The Perfect Matron

by Dave Hicks

 

Chapter 1

 

1

 

When I arrived back on Earth, I’d almost forgotten what it’s like to be an unattached male, in a world where females outnumber males by a factor of a hundred to one.

I was hardly home five minutes when there was a knock on my apartment door. It was the woman next door. She noticed I’d arrived home and wanted to know if there was anything I needed - anything at all. I managed to get her to leave eventually but not without some difficulty. I’d already been propositioned by the cab driver, on my journey from the space port - not to mention the customs officer. Just being on Earth with so many people, was bad enough but all this extra attention was making me nervous and a little paranoid.

I had no intention of staying in the city. A phone call to my bank confirmed my investments had done extremely well in my absence. I had all the money I’d ever need - not that I'd ever been poor. The money gave me an opportunity to do something different with my life. Space is fine when you’re young, but I’d had enough of the hardship and the danger. The only thing hard vacuum ever did for me was to try to suck the life out of me. I collected a few important items from my apartment and left - forever. Later, I’d arrange for the apartment to be sold and my few belongings forwarded to me.

There were a few things I needed to do. I figured - if I was to reduce the constant harassment from women, I needed to get married - or at least pretend to be married. The trick had worked for a friend of mine - or so he said.

She didn’t have to be young or pretty. In reality - it would be much better if she wasn’t. Someone elderly, plump and plain looking would do fine. I didn’t plan to get romantically involved with her.

I went to the most expensive slave agency in the city. I told them what I wanted and I’d gladly pay for it. As long as I got what I wanted, I didn’t care how much it cost me. They checked to see if I could legally own slaves and I passed with flying colors. I think, as long someone still has a pulse and money; they’d past that test without any problems.

I told them; she had to be sane, healthy, intelligent and overweight. I didn’t want her to be pretty or young. Most importantly, she had to have an enormous pair of breasts. I didn’t care what they were made of - as long as they were huge. I have this thing about large breasts and since I’m paying for it, I might as well have exactly what I want.

The agency contacted a dealer who had approximately what I was looking for. Her name was Katherine and she had a very large bosom. Fifty years of age, she was about fifteen years old than I was. She was the closest slave I could find, for what I had in mind.

Once I’d paid for her, the rest was straightforward. She was delivered within twenty minutes. They had some sort of hand held device. They typed in their code and I typed in a number, known only to me. They held it in front of her eyes and it reprogrammed her mind, using coded light pulses through her optic nerves. Unless anyone knew my code, they could never control her. Now she’d obey only me. The system’s claimed to be foolproof - as any system can be.

I don’t agree with slavery but there’s nothing I can do about it. At least Katherine is saved from an early death in some labor camp, organ bank or left to the mercy of some sadistic pervert. Most slaves get pretty badly treated - from what I'd heard. No one cares much. Slaves are only property and have no rights under the law. Older slaves, like Katherine - without good looks on their side - don’t have a future. If a dealer doesn’t sell them within a certain time, they go to an organ bank. Or worse. No one wants to know about it.

I found it strange the death penalty has been retained for males, however. Maybe I’ll ask her the reason for that, sometime.

 

2

 

I called Judith - a woman I know - who’d done some work for me in the past. Within an hour and after a fair amount of money had changed hands, I had detachable nose ring fitted. I looked like the real thing but I didn’t have to put a hole in my nose. With the ring in place, I looked like a married man, who belonged to Karalan sect.

As far as I understood about the Karalan religion, they demanded absolute fidelity from their men-folk - which is why I chose to pretend to be a member of their church. I hoped women wouldn’t waste too much time trying to snare me, since they could plainly see I was already spoken for. I thought it was a clever plan at the time.

I had Judith remove Katherine’s slave mark from her forehead and the number tattooed on her forearm. Judith slightly altered Katherine’s retina and finger patterns - enough to fool any security check.

Judith discovered Katherine’s breasts were full of silicone. I had Judith to add even more silicone to Katherine’s breasts, to give them the size and shape I wanted. It wouldn’t interfere with the small amount of milk her breasts produced. Some changes were made to Katherine’s facial features, to improve her looks slightly and make her harder to identify.

Judith provided Katherine with a new identity that would withstand all but the most painstaking investigation. All of it highly illegal. Even to remove a slave mark is a criminal offense incurring severe penalties. Judith does excellent work and at the prices I pay; I expect it.

I took Katherine shopping. After an hour, she had the basic things a woman needs, in the way of clothes and personal items. Later, she could get more. I just wanted to get out of the city and away from people, as soon as possible.

 

3

 

Up to now, Katherine had said nothing. I think she was very nervous. There was plenty of time for us to get to know each other better. Eventually, she’d realize I wasn’t going to hurt her.

A few hours of driving, we arrived at my house in the country. It’s situated in a valley of unspoiled forest, by a lake, a few kilometers from a small, quiet town of a few thousand people. Private but not isolated. Exactly where I felt I needed to be. The house was owned by my parents before they’d died. I grew up there and I’ve returned there a few times over the years, on my rare trips to Earth. Never for very long.

While I brought our belongings into the house, Katherine busied herself making us something to eat and drink. We sat at the kitchen table. I loved the way she rested her great bosom on the table. I found that very attractive. As I said - I'm into very big breasts.

"I’d better explain to you what’s happening," I said to her.

She nodded.

"Firstly," I continued, "I’m not involved in anything illegal - except removing your slave mark and getting you a false identity. That’s pretty illegal - I guess. Secondly, I know you’ll always have to be my slave. They’ve messed with your brain and there seems to be no way around that. However, I’ll try hard not to mistreat you in any way."

"Thank you," she smiled.

She had a nice voice - sort of educated.

"I bought you because I needed you to pretend to be my wife," I explained. "Women were starting to drive me crazy. I’ve spent most of my adult life in space and I’m becoming a little paranoid with all the attention I was getting, here on Earth. I’m not used to being on a planet, surrounded by millions of people, for any duration and I need time to adapt. That’s why I got out of the city and came here."

She nodded again.

"I prefer you didn’t tell anyone you’re my slave," I said. "From now onwards, I’d like us to pretend to be married. My nose ring is supposed to say I am. I hope I've got that part right."

I looked to see if she understood me.

"Am I permitted to ask a question?" she inquired.

"Sure," I replied, with a smile. "Ask anything you want. Anytime. I’d like our relationship to be an honest and open one, if possible."

"Aren’t people going to wonder," she inquired, "why a very desirable, handsome and wealthy man, like yourself - would ever want to be married to an unattractive, overweight, lumpy, old bag like me?"

"I have no idea," I admitted. "Maybe I find woman like you attractive. Which I do, as it happens."

"I’m glad," she smiled. "But it’s still going to take a little explaining, don’t you think?"

"Then perhaps you shouldn’t even try to explain it to them," I suggested. "Just smile to yourself quietly and let them think you must have some remarkable feminine features, they don’t have."

She looked down at her massive bosom and laughed. It sounded rather a nice laugh. Maybe I could get to like her, in time.

"Maybe I married you for you money," I laughed.

"Of course," she said, with mock seriousness. "That would have to be the reason, wouldn’t it?"

She has a sense of humor.

"And who says you’re lumpy, anyway?" I asked.

"The whole male population of this planet," she smiled. "Less one - apparently."

 

4

 

"I was raised in the Karalan religion," she informed me.

"That’s handy," I said. "My nose ring makes no secret of it. I wouldn’t have a clue what to say if I got in a conversation with a real Karalan. You can to tell me what I’m supposed to do."

"It depends on what you want me to be," she said.

"What?" I asked.

"It depends on whether you intend for us to be married when we’re alone," she answered, "or just in public."

"I think you’d better be my wife at all times," I decided. "If you can manage that. Just for the sake of consistency. I’m a little simple and easily confused. Do you think you’d able to do that? I know it’s a lot to ask of you."

"Oh, it’s very easily," she smiled, shaking her head. "If you can put up with me."

"Are you sure you’re comfortable with that arrangement?" I asked her, not sure of the meaning of her response. "I’ve never owned a slave before and I'm not sure what limitations they programmed into you, when they messed around with your brain. I might be asking you to do something impossible."

"Oh no," she laughed. "I won’t have any trouble being your wife. The whole thing is just so amazingly. Ironic would be a better word - I guess."

"Tell me," I said.

"Well," she replied thoughtfully. "I’m far too plain for anyone to want to marry. Even have sex with. Apart from having a very large bosom, I’ve got nothing going for me. Few men marry Karalan woman, anyway - even the good looking ones. And never an ugly one. Now I’m a slave - I end up married. And married to a very attractive, wealthy and desirable man. It’s a very odd world."

I felt a little embarrassed by her complement.

"Tell me how you became a slave," I asked, changing the subject. "Unless you’d rather not. And that’s fine too."

"I’ll tell you," she said. "I was convicted of professional malpractice."

I nodded for her to continue.

"Do I have to tell you more?" she asked. "After two years of court battles, I ended up where you found me. It’s not something I want to think about. I’ve never been more frightened in all my life. I was due to be auctioned in a few days time. I had few illusions of what was going to happen to me after that. Probably an organ bank, somewhere - or worse. It’s horrible."

"It’s bloody awful," I remarked angrily. "The whole idea of slavery is so bloody wrong."

"So true," she replied.

I rose from the table.

"Would you like to walk along the lake, before dinner," I asked her. "It’s something I’ve always enjoyed doing. I own it, the whole valley in fact - so we’ve got it all to ourselves."

"I’d love to," she smiled. "It’s so very beautiful here. It’s like a different world."

 

5

 

"We should contact the local Karalan priestess, sometime," she suggested, as we sat on a wooden bench, some distance from the house, watching the sun go down behind the hills.

"Is that important?" I asked.

"In a way it is," she replied. "It’s what Karalan people would normally do. They’re a pretty tight knit bunch. They’ll want to meet us. Especially you."

"Could you arrange all that?" I asked her. "I have no idea what I’m supposed to do or say. I’m happy just to go along with whatever you tell me to do."

"Some of the things they do are a little strange and different," she said. "As your wife, I’m expected to be the head of the family. It’s matriarchal. I’m probably quite a bossy person anyway. Can you trust me with that?"

"Of course I trust you," I smiled. "We’re married now."

She smiled in return.

"Ours must be the shortest courtship in history," she remarked. "Not that I’m complaining, by the way."

"I’ve got an idea," I grinned. "You could tell them; I’m a broken down old spaceman, with more than just a few brain cells missing. Radiation damage. Which is true, by the way. If I do something stupid, you’ll be able to make excuses for me."

"It’s bound to work out fine," she smiled. "I’ll come up with something convincing. A married woman has a fair bit of standing in a Karalan group."

"I’ll leave it in you capable hands, my good wife," I said.

"I bet there’s going to be an awful lot of jealous women," she laughed. "Women are really bitchy when it comes to men. Karalan women are no different in that respect - worse if anything."

 

6

 

Back at the house, Katherine made a call.

"Could we possibly go tonight?" she asked. "There’s a church meeting and it’s an ideal opportunity for them to meet us."

"You’re not too tired?" I inquired.

"A little but I’ll be fine," she replied. "I’d like to shower and change though."

While she busied herself in the bathroom, I started setting up my computer and communications systems. About twenty minutes later, she was ready. I could see she’d taken a good deal of care with her appearance. She looked quite attractive.

"I’m ready," she announced. "How do I look?"

"Very nice," I replied, with a grin. "Not too bad at all."

She took a comb from her bag and tidied my hair. Her massive bosom pressed against my chest. I felt myself become aroused.

"Better," she said, inspecting me. "Not too bad at all. For a wreck of a spaceman - you scrub up quite well."

We drove to a private home in town.

"That’s the place," Katherine said, pointing to a house, with a light on the porch. There were half dozen cars parked outside.

"Please do all the talking," I said. "I get very nervous at these sorts of things. I’m not used to people."

"I can handle it," she smiled, patting me on the leg. "You just pretend to be a little confused or something."

"I am," I laughed.

"Good," she replied, giving my hand a brief squeeze. "That’ll make it look all the more convincing."

We climbed the steps of the front porch and were greeted by a good-looking, middle aged woman. She introduced herself as Claire. She was the priestess of the group. We were guided into a large lounge room. There were about twenty women present, of mixed ages. A man was present but he didn’t look very happy. Food was set out on a long table, against one wall.

I found a place to sit next to the food, while Katherine did the social thing. She gave them some story about her husband - after having bravely traversed the unimaginable hazards of space for most of his life - had recently chosen to settle down at the family property on Earth.

I tried to strike up a conversation with the other man there but he completely ignored me. I soon lost count of the times various women offered me a plate with food on it. They all seemed very friendly. I wondered what the man’s problem was.

Claire called the meeting to order. Katherine sat next to me and some prayers were said. A hymn was sung about; how nice God was, how much goodness there is in the Universe and if you’re good, God would always reward you. It certainly didn’t sound like the Universe or the God I was familiar with. Katherine knew all the words of the songs and had an excellent singing voice.

We were welcomed officially to the group by Claire. Preparations for the religious service next day were discussed. Afterwards came the business of church finances.

"Can I make a donation?" she whispered to me. "It would go down very well."

"Sure," I replied. "Promise them something that will really impress them. Think of any number, then double it."

Katherine raised her hand and announced; her husband had agreed with her decision to donate a sum of money to the church. She named an amount. This was followed by silence then an enthusiastic round of applause. It looked as though we were going to be accepted into the flock. Money talks louder than words.

On the drive back home, I asked her how we went.

"Wonderful," she smiled. "The size of the donation dispelled any doubts they might’ve had about our sincerity. I didn’t promise too much, I hope?"

"No," I answered. "Not at all. I would’ve given them a lot more. I see it as a sound investment for the future."

"Perhaps we could give a little more later?" she suggested.

"Money talks," I commented.

"So true," she replied, a little sadly. "So very true."

 

7

 

I could tell Katherine was tired. When we arrived home, I suggested bed and she agreed immediately. While she was removed the cosmetics from her face, I stripped off my clothes. I unwrapped the bandages from around my chest and released my aching breasts. Katherine could see me in the mirror and turned in her chair to face me.

"They’re a bloody embarrassment," I told her, looking down at them. "They’re still small but they get a little bigger each year. They seem to want to keep growing. I’ll have to get them removed sometime, I suppose. They’re starting to get much too large to hide for much longer. Not in your class though, I must admit."

"They’re lovely," she replied. "But you should never bind them like that. It’s not good for them."

"It’s a side effect of the anti-radiation drugs they gave me," I explained. "I was servicing a defective power core and something went badly wrong. The suit I was wearing couldn’t block all the radiation. I suppose I should’ve had them removed before. I’m not quite sure why I haven’t."

"Please don’t ever do that," she said. "I’d really love you to keep them. They’re beautiful."

I didn’t reply.

"But you’ll need to wear a bra, from now onwards," she stated firmly. "We’ll go shopping first thing tomorrow morning and get you some."

"Then they’ll be really noticeable," I argued. "It’s bad enough already. I think I’ll just keep using the bandages."

"But that's not good for them," she said. "Wearing a bra is lot better than what you’ve been doing to them. Poor things. You can’t go on doing that. As you bossy new wife, it’s my duty to make sure you look after them."

I didn’t reply and got into bed. She removed her dress and hung it in a cupboard. She removed her bra and girdle and put them away in a drawer. Her stomach was quite trim for her age and build. She probably didn’t need to wear a girdle but I liked her in it. I thought her breasts were truly magnificent. So they should be - I designed them.

She got into bed and lay on her back beside me.

"I’ve had an amazing day," she said, as we lay beside each other. "And it’s all thanks to you. I’ll never be able to repay you."

"It’s been different," I agreed.

"It was certainly that," she smiled. "Rescued, enlarged and married on the same day. That doesn’t happen very often - in any woman’s life."

She put a hand gently on my breast.

"May I touch them?" she asked cautiously. "I think they’re so nice."

"Sure," I replied. "If you let me touch yours."

"Oh, please do," she smiled. "I’d love you to. Anytime you like. If we’re going to be married then I’ll have to insist that you do - constantly."

We lay stroking each other for a while, relaxing. No one had ever touched my breasts before. In a way, it felt quite unusual - very pleasant and sensual.

"I don’t know much about women," I ventured, with a smile. "Although I did read a book on them once - many years ago. Some of the pictures were torn out, unfortunately. I probably didn’t get to see all the important bits."

"And I know absolutely nothing about men," she laughed. "I’ve always been an old maid. I know only what I learnt in medical school. They never covered a situation remotely like this, however."

"It looks like we’ll both have to learn as we go," I smiled. "It's a bit like the blind leading the blind."

We lay there in the dark for a while, saying nothing. Katherine’s breathing became deeper and slower. She’d fallen asleep.

 

8

 

Next morning I awoke with Katherine sitting on the bed next to me, lightly stroking my breasts. It felt nice. She wore a light blue, satin dressing gown and a bra.

"Good morning, my lovely and forgiving husband," she whispered tenderly. "There’s a cup of coffee on the table, next to you."

She rose from the bed.

"Breakfast will be ready soon," she said quietly, as she left the bedroom.

I got up from the bed and put on my dressing gown she’d set out for me, at the foot of the bed. Bringing my cup with me, I joined her in the kitchen. She was sitting at the table, her breasts resting attractively on the surface. I sat facing her.

"Did you sleep well?" I asked her.

"I had a wonderful sleep," she replied. "I didn’t realize how tired I was. An accumulation of anxiety and fatigue, I imagine."

She paused and gazed at me.

"How did you sleep?" she asked.

"Like the dead," I answered. "I haven’t slept that well in a very long time. Maybe married life agrees with me."

"I very much hope so," she replied.

She smiled and took a sample of her coffee, waiting for me to say something.

"I was thinking how difficult it must be for you, at the moment," I commented.

"Not really," she smiled, shaking her head. "I do have a husband, who’s a truly lovely man. And a beautiful home to live in. All my needs and wants are met. I know I’ll always have to be your slave but I have more freedom than most married women will ever have."

"I don’t understand about the freedom part," I said. "I can make you do anything I want, should I chose to. That’s not freedom - that’s just slavery."

"But you don’t," she smiled. "You haven’t so far, have you? I know it’s early days for us yet but I’m sure I’m going to be very happy being married to you."

"Speaking of married people," I said. "That man at the meeting. He wouldn’t even talk to me."

. "I noticed that," she nodded in agreement said. "I bet he hated being there. And being married to her. They probably never even liked each other from the very beginning."

"He sure didn’t look like he wanted to be at the meeting," I agreed.

"I’m sure he didn’t," she nodded, with a knowing smile.

She reached across the table, took my hand.

"I really do like you having breasts," she said. "I wish you’d keep them. Please change you mind about having them removed."

"I don’t like the idea of wearing a bra," I replied.

"I know," she smiled sympathetically. "But if you don’t, you’ll have real problems later. Binding your breasts significantly reduces the blood supply to them and damages the tissues. We certainly wouldn’t want that to happen. I’m a doctor - I know about these things."

"I meant to ask you about that, sometime," I said. "I didn’t know what you did - before they made you a slave. I wouldn’t have guessed you were a doctor, although you did mention professional malpractice, before."

"You really don’t agree with slavery, do you?" she asked, but it was more of a statement.

"No," I said. "There’s no slavery in space. At least, not like it is here. I’ve never encountered it on any of the countless planets ever I’ve been to. And that’s more than a few, I might add. It’s only here on Earth. It’s barbaric."

She released my hand and picked up her coffee cup.

"Do you still want me to be your wife?" she asked. "Now that you’ve got to know me a little better?"

"Of course," I replied. "I hope I didn’t give you the impression I’d changed my mind."

"No," she replied. "I was just making sure, that’s all."

I nodded.

"You might get a little sick of me bossing you about," she explained.

I smiled and shook my head.

"Why was there only one other married couple at the meeting, apart from us?" I asked.

"What man would ever want a bossy and demanding Karalan woman for a wife?" she asked, with a smile. "There’s so many more grateful and compliant women to chose from. It’s very hard for Karalan women to attract a man. Marriage is permanent for a Karalan person and it’s matriarchal. Not a agreeable concept for any man, these days - not when there are so many women for him to choose from.."

"I felt a little out of place last night," I mentioned. "It’s all the people. It’s going to take me a while to get used to living on a planet, with so many humans. I’m not complaining. Maybe I do need a bit of religion in my life. Who knows? I’m quite happy for us to get as involved with the church here."

"Thank you," she smiled. "But promise I won’t overdo it."

"You seemed to enjoy yourself last night," I said.

"It was like old times," she smiled. "It brought back many pleasant memories for me. I’ve always enjoyed the singing part."

I thought for a few minutes.

"They must be heavy," I said, pointing to her bosom. "It’s a lot of weight to carry around, I imagine."

"Yes they is," she smiled. "My back and shoulders get sore. I rest them when I can. It’s always been like that but it’s worse now. Good underwear helps a little."

"Could you tell my why your breasts were so large when I bought you," I asked.

"Silicone," she smiled, looking down a them. "My foster mother liked to inject me with it, when I was young. When I was eight years of age. She enjoyed experimenting on me with hormones too. To make me a real woman - so she said. The hormones have permanently affected me in other ways too."

"You never had your breasts reduced in size?" I asked. "Not that I’d ever want that, by the way. I like them the way they are."

She thoughtfully ran her hands lightly over them.

"It’s diffused silicone," she explained. "The same stuff you had Judith put in them. It’s permanent. My foster mother made sure of that. Anyway, in the Karalan religion, any form of cosmetic surgery is considered to be an extreme form of vanity. It’s a very major sin and you burn in Hell forever for it. No exceptions allowed. If you’re born ugly, you stay ugly. If you’ve got big breasts - you get to keep them."

I thought for a second.

"In that case," I asked, "how is it your foster mother put silicone in your breasts, in the first place - if it’s against your religion to do so?"

"She did it in secret," she answered, "like others do. A little at a time. It’s almost impossible for a Karalan women to get a husband. She figured, giving me huge breasts would increase my chances of snaring a man. She had other reasons too."

"So how do you feel about me putting more silicone in them?"

"I’m your slave," she answered, softly. "I don’t have a choice."

"You didn’t answer my question," I said.

"My foster mother thought huge breasts would get me a husband," she smiled. "And strangely enough, it did - in the end. I’m very grateful for that. But, if huge breasts are what it takes not to end up in some organ bank - having pieces gradually removed from my body until I die - it’s a price I’m glad pay."

We fell silent. She rose from the table and started making another cup of coffee for us.

"You’re concerned about you own breasts getting bigger, aren’t you?" she asked, changing the subject.

"Yes," I admitted. "And you’re still going to insist I wear a bra, aren’t you?"

"Yes," she replied. "I most definitely do."

"People are sure to laugh at me," I argued.

"No they won’t," she countered. "And if they do - I’ll scratch their bloody eyes out."

I wasn’t comfortable with the idea. She brought fresh coffee and sat at the table again.

"Am I allowed to fall in love with you?" she asked directly.

"I really don’t know," I replied. "Is it normal for slaves to do that?"

She didn’t answer but looked intently at me.

"Why?" I asked. "Are you thinking of doing it?"

"Yes," she smiled. "Very much so."

"Oh," I said thoughtfully. "Do you have any regrets so far - the way things have turned out for you?"

"None at all," she smiled, as she held my hand. "I’m sure I’ll learn to live with the breasts you’ve given me - I did before. But I’m starting to feel very possessive towards you. Look out any woman who looks at you, from now on."

"That’s okay," I said. "You can keep them all at bay for me."

"Is it okay for me to be like that?" she asked. "Is it okay for me to be possessive? I’m not too pushy, am I? I can get quite bossy - when I put my mind to it. You won’t get annoyed at me, in the future?"

"Not a bit," I smiled. "In fact, I rather like it."

 

9

 

The woman at the underwear shop didn’t think my breasts were at all strange. She was very helpful and spent a lot of time fussing over me. Katherine explained it was the first time I’d ever worn a bra and the woman went to great lengths to make me feel at ease. Luckily, I have a fairly slight build and they had my size in stock - in so many different styles. Katherine had me try on all sorts of different ones before she was satisfied with her selection. There were bras lying around everywhere, by the time she’d finished. The saleswoman was delighted when Katherine said she’d take the lot. She ordered some underwear for herself. No shop would ever stock her size - they’d need to be specially made.

"This bra makes me stick out much too far," I complained, as we carried my purchases to the car. "And it feels strange and I look really stupid."

"Nonsense," remarked Katherine, with a smile. "It gives you a beautiful shape. You’re just not used to wearing one but you will. I think it makes you look very sexy."

"It feels weird," I said.

"What’s so weird about it?" she asked. "You’ve got breasts - you have to wear a bra. It all sounds pretty straightforward to me."

"That’s not what I meant."

"I know exactly what you meant," she replied, settling into her seat. "But from now onwards - you wear a bra, husband of mine."

There didn’t seem much to be gained by arguing with her. Apparently, she had very definite ideas about my breasts. Nice in a way - I suppose. Maybe I just needed someone to take a firmly line with me sometimes. Maybe she’ll be good for me - who knows?

We went to my bank and I arranged for Katherine to have her own account. I transferred a very large amount of cash into it. That way, if anything happens to me, she’d be well-taken care of. When she saw the amount of money I’d put into her account, she tried to make me to take it back. I refused. It was her turn to give in - for a change.

Katherine did some more shopping for various items. While she was at the beauty salon having her hair done, I bought tools and components I needed for the house and my computer. She went to the library and picked up some old paper books and data cards.

We had coffee at a cafe by the river and then returned home. No one seemed to make fun of my breasts - that I was aware of. Not even the few males I encountered.

 

 

 

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