Summary: A young husband and wife tell in their own words of a transformational day that figured to cause a huge change in their lives, their perceptions, and their relationship.
Crossing Your X's And Dotting Your Y's
by Young Ovidius
Part One
Sometimes the stars are aligned in just the right way and the metaphysical powers-that-be in just the right mood that they could on a whim tip the balances in the lives of two people in such a way to create panic, confusion, and a desperate attempt at secrecy that sooner or later would be bound to fail. Meet Scott and Debbie Raghetti, your typical young, middle-class married people, as they share with you what happened on an average Saturday that threw their lives into tumult.
SCOTT:
Sure, I love her. She's my wife. But you know how it is. Sometimes you just got so much weighing on you that she doesn't understand, that when she starts to nagging like that, you just have to get out of the house. Besides I was doing a favor for her. Do you think she showed any appreciation for it?
DEBBIE:
Look, I wanted to marry a grown man, not raise a little boy. Not yet, anyways. We've talked about having kids someday, but we're still enjoying just the two of us, you know. But why does that mean I have to smile like the happy housewife and clean all the bathrooms when he's the one whose piss – pardon my French – dribbles onto the floor? And then he almost never puts the seat down, besides. So when I noticed it that Saturday afternoon, I just went a little berserk. Maybe it was the last stages of PMS talking that made me come off so cross, but I was genuinely angry.
SCOTT:
PMS is always the excuse – right, guys? Okay, I admit I'm not perfect when it comes to aiming at the john, but what guy is? Anyone born with a dick knows that occasionally it has a mind of its own. But I almost always clean it up. One time I forget, and the dragon breathes fire on me. I wished she'd get a clue about what it's like so she'd stop nagging on me. Well, anyway, I was glad to get out of the house. Honestly. So sure I'd miss some of the football game, but it was still the first half. And besides, I could catch some of the game on the big screens at the appliance store. That's why I was heading out, to pick up the new speakers for our entertainment system that we'd put on layaway a couple months before. I was excited about the new sound quality our living room was going to have. Kickin', you know what I mean?
But anyway, speaking of PMS (sheesh, I still hate doing this), Deb asks me to do a favor for her I'm out. Her period's coming, and she's low on... well, you know, the feminine stuff – pads and whatever. So I agree to stop by the drug store, too, and pick 'em up for her.
DEBBIE:
Now look, I want it clear. I'm typically very conscientious about this kind of thing, buying my own pads and tampons and stuff. Scott and I have been married more than a year, and it was the first time I'd ever sent him out to buy them for me. I thought I could understand that it wasn't the easiest thing for a guy to do, but be mature already! I spelled out exactly the brand and kind I needed on a piece of paper and gave it to him, but he still moaned and whined like an immature adolescent. I wished he would understand that a period wasn't something I enjoyed doing or having but that it was a necessity of life and just let it go. I didn't say it out loud, but I thought it. "Why can't you buy your own?" he complained.
"This is the first time I've ever asked you to do it. Okay? It doesn't happen very often, but it would be a big help to me since you're already going out." I could have brought up that I had cleaning to do (like in the bathroom), not to mention baking treats for the party at his parents' house the next day. But I kept it to myself.
SCOTT:
I'd nearly forgotten about our whole little heated exchange. Having picked up the speakers and seen that the Tigers were up by 14 at halftime, I was cruising down the avenue in a great mood. Then I glanced ahead and noticed a Pharmer's Drug Store just ahead on the right. "Oh, yeah," I muttered. Once I pulled into the parking space I spent several seconds trying to locate where I'd put that piece of paper. If I was going to do this, it was going to be in-and-out as quickly as possible.
DEBBIE:
It was the day to clean the bathrooms, after all, and I resigned myself to the task. I wished for once that Scott would take notice and help... just once, even. But that would be asking for a lot from a husband, I'd come to learn. I put off dealing with the toilet and the area around it by scrubbing down the sink basin and counter first. As much as it's a grueling job, there's something about the smell of that cleansing agent piercing through the messy bathroom smell that brings a bit of satisfaction.
SCOTT:
Inside Pharmer's I found myself nonchalantly reading the aisle signs and not-too-briskly making my way toward the feminine hygiene aisle. Never having had any sisters nor any demanding girlfriends or wife, believe it or not, this was something I'd never done before. I'd memorized what was written on the piece of paper so I could grab it at first recognition. No need to linger, right? But one minute passed, then two, as I struggled to locate the package. I didn't even notice the store employee come next to me and ask me if I needed some help.
DEBBIE:
The sink area was clean – I couldn't put it off any longer. On hands and knees I scrubbed the floor around the base of the stool and was working my way up toward the bowl when the doorbell rang. As fast as I could, I got up and took off the rubber gloves and walked down the stairs to answer it. Peering through the eyehole I noticed some kind of uniformed deliveryman. Funny, I don't remember ordering anything. Maybe it was Scott.
SCOTT:
It took the lady saying, "Can I help you?" two or three times before I proved responsive. I guess my nervousness showed through that much.
"Uh, yeah, my, uh, wife needs some of these," I said meekly, handing her the piece of paper. A strange gleam in her eye somehow made my heart pound and my throat swallow.
She studied it for a few seconds, nodded, then looked me in the eye and said:
"Be careful what you wish for,
When for the ones you love.
Together they may yield results
You'd never dare dream of."
I was taken aback and almost went livid. What kind of customer service was this? But more than anything, I felt terribly uneasy. "I'm afraid these are out of stock," she said as if nothing were out of the ordinary, handing me back the paper. Reaching to a lower shelf she picked up a box of Stayfree Deluxe Maxis with Wings, she continued, "But I think you'll be happy with these."
My face twisted up. I was about to laugh. "You mean for my wife." But she only smiled at me.
DEBBIE:
I opened the front door, and it was a man wearing a green and yellow "Central Union Express" uniform.
"You're Deborah Raghetti?" he asked.
"Uh, yeah."
"Telegram for you." Before I knew it I was signing a sheet of paper for a telegram from a company I'd never heard of. I'd never even received a telegram before. I didn't know that anyone did that anymore, not in the age of emails and palm pilots. Something about all of this didn't seem right, but I went along with it just the same. I felt such a sense of relief when the deliveryman's van started up and he was heading out of the driveway.
Closing the door behind me, I ripped open the envelope and read it:
"Be careful what you wish for,
When for the ones you love.
Together they may yield results
You'd never dare dream of."
At first I was disgusted, just plain disgusted, though it mellowed to a sort of confusion. Who would send something like that? There was no return address. It was unsigned. To be safe, I locked the regular lock and the deadbolt and went back to cleaning the upstairs bathroom.
SCOTT:
The uneasy feeling I got from my run-in with the strange employee in the feminine hygiene aisle hadn't worn off as I stood behind a guy in line. As he finished his purchase and turned to leave, plastic bag in hand, he took a quick, sidelong glance at what was in my hand and gave a knowing smile. I wasted no time in my transaction, forking over enough cash and waiting impatiently for the change to come back. It didn't help that all of a sudden I was feeling strange and achy, with cramps in my lower stomach. I wasn't sure what was going on, but I didn't feel well.
"Here's your change," the clerk said, then must have noticed something. "Are you all right, sir?"
"Uh, yeah, do you have restrooms here?" I knew they did but waited for her answer. I wasted no time taking my bag and making a beeline for the men's room.
DEBBIE:
Two or three minutes couldn't have passed as I started to feel instant relief from my PMS. I was squirting the toilet bowl cleaner into the bowl and thought to myself, "Boy, I had no idea this could be so therapeutic!"
I was already wearing a pad because I knew my period was ready to start at any time. But it wasn't normal at all for the cramps and everything just to subside like that so quickly. I was genuinely confused. What I did notice, though, was a definite strengthening of the urge I had to pee. For some reason, it didn't feel quite like I was ready to hold it as I normally would. Chastising myself for suddenly having the self-control of a four-year-old, I put down the toilet bowl cleaner and headed for the downstairs bathroom, the one I hadn't cleaned yet.
SCOTT:
Something inside me knew something was very wrong. At first I thought it might be food poisoning or maybe the flu. But I hadn't had anything more than your average, run-of-the-mill cold in a long time. Inside the dirty drug store men's room I stopped to gaze into the mirror. The small wave of nausea-like symptoms I felt had gone away for a moment, and there I was just standing there wondering what to do. But then came another unexpected cramp like a jolt. I glanced down absently for just a moment when I noticed a dark spot on my jeans. "Is that blood? Wha-?" I dashed into a stall, plastic bag clenched in hand, and sat down on the can, unzipping my jeans and sliding down my briefs with a rare, impassioned haste.
DEBBIE:
I nearly tripped and fell down the stairs as I looked at the path ahead of me. Something wasn't right with my basic figure. I thought I noticed a bulge in the front of my pants and in my desperate state my mind quickly wondered if it was some kind of cancer. I closed the door of the bathroom behind me, realizing that relief was at hand, when I thought in some sort of weird way that I'd dribbled a bit. But something wasn't quite right. That it was accompanied by a tiny dark spot on the front of my baggy sweatpants should have caused something to click sooner.
Instead I cursed Scott for leaving the toilet seat up. I quickly put it down. Then, like thousands of times before, I hiked my pants and panties down, planted my butt on the toilet seat, and relaxed my muscles.
SCOTT:
I can't believe I didn't scream at that moment, that moment when I figured out where the blood was coming from. You'll pardon me for blacking out for a moment, though. It's not every day that a man who's grown accustomed to having his full manhood baggage in place for his whole life suddenly finds it gone without a trace and a fully functional pussy there instead. And not just any pussy, but one that was dripping blood! A 27-year-old man can't have a period!
But there it was, all happening before my eyes, as surreal as anything I could ever have imagined. When I recovered from my brief blackout, I took a moment to reflect back and remembered that I looked perfectly normal in the mirror just a minute ago, my goatee and male build all there. A quick survey showed that I didn't have any sort of female cleavage or that I'd lost any muscle mass. My butt was as tight and muscular as ever, and there was hair in all the places it had been before. I tried to convince myself that I must have been imagining things.
DEBBIE:
You won't blame me that I screamed – a long, high-pitched scream. By the time I could cover my mouth with my hands I was hoping that none of the neighbors were around to hear. How would I explain what had happened? How would I explain how the bathroom wall and floor were dripping wet with urine? My urine! I was disturbed out of my mind, and so I turned to face the mirror. How was I going to explain that on my otherwise attractive female body hung a man's penis? As soon as I thought that, it sounded silly. One wouldn't say a woman's penis, but then again one might say a little boy's penis. But this definitely did not belong to a little boy. Instead, I gradually recognized it as the one that had made love to me more than any other. This belonged to Scott!
SCOTT:
The strange disconnect between what was going on in my mind and what had happened to my body quickly became apparent, nothing more than what to do about the emergency situation at hand. I calmed myself down and took a couple deep breaths, trying to assess the situation as rationally as I could. All the ramifications of having a vagina had hardly sunk home yet, but I knew I had to dig into the box of Stayfree Deluxe Maxis with Wings. I was frustrated to find that inside the box each of the pads was individually wrapped in another layer of plastic.
But having come this far I wasn't about to go back. I couldn't just walk around and let the tiny spot of blood on my jeans grow into a bigger one. There would be no hiding the freakish truth then. The picture of a man sitting on a toilet reading a box of maxi pads for instructions on how to properly insert it would objectively be a very funny one. I admit that. But there was no being objective for me at that point. I can't tell you what kind of relief I felt when the semi-bulky pad's adhesive bottom finally stuck securely on my men's briefs.
DEBBIE:
My first instinct was to play with the thing between my legs, but that seemed so disgusting to do. For a few seconds I just stood fascinated at how big it was. I had the weird thought: is it happy to see me? Am I attracted to myself? I fought hard to close my eyes and think about something else, finally settling on crocheting. Then I watched in fascination as "my" penis shrunk from its "at attention" position and fell back into place.
I pulled my underwear and sweatpants back up, delicately trying to tuck the unwanted organ behind the maxi pad I realized I wouldn't be needing just right then. I was satisfied with the results, that it was probably hidden from the casual observer's notice, as well as maybe anything but a close-up examination. I also hoped that as it had shrunk from a full eight inches to about five that it would just keep on going until it would disappear and my old female equipment would be back. I also went straight to work cleaning the terrible mess I'd inadvertently made. I knew it wasn't going to be easy.
SCOTT:
I felt strangely vulnerable, strangely uncomfortable, coming out of a stall in the men's room. The emptiness in my crotch, what had taken me who knows how long to notice, I now felt with every step I took. My hands were clammy and my breathing tight with the paranoid thoughts that someone might notice my peculiar condition. I virtually tiptoed past a guy at the urinal and quickly realized that wouldn't be me anymore for awhile. For how long? I wondered. With my box of maxi pads tucked under my sweatshirt, I made a quick stride toward the main exit of Pharmer's.
Sitting down in my truck I once again noticed the absence of my male genitalia and found myself fighting back strong emotions... and tears. What the-? My hands and fingers were visibly shaking as I shifted the vehicle into gear and tried to man – no, handle – the wheel. I started to drive aimlessly, wondering somewhere along the way what I could possibly say to my wife. I couldn't be much of a husband in bed without the most necessary equipment. And what am I? What does this make me? All these things were running through my head. By all appearances I was a man – I had the face, the voice, the body structure – but where it counted the most I was bleeding out my monthly period and wearing a maxi pad. How long could I hide this from Debbie?
DEBBIE:
I didn't know if I really thought I could fool Scott for a moment. Even as I scrubbed away in the downstairs bathroom, I still felt loving sensations for him. Did that make me gay? Or what? Every thirty seconds or so I would say something out loud just to see if I had the same soprano voice. And I did. I would peer back at the mirror to see if my fine-boned facial features had somehow morphed into something more masculine, but they never did. I didn't grow an Adam's apple, my breasts didn't deflate one centimeter, and the fleshy curves around my hips and butt were as soft and womanly as ever.
But there was nothing womanly about the potent piece of dynamite that stayed tucked away in my panties. I feared that it might spring to life without a moment's notice and brand me forever as a freak. Could I ever go out in public again? What could I possibly wear that would hide it? Right away, I knew there were some skirts and dresses that would be off the list. But then came a more intimate thought – a picture of me in bed wearing one of my sexy negligees and Scott repulsed by the throbbing manhood that poked out from the lacy, black garment. Not an hour ago my biggest difficulties had been cleaning up after a husband's toilet mistake and dealing with the onset of my own monthly period. Now the pain of the latter had totally evaporated and the problem of the former caused me a newfound guilt.
It was all so terribly ironic, something I might have written about in one of my college composition classes, if it weren't so close to pornographic. I finished cleaning the bathroom and took a look at the mantel clock. Scott had been gone for almost an hour-and-a-half. Was something wrong? I couldn't believe the thought had just struck me. – What if...?
TO BE CONTINUED
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