Last Summer

by Vickie Tern

© 2003

  

ix

In fact he seemed so much a woman, I'd gotten so accustomed to living with my girlfriend, that I probably did go too far with him. I was at Doreen's having my nails done when Doreen came over between customers and sat down next to me.

"You know, your girlfriend is a knockout, and she's more feminine than most of the women who come in here. We talk, and she tells me how she's doing. She's a wonderful girl, lots of pzazz, and as near as I can tell she loves what we're doing to her. I'm not sure she'll want to quit in a few more weeks. But it's a shame!"

"What is, Doreen? That a perfectly wonderful man is now a perfectly wonderful woman? There's no loss there. I think he's getting lots out of his little excursion into our territory."

Doreen looked at me intently. "Not one thing she isn't. She's way past sweet sixteen and she's never been laid!"

I glanced at her, then returned my gaze to my fingertips. Betsy, Doreen's manicurist, was laying a fourth coat onto my nails flawlessly. I had no idea how she did it so well, in a single stroke. But I felt a little annoyed. "Doreen, he's probably told you -- I take care of that kind of thing regularly. Or my dildo does. Several times a week. And he's gotten to love it -- he may well want me to keep doing it to him even after he becomes a man again." I paused. "And I'm not sure it's your business."

"Honey, I love you both, so of course it's my business. Listen to you. You're calling your girlfriend a "him" even when you tell me he isn't a man any more, though he'll become one again later on. What you need is to make the journey your husband's already made, to go all the way in your own mind. Your hubby already has in hers -- she's a woman, face it! And you're depriving her of the one thing every woman looks forward to when she's a girl and is grateful she's had when she's old."

I was still somewhat irked. "You mean getting fucked by a real man? What's so great about that?"

Doreen suppressed a laugh. She sat mirthfully looking at me for a moment and then said innocently, "You tell me, Amanda. What's so great about getting fucked by a real man?"

She had a point. I sat silent, staring at my newly jeweled nails.

"How many weeks is it now -- ten? more? -- that you've turned your life and your husband's upside down just so every Saturday you can get yourself roundly plowed by a real man? And meanwhile your dearest girlfriend pretties herself up here and then waits for you to come home so she can share your leftovers? All because you wanted a real man but couldn't just come out and say so even to yourself."

I sat silent. Doreen saw, and turned serious.

"Oh, Amanda honey! You love her! Before the summer ends, let her know she's a woman! Let her know she's been properly fucked! At least once."

I turned an equally serious face back toward her. "You mean by one of Craig's friends? One of the men he brings with him to keep Cheryl company each time we get together?"

"Why one of Craig's friends? Don't you think Craig is good enough?"

"Good enough for fucking, certainly. But ...."

"Sweetheart. listen! You're already accustomed to sharing him with Scottie. She's told me how deliciously delicate in flavor you are during the week but how thick and rich and salty on weekends, and she asked me if that's usual. I told her yes, it is, with lots of women. So now before it's all over with this Craig why not give her the thrill of her life? You're clever, you can set it up I'm sure."

Maybe she had a point.

"Think how Craig will feel afterward, when you tell him how you've tricked him into fucking a man. That you've made him into a pansy. Wouldn't that be the ultimate victory you've always wanted?"

I considered. "It's tempting," I replied finally. "But wouldn't that make Scottie a pansy too? I'm not sure I want to do that to him."

"How can sex with a man make Scottie a pansy?" Doreen asked me.

"She's a woman. That's what women do."

I was silent again. Doreen was called away by a customer, but she'd planted the thought, and it lingered. Was I misconceiving my dear Scottie? Was he really so much a she by now that I was depriving him? Her? If a woman, a woman living on borrowed time, but already more of a woman than even I'd been imagining he could be?

All right. Experimentally I'd let my sweetie graduate from my dildo to a real cock. But not Craig's, not yet if ever. And not fucking a real cock just yet either. Scottie needs to be a cocksucker first, get used to close dealings with male genitals not his own. Then we'd see how it goes. Doreen is right one way, I realized. While he's being a girl I shouldn't deprive him. On the other hand, if I'm right and he's only acting like a girl, not being one, if he's still a man down there underneath his panties and his boobies, then servicing another man would be degrading for him. Humiliating. And I can't inflict that on him, I love him! So I have to go slow. He'll suck only one real cock. Then we'll see.

Doreen did make another valid point too though. If I could trick Craig into actually fucking Scottie, that would be a terrific coup for me! Talk about scoring on him? I could then mock Craig as a faggot fudge packer until the end of time. It could be extra security for me too, if in the future Craig tried to use our affair as a bargaining chip in our business negotiations, implying he'd tell others and that it could get back to Scottie when Scottie is once again Scott. If he tried, I'd have a counter-threat I could make, I could let the world know that he's queer, a man who has fucked another man.

My love for Scottie overbalanced my desire to screw Craig in this new way. So I wouldn't fix Scottie up with Craig. I'd let Scottie blow someone else, only blow him, and only a stranger.

A few days later while we were sitting at our respective vanity tables applying make-up, I opened the topic.

"I love your look now, Scottie. You look provocative but keep your always clothes just a bit restrained, so you look available yet unavailable. Eager to get close to a man, yet reluctant. That's very seductive for a man -- it attracts him and challenges him at the same time. I've seen the way they check you out -- a man would need to be dead not to gaze at you when you go by with your boobs lifted up perky, leading the way, and your ass undulating under your skirt and guarding your rear."

"Thank you," Scottie replied. He wasn't sure where I was going.

"But you've never deliberately flirted with men, have you? Turned on the charm, let certain kinds of guys know that you'd be interested if they were interested in you? Tried to turn them on?"

Scottie stopped applying his mascara for a moment and just stared into the mirror. His lashes had been dyed deep black, but he liked them thicker and longer, so he used mascara heavily and reapplied it several times a day.

"No, Mandy. What for? Why should I?"

"Because that's what girls do. From teenage onward. It's an important part of the way we act -- how we get what we want, how we enjoy ourselves."

He resumed with his eyes. "Honey, I don't need to. I have all the woman I want."

A lovely compliment, but not what I wanted to hear. "Well, that's very flattering baby," I said. "But I'm not talking about interesting a woman in you sexually. I mean getting men interested.

He drooped his eyelids slightly and began outlining his lips. Carmine today, I noticed. Yesterday's was a rose mood, gentle, but today he feels hot. Maybe I can use that. Then he asked, "You mean getting a man interested in me sexually?"

"Is there some other thing men love most to do with women?"

He put some long dangling earrings into his ears. The ones he had that said 'I'm self-confident, and decorated, and looking for excitement!' to the world. Whenever he wore them he'd report in his journal that men tried to pick him up wherever he was, even in his car at a traffic light. He had some kind of plan for today.

"You look especially provocative this morning, honey," I said as if casually.

"You mean flirty?" He smiled at me briefly and then his voice got serious. A teeny bit pompous. I loved him when he sounded pompous! "Today I want to add to my collection of gambits, the opening lines guys use when they first speak to women. So I need to encourage men, but I don't want to flirt with any of them. I don't want them interested beyond a first try at me."

"Well, baby, encouraging a man can be a kind of flirting with him.

A sincere kind, I suppose. But there's way more to it than that. Every girl flirts as second nature. She likes getting men excited by leading them on, letting them think they excite her. Just for fun, it's good for her morale. It's time you did too."

He looked at me and said nothing. Then out came a big sigh, and he said, "If you say so."

"Tonight we'll try our luck at a singles' bar. I hear a lot of that kind of thing goes on at the Anchorage. It's a good place to check out other people's techniques and see which you can adapt. Just for fun!"

"All right," he said. Then he asked, "Is this for you or for me?"

He sensed I was up to something, and couldn't figure what.

"For you, honey. For your femininity. And also your book. But mainly for fun!"

That evening I changed to a black satin mini, a red nylon blouse, and the highest heels I had -- not very -- and told Scottie to dress the same way. "And long earrings, you already know their uses, honey. Tonight we go on the prowl." Reluctantly, he did what he was told, and when we left the house we both looked smashing.

I figured that dressed as we were we wouldn't have much opportunity to observe others making moves on each other, that we'd quickly get down to my real purpose. And we didn't. We were no sooner seated than the waiter brought over two glasses of chilled white wine, then wheeled up an ice bucket with the rest of it. "Those two gentlemen over there hope you'll accept this wine, and if you don't mind they'd like to share the rest of it with you. But they don't want to intrude."

I looked where the waiter had indicated. Two men about our ages, not bad looking, holding empty wine glasses. One raised his to me with an amusingly mournful expression.

Scottie tensed at once, and began shaking his head in a panic. "Sure, we'd love for them to come over," I said quickly to forestall him saying anything. Then as they worked through the crowd by the bar, I gave him his first advice.

"You'll love this, sweetheart, it's an all-girl thing, getting picked up by guys! So enjoy every moment. But some quick pointers. Stare directly into your guy's eyes and nowhere else. Lean forward and wriggle your shoulders a little when you ask him about himself, as if the very subject turned you on, and ask him lots of questions. Be fascinated with his answers. Smile a lot. When he asks you questions, turn them back on him with 'So you think....' and then repeat the question as if you were answering it. But do it pleasantly. He'll do everything. You just follow. You'll be fine!"

"All right," he said. "I hope." He was scared. The two men slid in alongside us, and the waiter filled their glasses. They introduced themselves. "Smile" I whispered to him again, and he did.

Then we settled into a very pleasant evening. They were nice men. Scottie looked wide-eyed at the man next to him, smiled often, and responded to every one of the man's statements with 'How utterly fascinating!' When it was apparent he could handle it I stood and asked the man next to me to dance, and Scottie then had no choice but to do the same thing. Slow music began. My partner took me by the waist and pressed me close, his cheek against mine. Not bad, it felt a lot like Craig's cheek, and I felt myself moisten ever so slightly. When I looked over I saw that Scottie had his hands properly clasped around the back of his man's neck, still eyeballing him, but with a trapped look in his eyes.

I then saw why. The man had both his hands on Scottie's breasts, his thumbs and forefingers in full possession of Scottie's nipples and working them. Scottie must be terrified and ecstatic at the same moment, I thought to myself, a little bit amused. Thank God his boobs are real, or anyhow, real enough -- he's probably going crazy, between the humiliation that it's a man who's feeling him up and the pleasure that man is giving him.

After a time the man began to stroke Scottie's ass, then pulled him closer until finally they were dancing groin to groin, Scottie's well-cached mound rotating against the man's obviously erect prick. How my darling felt I can't imagine. He never stopped staring his partner straight in the eyes, but now he looked like a deer in headlights.

We returned to the booth for another drink, then danced again, and then another drink and more dancing. Scottie wasn't teasing or sparkling, flirting in any real sense of the word, he was way too uptight. But he did seem to relax a little, get accustomed to playing his role, or at least reconciled to it, accepting it. His smiles seemed more spontaneous, I thought. By now the man I was with was resting his hand on my thigh and had inserted a finger into my crease -- it was time to do something. When Scottie's guy tries the same thing, I realized, Scottie will be in trouble. It was time to cool them down.

I signalled for Scottie to accompany me to the Ladies', and once we were there I explained why.

"Have you ever given a man a blow job, honey? No, of course not. Well, I'm afraid we've got to. Our guys will be expecting some kind of token of appreciation for their attentions, and that kind's the easiest on a girl. When you do it, just keep looking into his eyes, and he'll get off in no time. Pretend to enjoy it. Better, do enjoy it. I do. I love the feel of your prick in my mouth!"

And Craig's even more these days, I added to myself, wondering what new size and shape cock I'd be looking at close range in a few more minutes. Then I added, "You've gotten blow jobs enough yourself to know all the techniques, I'm sure. You'll be great at it. Be sure to swallow!"

"And you'll doing the same thing Mandy?" He looked appalled for himself but even more appalled that I could be so calm about having sex with another man! Jealous? The poor dear! If he only knew!

"Of course, honey," I told him with a reassuring pat on the arm. "But don't feel sad about it -- it won't mean anything to me. This is all for you, remember?"

"Mandy, I .... All right, I don't suppose there's any way out. But I don't like taking a man into my mouth" -- he looked faintly disgusted. "And I don't like my wife giving head to a total stranger. It's ...."

"Oh, would it be all right if I knew him better? Is that what you're saying? Well, don't worry, honey. No man with a dick in your mouth is a total stranger. We'll get through this, and our marriage will be the stronger for it."

There, I thought, that confers a certain legitimacy on what's about to happen, I realized. My husband's inauguration as a cocksucker and as a knowing cuckold both, watching me perform an act of marital infidelity under his very nose just as he was performing the same act. I kissed him to reassure him. His plump lips felt so good! His man couldn't possibly complain!

When we returned to our booth we just stood there, making no effort to sit down. "It's time for us to go home," I told them.

"Can we accompany you?" my guy asked immediately. "We'd love to show ...."

"Before we say goodbye," I continued as if I weren't interrupting him, "We'd like to find some secluded corner somewhere where we can show you how much we've enjoyed your company tonight. Put our heads together and see if you can come up with something we can take with us to remember you by."

They almost came in their pants as they interpreted my meaning. They glanced at each other triumphantly at this news that we both wanted to suck their cocks and swallow down whatever emerged. They stood up and led the way to their car, way off at the far end of the parking lot.

"Each of you sit on a car seat, with the door open and your feet on the ground outside," I ordered. I'd handled lots of dates this way, all through high school and college, long before I'd met my sweet Scottie and my promiscuous days had ended. I'd thought they'd ended, but this one was for my beloved Scottie. So there we were now, kneeling side by side, each of us unzipping a man's pants and taking out a stiff, erect cock and giving it a few preliminary licks. Mine was uncut. Easy. I smiled up at my guy and then with one lunge I deep throated him. He gasped in surprise, then moaned in delight, and then his moans became rhythmic. In under a minute he unloaded himself down my throat -- I didn't even have to taste him!

Scottie was a lot slower. He was still reluctantly licking the tip when I stood up and leaned over to watch. "Into your mouth now, honey, quickly!" I said. It appeared I would need to orchestrate and conduct personally my husband's conversion into a cocksucker. Well, so be it. "Suck just enough to keep it moving further into your mouth, and round your lips, and slide them up and down as far as they'll go, again and again. No teeth! Keep your tongue snug against the underside. That's how! Now make love to the nice man's lovely cock!"

Scottie managed to do all those things. The man seemed pleased, and glanced his thanks at me. "She had a deprived girlhood, poor thing," I explained to him, and he nodded in sympathy. Meanwhile Scottie settled in and bobbed his head over and over on that man's crotch. Several people passing us in the dark saw what was happening at this end of the parking lot, and saw me standing and watching, paused, then finally moved on.

Unaccountably, I began to feel a strange elation, as if this degradation of my adorable husband's male dignity was a kind of victory. Did I want to wipe his manhood out altogether? Watching poor Scottie kneeling between this man's legs, bowing down repeatedly to take his cock in and suck on it, this was liberating! Yes, I decided, this is my revenge on all those callow boys who'd insisted I suck them before they'd drive me home. All those men I'd gone to bed with hopefully before I'd met Scott but who then never phoned me back. Scottie was taking all that resentment onto himself in order to purge me of it. He was vicariously atoning for all the indignities boys and men had thrust onto me and into me! And he was doing it for me! All for love! Because he loves me!

Yes! I wanted him to suck Craig, and for Craig to fuck him, this man I love. To deliver one last grand final insult to his masculinity, destroy it altogether. Maybe when his ass is filled with Craig's semen I can tell him what he's doing, and with whom, and what I've done with that same man, and why! I exulted in the nastiness of that idea even as I felt ashamed of it! But my feeling of power grew. I watched Scottie bob and suck away on this stranger's cock and I enjoyed his humiliation, and relished his sacrificial love for me, almost as if I were a goddess watching him dispassionately. I would grant him Craig. He had earned him.

Eventually the man groaned, and I saw Scottie's eyes widen. His "O" shaped lips clamped firm as the prick swelled then spasmed, and from the strange expression that came on his face I could tell his mouth was filling with spunk.

"Swallow, honey," I suggested gently. He did, three or four times before he got all the sticky stuff down. Then stood up with his shoulders slumped. His blouse had come out of his skirt in front, but he didn't seem to know it. A woman would have sensed it and adjusted her clothing immediately. Was Doreen wrong? Was Scottie still a man who had just had his mouth violated, not a woman?

"Now wasn't that just lovely?" I asked him, looking for reassurance of sorts. No response. So I turned to the man who had just taken my husband's virgin mouth, and said "You looked as if you enjoyed it too. Thanks for everything! It was lovely, all of it. Tata boys!" And I took my dazed Scottie by the arm and walked him off toward our car.

"It tastes strange," was all Scottie said, licking his still beautifully puffed-out pink lips, now bare of the bright lipstick he was wearing that night, running his tongue around them repeatedly to clear the flavor.

"That's so sexy!" is all I replied. "Lick your lips like that before you suck off a guy and he'll come in his pants. Ready to go home now? Want to go back in and try someone else?"

In reply Scottie silently got into the car and sat waiting for me to get behind the wheel and take him home. He'd had enough. And as we drove, I decided on a change of plan. He'd mentioned that the man's cum tasted strange. I couldn't risk his discovering that Craig's cum didn't taste strange, that it tasted the way his wife's cunt tasted every weekend. So I couldn't let him blow Craig after all. I'd have to arrange for Craig to fuck his ass directly.

Yet, doing that to my darling hubby, bitching him as Doreen called it, that seemed so bitchy! So mean! Arrange for a man to bugger Scottie's ass and bring himself to climax in him? How could I do that to him, especially since he's still a man in some ways, and not gay, and not that far into his own womanhood?

By the end of the following week I didn't care. I could do it easily. I no longer minded, because both men had given me grounds, each unknowingly, each within a day of the other, after which I was annoyed enough to think, fuck them! Let them fuck each other! They deserve each other!

Scottie hadn't done much, but it incensed me nevertheless. He saw an end-of-summer sale advertised by the dress shop where a salesgirl had asked him back to her place for a fitting, and he went to it. They got into animated chat about the virtues of cotton over rayon, and again she invited him home, reminding him of her rain check. When he got there, it turned out her intentions were as dishonorable as I suspected, not because she knew he was a man but because she thought he was a woman, and she was a lesbian. She locked him in, and insisted that they make out on the couch before she'd allow him to leave. They did, and she caressed his breasts so skillfully that he came in his panties, soaking the light-days pad he always wore there to keep his genitals hidden. He then returned her the favor with his hand in her crotch. He retained enough presence of mind to insist then that she release him, and reluctantly, she did.

When I read that in his journal I was furious. Not at her but at him! He'd been too accommodating! He was too fickle! Where was his fidelity to me? His body was mine, not hers, and I wanted to feel absolutely sure that my body was the only woman's body he ever pleasured sexually! I suppose I was in denial about my own responsibility in this, or perhaps I was allowing my ambivalence about his sexuality to govern -- there was a streak in me that took pleasure in the prospect of his double perversion, as a woman with another woman and then as a man with another man. But no matter, I was enraged! Fuck him, I told myself!

And then the next afternoon while I was lying stretched out full, naked on his naked body, waiting the few minutes it took Craig to recover his erection for another round, plotting how I might now try to stress him out, Craig made a casually disparaging comment about a colleague in his office, "a faggot queen," a "fruit" who made him nervous every time he "minced up to me." Worse, he'd decided to promote that gay man over "a girl who's far better than he is and works real hard too, but I can't have a girl in charge of an office full of men!" Then he capped these offenses. As I lay there, I realized I wanted to feel his fullness in my ass, desperately, and when I asked him to push it into me he made me beg for it (score one for him).

So when I went home I swore I'd get even. I'd make him into a faggot fruit. He'd fuck Scottie, and score one for me!

As soon as I got home, I called him still at the motel and invited him to dinner the following Wednesday. He was surprised, but took it as somehow one more upscaling in my schemes to get the better of him, so he had to accept the challenge. "This isn't instead of Saturday?" he asked.

"Oh, no! In addition to Saturday. We'll see."

"Amanda, aren't you married? Won't your husband be there?"

"I don't want to discuss my husband," I told him. "I live with another woman now." And I hung up.

 

x.

Late the next morning when Scottie had licked the last of Craig out of me, and we'd both showered, and we were both making ourselves up formally to attend a matinee performance of an opera that afternoon, I took a deep breath, let it all out, then started in.

"There's this business friend I've invited here for dinner next Wednesday, Scottie honey. So plan on fixing something especially nice for us, and be thinking about what you'll wear to look nice too."

"Really, Mandy?" he asked, his voice incredulous. "In the middle of the week? What is she, an especially valuable customer or something?"

"Yes, he is, Scottie. He's an especially valuable customer. He spends weekends with his children so he isn't available then. He's divorced."

Not true of course, Craig would never consent to marry a mere woman, and he was no way a family man. But I needed to keep the story credible.

"I don't want him to think that I live with a man, especially a man like you. Or that I'm married. But I can't tell you to go somewhere else for the evening so we can be alone together. So understand who you are, a girl with whom I share this house. No more than that! All right?"

A little puzzled, Scottie replied, "All right." He suspected there was more, and my next statement didn't disappoint him.

"He's incredibly handsome, irresistible in lots of ways. I'm thinking of fucking him. I hear he's really great in bed. So be sure to change the sheets on our bed Wednesday morning. We'll want everything nice and fresh."

I'd done it! It was in process. Was I was stark mad? Was I deliberately destroying my marriage? What was wrong with me? I took hold of my senses -- did I want to see Scottie get laid good and proper, experience for himself that joy of womanhood, or did I want to make him in fact the slut I'd made him in appearance? Or was I out to get even with him for diddling with that dress shop clerk, letting her give him an orgasm?

Scott sharply drew in his breath. I heard the hiss and glanced at him. He looked as if he'd been clubbed. But he got to the point immediately.

"You were browsing in my journal? You read about last Friday, when that girl in the dress shop took me home with her? You're thinking of revenging yourself on me now, all because of a little harmless groping I had to do so she'd let me leave? You think that's equitable, fucking another man in this house while I'm here? Do I understand you correctly?"

"Yes" I said, defiantly. "You're a woman this summer, Why should you care?"

He was silent, staring at me.

"And you've been no good to me for months now, with your limp prick." I let him stew a moment. Then I said, "You don't want me to fuck him?"

"No!"

I channeled some of my anger into my next outcry and exploded, "Well then, Scott, you fuck him!"

He was shocked!

Then I added more reasonably, as if that idea were spontaneous and I was reconsidering it, "You're a woman, Scottie! Kill two birds with one stone! Lose your virginity and know what that's like, every girl does it, you should have done it long ago! And give me the satisfaction of knowing that you've been fucked by a man! That you've been adequately punished for straying from me with that girl! "

His next move was surprising. Shocking even. He came over and sat down next to me, and took my hand in both of his hands, and looked gently at my upturned face. We were both wearing formal make-up to go with the afternoon cocktail dresses we intended to wear to the opera. He looked stunning, and I knew I did too. We were two gorgeous women. I'd done my work so well!

Even at risk of smearing us, he kissed me lightly. Then he said to me, "God, it must be terrible to be obsessed like this. But we both have to ride it out, don't we. And hope. Then when it's all over, we'll be able to see what's left."

"Yes," I said in the smallest voice imaginable. What was he talking about? My anger at his trivial lapse? My whole summer-long affair? Did he know about it?

"All right, Mandy," he then said in the most tender, mournful tone of voice I had ever heard from him. "I'll do it. If you want me to. But I don't know what it'll do to me when I've done it."

"I don't know either," I said. "But I want you to. I want you to be a woman! I need for you to be a woman!"

I then broke down sobbing, hysterically. For sorrow but also for joy. These two months or more of separation, of living a lie with my man, my woman, of teasing and manipulating and tricking him to ease my own conscience so I could have week after week of glorious fucking with that magnificent stud, they all evaporated. I didn't think he knew about me and Craig, nothing more than I'd just told him. As far as he knew, all I had going with Craig was this one unacted intention. Maybe. But he was so generous, so understanding! Better than that husband in the movie we'd seen that first evening when he'd first gone out as a woman. He'd done that for me then, and now he was doing this for me!

He put his arm around my shoulders to hug me to him, and I sank my head onto his shoulder. He was still wearing only his bra and panties. Those breasts I'd gotten him bulged out as usual. Even though his bras were now being fitted by an expert -- his breasts and nipples were as large and authentic-looking as any woman's, so why not? -- they always looked a little spilled over. And this one was a "push-up," to give himself cleft for the low neckline of his formal afternoon dress.

Even so, when I looked further down at his lap, there was no mistaking it, there was a small bulge there! Doreen's hormones had been working in him for ten weeks or more, but even so he had a little boner! Not much bigger than a boy's, but clearly he was excited! *

What had turned him on? The idea that I might want to fuck another man? The prospect of getting fucked himself? I didn't understand, but no matter. I put my hand down on his cock casually, as if casually, and it felt strong -- not rock hard but definitely not slack. And then I realized what it meant. My dear wanted to get laid! This would be no punishment at all for responding to that shop girl's seductions! It was a reward for being a woman! And he was so sweet, so generous, that now I wanted to reward him! I wanted to make my darling happy!

I kissed his cheek and began to stroke him down there. Not to climax, I was thinking, but in the turbulence of my gratitude to him, my enormous relief that this plan was going forward even though for different reasons. A climax would be his reward later on. I stroked him just enough to let his cock know that I was there for him.

And Scottie's deflowering then happened exactly as I'd hoped, with Craig completely hoodwinked. Score a big one for me. Scottie tarted himself up with his hair piled high and his make-up dramatic, and he put on the most demure chiffon blouse imaginable, with no bra at all, so his dark areolas and his fat nipples were clearly silhouetted as shadows provocatively poised on the tips of his heavy breasts. Though he'd already prepared our dinner and set the table, I pretended to be busy in the kitchen when the door chimes sounded and Scottie went to answer them.

I heard his female voice fluting a warm greeting a full octave higher than usual, chattering almost continuously, with only brief punctuations audible in Craig's basic growl. I couldn't tell what Scottie was telling Craig, but I could hear him turning on all of his girlish charm! When I came in a few minutes later to greet Craig they were already seated together on the sofa, drinks in their hands, Scottie's breasts thrust at Craig's chest within an easy hand's reach while she gestured with her arms high up about something or other, her upper body fully open and accessible. Her shoulders and hips undulated animatedly each time she spoke -- she'd learned well everything I'd taught her about seeming to be attracted to a man.

Her skirt, I saw, had somehow hiked up past her lacy thi-hi stocking tops. She'd decided to wear a spandex thong that revealed her compressed crotch in glimpses. Craig couldn't make up his mind where to look first. When I saw him put down his glass to free his hands, I told them both, "I'll only be another ten or fifteen minutes, amuse yourselves meanwhile!" and disappeared back into the kitchen. And turned off the stove -- there'd be no company dinner tonight.

Sure enough, a few minutes later silence descended on the other room, then was broken by a muted squeal. I peeked in. There on the thick carpet in front of the sofa I saw Craig kneeling, leaning forward away from me, his pants across an adjacent chair, his bare, muscular, hairy ass pushing rhythmically at something his body completely covered. He had mounted my Scottie and was doing her doggie style. This was Craig's favorite way to fuck a girl's ass -- for spite I'd always insist that he do mine face to face, but each time we met and coupled he usually fit in at least one rear entry anyhow.

Now he was doing Scottie proud -- I could see the back of Scottie's high-piled, platinum blonde head bent way back, and as she shook it from side to side in apparent ecstasy I saw that her bright red mouth was wide open, gasping, squealing louder with each of Craig's thrusts forward into her. Finally Craig's pace picked up and with tremendous force he slammed himself repeatedly into my darling's asshole, and she began shrieking full voice continuously, apparently helpless in the throes of a chain orgasm. He crammed himself tight into her plump, pillowy buttocks and froze. At that moment I knew he was pumping huge loads of sperm into her, and her shrieking died away finally into a plaintive but glad squeak. Now, I knew, her bowels were flooded with hot cum.

When they paused to catch their breaths and enjoy the afterglow, I suddenly realized that ever since Craig had arrived I'd been thinking of my darling Scottie as a real girl. For the first time, feminine pronouns had risen unbidden into my thoughts. Throughout this scene she'd been the seducer, her own woman, no longer the man I'd revised into the semblance of a hot chick. Was she also her own woman in her own mind? Had I done my work too well and persuaded both of us? I didn't want this. I knew that the high water of my passion for Craig had been reached as we sailed to Bermuda, and that it had lowered considerably since. Soon it would end, and I'd want my Scott back -- with a few reminders of our marvelous summer of course, his boobs and his butt, but a man again, as unaware as ever of what the summer had really been for me and therefore for him too. For 'him' I reminded myself. His sex was male.

The deed was done, Scottie was now well-fucked, and it was time for me to intrude. I entered the room and stood quiet for a moment, enjoying the scene. Craig was still inserted into Scottie's rear and was now pawing her breasts as they hung down, the tips of her elongated nipples grazing the rug. I knew that in another moment he'd grow hard again -- Craig had astonishing recovery powers -- and that if I interrupted them after that happened, both of them would feel deprived. So I broke in with a firm voice.

"Scottie, I think you'd better go upstairs and get a tampon for that rear end of yours and wait for me to join you! We need to talk! Craig, I think you'd better take your pants and leave. You've fed yourself already I see -- no need for me to put anything more on your plate.

Craig twisted himself around to look at me, surprised, as if he'd forgotten where he was and where I was likely to be. His long cock emerged from my darling's gaping rear and then dangled there, still partly swollen. With a cry of "Oh!" Scottie gathered herself --

HIMSELF I mean -- and crept out from under him. Then stood up and looked at me for one moment. Shamefully? Desperately? Accusingly? Then ran for the stairs, and the next moment she was gone. HE was gone! My husband! My man, my feminized and freshly fucked man!

Craig leaned over and picked up his pants, untroubled by the sudden interruption. "If you'd waited another five minutes," he said, "I'd have given your girlfriend an even better fuck than this one. As you know well my cock feels almost magical when it's soaking and sliding in it's own semen. That drives women wild every time. What would it have done to your Scottie, when just that first warmup fuck obviously drove her out of her mind? She'd still remember it when she was a dribbling crone in an old age home, I'm sure. But then maybe it would have cost her sanity, and fucking me would have been the last coherent thought that blonde head ever had?"

I pretended to be angry. "Craig, why did you have to go and fuck her!"

"Amanda, she's a piece! She wanted it, you saw that blouse she was wearing, and she reached for my prick almost before I got through the door! And when I saw her, your special girlfriend, I knew I had to have her if only to get at you. So I did. Score one for me."

I smiled mirthlessly. "Craig," I said. "You don't seem to know. You've been taken. Scottie is not a girl. He's my husband. A man. You fucked a man, Craig. You are now officially not only a macho homophobic pig, you're also a faggotty fudgepacking fairy. You just dipped your dick into a man's asshole and got off on it, and I saw. You're a fruit, a queer! Shall I spread the word? Score one for me!"

Craig seemed untroubled, as often when I seemed to have the upper hand and told him as much. "Amanda, do I hear you correctly? Your husband? You're telling me that you've been betraying him with me all summer, and now you've arranged for him to betray you with me? That's very generous, making sure that the man you married gets fucked at least once the way you've already been fucked hundreds of times. Was this a sampler, so he'll understand and forgive when you confess that you've been spreading your legs in other men's beds? Any way I figure it I've scored at least twice here. And as an extra, you owe me a fee for letting him know how a real man fucks a woman, and how she feels when he does it."

I hadn't thought of it that way. I didn't want to think of it that way. So instead I replied with a certain high disdain, "Craig, face facts. Any way you figure it you've been used. You're an available prefabricated and pre-heated dildo ready to fill cunts and assholes, female or male. A cock for all seasons. I've been using you to masturbate with all summer, and now I've made you available to my husband so he can masturbate himself on you. You're our family sex toy. And Scottie's writing a book about his experiences this summer, so you're also his unpaid research tool."

"Amanda my pet, think what you're confessing, and all for the love of me. That you're a promiscuous cunt, a hot slut who can't get enough and so has turned a perfectly decent husband named Scott into a quivering pansy named Scottie. You're an unfaithful wife who emasculated her lifetime companion and made him into a girl -- a quite passable girl, I congratulate both of you on that -- so she could feel free to fuck a real man without feeling guilty. A real man who knows how to make her feel fully alive and gives her something to live for. You're a wife who offers her eunuch husband to a real man. Why, as a love gift to me? He's a really good lay, by the way. Tight as a virgin despite what I assume was a certain amount of dildo work you put in preparing him for me. Though he's a lot looser now that my dick's been there and done that. You must have heard him shrieking his pleasure. Did you ever get him to do that when he was with you?"

I said nothing.

"Say, I bet he was a virgin! He was, wasn't he?"

I said nothing.

Craig grinned. "One more virgin deflowered on the altar of my cock and sublimated to the stars. One more of the countless numbers of virgins that have preceded her. See you this Saturday?"

I could see that no one was going to win this one. "Of course," I said. "I wouldn't miss it. Be sure to bring that faggot dick with you. It probably needs re-consecration to the service of a real woman now that you've used it to pleasure a man."

"Oh, I will. And I'd agree that it needs reconsecration, if your Scottie was a man. But you've done too good a job on her. I hope you'll bring her along too. I'd love to ask your lesbo husband to suck my faggot dick. I bet she's even better at it than you are! With those lips? She can do me any time she wants. She's a real doll!"

And with that, his pants finally pulled up and buckled, he glanced once upstairs regretfully, grinned at me, waved two fingers, and departed.

So I hadn't managed to humiliate him. In his own mind he'd screwed a girl, my best friend, and now he was trying to use the fact that the girl was my husband to get to me. He'd succeeded and he'd failed, and so had I. All in all, in this last competition to fuck each other I'd gained nothing.

But at least my sweet girl is no longer a virgin, I was thinking. He now knows what it's like to have a man's dick slipping in and out of his body, and he knows what it's like to clamp down on a hot, thick prick and writhe in one glorious orgasm after another while that prick is pulsing sweet sperm into him. Score one for Scottie, anyhow!

I went upstairs, and was surprised to see that Scottie was lying across our bed crying his heart out. That I had not expected. I rushed over and lay down alongside him, frightened to know what could be wrong. For a while I remained quite still, my body trying to embrace his, hugging him. Eventually he turned to face me, and then clutched me as if he were drowning! We lay there quietly some time more, until his breathing was almost normal.

"I do love you so much," I said, kissing him softly. He clung to me, no longer my self-assured husband or venturesome best girlfriend, more like a frightened young girl, and he tried to breathe without sobbing. "Wasn't it wonderful, sweetheart? I did want it to be wonderful for you!"

"I'm not a man any more," he finally cried out, gasping.

Was that it? "There, there dear, I know that," I tried to reassure him. "I know. Hush now. We all lose our cherries sooner or later, baby. Yours was just a little later, that's all. But it's gone now, thank heaven. We can decide some other time what it is you are now."

There was a long pause. "No, that isn't it!" he said finally. "I mean, I already know what I am. I'm what you wanted me to be. Your husband and your girlfriend! Little by little I've gotten to like what you wanted me to be. In fact I love it now, the way I feel when I know I'm pretty, and the way other people treat me when they think I'm pretty!"

"You are very pretty, sweetheart," I reassured him, hugging him and thinking meanwhile that I had certainly overdone something. I'd let a genie out of the bottle that might never return to it. Would his love of looking pretty die down eventually, the way my passion for Craig had died down and was already a memory, right on schedule? Does any woman's desire to look pretty ever die down? "You'll always be pretty to me! The prettiest man in the whole world!"

"I'm not a man," he repeated. "I can't be a man!"

"Why not, baby?"

"Because I loved it! What kind of man loves getting fucked by someone like Craig? I must be a woman!"

Now it was coming clearer. Craig's fucking had seduced me last June into a summer of wanting more, and now it had seduced Scottie out of his own sex and into the other sex! Or out of his heterosexuality? All summer long I couldn't get enough of Craig's cock. Was that how Scottie felt now? After only one screwing?

"It was incredible, that penis, and the way he used it! It's way better than your dildo, Mandy! It's so soft yet so rigid, and so warm! And the way his hips swiveled it in and out of me? Now I understand why women love to have sex with men! And that's what terrifies me!"

This would take further thinking. First I'd gotten my man to love looking feminine, whether or not reversibly I couldn't say, but now it turns out I've made him cock-crazy. Doreen was right -- I shouldn't have been depriving him. Now I'll need to find other men's cocks for him to keep him happy, and I do want my man to be happy. My sweet man. My sweet girl! I had gone too far, no question!

I continued to embrace him, my husband, my partner, my lover, my girlfriend. We found ourselves comforted.

Then as we were falling asleep in each other's arms, lying between the fresh sheets Scottie had laid out for his wife and her lover, as I'd requested, he muttered something else to me in his softest, most girlish voice.

"Mandy, there's more."

"What is it, my sweet Scottie? What?"

"Before he fucked me, before you walked in and surprised us?"

"Yes, honey."

"I had an impulse. It was very strange. I wanted to suck his cock. Like with that man in the parking lot? I wanted to hold him in my mouth and taste him. And swallow him, swallow whatever came out of him. He let me hold it in my hand first, and it was so different from mine, even mine when it could still get hard, even though it's about the same size. It was different I think because it belonged to someone who wanted to use it to give me pleasure. I wanted to thank him, to let him know I was grateful. So when he told me to get down on my knees, I thought that's what he was going to ask me to do, to suck on it, and my heart leapt up with joy! Of course what he did next was even better. Way better! He fucked me! And I loved that even more!"

A pang shot through me. Yes, I'd gone way too far. It was time to ramp down my affair with Craig and end it, and recover my marriage if I could, and try to recover what was left of my husband. It was already mid-August, and the novelty of my affair had faded anyhow. Another couple of sessions and that would end it.

"Now now, darling," I soothed him. "I love it too. Go to sleep now, and we'll see how you feel in the morning."

When he was safely asleep, I quietly got up and took his remaining tranquilizer-hormone pills out of the medicine cabinet and put them in a purse at the back of my closet. He'd had enough of those. We were now on our own.

In the morning he'd come down from his erotic trance. It isn't an extraordinary thing for a girl to feel enraptured by the first dick ever to enter her, and Scottie was no exception. By morning things looked a little more sensible. He was more like himself. I took down my robe and he slipped into a dainty coverup, and we sat down together at breakfast, and he tried to explain himself.

"It isn't that I don't want to be a man any more. It's that I love being a woman. I love the fussing, making myself look beautiful, and feeling beautiful and knowing it. All the different kinds of clothes, and how they feel when I first put them on. How my bras hug me and how my titties feel when they're lifted and enclosed and shaped by them. And when you touch them, even when I touch them, it's paradise. Heaven!"

He paused and took a deep breath, then went on.

"Mandy, I love them, I can't thank you enough for giving them to me. More than anything else, my breasts make me feel like a natural woman. They complete me, in a way. I can't imagine life without them. They're me. And I want the world to know it. I'll never want to hide them in men's clothes."

I looked closely at his chest. He was right. His breasts protruded far out from his chest, and his puffy nipples extended them even further. They didn't want to be hidden. "You couldn't anyhow," I said. "They're far too big for that, even if you didn't need a bra, and you certainly do need one. But you're right, women's clothes do allow for breasts, even celebrate them!"

He saw me checking him over and grinned. "My ass is pretty cute too," he added. Then he continued, "There are lots of down sides to living as a woman, but even when I'm feeling down about it there are always the lovely, lovely ways other women accept me as one of their own and want to cheer me up. Women are so very wonderful! You were right a couple of months back when you told me that I didn't understand what it was like, being a woman. But I do now, and I'm terribly tempted to stay this way. And thanks to you I now understand what it's like to be a woman who's been with a man! You're so very good to me, Mandy!"

I had to ask it without further delay. "Sweetheart, do you think you'll want to stay married to me? I mean, will you want to find a man to live with instead of me?" I dreaded the possible answer. I didn't want to lose my beautiful Scottie. Yet, I'd brought it on myself.

"Sweetheart, when I married you I told you I'd forsake all others, and you told me the same thing, and neither of us specified which sex we'd forsake, so it must mean both. Yes, I'd love to be fucked by other men like Craig. But I'll get over it, the same way I got over wanting to make love with other women after we got married." He paused. "But lately I haven't been able to make love even to you. And you don't seem to have minded!"

I tried to look nonchalant, so I sipped my coffee before I replied.

"I think we can return your prick to active duty now, honey. That's a small side effect of those pills I've been giving you so you wouldn't mind living your life these past months. One of the side effects." I decided not to mention his nipples -- better to leave well-enough alone. "Obviously you no longer need pills to help you accept life as a woman."

He smiled his old smile. "No, I don't suppose so."

He hesitated, then went on. "Mandy, just sitting and chatting with you each morning while we each put on our faces for the day and help choose each other's outfits, that's the kind of thing I don't want to give up. I don't want to, but I could, if I returned to being a man. I'm fine as a man. But even as a man, could I be a woman with you now and then anyhow? Dress and primp and then sort of go out together, just the two of us? Find some men and have a fling with them just for the night, nothing lasting, enjoy being women with men and then be ourselves again? The kind of thing Mort and Cheryl do? That wouldn't violate our marriage vows, not if we did it together. Not if each time we took a night out it was a gift we gave each other. Would it?"

He was so sweet! He wants it both ways now! That's what I should have done when that passion for Craig first overwhelmed me! Asked him for permission! Told him about it! Invited him to join me! Maybe asked Craig to bring him a friend as well as one for Cheryl?

No, I'm daydreaming, I realized. I couldn't really have fixed him up with Craig's friends back then. He was still a man back then. What a terrible shame. How can I tell him that I've been secretly fucking Craig! He'd feel I've been dishonest, because I have been dishonest. Craig will always have to be my secret. Still, now he's a man who wants to share a life with me as a woman!

Tears came into my eyes.

"I think that would be just lovely," I said, trying to control the tremor in my voice and failing. "That's such a beautiful idea, for you to be a woman sometimes, and now and then we'd go out like girlfriends and find ourselves some men and get ourselves fucked!"

Scottie reached over and took both my hands in his. "I love you, Mandy. I'll finish the summer the way I promised. And I want to finish my book about it. Would it be too much to ask you to write up your version, so I can incorporate it?"

No way did I want him to know my version, about my private reasons for forcing him into femininity, about my obsession with fucking Craig and trying to fuck Craig over, and my obsession with fucking up my husband so I'd feel less guilty about what I'd already done to him.

So all I said was, "Honey, I've been reading your journal entries. I thought you wanted me to read them, because you left them open on your desk, and sometimes you left them all over the house."

He looked at me mildly. "You've forgotten, Mandy. I keep different kinds of journals when I'm on a project. What you read was only a day book where I enter where I've been and what I've done with people I mostly don't know. Nothing much private. But I've kept other journals that track where I'm at and what I'm working through, describe the tunnels I've been digging with no light at the end but sometimes a twist and a gleam. My book is writing itself out of those journals. It reads more like a private diary than a chronology of events, so I'm letting it come out that way. It's about what the whole summer has been, not just what being a woman is like, though that's the central focus of course. You'll see. Just wait."

So I waited. Not for long.

 

xi.

Epilogue.

A few days later it was Saturday again, and Craig and I went at it again more strenuously than ever. We fucked like rabbits, but we also talked more than we usually did.

He told me that my husband's ass was sexier than mine, softer to press against on the downward lunge and cuter to look at. He was trying to get to me, but it didn't take. I just told him I didn't doubt it, that my lovely girlfriend's ass turned me on too. That an ass like Scottie's was a work of art, a bubble-butt created like a sculpture, while mine was only what nature happened to provide by chance.

He told me that Scottie's tits were larger and his nipples more sensitive than mine, that Scottie had gotten his first orgasm that night just from his touching them. I told him that of course I knew that, I've often done that to him. That I envied Scottie those nipples. But -- as I reminded Craig -- we all have certain unique gifts others lack. In my case it's a cunt.

Then when Craig had his tongue buried deep in that cunt and couldn't respond, licking up his own cum from his first few climaxes as I demanded -- his later spurtings were of course reserved for Scottie -- I told him I'd ruin him professionally if he ever tried to contact my husband without first asking my permission.

His manner changed, and he pulled his head out of my pussy and spoke gravely. He said that he'd never do such a thing, that he was a sexual dilletante but not a home wrecker, that he knew I'd deliberately used him to take Scottie's cherry, he didn't know why but that I must have had my reasons. Maybe to help Scottie lose his silly male inhibitions about fucking men, now that he was a woman? Maybe because I wanted to break him in before whoring him, putting him out on the street -- a prostitute after all earns far more than a college professor? Craig didn't know. But he'd felt privileged that I'd entrusted him with that task, and he'd taken special care. He'd fucked my man carefully and skillfully out of the respect and friendship he felt for me, and that was why Scottie had gone out of his mind from the pleasure.

"You know, Mandy, apart from you being a great fuck, and your husband too, I do like you. If you weren't already married I'd consider it. If you'd have me, which I doubt."

I believed him, and I felt honored. So much so that for once I let him splash my body with his semen repeatedly, his notion of how to score on me, for most of the afternoon. I then playfully splashed him back with my own most available bodily fluid, showering him from head to foot, scoring back at him, and he didn't seem to mind that either. We then both showered together, as we rarely did, and while standing there we soaped and fucked each other yet again.

The following Saturday we did the same, aware that it was our last encounter. We bade each other farewell with each wriggle and reach and thrust of cock or pussy, each nod of head and flick of tongue into or onto each other's genital areas. Each time we climaxed or brought the other to orgasm, it seemed a September song, beautiful yet sad, deeply satisfying. Our affair had ended. No regrets. We kissed and parted, and for the last time I returned home to my sweet Scottie. He was asleep. I'd have to wait till morning to sit on his face and feel his lovely tongue clean Craig out of me.

And an early autumn had come. Scottie's classes would begin again in two weeks. I awakened to the final Sunday after the final Saturday of my marvelous summer affair with Craig, and realized that I was glad that it had ended while we could still feel gratitude and affection for each other but before Scott could discover what we'd been doing. Now Scott could become a man again, something of a man, if he wanted to. If he could. If not, I'd live with whatever he did decide.

So on this first Sunday in September I lay there watching the dust motes in the sunlight streaming around the edges of our window blinds, waiting for my beloved husband to wake up, breathing in the lilac aroma of his soft, satiny skin. One of his breasts had tumbled free from the bodice of his nightgown, and its long, deep pink nipple hung open to the quiet morning air as if waiting for heavenly lips to close on it and begin to suck. His hairdo seemed impeccable even when tumbled loosely on his pillow, as always. Especially well-groomed because he'd spent yesterday with Doreen making himself beautiful, just as I'd spent it with Craig making love. Would he now revert? Had he now had his final beauty salon appointment? I'd miss sharing our morning make-up sessions. I'd miss my sweet girlfriend. But he'd kept his promise so I had to keep mine. It was the first morning of the rest of our lives.

He was sleeping late, my Scottie. I didn't want to miss out on the last opportunity I'd have to sit on my girlfriend's face while he sucked up to me, allowing him to cleanse my cunt of Craig's cum, but I didn't want to awaken my girlfriend either. So I slipped out of bed quietly and decided to pass the time looking for bank records, so I'd have them if he decided to leave me after all. And there in a lower drawer of his desk I found all of Scottie's other journals.

One was his personal diary, and I read through it. He'd asked me to write my version of the summer's events for his uses, and I meant to, and later that day I did do just that. This is it, in fact, everything you've read thus far. But now, while my sweet Scottie was still asleep, I read his full version, all of his entries, journal after journal.

And that changed everything.

It could be a lot worse, I realized. My Scottie is still the dear person I married, more opr less, even though he isn't the man I married any more. We're closer than ever in some ways. My tempestuous affair with Craig is now in the past, and it's a memory I'm glad to have. I love my life. But it turns out that a lot of the summer wasn't necessary, in fact none of it.

I won't tell him right away that I've read it, his personal diary, because he likes feeling nobly self-sacrificing for me and I didn't want to deprive him of that feeling too soon. Though when I hand him this whole account of the summer from my point of view so he can incorporate it into his book, including what I'm writing right now, and when he reads it, he'll know a lot more than he knows now. More Im sure than he wants to know.

What kinds of entries were there in that diary of his? Quite a few revelations.

 

Things like:

"My wife is having an affair. Last Saturday she was late for dinner, so I called Cheryl's to see if there's been an accident or something. A woman named Mort answered. She told me Cheryl wasn't home either, but that Cheryl had phoned to say she'd be "otherwise occupied" well into the evening. Mort added to reassure me that meant she was all right but expected soon to be intimate with a man she'd just met, and that probably Amanda was otherwise occupied too with the man's friend. "Doesn't Amanda phone to say she'll be late when she meets a guy and wants to go straight to bed with him?" Mort asked me. "Cheryl always does! You should tell her to remember to call you in the future."

Then when she got home she reeked of sex and was covered with cum, dried sperm clotting her hair and peeling off her face and even her bare legs -- later I found her pantyhose in her purse. Even her ass had been fucked, a place where I'd never been -- she couldn't sit straight when she went to the far end of the room to fend me off. Then she picked a fight and stormed off so I wouldn't notice any of these things. Something about my not understanding what it is to be a woman.

What should I do? She's my wife, and I love her, and she's in the throes of a passion we don't either of us understand, and she's probably all torn up inside. She's doing what she must, I don't doubt it, doing what she can't help doing. Yet what we have together is a solid marriage, and I don't want to lose it. If I tell her I know she's seeing another man, I'll have to follow through and insist she end the relationship or I'll leave her, or else seem to be a pathetic cuckold. I'd have to be insensitive or a wimp. But what if she can't end it? And what if she can, but would feel forever deprived of a glorious opportunity? I can't take something like that away from her!

So I won't say anything. I'll wait it out. How long?

 

Things like:

I feel very strange. Mandy wants me to be a woman while she's having this affair with this man, whoever he is. She wants me to be her lesbian lover for the summer and without my supposedly knowing she wants to feed me his cum from her pussy after she fucks him. I suppose that's the only way she can deal with this obsession of hers, by putting me down and out of the way as the man in her life, being secretly nasty, yet keeping me close by her because she still loves me and wants to live her life with me after her affair with this man ends. She doesn't want to end our marriage no more than I do. I don't see anything I can do now except go along with her and wait. I don't mind dressing up as a woman for her, though it would be embarrassing for me if anyone knew. It's been my secret dream ever since I was a little boy.

 

Things like:

She dressed me up to look like a girl tonight and then she took me out for dinner and a movie. I was terribly nervous, and sure enough, Marge and Annemarie saw me. Annemarie raised her eyebrow at me the way she does in committees when she doesn't understand why I'm saying or doing something and wants to ask me silently what I'm up to. I'd better call her tomorrow. The movie was about a wife who runs off with another man and a husband who waits patiently for her to come back, which she does eventually. The moral for me seems plain enough. Did the husband have a choice? He loved her. Do I have a choice?

 

Things like:

I feel so mellow all the time. I took out my purse and looked in the mirror and there was this sort of smartass blonde with a high-piled hairdo looking back at me. That's me now, can you imagine? I'd forgotten, but that's who I am for the summer, my hairdresser has to keep reminding me of it. Doreen is her name. I love my fingernails. When I got home Mandy thought I was beautiful and she took me straight to bed and fed me a whole pussy full of her boyfriend's fresh cum. Yum! She's so very dear, sharing him with me. Maybe I should get one of my own? It would be easy enough, looking the way I do now. I'll go ask her.

She didn't think so. She said not right now. She said I should go to bed and sleep it off. So, nighty night!

 

Things like:

I have tits now.

Where will it end? I came here to get rid of my beard and a few other hairs, for minor laser and electrolysis treatments, and I'm leaving with a figure like Dolly Parton's. Mandy must be feeling really needy, really desperate to deprive me of all semblances of manhood, to want to change me so radically, put my manly attributes out of her life altogether and yet at the same time try to make it up to me by giving me these marvels of femininity. They feel incredible, heavy and beautifully shaped -- I can't keep my hands off them! I'm so proud of them I want the world to know! Tight sweaters only for me from now on!

And all the while I've been here she's been fucking her boyfriend day and night. Her office tells me she went sailing to Bermuda and won't be back until tomorrow, when I'll be getting back to town too. It doesn't seem fair that she got the cruise and I got the booby prize (just joking)!

But I'd better not let her know that I know why she did this to me. I'll make a fictitious entry in that day book journal she's been reading where I'll speculate that it's maybe because she's a closet lesbian. Even though I know better -- they don't come more man-crazed than Mandy. But if I don't enter anything she'll wonder why I'm not wondering why she did this to me, why I'm not hurt or insulted or outraged or baffled, and she'll begin to suspect I know the truth about her affair. As I do.

But if she knew I knew about her uncontrollable passion for this guy, whoever he is, it would devastate her. She couldn't handle it. Between her feelings of guilt, her frustration, her antagonism toward me for interfering, and her thwarted passion she'd tear our marriage to shreds. So I need to protect her from knowing I know.

And the fact is, I don't mind having these boobs. Not having them but trying to be a woman anyhow has been inconvenient. Now I feel authentic. They open a whole new world to me. And besides, they feel incredibly sexy.

And did I mention that I now have a woman's butt too? I can wear pants again and never for a moment be mistaken for a man! Those guys on the street who pinch my ass in passing now really have something to get their fingers into. But I won't encourage them.

 

Things like:

Mort thinks we should stop seeing each other so often. Cheryl doesn't mind the way we've been going at it so hot and heavy lately, and she promises not to tell Mandy, but it's getting pretty intense, all this smooching and stroking, all this fingering of each other's pussies. Even though the orgasms are fantastic.

I think Mort's feeling grieved because I won't suck his clit to climax even though he sucks mine every time we meet. I keep telling him I want to be a one-man girl, I want to keep my mouth faithful to Mandy's lover's cum, to respect the integrity of Mandy's decision to share it with me, whatever her reasons. That's my way to stay married and faithful to her. I wish Mort could understand that.

More and more I like being a girl. In fact I love it! Especially now that Marge and Annemarie have accepted me as one of them, and allow me to get naked and form a daisy chain with them now and then. We sometimes lick each other non-stop, round and round all afternoon when we should be doing our proper work. And sometimes we use dildos on each other. I wish my 'meat dildo' as Marge calls it would get stiff enough to use on them. I love getting fucked. But I also love just being one of the girls together with them, hanging out, chatting, just being with them the way Mandy likes to be with me. And often is, when she has the time. It's really lovely.

 

Things like:

Last night Mandy set me up to suck a guy's cock. She sucked another guy's, but I think only to encourage me and keep me company. We found them in a bar. He was a nice man, and he hadn't the foggiest that I wasn't a desirable girl. It wasn't easy for me, watching Mandy suck off the other guy, I am her husband after all, and it shook me up so badly I could hardly hold my own guy's cock in my mouth. But that's how it is, she's faithful to me in her fashion, and I have to live with it. So now I'm a cocksucker. She has something else in mind for me too, I don't know what. Nor why.

Anyhow, today I called Mort up and told him now it was all right, I was willing now to go all the way with him orally. We met for lunch at Les Bergeres and then we went to a motel, and it was wonderful how we slipped under each other's skirts and then sucked on each other's clits all afternoon, and never even felt the need to undress! Mine stays soft, but what it can't shoot out leaks out, and it all feels wonderful. We arranged to do the same thing next week, first lunch, then blissfully suck on each other.

Mort is a sweet girl. He's been such a big help to me, what with all his advice about girlish mannerisms and makeup and shopping, little tricks to make a girl's life easier. And repeating to me over and over, stay with your wife, wait out the summer. That's what he does, in fact that's what he'll be doing for his whole life, not just one summer. He knows it isn't easy.

 

Things like:

Last night Mandy's boyfriend fucked me. I could tell that's who he was, because who else would have dared to do that in our own living room with Mandy only a few steps away in the kitchen. A setup. But do I mind? It's wonderful to be a woman when there are men like that in the world, I know that now! I don't blame Mandy one bit. In fact I'm grateful she really shared this time, her whole man, not just his leftovers! I'll try to return the favor some day.

Now that I've been well-fucked I might want to stay this way when the summer's over, though I won't tell Mandy that just yet. She'll need time to get used to the idea that she could find herself a lawfully married lesbian. We've agreed already that if I remain a woman, we'll have casual relations with men whenever we feel the need. So no fear I'll ever be deprived of that, now that I know how it feels.

 

Things like:

This morning I told my Dean I'd be returning to the campus this fall as a woman, if he didn't mind. He didn't. In fact he told me it would be illegal for him to mind, that in fact he was rather pleased to hear I'd found my true calling, if that's what it is. Then he joked that of course now I'm a woman he'll have to reduce my salary by one-third to keep it in line with what other women earn. I told him I was about to say "Fuck you" in response, but that ladies don't use that kind of language except for one thing, and I didn't want him to think I was propositioning him. Our regular monthly poker game is still on, even though I'm now a woman. "Your money's still good," he said as we shook hands. He gave me a courtly kiss on the cheek, too. I better get used to that kind of thing.

The people at the Driver's License Bureau were less polite, but they were efficient, so I now have a changed license with my new photo. I'm a blonde officially now.

Mandy seems sad. I think she's feeling the way anyone would when a grand passion ends. And she still doesn't know whether our marriage will also end a few days from now, when all our agreements end. Poor thing. I've known for two weeks now, ever since that hunk of hers fucked me, but the uncertainty's good for her. I'll try to make it up to her afterward, be her best girlfriend ever and all. Mort is already pleased, because our little luncheon trysts together can now become a regular thing. I'm so glad I took his advice and decided not to force the issue, but instead to stay married and wait. Some day maybe Mandy'll feel she can confess all to me, tell me what she's been doing this summer and why she thought she had to feminize me, tell me all about this Craig she was seeing. The poor dear. But I won't force her. I love her. I can wait.

 

Well, that's the kind of thing I found in my Scottie's private diary. Isn't he sweet? Isn't he a self-centered, manipulative, pompous hypocrite? He knew about me and Craig all along, how trapped and ashamed I felt, the bastard, and he used me, he allowed me to feel responsible for doing to him exactly what he wanted me to do, so he could enjoy the pleasures of unwitting martyrdom, stoop to become a woman and then rise nobly to the challenge! He seemed so understanding, so tenderly concerned for me! And all the while I was feeling so terribly guilty about what he didn't know, and what I was doing to him, and what I had to do to him to relieve my guilt and keep my dread secret safe. But he already knew!

And here he is pretending to be unsure how he'll decide to live, maybe leave me, maybe resume his manliness, maybe stay in the sex I supposedly forced him into, when in fact he's already decided and filed the papers and made it official. And meanwhile he's been cavorting with Mort, and Marge, and Annemarie, and who knows who else, not feeling the slightest bit ashamed or guilty. Enjoying all of it! And all through the journal he parades his compassionate understanding and forgiveness of himself and sometimes even of me!

Well, I'm now purged of guilt for my transgressions against him. He used me as an excuse to drift into different humiliation fantasies he's always had and never shared with me I guess, different forced submission scenarios. Now I'll see to it that he lives in one of them for the rest of his life! I mean to put him to the test. When he wakes up, the first thing I'll do is feed him his last portion of Craig's cum, between his teeth, and when he's swallowed it all down, yum, I'll deliver him an ultimatum.

I'll tell him he really has no choice. He's been a woman for three months now so if he's to live with me that's what he'll have to be for the rest of his life. Because that's what he'll always be in my mind from now on anyhow. If he goes back to being a man I'll always see him as an effeminate facsimile man. I'll always remember how pretty he looked in his bras and panties no matter how manly his appearance, and of course he'll always have those nipples even if he tries to get breast reduction surgery. Once my girlfriend, I'll tell him, always my girlfriend, and never again a masculine lover, never ever again the most distant imitation of a real man like Craig.

That much maybe he won't mind, since he's already decided to do me a favor and live as my girlfriend from now on. But he'll need to consider this too. I may be his loving wife, but he knows what I've done, so I'll always also be an adulteress in his eyes. We both know that. He won't be able to forget it. I know he'll always be tempted to get off on that fantasy, to picture me fucking someone else, so I mean to help him envision just that. Often.

He won't mind, not deep down. He really does love the idea, that's why he didn't insist I stop the moment he saw what I was doing, saw that I was obsessed with screwing Craig over and over. He didn't feel broken up at all! That's how come I was able to emasculate him so easily and feminize him so thoroughly, and that's why week after week he meekly licked up Craig's spunk as if he didn't know what it was! I was right, he should be a woman! As a woman, he'll never need to compete for my affections with the Craigs of this world, and he should know this. He should also know that as a man he'll always be nowhere, out of the running.

So as he likes to say, he has no choice. Those are the paths we've each chosen to walk, me forever a passionate adulteress, and him forever a feminized cuckold. So be it. I can't ever again live with him as a man.

But as a woman I can still respect him. Respect her, I mean, even admire her. And love her, love her deeply even. She's still the girl I married, gentle and clever, and a wonderful companion. She'll always be my favorite husband. I'll never have a better, and I'll never want one!

That's what I told Scottie when she finally woke up. For once she was genuinely remorseful. She fell into my arms in tears, and we then discussed the whole matter slowly and carefully. I showed her everything I'd written , and told her the rest, and we talked about alternatives. Leaving me was out of the question for her, unthinkable, she loves me, she said. Meaning perhaps that she's addicted to what I've been doing to her for the past three months, she loves her feminine submission fantasies, but I'm sure that some of it is genuine love, that she cares deeply for me. In the end she agreed to remain a woman, and that's what she'll be from now on, without pretending this time that it's all for my sake.

Our marriage is more important than anything else in her life, she told me, and she'd do anything to preserve it. I believe her. "Even cut off your balls?" I asked her on impulse. She already has, very nearly, figuratively speaking, I was thinking. I insisted that she nod 'yes,' and slowly, she did just that.

Yes! The poor dear. "It must be terrible to be obsessed like this," I told her. "But we both have to ride it out, don't we. And hope. Then when it's all over, we'll be able to see what's left." Those words seemed vaguely familiar to her, but all she did was nod again.

So she'll start on proper hormones, and in the not-too-distant future we'll get her a proper vagina to please the men we'll occasionally pick up and fuck when one of us gets the urge. As for sucking my cunt when it's dripping cum, I always did love seeing her wide eyes staring up at me while those pillowy lips were pressed against my own lips, and nowhere in that journal of hers did my darling ever complain of indigestion. She'll have opportunities.

My sweet, beautiful Scottie. My lovely girl! I do so love her! From now on I intend to live guilt free, and my darling will live that way with me and like it. She won't have any choice in the matter. I'll see to it that I make all the decisions.

Oh yes. When I got to the office the next day, after kissing my lovely Scottie goodbye at the door and reminding her to make some new appointments with Doreen, I found a call back from Craig waiting for me. We talked business a while, and then we talked about the summer. He still thinks he got the better of me, all in all. I still think I can prove he's wrong, and one of these days I mean to do just that, and I know just how.

I mean, I still have more of those pills, and Doreen has lots more. I'm sure one or two would help that go-getter feel much more laid back, more comfortable with some of my ideas for him whenever I see him. My Scottie's ass and mouth for example, they're still yearning for that cock of his, and he's already offered to help fill both. In return, Scottie could teach Craig something about cock sucking, maybe even let Craig practice on his limp dick, let my darling feel it stiffen up a few times more before we exchange it for something more appropriate. If I can set up the right circumstances, that is, and if Mort's willing to move over and make room for someone else's head in Scottie's crotch. Then from that humble beginning maybe I can move Craig on to bigger things?

Yes! I don't think I need yet another girlfriend. Scottie might get jealous, so I'd need to keep it a secret. But we'll see.

 

End

(c) 2003 by Vickie Tern. All rights reserved, etc. May be copied to free archives if the free archivist feels free to let me know.

Others, well, ask me..

  

  

  

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