she said, and winked.

I didn't want to know.

She looked me over critically. "Who'd have thought it?" she said. "Hayley's right! If I didn't know you were born male, I'd never have guessed it. Do you mean to keep your old name?"

"What do you mean, Meg?" I asked, surprised.

She leaned forward to talk persuasively, girl to girl. "I mean, someone who looks like you needs a name that looks like you. More feminine. It would help you feel like what you'll need to be anyhow from now on. There was once a 'Barry' on TV who danced with Fred Astaire, tall, really lovely. So 'Barry' isn't bad. But different would be better. And 'Barry's' mainly a boy's name anyhow, isn't it?"

"I guess. I like it. I'm still a boy, you know."

"Honey," Hayley suddenly popped up. "Whether you feel like a boy or a girl, you need a name for the way you look now that doesn't carry all sorts of boy baggage with it."

"How about 'Berry'!" said Meg. "That's a sweet name, and nearly the same thing! My best friend in grade school was named 'Berry'."

"Perfect," Hayley said. "'Berry' it is! That's what we'll call him."

"Her," Meg said.

"Her," Hayley agreed.

"Now wait just a minute," I started to say.

"No, sweetie. Look at the time! We said we'd stay only a few minutes, and we don't want to outwear our welcome. C'mon, Berry, remember your purse!"

As I picked it up, she added, speaking slowly, "Oh, maybe you'll want to change your tampon before we drive back? Meg, can she use your bathroom?"

"Of course," Meg said, eyebrows slightly raised. I tried not to feel embarrassed. "Berry, you know where it is. My spares are in the upper right hand drawer there, if you need any."

As I left the room, my face flushed, I heard her say, "You've done wonders with her, Hayley! And in only one short afternoon?"

When I removed the thing I felt briefly empty until I'd slid another one in and felt full again. Comfortably snug, almost. A peculiar sensation. I suppose you can get used to anything. When I returned, the two women broke off a conversation and turned toward me.

"Well, Meg," said Hayley. "Thanks for everything, as always."

"A pleasure, as always," Meg replied. "I'm glad things are going so well."

"Oh, the worst is yet to come for my poor sweetie, as you know," Hayley said. "I feel so sorry for her! But it's all for the best, and you know how glad she'll be afterward!"

"Yes, I do," Meg said. "Let me know if I can help."

"You've already mentioned how," she replied. "I'll keep in touch!"

And we were out the door.

 

v.

As she drove us back home, I confessed to Hayley that I wasn't too happy about the change of name and gender the two of them had imposed on me.

"Oh, sweetie, it's hardly any change at all! You won't even notice you're 'Berry' instead of 'Barry,' and after a while you won't notice 'her' instead of 'him' either. Given the way you look, 'him' doesn't seem at all appropriate. Does it seem appropriate to you?

'Appropriate.' She was throwing back at me the word I'd used when I was still resisting her, now that the tide had turned and it was my feminine, not my masculine appearances I had to preserve. She'd repeated the word almost as a victory celebration. But I had to admit she was right.

I also had to agree that it made sense for us to stop at that same Mall on our way home, to buy more clothes, so I could dress more 'appropriately' whatever the occasion. And to confirm the pride I now felt, Hayley reminded me, that I was displaying my femininity so successfully, even when I thought I was only hiding my masculinity. We spent hours roaming from store to store, mostly browsing, but Hayley insisted that I buy more lingerie ("You'll need your own, some of it drop-dead seductive for your own morale's sake even if nobody else's), and also tight women's jeans and tapered stretch pants ("Now that's more like it, sweet-cheeks!"), and a long, slim, sophisticated sun dress I had to admit was a knockout, even if it was my own body it both covered and revealed. And a stylish cocktail dress with a tight bodice and a high slit, with spaghetti straps.

"Why a dress like that?" I asked as we carried armfuls of clothes into a fitting room to try on. "Do you think I'll want to go to the kinds of affairs where women dress like that?"

She beamed a malicious smile at me. "Yes. Dressed like that you can start your own affairs. And that dress can be worn without a bra if you like, if you still think you'd look more manly without a bra!"

Having made her little joke, she added more seriously, "I want you to have something of everything, Berry. Dressing is a matter of mood. I want my new girl to feel free to enter into whatever moods she chooses, that's a woman's prerogative. And then to feel free to go anywhere she's dressed to go!"

"Well, I guess right now I'm your new girl," I said, tugging off a knit cotton sweater we both agreed was just a bit too splashy. "But I do want to figure out how to hide these breasts, so I can be a man again, and live like one, and be treated accordingly."

"Of course!" Hayley replied, looking at me with a ingenuous, wide-eyed innocence. "If you say so, lover! Shall we go see about your make-up now? You need all sorts of cosmetics! They have a make-up salon here, and a hair salon too, you know!" She looked me over critically. "I think we should say goodbye to Barry for a while. You need to become my new girl completely. Then later you can worry about the road back." We left the store near its closing hour. My face was as painted as a little girl's Barbie doll, and my brows as delicately plucked and drawn, and Hayley thought that with my slim figure and prominent breasts there was more than just a passing resemblance. My hair was reshaped into a fluffy halo, with tendrils pulled down in front of each ear 'to soften the effect,' as the woman said, and she'd set my bangs off rakishly 'for a tousled look.'

"I LOVE it!" Hayley said when she saw. "You're much too gorgeous to go home just now! I tell you what, let's go have dinner at Armand's. I could do with a bite, and I want to show you off. I'm so proud of you, baby!"

Though I hadn't eaten much in days, really only a quick snack before we'd set off for Meg's place, I still wasn't really hungry. I said as much.

Hayley looked at me. "Maybe things are happening in your body faster than Dr. Portland predicted? That's good, you'll be finished all the sooner! Just a salad or something cheesy then, and something sweet for dessert. Armand makes wonderful souffles! Anyhow, you need to learn proper ladylike table manners. You've never had to sit down gracefully and arch your back and smooth your skirt under you while a gentleman is holding your chair and checking out your ass and breathing down your neck, have you. You don't even know that a lady pats her lips, she never wipes her mouth."

"No one has ever wanted to check out my ass, Hayley," I said. I was finally feeling comfortable with my appearance.

"Oh, my poor deprived dear! Well, they will now! Just do what I do. There's more to this woman thing than you can ever guess! But you'll learn it quickly, I know that now! Let's go just be two girls!"

We did. As I walked into the subdued, plush, rather elegant surroundings I noticed mirrors everywhere. "I haven't been here since they redecorated," I said. "It looks a little like pictures I've seen of French brothels."

"Yes, and it really is Seduction City now. See all the women dining together or alone, and the men dining together or alone? Not too many will leave this restaurant that way, I can promise you!" Hayley cast a quick smile at the Maitre d' as he pulled back her chair for her, scurried around to hold mine for me, handed us menus, and then departed. I did everything she did.

"Ah, sweetie, you do have a talent for this! I caught that quick smile you just gave the man who seated you just now. The same as mine. Very observant! But be careful with your smiles here. Some men at those other tables are eyeing us, and they might misunderstand."

I froze at that. That was something about looking like a woman I hadn't anticipated and didn't welcome. "Where?" I asked, worried.

"I'm certainly not going to tell you," Hayley replied. "You'd look, and then it would be all over for us. You aren't ready for that yet."

"What do you mean, 'yet'?" I asked her. There were times when Hayley seemed to be working through some kind of long range plan, not just helping me adjust to the consequences of this quirk of hers, this notion that I needed some large boobs so she could play with them.

She leaned forward and laid her hand on mine. I noticed for the first time that mine wasn't manicured, and seemed a bit bare. "Honey, there's this thing called the Law of Unanticipated Consequences, you've heard of it? You do something to accomplish one thing, and other things come crowding in as a result whether you wanted them or not. I wanted you to have breasts as beautiful and satisfying as mine, and now you have them, though your nipples haven't developed yet. Then we find that other things follow."

Her eyes gleamed. "Like, here you are wearing a skirt, with your face perfectly made up, and your hair just lovely, looking quite elegant, really, sitting here in a restaurant, the two of us. Could my manly hubby ever have imagined it? That's one of the unanticipated consequences. I'd call it a bonus myself, but you might not agree. There will be others. That's all I meant by 'yet.'

"Hayley," I asked quietly. "Was this moment completely unanticipated, when I agreed to go to Dr. Portland with you, and agreed to get these implants, and I guess the other things that come with them?"

"I'll be perfectly frank with you, Berry," she answered, her voice equally quiet, pronouncing my new name distinctly. "No, it was not completely unanticipated. It was a wishful fantasy I've had now and then. I've sometimes wished that my lovely husband, my dearest boyfriend, could also be my dearest girlfriend. And then when I saw how it was possible, it was so appealing, I confess it, I did want to see if I could get you to do it! And I did get you to do it! I love it! I love this moment!"

She was so elated and spoke with such fervor that I had to forgive her on the spot. Yes, she'd schemed, and in a way she'd tricked me. But that was my own fault, for refusing to see the implications of what I'd agreed to do. For not looking past the potential embarrassment of being seen to be a freak, a man with breasts. For not trying to see what I'd need to do to avoid seeming freakish, such as, go the rest of the way toward a female appearance, and act like a woman in other respects, too. I might have hesitated longer if I'd guessed. This was what Hayley had wanted, but for me, this whole scene was an unintended consequence.

But no. I'd had no choice. Knowing that this moment was in Hayley's mind even as Dr. Portland was questioning me would have changed nothing. My Hayley had been about to leave me, to go off with Patti and her girlfriend, and maybe not look back, because I wouldn't play this game her way. And I couldn't allow that to happen. I wanted to live my life with her. I knew when I married her that she was impulsive and willful, but I'd married her anyhow, for better or for worse, till death did us part, and I still thought I was lucky.

And this wasn't too bad, it occurred to me. I glanced at my reflection in one of the many mirrors the restaurant provided, no doubt like the grand ballroom at Versailles, so women could constantly check their appearance while men flirted with them. I was pretty good-looking, I had to agree, and with the cosmetics we'd bought and the instructions we'd both been taught, I could make myself look like this any time. I was now at no risk of exposure. And this was a fulfillment of my beloved wife's dream. She loved it. How could I regret providing it for her?

"But why, Hayley?" I asked, my voice even more quiet than before. "Why did you want me to be your dearest girlfriend this way, with these breasts, looking so very female that I have a problem looking any other way?" The biggest question of them all.

"So you could enjoy them the way I do, and enjoy looking female the way I do! Because then ...."

A hearty voice. "Hayley! How delightful to see you here! What a surprise!"

I looked up. Two rather well-dressed men were standing next to the table, so close to it that their thighs rubbed against the edge, as if it were their table. They'd intruded and taken possession of it, as it were. And now they stood between us, a second intrusion! And they'd interrupted our conversation at this crucial point, an even greater breach!

Hayley was also annoyed. "Jeff!" she said, her voice rather hard. "I'd forgotten you come here sometimes. I thought we weren't due to meet till after next week."

"How could you forget I come here?" Jeff replied with a gallant smile. "The last time we met here was unforgettable, for both of us I thought!"

He took her hand. It looked small in his. My annoyance rose.

"I hear you've taken a month's leave to look after your husband. Does that free up any more of your time? Do you think we can get together any sooner?"

Her tense silence provided his answer, so he waved at the man next to him. "Hayley, meet Craig, an old football buddy from college, just come to town for a month or so. We've been going over some old exploits and catching up on more recent ones. That's why it's marvelous to see you here, I was about to tell him about you especially! May I introduce Craig to your friend? Will you introduce us?"

Hayley's eyes were narrowed. She looked at me. "Berry, this is Jeff, and apparently Craig too. Jeff is an old business associate now off on his own, doing well I hear." She glanced up at him and her voice softened. "Jeff, Craig, Berry here is my best friend. Don't try any of your moves on her tonight, Jeff, she's mine! Also, you may find she's married!"

What was going on here? As I'd seen women do, I looked each man in the eye in turn and nodded at each with a faint smile. But following Hayley's cue, I didn't extend my hand to them, nor say anything in my new, carefully modulated high voice. She seemed to want them to go away. So did I.

"Pleased to meet you, Berry." Jeff looked at me mildly but attentively. "I wouldn't dream of making moves that might not be welcome. I mean, Hayley, you're married too, now and then, aren't you?" He smiled almost possessively!

Whatever he meant by that, Hayley was not at all amused. "See you again, Jeff," she said. "Craig, nice to meet you. Maybe some time again when you're in better company." The quip seemed an insult, but it also suggested a jesting level of friendship with Jeff that made me uncomfortable.

Jeff backed away from the table, an inch or so. "Till after next week then," Jeff said. "Nice to meet you, Berry! I hope we can all get together. I'll phone."

"Do that," Hayley said.

"Delighted to meet you, Hayley," Craig said graciously, speaking for the first time, a faint flavor of the South in his voice. "And Berry, I certainly hope we'll can arrange to meet again."

I thought I ought to respond with something. But what? 'I hope so too,' the first phrase to come to mind, was far too inviting. "Yes," I finally said, trying to sound non-committal. But it came out almost as bad -- it sounded like I really wanted to. I looked down at the table and carefully studied a spoon.

The two men moved off. Hayley looked at me apologetically. "I'm sorry," she said.

I'll bet, I thought. "You never mentioned this 'Jeff' before," I said casually, trying to straighten out what I'd just heard. What was it about their previous meeting here that was so unforgettable? What did he mean, Hayley is married only 'now and then'? Now and then she has to remind him, because he's coming on too strong? Now and then she reminds him, but other times she doesn't? It sounded vaguely disturbing. "He acts rather familiar," I added. "Do you know him well?"

"That's his manner with everyone, Berry," she said casually. Then she looked more closely at me. "Oh, my! You're being Barry now, aren't you? My jealous husband with his face perfectly made up, wearing a lovely new coiffure! You know, you really are very pretty, honey. I mean it! Did you know that you blushed when you looked at those two men? I could tell even through the foundation and face powder, even through the blush you're wearing on those marvelous cheekbones! Anyhow, not to worry. Jeff always acts as if he has more than he's got, and he always promises more than he can deliver. He's no problem."

"Then why are you seeing him next week? Aren't you off work for the month? Why see him at all?"

"Why, just listen to you!" Hayley sounded amused. "Are you Barry being jealous, or Berry being envious? Shouldn't my new best girlfriend be glad to hear I have this date with a handsome fella?"

She paused, and then spoke rapidly, as if what she was saying explained everything. "Jeff and I were once teamed together on a number of projects. He's an insistent man, doesn't like to be turned down. He pushes himself. But I've got to say, if you push back, give as good as you get, in the end he does deliver. He gives satisfaction." She mused as if lost in a not-too-unpleasant memory for a moment. "There are still things we do together. We use each other for certain goods and services," she said in conclusion. "That's why we stay in touch."

All this was vague and none of it was reassuring, but I appreciated that this time Hayley troubled to explain herself at all. Usually she was offended when I questioned her. When she came home late, as happened now and then, she was always annoyed when I'd ask her where she'd been. "Where I've been is over and done with," she'd say curtly. "Past history. And post mortems are for dead people!"

So I simply smiled. She'd complimented me, after all. She'd called me pretty!

Hayley smiled back. "Now Craig, on the other hand!" she said, leaning forward. "Honey, now there's a hunk! With those soft brown eyes melting all over you! I saw, he didn't once stop looking at you! Should I be jealous?"

I smiled and tried a joke. "Don't worry, I'd kick him out of my bed if you were already in it," I said.

"Mmmmmmm?" she replied, her thoughts suddenly gone elsewhere. Then, "Would you? He's cute, maybe that would be a mistake!" She smiled again.

I saw no way to return to my original query, why was it she had once dreamed of a time when she and her husband would be sitting together at a table in a restaurant, like this, dressed like two women? Why she welcomed this moment. Whether it was an incidental consequence of my getting tits, or intended? Was it for this new sense of companionship we were enjoying? We were more relaxed, more at ease with each other than ever before. As if we really were two best girlfriends! Was my getting tits a way for her to achieve this new kind of relationship with me? She'd decided that she'd rather live with a woman, not with a man, with me if I was willing, and if I wasn't then with Patti? She preferred me because she loved me and didn't want to give me up, and besides, we were already married? "Now and then' married? If so, was this so bad?

I looked up at Hayley, and saw that she'd been studying my face the whole time I was thinking this conundrum through, and reading every one of my thoughts. "Satisfied now, baby?" she said. "Well, here we both are. You never did have much choice, did you, and now neither of us has much choice. It's all happening!"

That was true. Whatever "it" was.

"It's nice," she added. "And you'll see, it'll soon be even nicer. I hope you'll think so!"

What was there to think? Hayley was Hayley. Willful, spoiled, but well-meaning. And she does love me, I was thinking. Deeply. She really cares! I took her hand and held it in both of my hands, and I looked at it. After a while, I asked, "Is there some way I can get a manicure that's partly a man's? And partly a woman's? For when I'm either or both? For when I'm the way you want me?"

"Yes," she said, so throatily that I looked up at her in surprise. There were tears in her beautiful, dark eyes. I'd said exactly the right thing! "We'll get you one. But make no mistake, darling, right now you're perfect. You're just the way I want you!"

I leaned across the table, and for the second time today others who happened to glance at us saw two women kissing, tenderly, devotedly, lovingly. Her sweet, soft mouth lingered on mine, and withdrew only when the waiter arrived with our souffles hot from the oven.

"And you'll think so yourself next week, when your body changes some more," she said in a more sprightly voice. "When your nipples become as wonderful as mine, and you'll want to share the sweet joy that swells up in them whenever anyone kisses you there. That's when I hope to make you as happy as you've made me."

She paused and examined her souffle, brown, yellow, crisp, and steaming. A cheese and bacon smell wafted from it. "You can't believe how hungry I've been," she said, picking up her fork. "For all this!"

 

(continued)

 

 

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© 2002 by Vickie Tern. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.