Last Summer

by Vickie Tern

© 2003

  

v.

My excitement continued for the whole summer. Mainly because of Craig. Each week I'd join him for lunch and soon afterward we'd join our bodies, quarrel and nudge and joust with each other in every way conceivable hour after hour. I'd plaster myself to him. Bliss. Then for the rest of the week I'd cope with my remorse by helping my husband become a better woman, a cuter girl, my own sissy girlfriend, someone I happened to live with but owed no marital obligations. And that was enormous fun too, introducing him to the world of women, to my world, and encouraging him to go out and explore it on his own just a little. Just a little! My darling Scottie! He did end up looking as cute as Mort!

I did go a little too far, I think. More than once. I'm sure I went too far.

Not too far with Craig, there was no place that far I could go with Craig, and believe me we tried! Our need to challenge each other's stamina and responsiveness was often feverish, obsessive. It peaked with two months to go, an incredible two weeks we spent rolling around on each other on his sailing yacht. I hardly thought about Scottie at all then, off in Texas getting electrolysis on his beard and body hair, getting his body filled out, getting the other little revisions I'd asked for. After those two weeks, for the remaining months we went at it ferociously, hot and heavy and exhausting. No longer insatiably, though. And all through August it did wind down as I'd anticipated.

With Scott it was something else. I loved my sessions with Craig, and now and then I felt especially bad that I was cuckolding my husband for a more manly man. I know it was perverse, but then I'd want to punish him for making me feel that way. Not Craig, Scott! He tried diligently to be true to his promise to me, to do everything I asked. He was so compliant in fact that I found myself tempted to go to extremes with him, as if he were Craig and I was testing him, not my beloved and loving partner for life. Sometimes I hoped he'd resist me so I could accuse him of bad faith and end our agreement in a rage, or do something really extreme and that way maybe feel better about the whole thing. But he never resisted. He hesitated a few times, and he looked at me with deep questioning eyes a few times, but in the end he did everything I asked.

What I tried to do without thinking it through was wipe him out of sight and mind as a man and make him into someone else to whom I felt no obligations. So when we woke from that first Sunday morning I sent my hubbie downstairs in my housecoat to fix breakfast and phoned Doreen at her home. Doreen was my hairdresser, with a small beauty shop we all went to, Cheryl and Mort too. I loved what she had done with Mort when they got back from their honeymoon and it became apparent that Mort needed a style of his own for the long haul. She had marvelous instincts for hair like Scottie's, full and not too short. I wanted him ultra-feminine from the outset, not merely unisexual. A smart, stylish cut at least, it was plenty long enough for that. And blonde with platinum highlights. Yes, just a bit trampy, implying he could be a fun girl, given the right partner. I'd always wanted a girlfriend like that.

Doreen got as excited as I was.

"And he agreed to all that, really? You are a clever one, Amanda! All right, I'll clear my schedule for Tuesday, day after tomorrow, and we'll do everything all at once. You won't know him."

"I hope not," I replied, buoyed up by her enthusiasm. "That's the idea. He shouldn't know himself, either. I want him thinking he's someone else, someone feminine, so he can enjoy his new life while he's got it."

"We can take care of that too, honey, in a way. There's this little pill my doctor recommended when I was picking fights with my boyfriend all the time for no reason at all and he was getting ready to break up with me. A really effective tranquilizer. It slowed him down and mellowed him out so nicely that afterward even when I treated him like dirt he didn't seem to mind. Your Scottie will love the way it feels, at least until he gets used to his new look. They're relaxing. Lots of my customers use them now when they come in for lengthy procedures, so they won't get impatient or bored. Then whatever I do seems actually seems fascinating, they really get into it. We'll see how your Scottie likes them. How many piercings?"

"I think just one for each ear lobe for now. Go slow at first. But a sleeper that sparkles, that draws attention to his face."

"Don't worry, with the hairdo I'll give him he'd stop traffic even with no earrings or make-up at all. Oh, yes, permanent make-up, save him bother when he doesn't want to dress up but needs to look decent?

"I don't know, Doreen. This is only for the summer. But I don't want anything he can wipe off. He needs to know that this is it, this is what he is, this is how he looks, go with it. For the summer anyhow."

"Oh, Amanda, you know that short of tattooing, no permanent makeup is permanent. I mean, even plucked eyebrows grow out eventually. I've got a new product I can use. I'll give him a break -- eye liner, and a tint on his lips, and a touch of shadow on his lids, so he'll always look decent even first thing in the morning, even before he gets up and puts on his make-up for the day. You'll be glad, if you're tempted to a morning quickie with the girl you find in bed with you, because he'll look pretty and it won't smear. And if he forgets his face altogether when he goes out he'll still look like one of us."

That sounded reasonable. If his face always looked made up, he'd get accustomed to it and not give it a second thought, except when he was gilding the lily by adding more. And if he suspected anything he couldn't revenge himself by going out male to cheat on me. Yes. With no place to hide, he'd be committed. "OK," I told her. "Great. Whatever."

"Great! He'll love it! No other piercings? Not on his nipples?

No ring through his you know what?"

A ring through his you know what? For what? To lead him around by a leash? That amused me. "No, that won't be necessary, Doreen. He's already promised to do whatever I tell him for the next three months, and he's a man of his word. A woman of his word I suppose, now."

"A woman? Well, there'll be no mistaking him for anything else when I'm finished with him. You do know that my stylings are classics, always fashionable. They last. Most women like them so well they keep them for the rest of their lives. He just might decide to do that. Do you have other plans for him too? Our new lady friend?" Her voice now got mischievous. "Do you mean to bitch him?"

Bitch him? Oh, that! "Not right now, no. We'll see," I answered automatically. It wouldn't hurt to think about it, maybe work toward it, it occurred to me. Scott might be willing eventually, if I made it seem that he'd already agreed to it. It was what women do, after all, get fucked by men. I smiled. Craig would never consent to such a thing. He was utterly uptight about his manhood, and with good reason -- he had more of it than he could manage as it was! He'd hated it when I'd slid my finger into his ass, and that's why I was determined to use a dildo on him next time, he'd hate that even more. I wanted to goad him into an outright refusal, that would score one for me, though the chances were he'd cooperate in order to deny me that triumph. The same way I was committed to doing everything he wanted whether I wanted to or no. I even looked forward to it! But Craig wouldn't consent to bringing in a third party, male or female. That wasn't in the deal.

But I did want to dildo-fuck Craig at least once, to try to humiliate him. Scottie certainly, so he could know how a woman feels with a man in her. No doubt I'd begin his penetration with my smallest dildo and then work up gradually into a decent size. That way he'd be reliving the experience of girls who become sexually active at puberty, when boys still have little cocks, who then take in bigger and bigger through their adolescence as the boys grow up. I could use the occasion to teach him how to douche, how to stay sweet-smelling down there. Yes!

Then when he's gotten to like it maybe actually mate him to another man? To a real man, I mean? Let him feel a real cock inside himself? Well, that would take more thought. If he gets into a bitchy mood and needs to be put down properly, maybe. Or as a reward?

"Bitch him? We'll see," I repeated. "Oh, yes, and Doreen, would you schedule him for a long session every Saturday afternoon from now on, till the end of the summer? Tell him you need to redo his hair or his nails, or give him a facial, whatever? I'll want to know exactly where he is all of every Saturday afternoon."

"Certainly," Doreen said. "I have a new warm oil skin treatment that takes a few hours easily. No problem. We'll pamper your dear man! Most of my women doze through it, and then they're delighted when they wake up to find their skin is as soft and smooth as butter. You'll both love it! But Amanda, why do you want him in some known place every Saturday? Are you thinking of being naughty?"

I had to smile at that. A woman has no secrets from her hairdresser. "No, Doreen, I'm not thinking about it, not any more."

"Oh?" Here was real dishy dirt, and Doreen's voice got intimate and excited. "How wonderful! Who's the guy?"

Not yet. "You don't know him yet," I said. Maybe she and her boyfriend would be interested in a threesome or foursome some time? It might be a way to get at Craig. Use him up quickly, then use the other man real slow while Craig watches and gnashes his teeth at his impotence? Worth considering. No, Craig would never consent even to voyeuristic titillation -- this was a war between him and me strictly.

I cut her off with "Oh dear, Doreen, well, we'll talk about this another time, I have to run, bye!" and hung up.

I had to smile though. Now Doreen was in on the conspiracy. Now she knew enough to enjoy feminizing Scott for me, for my sake. So she'd really put her heart and imagination into her makeover session with him. My poor Scottie will end up just gorgeous!

Yes, that would be his name as a girl. It was cute, and every time I use it for the rest of our lives, it'll remind both of us of this little excursion he's making. And remind me of my fling with Craig.

When I got downstairs, there was Scottie making a third batch of waffles, the other two with maple syrup and sausages already on the table. My housecoat was a little tight on him -- well, no matter, he'll soon have one of his own, I was thinking -- but it flowed beautifully from his slim hips. "You look nice, honey," I reassured him. "But you won't want to come down to breakfast without wearing a little make-up too. Like me right now, just a faint touch of lipstick and mascara for your own morale for when you look in the mirror. I'm arranging to make that part of it easy for you, OK?"

"You're really serious about this, aren't you?" he replied, glancing up at me and studying my face, seeing that it was true, I was wearing make-up he'd never previously noticed. Good, I was thinking. He needs to get self conscious about when and when not and how much. Now he'll study every woman's make-up for every conceivable situation, and learn accordingly. The way we all did when we were teenagers. Still do I suppose.

"I'm quite serious," I said. "You'll see. Aren't you serious about it?"

"I guess."

"Honey, guessing won't cut it! You'll need to want it! For the next three months, I want you to throw yourself into it the way you throw yourself into all your other projects. Totally!"

"Those are research projects, Mandy," he said mildly. "They're for advancing human knowledge, or at least satisfying my curiosity about things. This is something else."

"You've never been curious about how things are on my side of the street? Well, you'd better begin to be! Think of it as a research project. You can't?"

"I guess I can," he replied. His face took on the speculative, abstracted look I'd seen before when he was deep into one or another of his things. I waited. It would be better all around if he could find his own reasons for doing what I'd worked out for him. He suddenly came to and began to speak rapidly. "Yes, I can. Maybe there's a book in it. Not a best seller, maybe, but provocative in a twisted way. It's a novel way to study gender differentiation and discrimination in our culture. I remember there was a man back in the sixties who pretended to be black in order to study racial discrimination at first hand, and wrote a book about it called 'Black Like Me.' This could be research for "A Girl Like Me," maybe. I'd do everything I usually do, go where I usually go, but look and act like a woman to see how people treat me. That might work if I can disguise myself well-enough."

I had mixed feelings about this. His enthusiastic cooperation would make this process much easier. But I didn't want him merely looking like a woman, deliberately imitating one but remaining himself. I wanted him feeling like one, as unlike the man I married as he could get, as unlike the man I was fucking too, at least while this thing between me and Craig held strong. I wanted him so emasculated in his own mind as well as mine that he wouldn't figure as a man in either. So I'd have no inhibitions about sex with Craig even if my Scottie came to know about it. Even if he were there watching us!

Still, this was more than the half-a-loaf I'd have settled for. I decided to take this one day at a time, as I'd been doing.

"You've got a lot to learn, Scottie dear," I said laconically. "And the first thing will be to enjoy feeling different. Today we'll relax into it. As soon as you've cleared away here, go upstairs and take a shower and shave yourself everywhere. Not your eyebrows, we'll shape them later, but everywhere else. Yes, your family jewels too. I want you to feel like a little boy again down there, not at all like a man."

He raised an eyebrow but nodded.

I gave it further thought. "I mean, I want you to feel like a little girl! Or better yet, like a young woman, a pretty young woman who feels shy about her femininity because it's all so new. So do a Bikini shave too, but leave a teeny patch of hair around your clit. Starting now you're a pretty girl. You're not my husband! Starting now I have no husband."

It felt good saying that, as long as I knew it wasn't literally true. But Scottie's eyes widened and his shoulders flinched ever so slightly. Good, that was gratifying, it sounded real enough to hurt him! I loved it, that response! He loved me! I'd be depending on that love during the next few months. Really testing it!

"I love you, sweetheart, never forget that. But if this is to work you can't be my husband. You can be my sister, or better still, my dearest girlfriend." I smiled. "My lesbian lover. Because I still want to have sex with you."

He looked relieved. After a moment he said. "All right, Mandy, whatever it is you're doing, whatever you need, I'll do it. I don't want to lose you. I want you to be happy."

I couldn't help it, I rushed straight into his arms at that, and we held each other tight for the longest time, and neither of us could say anything. But slowly my mind returned, and even as we stood there hugging each other I found myself thinking, maybe that's not a bad idea, Scottie writing a book about it. That way he'll have to keep a journal, and I'll know how things are going with him by reading it now and then.

We broke apart, and I then spoke more gently to my marvelous Scottie. More reassuringly. "You'll use my depilatory, the pink 'Nair' on my side of the cabinet, which is now your side of the cabinet too. Spread it on and after about fifteen minutes shower it off. Then take a nice hot soak with my Lilac bath oil and pat yourself dry, no rubbing, treat your skin from now on with delicacy, remember. Oh, and the whole time, honey, sing or talk to yourself in a falsetto voice -- once it feels comfortable we'll lower it a little, and then it'll sound quite convincingly feminine I'm sure. Tell yourself over and over, 'I'm Mandy's girlfriend Scottie!' Just keep repeating that in the sweetest voice you can find. Then I'll come up to help you powder yourself, and then we'll begin your 'Girlhood 101' seminar for today, basic makeup, posture, movement, and clothes."

Clothes would be an issue. His shoulders and arms were wider than mine -- sleeveless styles would be out until he's lost some weight. But he can wear my things otherwise, we're about the same size. Yes. And we'll supplement them tomorrow with items that will match the way I want him to look, not ditzy but a little bewildered, respectable but still a little daring, borderline brazen. And whatever else, I must shake that masculine self-confidence of his even while I encourage his pride in his femininity. Maybe I'll take a few days off to get him started, things are slow now at the office. We'll see.

When I went upstairs a while later Scottie was standing stark naked in front of my bureau, one drawer open, doubtfully fingering a pair of lace panties.

"That's exactly right, honey," I told him. "From now on, this is your life. Here, maybe this bra will fit you until you can get your own, and those panties will do just fine. Tomorrow we'll shop, so you can be properly dressed for Doreen on Tuesday. That's when you have your very first beauty salon appointment."

"I have an appointment with Doreen?" he asked, surprised. "Your hairdresser?" His voice was a little flutey, but it was already better than Minnie Mouse's. I loved it. Craig's was a rich, growling baritone. For manly authority, Scottie's voice was already no competition, out of the running!

"Your hairdresser now too, baby," I replied. "And then some. Surely you don't want to walk around town in a dress and lipstick looking the way you do now, do you?"

Actually, he didn't look too bad. I looked him over carefully, seeing him this way for the first time. Utterly hairless now, with a slim figure and a relatively small face for a man. I loved that face. Not much muscle, especially compared to Craig, who worked out and was a hunk. Scott could lie on top of me with his full weight without crushing me, even when we were doing it doggie style. Unlike Craig, who had to do pushups while pushing into me, and had gotten a severe muscle cramp fucking my ass doggie style, because I'd refused to let him rest his body on my back. I smiled secretly and shook my head to clear it of that memory. Scottie was a trifle thick around the middle for a girl, but a few days away from fries and fried things would tend to that. He really would come out lovely!

It was then that I began wondering how he'd look with a few real curves on his body. Temporary curves maybe, but still, enough to fill out his hips and his rear end. And his chest of course. He needed something hanging from his chest. Enough at least to fill a bra. Glue-on prosthetic breasts? That would deprive us of nipple play when we were in bed. I was looking forward to certain lesbian-like relationships with him, and I knew he had erotic sensitivities in that region. Temporary implants? So he'd always be aware of their weight, of what he was? Maybe.

I didn't regret them, but my original reasons for emasculating Scottie had been shameful and I knew it. Now I was glad to see a decent reason beginning to overshadow the others. I realized that I now wanted to see my Scottie given the most attractive woman's appearance possible not just from any animosity I might feel that he made me feel guilty for betraying him, not just so he'd seem ridiculously effeminate in my eyes, no competition with Craig, but from simple good will. Since he was going to be a woman for a few months, he should look his best and enjoy it. I wanted my lovely Scottie to look and feel lovely!

"No, I guess not," Scottie said.

I'd been looking him over so intently, thinking about curves, that I'd forgotten what he was agreeing to. "You guess not what?" I asked. I reluctantly put away my mental image of my naked Scottie flaunting new ripe tits and a rounded ass.

"I don't want to walk around town wearing a dress and lipstick," he replied. "Not at all. Certainly not looking the way I do."

"No of course not, baby," I replied. "I'd never ask you to do that. But you won't mind wearing a dress and lipstick after Doreen's done with you! Believe me! Even in jeans and a T-shirt, you'll be gorgeous. Men will be falling all over their feet to open doors for you."

Scottie grinned at that notion. Then more seriously he asked, "Have I choice, Mandy?"

I grinned back. "No, honey. This is what I want. You're a love to agree to it. An absolute darling. I'll never forget it, never! We'll both be the better for it. So put on those panties you're holding and let's see how your bra fits. I love your voice, but now let's just lower it a bit more until it begins to crack, then hold it there."

"Here?" He sounded like an old crone. A witch. I was amused.

"There would be fine, with a little more sweetness added in."

"I feel foolish, Mandy."

"No, now you sound lovely, not at all foolish. Here, let's fill your bra with these old shoulder pads of mine until we can work out some other way to enhance your girlish figure.... There, good enough. And this blouse and skirt and these sandals.... Now fluff your hair a little after you brush it down. See how I do mine? ... There you are! Not yet ready for the cover of Cosmo, but you'll do, honey!"

For my purposes anyhow, I thought. It might have been better for me if he had looked a little ridiculous. But he didn't. Rather, his improvised look was pleasantly androgynous. This will be easy, I said to myself. He'll look much prettier than Mort when Doreen is finished with him.

We spent the rest of the day doing make-up and movement lessons. Scottie soon mastered elementary eye shadow and advanced lip liner, and he practiced sitting, standing, walking, and reaching for things with his legs together, elbows close to the body, wrists cocked back with fingers extended but curved, all of the things girls learn from each other without even noticing. I taught him how to look casually feminine, comfortable, how to sit with his thighs together but his calves splayed wide apart. It took time -- men's joints don't bend like women's -- but he looked really cute when he finally mastered it. He said he felt foolish during much of what we did, but as with all other things he diligently studied and practiced until he looked and behaved altogether natural, to the manner born. Wait till Doreen sees what she has to work with, I exulted to myself! Only one day, and my Scottie is a doll! I do love him!

All the while we talked girl talk. I wanted him to feel comfortable chatting with other women, the way Mort was, not chivalrous and faintly flirtatious as usual but friendly, open, delighted to listen and eager to share. We talked about make-up, clothes, recipes -- Scott was a fine cook, nothing for him to learn there -- but mostly people. Mostly relationships. Eventually the conversation turned to guys. I saw to it.

"Must we?" Scottie asked when I raised the subject by asking if there were any interesting fellas who worked at the small college where he taught, men who might seem interested in him. "I get very uncomfortable talking about other men's personal lives."

"I should hope so," I replied. "I would too if I were a man. But I'm a woman." And pointedly I added, "Like you! And women love to talk about how men feel about them!"

He looked chastened.

"Here's a lecture, your style. We gossip about four kinds of men," I said. "Married and unmarried, interesting and uninteresting, in In all four combinations of these things. For instance, there's this supplier I deal with. He's quite handsome, an ex football player I think, and the secretaries send messages back and forth to each other whenever he's in the building. You know, he has a huge ego and vast self-confidence, flirts even when he doesn't mean it, and makes everything he says a challenge calling for a clever come-back. He's already slept with one of the married women in our office, and who knows how many more would if they could. If they thought they could handle him."

I must have looked especially satisfied as I said that, because Scottie said nothing. He just looked at me. A mistake? I moved quickly to cover myself. "I'm convinced that he's nowhere near as good as he thinks he is. Are there any men where you work who sleep around? Any women?"

"Some," Scottie said. "Some unmarried colleagues date undergraduates, though they aren't supposed to. Some girls collect them, and some would rather seduce them than study. But mostly my unmarried colleagues date each other, or they see people in town. Some married colleagues do too I'm afraid."

"Among your faculty do men date men, and women date women? Or do they keep to the more usual arrangements?"

"All four kinds of arrangements, as you say, in different combinations," Scott said, amused.

"And you haven't?"

"Of course not, Mandy. I'm married. I have all the woman I can handle right here, especially right now! I don't want any others."

That was a reassuring, a marvelous compliment. I should have felt pleased. But my uneasy conscience heard it as a rebuke, and I resented it a little. "Are you saying you're a lesbian in a firm relationship with another woman?" I asked him tartly. "As a woman, shouldn't you at least try a man, see what men are like? See if you can attract one, or at least have fun flirting with them?" Doreen's suggestion rose to mind again. Should I deliberately try to bitch him? Should I want to? Would I be denying him an experience if I didn't? That was the first thing Cheryl did with Mort, get him as involved with other men as she was. Of course that was as much for her convenience as his enjoyment.

I broke off the catechism as if it had been a mere random sampling of girl talk. "You see, honey, that's what women talk about, relationships. Other people's mostly, but sometimes our own. It's called gossip, and it's more fun than talking business or sports or gadgets all day the way men do, and we find out so much more about what makes other people tick and what we think about them. Here, now strip back down to your bra and let's see what other blouses I have I can offer you. This one should fit.... And this one too, isn't it pretty? Try it with a plaid skirt."

We assembled a quite respectable stack of clothing for him to wear until we could buy him his own. I included no slacks, because he needed to get accustomed to skirts. Regrettably, I thought as I put back a pair of tight stirrup pants. He's thin enough for pants like these, but his tush isn't round enough to make them look attractive. Yet.

 

vi.

By early evening Scottie seemed at ease with his new look, and when I had located an old purse for him and some clip-on earrings I made a daring proposal.

"Honey, you're beautiful! I'm proud of you! I want to show you off to the world. Let's go out right now, dinner and a movie."

He suddenly got very tense. "Mandy, no! Don't ask me to do that! I can't." We were having a drink in the living room at that point, and he was holding his wine glass delicately, the way women do especially when on the prowl in singles bars. He nearly dropped it, and looked about wildly as if seeking an escape route. But the only door in sight led to our front door and the car. He looked back at me, and for the first time all day his faint ironic detachment vanished. He'd been indulging me, doing what my humor seemed to require. But now he was frightened!

The man in him was frightened, that is. Good! I wanted the man in him scared to death, or at least scared into hiding out for the rest of the summer! "Are you planning to spend the next three months in the house?" I asked him. "I say you're ready to be seen."

"But I still look like me in drag," he said. "What if someone I know sees me?"

"If someone you know sees you, you're your sister, honey. What I hear you telling me is that you don't want to look like yourself at all. You want Doreen to make you look altogether different. All right, I'll tell her that!" I didn't mention that I'd already told her that. "We're going out. The sooner you're seen, the sooner you'll realize that you've been seen and it's no big deal. Women want to be seen! We take pains with our appearance and love thinking that people notice! Come on, it's night-time, and movie theaters are dark! Here, drape this shawl over your shoulders and catch it up with your arms like so." I showed him how, and turned toward the door without looking back.

After a moment he trusted himself entirely to me, and apprehensively followed me out to the car. His first time out of doors in a skirt -- it must have felt strange. He looked around to make sure no neighbors were noticing. Well, they'll notice something soon enough, I thought with some satisfaction. An elaborately made-up blonde about Scott's size coming and going, all summer? Maybe even cutting the grass? The thought amused me. Scottie in shorts and a halter! He really was too thin right now!

I deliberately chose a large steak and ribs restaurant in order to make yet one more point. He sat gingerly on the edge of his seat, afraid to lift up his eyes, and surveyed the vast arrays of red meat listed on the menu when I commented as if casually, "Never mind those. You need your waistline reduced. I want you looking fashionably slim while you're being a woman. Fashionably slim women have more fun. Order a small salad." For myself I ordered a rib eye medium rare and a side of onion rings, and I smiled at him. "My metabolism is greater than thine," I said smugly. "Ask for the dressing on the side, and then use only half of it."

He looked wistfully at me while I ate, picking at the small Caesar salad he'd ordered. And then even more wistfully at my plate when we got up to leave. I had deliberately left half my food uneaten. "Self-restraint," I told him. "I do it all the time, to protect my figure. You'll do the same for yours. Next time we're out, I'll allow you to order whatever you wish if you'll promise to eat only half and leave the rest."

It was fun, tormenting the poor dear for his own good. But finally I relented. "This really is necessary, baby," I told him earnestly. "You can do this! You need curves, a waist and bosom and rear end, but otherwise you're well-proportioned. Maybe we can bring you down to a size 12 and then build you up again selectively. Or a 10? Women's clothes are designed to display a woman's figure while flattering it, maybe by being tight, maybe by being calculatedly loose. They say it's to attract men, but except for certain obvious kinds of slut gear that isn't really true. It's more to make statements about yourself while impressing other women, to feel good about yourself. So do! Never forget to watch your figure. You'll have so much better a choice if you don't need to go to Women's sizes, if you can select from the middle of the Misses' section."

He was baffled. "A Miss isn't a Woman?" he asked.

I was about to explain these mysteries when a woman's voice close by suddenly called out "Amanda!" Then again, "Amanda! How have you been!"

I looked up and saw two of Scott's departmental colleagues standing there. My God Scott must be paralyzed this very moment! His worst nightmare! After a moment, thankfully, I recalled their names.

"Marge! Annemarie! How lovely!. I'm just fine, and you two?" I asked cheerily. These two I remembered were inseparable. They lived together, as women often do for convenience and also to preserve their respectability. Some because they're lesbians. Scott thought it likely but was uninterested in knowing for sure. He and they were friends, allies in his department's small curricular struggles.

I could tell at a glance that there was no doubt they were in a relationship. Like mine and Scottie's, I thought with amusement.

Scottie! There he was standing next to me in a sedate skirt and blouse, shawl draped over his arms, nicely made up, quite convincing as a woman even without Doreen's contribution. At this moment he was trying to make himself look altogether invisible. I turned to him immediately, before he could bolt, and said, "Sherri, these are two of Scott's favorite colleagues at the College, Marge and Annemarie." I noticed that he was avoiding eye contact with everyone in sight, and I glared at him. He saw and understood, and glanced at them.

"How do you do," he managed to say in his downscale flute voice, then again tried to look as if he were altogether elsewhere. Turning back to them I said breezily, "I don't know if you've ever met Scott's sister Sherri?"

"Why no," Marge said, looking at Scottie attentively. "Isn't that remarkable! I see the resemblance. Will you be staying in town long, Sherri? We'd love to have the three of you over, now that summer's here and our time is our own."

All my newly christened Sherri could do was gurgle, so I came to his aid. "Sherri's leaving tomorrow morning I'm afraid," I said. "And tomorrow evening our house guest for the summer will be arriving, another sister, one who's led a rather different sort of life and now needs peace and quiet so she can write her memoirs. rather racy memoirs, I suspect. So I'm afraid it won't be possible."

"Nonsense!" Annemarie declared firmly. "You and Scott and Scott's sisters are always most welcome! We all have books cooking in our kitchens! Even writers need to see other people now and then. I'd love to meet her! We'll call."

As she said this, she looked me in the eye to assure me that there was no doubt she meant it. The two of them then moved sideways and were gone as swiftly as they'd arrived.

I came aware that Scottie had not breathed through the entire interchange. Now he spoke.

"She recognized me," he said. "Annemarie did, I mean. She was staring at that old scar on my cheek! What must she think?"

"Oh, pooh!" I said. "Your scar isn't visible. That's why women use foundation, to hide all our blemishes, because we're always expected to be perfect and we aren't. Not always. We sometimes have our faults."

I decided not to go further in that direction, or the next thing I'd be telling Scott -- or Sherri -- would be all about my own most recent fault, my passion for Craig's body. It was wonderful gossip, and I was bursting to tell someone. But certainly not Scott. Not even Scottie. Not yet anyhow. Cheryl would call me soon to find out everything, and I'd unburden on her.

"She saw," Scottie said from out of his depths somewhere. We started toward the car. "She knows. And suppose she does invite us. The three of us, when there are only two of us."

"In that case I'll accept for the two of us," I replied. "No problem. I'm sure we can have a delightful time with them." My mind was working ahead of Scottie's, for once. I thought Annemarie indeed might have recognized him. They'd be accustomed to seeing and reading off-gendered people in the circles they moved in, and though Scottie looked unqualifiedly feminine, there was lots of Scott still visible, in little things. Her look when she promised us an invitation seemed pretty much to confirm it. It was suspicious, curious, delighted, and determined all at once.

Well, if so, then so much the better. I'd like setting up a closer relationship with those two, as one lesbian couple to another, as it were. I was wary of fixing Scottie up with women, but pushing him into a relationship with a man had its problems too. Men were fun to date, and Mort apparently didn't mind dating them. I'd been thinking about fixing Scottie up with a man, 'bitching' him as Doreen called it, but my motives were not admirable, I knew. They were worse than admirable. I wanted to humiliate him for making me feel guilty, that was the main reason, and I didn't respect myself for that.

It occurred to me that down deep I didn't know if I'd respect Scott either, if he ever had sex with a man. A husband who pleasures other men with his asshole? And sucks other men's cocks? Maybe for Cheryl, but for me? That would take some major re-adjustments in my attitude toward Scottie.

But Marge and Annmarie were something else. Neither Cheryl nor I wanted our husbands to take up with other women. But would I mind if my new lesbian Scottie was taken up by two other lesbians?

I had to think about it. Off the cuff, I'd prefer it. If he were with a man he'd still be being faithful to me, merely doing what women do, one more of the things I want him to do anyhow, so he can enjoy being a woman and I can enjoy my new man without feeling pangs of conscience. But if he took up with a pair of lesbians he'd still be doing things that come more naturally to a man. They have vaginas, and whether or not they call it a dildo, he has a penis. Sooner or later the twain would have to meet. Yet, I was already having extramarital sex -- wasn't it only fair for Scottie to do the same?

No, I did not want Scottie to have extramarital sex. Not with a man nor with a woman nor with a lesbian.

"Can we go home now?" Scottie asked me miserably.

"We're here for a movie," I said. "We're two girls out together. I feel like seeing a romantic melodrama and having a good cry. So that's what we'll see. A 'chick flick.'"

I chose well. The plot was about a bored housewife who runs off to have a tempestuous affair with a suave passing stranger, then after weeks spent with him in the most glamorous places in Europe, returns home gorgeously gowned, impeccably groomed, well-fucked, and inspired by a new appreciation for the ordinary things in her life. And of course for her ordinary husband, who quickly understands and forgives her. It was schlock of course -- she gobbles her cake greedily with both hands and yet there it still is on the dining room table when she gets home, perfectly decorated.

 

Even so, much of it brought tears to my eyes. That was me, in a way, I hoped. I found as the music swelled up at the end that Scottie was moved too -- we'd been holding hands the whole time, his fingers intertwined with mine. Had he been identifying with the heroine too? I loved that. Had he identified with the hero, the thoroughly cuckolded husband? Did he suspect something? If so I loved him all the more. At that moment I loved all understanding and forgiving husbands. I loved the idea that Scott was willing to risk humiliation and embarrassment and pretend to be a woman for me, just so I could believe I was keeping my affair with Craig a secret from him. If he found out about it for certain, would he be as forgiving as that husband?

I could hope so, though I'd never want to know. I didn't want to hurt him. He's such a sweet man. He'll make such a sweet woman! I do love my husband!

Anyhow, now, after his close encounter with Marge and Annemarie, he was probably ready to let Doreen do anything to him. Anything at all. He'll probably let me do things to him too, I thought, or at least he'd more quickly reconcile himself to them once I've done them to him. He knew now that there are advantages in disguising himself beyond all chance of recognition, so he might even accept a few really serious adjustments to his figure. Not just filling him out a little, but giving him real tits and a round tush, committing him unmistakably to his new feminine appearance. For his own good, in some ways. So he'd cease being my cuckolded husband altogether and become instead my genuine girlfriend, or better, his own somewhat racy sister. Then the slightly trampy woman I wanted Doreen to make him could wear tight, revealing dresses, low-cut blouses, and slacks that left no doubt that his sex was female.

So overall, our chance meeting with Marge and Annemarie was all to the good. I hoped they'd call soon.

The next day we spent shopping together. Scottie protested that he could make do with the clothes I'd loaned him, but I wanted him to have his own things and enjoy having them, to feel comfortably proprietary about them. I didn't want him to feel that his new gender was on loan. I wanted him to think "my bra" and "my heels" rather than "my wife's bra and heels." Then he could learn to love his favorite outfits for the ways they make him look and feel, as all women do. And he'd learn to take care of them. Keep them longer than just the summer? That would be up to him.

He also protested the quantity we bought -- when we'd finished, his closet looked as full as mine. There were way more things than he'd need during the next few summer months. He wanted to know why, did I have some kind of hidden agenda for him? Did I want him to stay this way when the summer ended?

That was a difficult question, I realized. I told him that women dress according to mood, and don't like being seen wearing the same outfit twice, which was true enough, and itself reason enough for me to fill his closet with dresses and blouses and suits, and his drawers with day wear and lingerie. But I began to wonder myself why I kept urging more and more lovely things on him.

In part, because it was fun playing dolls with him, maybe playing mommy and daughter with him too? Probably -- it was fun! In part, was I compensating for betraying him with Craig, trying to placate my guilty feelings by buying him the kinds of presents I'd enjoy? Maybe. In part because the nicer-looking a woman he became, the more worthwhile for him my affair would seem to me? Maybe. The more I bought him, the more my feelings of guilt seemed irrational. I felt no affection for Craig, only a lust that would soon pass. But meanwhile Scottie was benefiting from it, gaining a gorgeous wardrobe many women would kill to own.

Or was it malice, that I wanted to bury my husband Scott in women's clothing? Maybe. I did resent feeling like an unfaithful wife, an unrepentant adulteress who had violated her vows to her husband. But by agreeing to become a woman, no longer the man I married, he'd given me an annulment. I ought to reward him for that.

All of these possible motivations occurred to me, and I couldn't reject any of them. It remained that I loved shopping with him, and that I eagerly anticipated seeing him try on all of his new outfits at home, teaching him what kinds of occasion each was best fit for. And wonderfully, he caught the fever -- after a while he did too!

Later that afternoon I sent him off shopping on his own for jewelry and accessories, a few odds and ends any man might buy for any woman, so he wouldn't feel self-conscious about buying them even though he was still dressed as a woman. Mainly to build his self-confidence, so he'd know beyond doubt that he could pass easily. But also for his own enjoyment. Shopping is another of women's many pleasures. I told him he should enjoy the questing and purchasing.

Oddly, he did. He concentrated his mind on buying certain things that pleased him, and finding them within a certain budgetary range, so it became a game. He came back feeling pleased with all his purchases, and as he showed them to me I ooohed and aaahed over them, his prizes, though they were mostly belts and necklaces I thought rather ordinary, and several pairs of clip-on earrings I knew he'd never be wearing after tomorrow. It was a beginning though.

He also purchased a winter skirt, a long wool plaid so heavily discounted as he said excitedly that it cost nearly nothing. "At that price I couldn't resist it," he said pridefully. I didn't point out to him that it was reduced because it was out of season, too warm for summer wear, that no one would be wearing such skirts again unto the Fall, when I no longer expected him to wear any such things. He was pleased to have found it, though, so I said nothing at all. For any woman, a bargain is a bargain.

This was working out well, I thought. I feel much better now. He was actually beginning to enjoy it!

 

vii.

The next day I went to work, and dressed as he'd been the day before when out on his own, still feeling a little nervous, he went by himself to Doreen's. He still wasn't home when I got back in mid-afternoon. I waited for him impatiently, eager to meet the woman I'd be living with for the next three months, a woman to whom I owed friendship but not fidelity. Finally I heard his car in the driveway and his key turn in the lock.

And an altogether strange woman entered our living room and then just stood there, uncertain of herself! A tall, thin blonde woman with platinum streaking her upswept high styled hairdo, the kind of hairdo that looks sensational but needs lots of spraying to stay that way. Her eyebrows were thin, almost painted on, and her blue eyes sparkled under heavy black lashes, and her eyelids echoed the same brilliant blue. Scott's eyes are also bright blue, I thought before I came fully aware that this was in fact Scott, that it had to be Scott. That this was now my Scottie. Her face was a pale, delicate peach, faintly blushing, and her lips were generously scarlet. Were they also puffy -- she seemed to be pouting? Yes, there was no doubt of it. She stood there on towering spiked heels with her body half-turned away but facing me directly, her expression anxious. A cute short flared jacket emphasized what little hips she had, but under the shortest mini suit skirt I have ever seen, conservative gray but its length scarcely past her crotch, her thighs and legs seemed doubly elongated. Her ears gleamed gold.

All in all, the effect was of a sophisticated tart who has somehow gotten involved in high finance and made a smashing success of both professions. This was my college professor husband?

"Is it all right?" she asked in Scottie's sweetly tense new voice. "Is this what you wanted? Doreen said so, and she kept saying so every time I told her she was going too far."

"You're stunning, sweetheart!" I told her when I'd found my voice. "You're perfect! Just sit! I'll fetch us drinks and you can tell me all about it!"

She sat, and when I returned with two stiff vodkas-on-rocks -- I needed something stronger than wine -- she told me about her whole day, down to the last appliqued fingernail. He told me, I mean. I resolved not to let his appearance deceive me altogether. He was still my husband.

"I'm not sure exactly how she did these different things," he said. "She gave me a pill to relax me when we began, and I really got zonked! I think I still am. This is my high-style face, she called it, simple to put on, and underneath this make-up there's another kind, a stain that doesn't come off, my casual face she called it, the one I'll sleep with. She told me we'd both appreciate it that I'll always look properly made up. Before she stained my lips she called in a woman who put collagen into them, made them into 'kissing lips' as she called them. They giggled to themselves when my manicurist called them "cocksucker lips," and that worried me, but Doreen told me that she was giving me soft, puffy lips for Amanda's sake and that Amanda will appreciate them."

"Oh yes!" I said. Then remembering how I'd shared Craig's semen with him on impulse only two days ago, when I sat on his face, I repeated it. "Oh yes, indeed! I'll try to remember to thank her."

"Then she showed me how to comb and pin up my hair. It looks hard but it's really very simple too."

Scottie still sounded zonked. More like a ditz than my usual wry hubby. But then he looked a little ditzy too, and that was what I wanted.

"I'd have been home an hour ago," he added. "Except that Doreen wanted to complete the picture by dressing me properly. So she took me to a boutique owned by a friend of hers. The friend told me that the way I look now I need to dress conservatively or I'll be arrested for streetwalking."

That may be true, I said to myself as I headed into the kitchen to find more ice. He now has a whore's hairdo and a banker's body, and he no way resembles the man I married. Perfect! Now if Scottie ever feels embarrassed to look like this, it won't be because people recognize that he's Scott. It'll be because people assume he sells himself for a living.

"But it's also 'high-maintenance' this look," he went on. "That's what Doreen called it," Scottie continued. "She says I'll need to come in every Saturday to have it set right. And she wants to soak me in some kind of fragrant oil every Saturday. She says there will be times when you'll appreciate that too."

"I'm sure," I said. No doubting it now, he was still drugged out on Doreen's pills. So passive! So accepting! "Let's skip dinner tonight, honey. Just come to bed. I've never made love to a beautiful woman, and I want to try. You do look good enough to eat!"

Scottie dimpled. "Thank you," he smiled. "I loved it the last time you ate me!"

What was in that pill?!

Again she loved it when I took her in my mouth. HE loved it, I mean. HE, it was now hard to remember! This time when I deep-throated Scottie's cock I heard only a pleased whine emerge from him each time the pink crowned head of his cock reached the insides of my lips and then again descended down my throat. He was so far gone that I had no fear he might wonder where I'd learned to do such a thing. His mind could barely keep up with the present. Doreen was right about something else, too -- I did appreciate his new kissing lips. They were wonderful! When I snugged my pussy over his pretty face, and he closed those huge, new, beautiful blue eyes and began to kiss it, it was like sitting on two teeny pillows with a tongue in between them that was avidly french kissing my clit. Oh, it was soooo good! This wasn't at all like sex with Craig, dangerous and edgy. Rather, it was soft, deliciously reassuring! Each lick told me that Scottie still loved me!

We both slept soundly that night.

The following day Scottie went into his study to make some notes, he said, and apparently he spent the day there. I stopped at Doreen's on my way home from work.

"So how do you like your new girlfriend?" she asked with a gleam in her eye.

"She's wonderful!" I replied. "He's wonderful, I mean. Scottie. My former husband. I love it, he's just what I want for now. A little tarty, altogether unlike his usual staid self, not quite respectable. He'll probably be hounded by horny guys every time he leaves home. He'll find out how annoying that can be. All the more reason maybe for him to stay home and do his work and play with his face and hair like some dreamy teenager while I'm at the office." The thought amused me. Would he really? "And if he finds out what I'm up to he can't possibly get indignant -- it would be ridiculous. Best of all, his Saturdays with you re-doing his hairdo and so on will keep him out of my hair when I won't want to be disturbed by anything. Oh, and I love his lips! I may not want to sit anywhere else ever!"

Doreen looked pleased. Gratefully, I gave her a small hug.

"Now I don't need to feel worried or guilty about being with my real man," I said. "Thanks, Doreen, I owe you a lot!"

"Then tell me all, Amanda honey," she replied with a smile. "What about your real man? You've had such a stable and conventional marriage, but now you want to put your husband away for a few months by turning him into a swish?"

"Not a swish, Doreen. Only a girl. I don't have any plans to mate him with anyone right now, male or female. Except maybe me."

"Your new man?" she reminded me. "The real one?"

"Strictest confidence?"

She nodded, eager to hear. I grinned smugly. "He's a supplier I deal with. Handsome, with a great build, and he certainly knows it, that's part of the attraction. Cock-sure of everything, a real challenge! Whenever we negotiate with each other we're always pushing for that little extra bit, even over obvious things. We try to outsmart each other, hide conditions, introduce trick language then double back with generous counter-offers. Get each other off balance, feel for advantage, wear each other down. So that's what we've started doing with each other sexually. I think I'm ahead so far, but he probably thinks so too. It's all-out when we're together, no holds barred, no punches pulled. We wrestle. We feel for each other's openings and then go for them!"

Doreen was impressed. "Oh, Mandy, that sounds thrilling! I'm so happy for you! I guess I'm much less feisty than you are -- like most women I settle for a man who simply shows up. And now you've got two, one of them a loving and cooperative living doll, and the other one a tough hunk. What could be better? But do you actually enjoy having sex with your guard always up? Making war instead of love?"

"After five years of marriage to my sweet, trusting, predictable Scottie? It's ... well, it's different! Strenuous and exciting! I give as good as I get, Doreen. It's more like a ferocious game of tennis than a pitched battle. We slam and backhand and ace each other every way we can, and it's marvelous whenever I manage to score on him! It's something to look forward to, these Saturday sessions we're setting up. But I can't see it lasting more than a few months -- the novelty'll wear off I'm sure, and I doubt he has anything to offer me apart from his body and his self-admiration. And his competitive spirit. He's exhausting right now, even to think about him, but he'll probably end up merely tiresome. Anyhow, now you know why I want you to keep Scottie safe in here Saturdays, out of my way. Just till the summer ends. Make him pretty. Make him want to be pretty."

She looked at me. "Amanda, you should know it, my work lasts. What I've done to him will last all summer, just as you want it, but some things a lot longer. His lips for example, they're good for six months. And on some women the eye liner and eyelid toning is still there after a year. His hair I can always re-color and reshape of course, so he'll almost resemble a man again. But with his features, come September he'll still be raising eyebrows if he tries to use the men's room. Best would be to make him want to be pretty well past September. Because that's what he'll be."

This was not exactly what I wanted. Scottie might feel betrayed when his classes resumed and he tried to appear again as himself.

 

Doreen saw I looked worried. "You did want him to look feminine, didn't you? To know what it's like?"

That was true.

"So cheer up! Trust me, he'll stay with his new look. I'm sure of it. All my customers love what I do to them! Face facts -- your husband is a charmer now! A bit brazen, but that's what you asked for. When he sees the advantages he may well want to stay that way. And now that you know the advantages for you, you might well want him to stay that way. Wouldn't you? Don't you?"

Well, there's nothing I can do about it now, I decided. I'll deal with reconverting him when I must. I didn't know exactly what Doreen meant by the "advantages" of his new look -- did she mean that blondes have more fun, or something else? Did I want him to have that kind of fun? Anyhow, there are certainly advantages for me!

"What he wants to do or undo with himself when the summer ends will be his to decide, Doreen." I said. "I'm not thinking about that now. In fact I'm thinking about still other ways to make him feel and look even more feminine, to help him get through the summer with fewer anxieties."

At that Doreen grinned. "Teach him how to flirt, honey. That's the best recreation I know of for an attractive girl with no-smear make-up."

We were getting pretty deep here, so I decided to end it. "But that's not why I'm here," I said. "Doreen honey, I don't know what those pills were you gave Scottie, but can you spare me a few? I'm sure there'll be times when he'd rather be out of it, or I'll wish he were, and from what I've seen those pills will help. Certainly if he takes them they'll help me worry less about him. I don't want him to feel anxious or depressed about being a woman, no more than I want him concerned about where I am Saturday afternoons."

"Of course, Amanda." She unlocked a drawer filled with bottles of pills. "Take all you want. But no more than one a day. They're a fairly stiff tranquilizing hormone. I'm told they were made up originally for cows, to keep them happy and contented and encourage their milk production. A woman's natural hormones block the hormonal effects, but the tranquilizer effect gets through. They induce a marvelously serene mood."

"How about when a man takes them? Does he grow udders and moo and give milk?"

"Well, no, not exactly, but you aren't that far wrong! There's a noticeable difference when men take them. Same tranquilizing effect of course, so he will feel like mooing all day. But take my boyfriend. I gave him one a day to calm him down when he got the impression I was wandering away from him now and then, you know? His erections got pretty soft almost right away, and then they quit. And meanwhile his nipples got really enormous, like fingertips sticking out of puffy cones. He started growing breasts too, teeny ones, 'A' cup at their biggest, but really cute!"

"Did they bother him, these changes?"

"As long as he kept taking the pills he didn't notice or care. But I did. You can't fuck a nipple, so eventually we broke up. He got his erections back pretty soon after, I hear, but his nipples have stayed that way ever since. These days when I see him at the beach he's always wearing a shirt, even in the water. And when it gets wet, watch out!" She grinned at me woman to woman.

No erections? That could be an advantage. It would take Scott altogether out of competition with Craig, at least in my own mind. I could try to deep throat him, and when the poor dear can't respond we could both feel a little sad about it, and then we could concentrate on having girl sex together. And when my affair's wound down, no harm done, he'd get hard again. He might even enjoy having bigger nipples. I could persuade him that I enjoy them, anyhow, and let him think he's keeping them for me. As for breasts, little ones might be nice, good for his morale, but maybe even bigger? Like Mort's? I was still thinking about it.

One a day for three months would be plenty. I took a month's supply home with me, and that night I fed one to Scottie

It was sort of funny! I don't know if he got much done on his research the next day. He already wore unremovable make-up, his faintly blue eyelids and his darkened lashes underscored by eye liner, and of course there were his deep pink pillowy lips. But once on the pill he spent the whole next day playing with other shades and colors on top of this "natural" face. I called it natural so he'd get used to it and not even notice that he had it on. And with each new group of colors he'd tried on a few of his new dresses, just to see which went best with which. Just like a girl! When I got home that evening he'd fixed us a simple dinner and he was sitting peaceably in front of a TV that wasn't even turned on.

The next day I gave him another before I went to work, and apparently he spent that day the same way, though that evening he got incredibly affectionate -- once he began kissing me he couldn't stop. I fed him my breast and he nursed at it with those wonderful plump lips just like a baby. Then when I warmed up and pressed his head down into my crotch, he nibbled and sucked on my pussy the same way, as if my clit were a nipple. All night long, licking and sucking, dozing, licking, and sucking. I was in heaven! It was so joyously sweet! Not at all like my bouts with Craig!

When the next Saturday rolled around we were both well-prepared for it. Craig called as he'd promised. "Are you up for another?" he asked with his usual supercilious skepticism.

"Never mind me," I replied. "Are you up for another? And another and another? Can you keep it up?" He growled an unintelligible answer from some place deep in his throat.

By pre-arrangement I had lunch with Cheryl and Craig stopped by to share dessert. Again he brought Cheryl a friend, this time a pro football star -- I forget which team or which league. When the two of us left them not long afterward, Cheryl could barely take her eyes off him to grin and wave farewell!

"I'll see you when I see you!" I said, picking up my purse with a triumphant flourish.

"Call me some time!" was all she replied, and then turned back to her hunk.

When Craig and I again found ourselves naked and alone on a bed, this time we had an endurance contest. We wrapped ourselves around each other and then humped until nightfall without stopping. It was fabulous -- we were frenzied, reckless, and insatiable! And this time I had no guilty feelings whatever, no concern for my former hubby, at that moment sitting in a beautician's chair being beautified while his wife was being fucked over and over!

This time I managed to shower before going home, and even to fit in one last fuck fully dressed when Craig unexpectedly found one more in him. And this time I'd brought tampons to plug Craig's fresh cum snug into my pussy and my rear end so it wouldn't leak all over my skirt and the car seat. I was saving it for Scottie.

Scottie met me at the door, apparently unaware that I was again shamefully late. He was eager as a little boy to tell me all about his long soak that afternoon in aromatic oil. He was as eager as a little girl, I should say. I realized that on top of the pill I'd given him this morning, Doreen must have fed him another, and I resolved to give him a pill only every other day and none on Saturdays. Their residual effect would keep him content enough but not as zonked, better able to do the research and writing he'd planned.

I was so happy to see him waiting for me! Standing right there in our front doorway, I stroked his cheek and kissed him, then reached under his mini skirt and caressed his mound, with its semi-erect penis, not long for this world, and then ran my hands over his hips. Then in the living room I slowly removed his blouse and bra. Doreen had spoken the truth -- there were his nipples projecting slightly already, and he whimpered when I touched them. So I lightly caressed them, and he seemed almost to faint from the pleasure. Good, I thought. If his prick is doomed to failure for a time, I'll encourage him to think of his tits as the center of his erotic universe. His skin felt incredibly soft and smooth, like a baby's or a young girl's. And Doreen had infused a lilac scent into her oils to harmonize with the perfume we were both wearing.

We went straight to bed and stripped naked and lay full length against each other, and I found it difficult to tell where one of us began and the other one left off. After a while Scottie turned gently onto his back and waited patiently for me to mount his face and feed him my cunt. This time he expected it. I can't tell you how I felt, seeing this lovely hussy with her lips pink and pursed, her eyes dark and wide open, and her hair in the sweetest tumbled disarray, lying back on her pillow in her pink shortie nightie and waiting for me to climb on top of her. She was my girl, my dearest lover, yet all the time she was Scottie, my former husband.

My heart melted! I pulled out my tampons, and as Craig's spunk began to run down my thighs from both openings I planted my pussy directly onto his mouth, and it seemed to me that Scottie lunged at it as if starved. I suppose he thought it was all me dripping eagerly and impatiently, awaiting his tongue! He leaned in and began lapping, and swallowed more of Craig's syrupy oozings mixed with my vaginal juices than even the previous Sunday. I orgasmed with my darling's tongue inside me almost as frequently as with Craig's cock! It felt so exquisitely sweet!! Those plump lips tugged hungrily at my labia and my clit, sucked all of me into his mouth, and slid back repeatedly to lick my anal runoff. He just loved it! He told me afterward that I had a wonderfully rich taste.

I couldn't disagree -- I knew that Craig's cum tasted full-bodied, and I was happy to share it. Maybe it was his pills, or maybe it was his being a woman all week, but my new girl made passionate love to me and to my new lover's residues! Dedicatedly! Orgasm after orgasm rolled through me, rich, full, complete. I had no time to come down between them!

In the end I had to pull away. My cunt was stretched out and rubbed raw when I came home, and now it had been sucked dry by my sweet, sweet Scottie. I was a happy woman! In one day I'd wrapped my legs around both of my lovers, the best of both worlds!

When I concluded by sucking Scottie off to reward him, he took longer than usual to harden, and longer still before he could cum. An effect of the pills, I assumed. It then occurred to me that he hadn't been inside me once since all this began. That he hadn't even tried to enter me. Had he forgotten what men usually do when they're with women? Not that I minded -- I now knew that every Saturday Craig would be leaving me ravaged and sore, my cunt and my asshole more in need of a mouth to soothe them than yet another irritating cock. It was just as well that Scottie wasn't insistent. But then and there I decided to keep my vagina and my anus reserved for Craig and Craig alone during the duration of our affair, on loan to him from Scottie. Scottie's cunt and ass privileges would be limited to soothing them, helping them to recover, preparing them for Craig to plunder yet again.

If Scottie could live with that arrangement, I could. A few days later when he pressed his penis against me in bed it was too soft for entry, and he was a little mortified. I told him it wasn't important, in fact it was a good thing, he shouldn't attempt it in the future and I wouldn't allow it anyhow, because we should be making love as women do and not as a man does with a woman. It was time to introduce him to a dildo-cock I realized.

He sighed, but he did then reverse his body on mine, and we made wonderful love in a sixty-nine position. In the morning we sixty-nined again. I sucked him as far into my throat as he'd go -- not very far -- while he tongued my clit. And I called him my dearest girlfriend, my best ever, because that's what he now was. He smiled appreciatively though obviously his heart wasn't in it.

 

It troubled him that he could no longer enter me, but he had to agree that using his penis for sex was unwomanly. I didn't suggest that he try a dildo on me, because access to my inner areas was now Craig's exclusively, but I knew I'd want to try one on him. I'd ask Cheryl about it. I decided meanwhile to keep him well-drained with my mouth as best I could, so he wouldn't feel altogether deprived. It was just as well, because sixty-nining was perfect for me. His new lips felt fabulous pressed against my sore pussy, especially when well-lubricated by Craig's juices.

After consulting with Cheryl I bought dildo panties that fit only me, not a strap-on, so Scottie would understand that I didn't mean to let him use it on me as a substitute for his limp cock. Then the next night I took him. I asked him to make himself especially beautiful, and we had a glass of wine together. Then to soft music I lubricated his asshole and put three pillows under it, mounted him, and as he stared up into my eyes -- at first apprehensively, then concentrating on the way it felt, the good feelings, eyes closed -- I slowly, lovingly, entered him and began to pump him. He submitted with a sigh, and toward the end he wrapped his legs around my back and lunged vigorously at me, forcing me deeper. When we finally subsided, breathless, his belly and groin were sticky with the cum that had dribbled out of him during his fucking. Even with no erection, he'd orgasmed.

"Now you're a woman," I said. "Did you like it?"

"Yes, Mandy," he said. "Yes." It embarrassed him to admit it, but it had been obvious enough.

"We'll do this regularly then. But you'll need to let me know when you want it. Try to seduce me."

The next night he did just that. Candles and wine at dinner and a low-cut frilly blouse. My darling! Two days later, after yet another of my sessions with Craig, I lubricated my dildo with Craig's cum before pushing it into him. Now we were sharing Craig too! The following week, I used a different kind of dildo Cheryl told me about, loaded it with Craig's semen, and at the crucial moment squeezed its balls and squirted all of it up into my Scottie's ass! He gasped and moaned as he felt Craig's sticky stuff pulse suddenly slick, and felt it so intensely that I had an orgasm myself! The dildo slid so smoothly in and out of him afterward that I made that a regular feature of our fucking. My sweetheart and I were sharing the same man, I exulted!

 

viii.

For the next few weeks I encouraged him to think of our new arrangement as normal. He did everything as usual, but as a woman. Most evenings he'd report that there were no problems, people seemed to assume that's what he was. He awoke each morning already quite pretty, thanks to Doreen's facial dyes, but we performed our half-hour beauty routines together anyhow. He needed extra time with his hairdo, and while he fussed I told him little tales from my own girlhood, about different exciting first tries of grown-up things like bras and lipstick, about prepping for dates, things like that, so he could share my girlhood, not having had one of his own. We had a lovely time, chatting together like two girls anywhere about almost everything. Except about men -- that topic I decided to leave alone until I could settle in my own mind whether I wanted him to think about them.

Then we'd have breakfast and I'd be off for the office, leaving him to do his own things. We'd always shared the housework, but since he had more time available, he took it all over, as he had last summer too. He spent a lot of time working in his study. I guessed it was on his "I was a woman for three months" project. I hoped so, because that would give his new life legitimacy in his own eyes.

He was no longer my mildly whimsical, lightly ironic, even-tempered hubby. His moods varied. Some mornings he'd awaken a little solemn, maybe mournful, maybe impatient, though he never said anything. I could tell because in that mood he'd never volunteer to share stories about his day, only answer me listlessly, and he'd apply his make-up as if it were a boring routine, not an artful honor. Those mornings he'd always get a pill before I left for work, if it wasn't a Saturday when I knew Doreen would be feeding him one anyhow. I'd tell him to relax by gardening, to put on his flared shorts and a halter and get into the sunshine and fresh air and cultivate our flower beds. That he had nice legs, especially now that they were waxed smooth and Doreen's treatments had made their skin so soft, that he should show them off more.

He did. The neighbors saw a lot of him on those days, this strange blonde woman impeccably made up, moving among our lawns and shrubs as if in a dream, combing the soil between plants. I later learned that he'd once gone mall-shopping dressed in those same scanty shorts and halter -- one of our local wives sent a letter to the editor of the neighborhood newspaper deploring a hussy she'd seen parading herself in and out of stores dressed that way. Scottie looked wickedly pleased when he showed it to me.

But most mornings he'd awaken zestful, choose an outfit for the day -- casual, sporty, or dressy -- and do things I'd read about afterward. He started a journal and left it open on his desk. When I looked into it, as I did regularly, it became obvious that he was now actively seeking out womanly experiences and enjoying them, diligently doing his research for his book. His perfume had become a non-issue, as I'd predicted. He always wore a light spray when dressed casually and a heavier scent in the evening, but even when not, his oil treatments infused his skin with a faint aroma. It was so lovely! I'm sure it brightened the moods of others who caught his scent as he passed them, but of course now it raised no questions at all. When he went in to use his college's library, he showed the librarians his faculty ID card and then proceeded as if he were the person pictured on the card. They never questioned him -- rather, they assumed he was his own somewhat provocative summer research assistant, and granted him all of his usual borrowing privileges.

Once while crossing the quad one of his colleagues in Mathematics made a pass at him, inviting him to pass some time in his office, where Scottie knew there was a couch. Scottie told him primly that he never dated men, that he lived with another woman and dressed this way only to please her, and that she was his partner for life. All true enough. The man got flustered and practically fled, Scottie wrote with some satisfaction.

But that wasn't the only time he was hit on. He often expressed annoyance at how bold and persistent some men could be, how irritating the intrusions on his attention. That was especially satisfying -- he was learning that men respect their own lechery more than a woman's privacy -- they were always testing the availability of anything in skirts. That was certainly true of Craig until I took to mocking his impotence when we were both exhausted with fucking and he realized he'd better concentrate his energies if he ever hoped to get the better of me. Though it was never true of Scottie, my one woman man who was now my one woman woman.

He ran errands in the neighborhood secure in the knowledge that no one would recognize him. The genial professor was nowhere visible in the tallish, brassy blonde. Sometimes he went downtown to look about in upscale stores, as he put it to "simulate shopping," trying to feel his way into women's thoughts and rhythms as they engaged that recreational activity. He'd chat cheerfully with other women shoppers, with shopgirls, with waitresses, on Saturdays with Doreen's manicurist, anyone. He was always friendly, always grateful for their help, and I think secretly delighted that they accepted him as one of them. At night he watched the young women in TV sitcoms to see which of their mannerisms he could imitate and make his own. He developed the cutest ways of asking questions, or of indicating surprise, as if he too were a sprightly actress.

I was proud of my hubby. He'd been such a lovely man, and now he was becoming such a lovely woman!

Some women realized after a while that they were really dealing with a beautifully disguised man. A few turned away disgusted, but more were rather taken by the idea. They were fascinated by the idea of a man who wanted to be what they already were, perhaps a transsexual who believed he really was a woman despite his body -- that gave them a sense of privilege, that what they were was desirable.

Or, they thought him a man perhaps so exuberantly confident of his masculinity that he wanted to try anything life offers, even living like a woman. They liked it that he could share their special concerns and appreciate even their trivial frustrations, and many regretted that their husbands lacked his sensitivity as well as his courage. He talked about everything with them except his own boyfriends or husbands, and he gave them excellent advice about theirs. He'd listen to them the way women listen to each other, sympathetically, not like a man who wants to identify a problem, find a quick solution, and then move on.

He cultivated an impudent personality to go with the look Doreen had given him, a lightly sardonic, liberated manner, and he enjoyed what then followed. Some women told him their most intimate secrets, knowing he'd understand. Some offered to find him dates, and never understood why he always turned them down.

What kind of man makes a better companion? What kind might make a better lover? These women found him as attractive as I did, but as a man who had chosen to live their lives, not just as a female friend. This wasn't what I wanted for him. I especially began to worry when I read in his journal that the salesgirl in a darling little boutique where he'd already bought a few dresses and a bustier for me had invited him back to her place after closing hours for what she obviously hoped would be some private fittings. He'd been unable to accept, that particular time, but he did offer her a rain check.

I wondered about that, and was tempted to increase his tranquilizer dosage to keep his penis soft, and I confess I did just that for a few days. But then all he did was stay home smiling at the TV or at his own reflection in the windows. And that was unfair -- I didn't want him merely warehoused for the summer! So I returned him to his usual dosage, enough to leave him his mind and energy intact yet keep him moderately content. As a hot looking woman, or as a man who was a woman, he was going to attract various kinds of people, women as well as men. It was inevitable. That's just how things are, I realized. And he was enjoying himself, while remaining as faithful to me as ever. I liked that. Often, when Craig's face was buried in my ass because I'd dared him to taste what he'd just done to me there, and there was nothing else to think about, I got a warm glow thinking about my honey and her bees.

Maybe it was unfair to him not to move him further, make him even more womanly? I realized one day that his journal entries had an odd tone. He was writing as if his ventures were reconnaissance missions into enemy territory. He was thinking and feeling like a man disguised as a woman. This was not what I wanted. If he thought he was a man, other women might too, and that could lead to mischief. And I certainly didn't want to think of him as a man --

Craig was all the man I wanted to deal with. Plainly, I had to push Scottie further. But how?

It dawned on me only slowly. His tranquilizer pills began to show some distinct secondary effects. His nipples became noticeably larger, protrusive, puffed out and incredibly sensitive. I found in fact that I could make his slack penis drool just by touching them. One morning when I was sucking and caressing them gently I noticed him grow raptly attentive to some inner kind of music, breathing more and more deeply, his eyes closed. Then suddenly he stiffened and gasped and moaned aloud in a kind of agony, then with joyous satisfaction. I reached for his cock and found it slick and slippery, and his balls and belly too. He'd actually climaxed without my touching him down below at all! My new girlfriend with his boy's equipment had actually had a girl's orgasm! The same as when I'd fucked his ass with a dildo!

That was as satisfying to me as I am sure it was for him, because it meant he didn't need erections in order to enjoy for himself the erotic pleasure I was getting from Craig. So I wasn't cheating him after all. He seemed too embarrassed to mention his inability to get hard or his nipples' altered appearance, but I knew he had to be puzzled or anxious about both. So I raised the topic one evening while caressing and kissing his new little boobs, his head flung back on the pillow in ecstasy.

"Being a woman can be just heavenly, can't it?" I asked.

"Oh, y..y..yes" was all he could gasp.

"It's a shame that when it's over, your body will go back to the way it was. That your clit will become a stiff penis again."

"Oh," he said, as I leaned in to lick the fat nub his nipple had become. "It will? ...ooooh! ...oh!... That's a relief... ahhhh, I didn't know, I was worried!"

I then began flicking my tongue on one nipple, and teasing the other between two fingers. He let out a little yip. "But if you like this you can keep these afterward. They don't have to disappear. Do you like this?"

"Oh! Oh Mandy! Oh, yes, yes, I do!"

"Really? Good! Then it's settled, you'll keep them."

I said no more. He was half out of his mind, but he'd agreed to keep his enlarged nipples. He didn't know he had no choice of course

I might have been mistaken, but his rear end actually began to look cute too! At first I worried about it, but finally I liked even that. A nice round butt instead of his skinny one, yet another physical change all to the good. It too would remain when the summer and my glorious affair with Craig had ended, but I didn't mind. Whenever I saw them, his nipples and his ass would remind me of my wonderful hubby's unknowing sacrifice of some of his manhood so I could enjoy another man's greater manhood guilt-free. And each day he was getting more and more understanding of my point of view. Our morning chats really were getting to be like gossip and giggle sessions between two women.

I couldn't escape the idea. If his body and his attitudes were turning the corner from masculine to feminine, I should make some other changes too. Make him more of a woman, give him a real figure. In fact give him everything but an actual vagina. Cheryl persuaded me that a vagina would be too much, it was too dangerous. If Mort had a vagina, she pointed out, he'd feel free to leave her altogether to live a normal woman's life. Without one, he'd always be incomplete, and that was how we wanted our girly men. "But that doesn't mean he can't develop above the waist as we all did," she added. "Especially since you say he gets so much enjoyment out of his titties already."

That made sense. I was starting to conclude that Scottie needed breasts. Not just the tokens he was growing, but large, heavy breasts. Daily, hourly reminders that he wasn't an imitation but mostly the real thing, that he had no choice but to think of himself that way. A resident woman, not just a visitor or a spy.

I'd already gotten him a beautiful pair of curved silicone breasts, heavy, soft, glue-on prostheses, so he'd appreciate how women feel about wearing bras, how bras provide essential support yet pull at the shoulders, So he'd always remember to wear his own bras or else endure an uncomfortable and absurd bobbling when he was jogging or doing his morning jazzercise routine. So he couldn't possibly relapse and go out dressed as a man when I was at work. But now I realized that his artificial breasts weren't enough. Real ones were better.

I did want him to want them, but I couldn't figure out how to make him want them. I couldn't tell him how Craig did certain things to mine that drove me wild, in fact led me into chain orgasms by touching, licking, or sucking my breasts in special ways, especially my nipples. I did much the same to him as his nipples grew. But his lacked the heft, the generous, soft, ripe handfuls of flesh Craig could clasp and lift gently until I couldn't resist him and had to climb back onto him until he was into me. Scottie didn't have anything like that even though his nipples became impressive.

I always encouraged him to make love to my breasts, to caress and kiss and tongue them, and I always made ecstatic sounds suggesting how that made me feel. And of course I brought him to orgasm repeatedly with his. But he never envied my boobs. I realized that on his own he'd never ask for larger breasts. I decided he had to be granted them as if they were a special blessing, a gift, as a fait accompli. Then he'd have to accept them, and I was sure he would. But how?

The perfect opportunity arrived a month into my affair and Scottie's womanhood. Craig and I were each due two weeks of summer vacation. Craig proposed that we sail away together for the whole time on a yacht he could borrow, to Bermuda and back, just the two of us alone in a small boat on a wide ocean, naked and in close quarters the whole time. His intentions were obvious enough. He wanted to lay serious siege to me, to capture my heart entirely if he could, so he could then feel free to toss it aside if he wished. He wanted to conquer me. I thought I could do the same with him, or maybe two weeks of uninterrupted lovemaking would weary both of us beyond any desire to continue the affair. Or maybe we'd find that climbing into and around each other as a daily thing habituated us, build our passion to an intensity that would sustain itself during the succeeding months of the summer, when we'd be seeing each other only weekly again.

Well, if I could get Scottie out of town, he'd never know that I was out of town too! I asked Cheryl how to do it, and she provided the easy answer. Tell Scottie that he had to get rid of all the hair on his whole body for good, permanently, excepting only his Bikini patch and his eyebrows. That the soft, silky skin Doreen had given him was denied its proper sheen by the hair follicles he'd unfortunately developed in his puberty. That his natural beauty required perfect smoothness. That his close daily shave was onerous for him and scratchy for me, tiresome for both of us. That he deserved to be liberated from that ordeal so he could spend more time gracing his eyes and cheeks with shadows and blushes. That he didn't deserve the pain of a weekly full body waxing either. That I'd love him forever if he got rid all of his hair permanently, by electrolysis and lasers, if he'd make that small sacrifice for me, no sacrifice really, since he never intended anyhow to grow a beard or a moustache. That I didn't like them.

I told him that there was a special clinic in Texas for transgendered men where they could render anyone hairless skillfully, thoroughly, and painlessly in only two weeks instead of the years otherwise needed. That they eliminated all bodily and facial hair while their clients were in day-long tranquilized stupors. I told him I'd make all the arrangements, that all he had to do was travel there and then at the end of two weeks travel back looking prettier than ever.

He agreed. "It's only hair," he commented. " No big deal. If that's what you want."

"Oh yes," I said. "I do!" I certainly did. I told him I could bear up and live without him for the two weeks, knowing that he'd be returning to me perfected in his resolve to live as a woman until fall classes began again. That he really and truly cared about how I felt.

He smiled, pleased that he'd pleased me.

That same clinic offered other cosmetic procedures I didn't mention to Scottie. I phoned them and ordered the full body and facial depillation for which they were famous, then also ordered large breast implants for Scottie. On impulse I also ordered a modest amount of fat redistribution for him, liposuction of fat from his waistline to his buttocks, so they'd be really round. He'd not only have smooth skin and boobs, he'd have an incredible ass! Let him try to be a man like Craig looking like that! I recalled that first Sunday of our new arrangement, when I'd first seen him standing naked and contemplating my panties, and I'd realized that if his figure was less thin, more feminine, more curvaceous, I wouldn't at all mind. That then he'd be my girl, and Craig would be my man, and my life would be complete. Best of all, by the time he returned to full consciousness and to me, he'd be mostly healed. It would be a done deal. I knew him -- he'd accept it and decide to live with it.

My hubby now well tended, I was free to enjoy my trip to Bermuda. It was incredible! We sailed and fucked, sailed and sucked, sailed and rolled all over each other. I seduced Craig and had his cock working deep inside me before we'd even left the inner harbor and set the mainsail, and that set our schedule for the week. In Bermuda we found a luxurious hotel and never left the room except for a brief trip when I bought myself some seductive outfits that had Craig all over me, tearing them off, the whole trip back.

When we returned to port we were even more feverish with desire for each other than when we'd begun, and could barely unplaster ourselves. As I lay with my palms flat against across Craig's bare, hard, bronzed, muscular chest that final morning, and kissed him once each on nipples he could hardly feel, I had to smile. Because I knew that at that very moment my Scottie was flying back to me with a chest as white, soft, heavy, and well-hung as my own. That he now had full breasts suspended from his chest fully proportional to his enlarged, protruding nipples. I'd seen pictures of what the clinic could do -- he had an ass now too I knew, buns to die for! We'd shop for tight pants as soon as we were back together, and then he'd be able to show them to the world! My girly hubby, who now needed to wear a support bra every day! I did so want to see him give men erections just by walking away from them!

Now my sweet Scottie was no way a man. I was free to fuck Craig without a care in the world. But I'd make sure while my affair lasted that Scottie never regretted trading in his penis for a beautiful figure. It was only temporary anyhow, I told myself.

I did fuck Craig yet again when the boat was finally secured in its slip and we were free to go below one last time! We stayed for hours. I wanted to fill my pussy full up with fresh sperm and my own sweet lubrication to welcome my dear hubby home again! And I did. This time I had him kneel beside the bed while I lay across it casually, my feet still on the floor, and I had him push his face into my pussy and fill his tummy. Then I fucked his ass and squeezed almost a cupful of Craig's sperm out of my dildo's balls and into his ass. I'd saved it for his welcome home! The poor dear leaked half the night.

A few days later I read his journal entries of what had happened to him in Texas. When he'd emerged from his long stupor he knew he'd be hairless, and he certainly was. But he was altogether unprepared to see his voluptuous figure. When the nurses helped him to his feet, there were large, pendulous breasts pushing out from his chest and then arching delicately down, massive yet dainty. And his body no longer descended from chest to thighs in an approximately straight line as men's bodies do -- instead, he curved steeply to a small waistline, then around and out into broad hips. He was a girl! No, his cock was still there, bald as when he was a boy, but it looked small, non-consequential. His shape seemed as exaggerated as a stripper's or a porn star's, no longer recognizable as his own.

At first he was horrified. But even as he looked he felt his soft cock begin to stir! He looked so incredibly sexy! He felt turned on by his own mirror image. Did he want to fuck himself?

No, he told himself, I'm already fucked! But as I read on, as I'd hoped and expected he accommodated to it. 'This is no accident,' he wrote. 'Amanda wants me this way, and she's tricked me into it just as she intimidated me into spending the summer as a woman. But why? Is she a closet lesbian? If she is, I still love her.

All she'd had to do was ask me, and I'd have done what she wanted! Well, we'll see. I trust her. She'll tell me why she wanted me this way when the summer's over and I can shift back to being myself.'

It was that easy. That was all I had to do. For a couple more months now I could be a hard-fucking, sexually voracious woman with Craig and a loving lesbian with Scottie. Then in September we'd sort things out. That night I found I no longer needed a pillow in order to give his ass a long, slow, lingering love-fest with his favorite dildo, all the while I was giving his breasts a taste of what Craig often did with mine, lifting and shaping and caressing them with both hands and my mouth. He went blissfully ecstatic. Any lingering resentment he might have felt at being tricked vanished. When the summer ended, I told him, he could easily have his breasts removed, but meanwhile they were his to enjoy, my surprise gift to him. Did he like having them? He did.

And by mid August I was so accustomed to being married to a husband with tits that I no longer noticed them. He'd gotten accustomed too, so much so that when he put on a bra in the morning he'd bend forward and dunk himself into the cups while clipping the band behind his back all in a single fluid motion, without thinking. He was more graceful at it than many women I've seen getting dressed.

(continued)

  

  

  

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