Snapshot of a Stepford Husband
by Minty Fresh
Extract from The Observer Magazine, April 22nd, 2023:
…the gap between rich and poor in America has never been greater. Whilst successful middle-class entrepreneurs and wealthy inheritees live in ever more fortified gated communities, nearly fifty percent of Americans now live in poverty.* In several areas of central Los Angeles there is no longer access to clean water and residents must travel over a mile through streets torn by gang warfare, just to get a drink. Jeff Thompson, 59, of Christian Aid tells us: "There's an old joke I used to hear in Africa that is doing the rounds here: "What did we use for light before we had candles? Electricity!""…
Extract from The Telegraph 'Society' magazine, on the same day:
…the trend for successful, wealthy businesswomen to marry younger, male, 'trophy wives' has spawned a new, energetic culture, with its own clutch of glossy magazines, fashions and beauty products. A star of this new subculture is Mickey Walthrop, formerly Mickey Patterson. A successful model, Mickey grew up in extreme poverty but two years ago married Joanna Walthrop, owner of the Gig-Wal communications company. Mickey tells us how they met.
"It was at one of those charity dos in New York. All you really need to get in is a fancy dress and elocution, they just assumed I was one of the wives, even though my face was ugly as sin back then!"
Asked if he was a modern day Becky Sharp, Mickey tells us, "I wouldn't call myself that! I'd love to work in the music industry though!"
The phenomenon of otherwise normal men dressing in feminine attire and even undergoing surgery to fit into their new roles has provoked fierce debate in academic circles…
Stephen closed the front door and hung his hat on the nearby stand. He'd never read The Telegraph, living in America as he did, but he knew all about Mickey Walthrop. Indeed, he'd been one of the topics of conversation at lunch today. He and 'the girls' never tired of gossiping about other members of the jet set. Mickey Walthrop. An incorrigible slut who got where he was today by sleeping with any wealthy woman who would have him. Luckily for him, he met Joanna on the night when she, stung by her contemporaries asking why she always turned up to these events alone, decided she'd marry the first young man she met who'd be willing to have the surgery. Now, stories abounded about their latest rows as business rivals needled Joanna with stories of how they'd done this or that with her one and only. A divorce was in the air.
Stephen undressed and showered. He changed from his daytime clothes into a house dress Mary had bought for him. A lovely pink floral print effort, which showed off his hips beautifully. His hips were his favourite bit of his body. Donning a pinnie, he scampered round the house, dusting and hoovering so it looked just so. As he did this an erection rose between his legs and poked into the front of his dress. This wasn't unusual. With the regimen of drugs and hormones he was taking, he had come to be almost perpetually horny. He hoped this one would last until Mary got home, she loved to see the member, whose length and girth were products of her investment, poking forward when she was with him. Thus he wore no pants, just a thong which tightly cupped his balls, leaving his dick hanging loose between his legs.
He cooked dinner in time for Mary's arrival. Near the end, he left the pot simmering away and went upstairs to put on some make-up, jewellery, perfume, and to slip into a pair of heels. On the way back, he took a bunch of flowers out of the water in which they were standing, and left them to dry somewhere convenient.
Stephen heard the car turn into the drive. His timing was perfect! The table was laid, dinner ready to serve in five minutes or so. He rushed across the house to meet his wife.
When Mary Prentiss walked into her house she was greeted, as always, by her beautiful, smiling husband, standing in the hallway, a bunch of flowers in his hands. They leant forward to kiss, then embraced and whispered sweet nothings in each other's ears. As they did so Mary rubbed herself up and down against her husband's rigid cock and he started to giggle and simper, growing weak in her arms. She broke the embrace, and as Stephen murmured something about dinner, dismissed him with a firm slap on his well-rounded behind. He tottered off blissfully into the kitchen.
April 24th, 2023
Stephen put the phone down and grimaced. Mary had just told him to expect guests for dinner, two of her colleagues, Sally Jones and Maria Ferrera. When he asked if Maria's husband was coming, Stephen had been informed that he wasn't as they were arriving directly from work. Such an annoyance! He had already started dinner and would have to make some swift adjustments. Not only that, but he would have to shower and change again. He just wasn't dressed to receive visitors. Stephen was especially annoyed that his guests were not bringing their spouses along. Entertaining Mary's guests could get so lonely, with them chatting away in the living room, long into the evening, and him sitting alone in the kitchen, awaiting their next instructions. Still, buck up girl, he told himself, you have plenty to be thankful for. Bulking out his casserole, he left it on a low heat whilst he went upstairs to change. The cold shower he took was purely to kill his hard-on and he was careful not to get his hair wet. Having dried, he strapped his dick into a restraining device. Whilst Mary loved to see his cock standing proud herself, having it on public show was another matter. The rest of his body, however, was something Mary loved to show off. After all, she paid for it herself. He selected a short, figure-hugging dress, in white and green, with ruffles around the high hem and plunging neckline. He put his hair up, and decorated it tastefully with synthetic flowers, which matched his dress. Finally, he applied some make-up, taking extra care over his appearance and put on perfume, and a pair of heels.
The evening went well for Stephen. His casserole was roundly complimented and his appearance became the subject of a long conversation. He'd heard Mary boast about the finer points of his body hundreds of times before, but he never got sick of hearing it. Even more remarkable, he was invited to join them when they went for drinks in the living room. He sat between Maria and Sally, and listened happily to the women talk shop. Most of it went over his head, but his ears pricked up when they mentioned the wife of one of his friends, Samantha Wilkinson.
"She's such an incredible bitch." said Mary
"You know she started that rumour about Catherine"
"I think she's after her job."
"No" said Mary caustically, "she's far too great a person to make do with as small a move as that. Why there's hardly a raise in it for her. She'll be after a top job, and being the slimeball she is, she'll probably get it."
Stephen was shocked by the intensity of Mary's dislike. He'd never heard her like this.
"What do you think she's up to?" asked Sally
"She's after old man Black's job. That's right, a seat on the board. We all know Black's on the way out. There aren't many of his kind left. Don't get me wrong, I like him, he may come across as autocratic, but he doesn't mean to. But the wind is changing ladies and we all know about his prostate."
"Yes, that's such a shame," said Maria.
"And how do you think we all found out? Who let that be common knowledge? It sure as hell wasn't Black."
"Mary, you're not suggesting…"
"I most certainly am. And what's more I think I can prove it."
"Mary" said Maria, "promise me you won't do anything rash."
"Don't worry. I've no intention of blackening my hands with involvement in this, but if that bitch ever tries to slimeball me…"
"Stevie dear" said Sally suddenly, "could you be a darling and make me a cup of coffee?"
"Make that three coffees, love" said Mary "and one for yourself if you want one."
Stephens mind boggled at the cut and thrust of their world. When he returned they were discussing the theatre.
"I just love that Ella Kapoviscz" he said "she's got the most wonderful figure…"
April 30th, 2023
Stephen was very excited. Jane Gatsby was throwing one of her famous garden parties and he and Mary were invited! Everybody who was anybody was going to be there Francesca Plant, Isobel de Rocheford, Caroline Cagney… the list went on. He knew, also that several of his friends were invited. Indeed it had been the one and only topic at lunch yesterday. The only thing which had Stephen a little dismayed was that Mary had insisted he wear a day suit to the do, instead of a proper party dress, which she insisted wouldn't be appropriate, it was a daytime affair after all. So he had reluctantly put on a pink 3-piece with matching shoes, bag, and pillbox hat. Stephen chose it because the pencil skirt was the tightest one he had, within the limits of practicality, but he still wasn't happy. Mary, herself was looking smart, confident, every inch the up and coming executive. She put her arm in his and strode to the car.
"This party is just wonderful" Stephen gushed to his two friends, Peter and Adrian as he ran up to meet them. He had been there an hour, hanging off Mary's arm, as she was shown round by a member of her company's board of directors. Stephen was introduced to, feted by, and flirted with leading people from the world of politics, commerce and the movies. He made a point of remembering all their names. He and 'the girls' stood around and chatted excitedly until there remained little to tell of their experiences. It was about then that Graham Zimmerman appeared. Graham occupied a strange position in the social strata, being envied and admired for being married to the richest woman in Beverly Hills but at the same time detested by almost everybody. He never seemed to mind.
"Are you having a good time girls?" he asked in his usual aloof manner.
"Yes. We were just discussing our latest acquaintances" said Pete.
"I say, have you met our host?" he responded "Jane Gatsby is a most fascinating woman. Descended from the Austrian noble classes, she tells me."
"I heard she made her fortune smuggling drugs" said Adrian in a spirit of antagonism.
"Now you mustn't believe everything you hear, Adrian" he replied in his most patronizing manner, "there are a great many rumours about Miss Gatsby but, as I have just told you, I heard straight from the horses mouth, when I met her. Have any of you met Miss Gatsby?"
"Perhaps I shall later on" replied Adrian.
"Yes dear" said Graham, patting him on the shoulder, "perhaps you shall. By the way, you don't notice anything different about me, do you?"
All three of them rolled their eyes, the stupid mare seemed to have cosmetic surgery every week. His breasts were already larger than double D, a fact he was immensely proud of, despite the obvious pain in his back.
When they didn't answer, Graham simply bid them goodbye with a quick "It's been fun girls" before walking haughtily away. Stephen was the first to voice his opinion of him. They didn't stop until Adrian's wife came up and whisked him off to meet some senator. Stephen and Pete decided to walk about for a while.
"Sammy thinks she's going to get a promotion" said Pete.
Stephen suddenly remembered the conversation last week.
"Why does she think that?"
"I don't know" said Pete quickly. "She just does. She's so excited, I love it when she's all bouncy and happy."
"Do you know what job she's going for?"
"No" replied Pete, "Why are you so interested?"
"Well I don't know if I should tell you this darling," said Stephen, knowing full well he was going to, "but I was talking with Mary and two other ladies from Mary's work the other day and they said Sam was trying to take other peoples jobs by starting nasty rumours about them and there was one lady called Catherine she was saying nasty things about and an old man called Black who has prostate cancer and Sam found out and started a rumour so everyone knew and was trying to get him out so she could be on the board of directors." Stephen paused for breath. "Anyway Mary says she's got proof that Sam's doing nasty things and if Sam does anything nasty to her, she's going to show someone."
"No, no" said Pete, "my Sammy would never do that. It sounds like your Mary's just jealous."
"No, she really meant it. I was there."
"Please" said Pete "can we talk about something else"
They decided to try and find their wives amongst the throng. Pete found Samantha by the patio doors. Mary was nowhere to be seen.
"Lets go and get a drink, Petal" said Sam to her husband. "Are you coming with us, Stevie?"
"No thank you" Stephen replied, he'd decided now that he didn't like her. "I'm going to find Mary. Have you seen her?"
"I'm sorry sweetie, no. Have you checked inside the house?"
"I'll do that, thank you Sam, bye Pete."
Stephen couldn't find Mary inside. Instead, he got collared by a drunken actress who kept telling him how fascinating he was and how there were so many "dildollies" about these days. Stephen bristled at her language, but he couldn't get rid of her and ended up accepting a drink from one of her friends who talked in louder and more offensive tones about the disintegration of society and many other things she was incapable of thinking about in her inebriation. He escaped from them by asking where the toilets were. They started to give contradictory directions and when they started arguing about it, Stephen just turned and walked straight out the door. He found himself in a long hallway. The crowd of party goers had thinned out and he found himself wondering what to do. Just then a voice called him.
"Stevie! Stevie, over here!"
It was Samantha. She walked briskly up to him.
"You've still not found Mary, no? It's not very nice of her to leave you on your own like this, is it?"
"I guess not" said Stephen, not sure if he wanted her to stay or go.
"Listen, myself and Pete are in one of the rooms down there with Miss Gatsby, she's showing us some of her art collection. Would you like to join us?"
"Alright" said Stephen, "I'd love to meet Miss Gatsby."
Samantha took Stephen by the arm and walked him away from the party into the vast house. Encountering a room they stepped inside. It was empty.
"I suppose they must have moved on" said Sam, "awfully rude of them not to wait."
"Or maybe" said Stephen with a smile on his face, "you've come to the wrong room."
"It's the right room, Stevie. Look at that painting, Miss Gatsby was saying, only five minutes ago, how…"
Suddenly, Sam had undone the back of Stephen's skirt and pulled it halfway down his legs. The shock had him tottering in his heels and, with the tight skirt still round his legs, he almost fell over. Sam caught hold of him, and with her hands wrapped around the front of his body, grabbed at his cock, pulling the restraining tube from it so that it tasted the air.
"I want you Stevie" she whispered in his ear as she caressed his groin. "give yourself to me."
Stephen gave out a yelped "No!" and Sam threw him onto the bed. As he sat up to face her, Sam stated calmly: "It's up to you Stevie. You can take me here and now or you can walk round this party with that sticking out of your skirt."
Stephen looked down and he was now solid as a rock. There was no putting it down on his own, he knew that from experience. Meekly, he consented.
Sam threw herself on him with great violence. With her bouncing on top of him, he let out a series of grunts, each one met with: "Shut up bitch, you shut up!" and a slap round the face. Fifteen minutes later, Sam had her orgasm and with two hard smacks across the face, stopped Stephen's thrusting. He wasn't nearly done. Thanks to the surgery, it always took him a very long time to come.
"You had better finish yourself, darling." said Sam, slipping her trousers back on, as Stephen looked at her with desperation. "And by the way" she said, turning from the door, "You should always bear in mind that Pete tells me everything."
Stephen sat there dumbfounded whilst his world came crashing in. What had he done? He could never tell Mary about this, and she was the only person he could ever tell. Tears welled in his eyes and, as quietly as possible, he started to cry. Then, slowly and mechanically, he started to yank himself off.
*********************************************
© 2005 by Minty Fresh. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all
articles, text, images, logos, and compilation design) may be printed for personal use only. No
portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or
otherwise made available without the express written consent of StorySite and the copyright holder.