Teasing

by Vickie Tern

 

Six

"Oh, heavens, Pattie," Tara suddenly interjected. "You aren't even dressed! You need to shower and lotion your body this minute, so you can try on your new lingerie. It's ultra-feminine. Today you need to feel you're a girl from the skin on out! With no doubt in your mind! What are you, Pattie?"

"Why ma'am, how can you ask? I'm a girl!" I felt uneasy about the next part, but today was for Tara, so I went all out. "A girl with an extraordinary clit who loves ultra-feminine lingerie!"

"And why do you love ultra-feminine lingerie, Pattie?"

"Because it's attractive!" What was she driving at with these catechisms? "It helps me feel sexy. It turns men on!"

"Oh, you show men your underwear, Pattie?"

I saw where she wanted me. And I sensed that she wasn't teasing, she wanted me to feel the sexual power women know they've got when their men are feeling randy. "If I feel attracted to a man, then yes, when I'm alone with him I just might."

"But men can't see your undies when you're properly dressed, can they?"

"No ma'am. But I'll know they're there. I'll know I'm attractive. And men can sense that in a girl."

Tara looked at me with respect. "You're a quick study, Pattie. Men certainly can sense that. Do remember to be the teeniest bit provocative. This man can do us both a lot of good if he's so inclined. We don't want to disappoint him."

"No, ma'am," I said. I had my orders. Tara not only wanted me to look like a passable woman when we met this business prospect of hers, she wanted me to feel feminine, sexy. So whatever signals this man got from me would be helpful to Tara's negotiations. "I hope you'll find me satisfactory"

"I'm sure I will, Patricia honey," she said. And bent over to kiss me. I felt so warm, so wonderful, that my rear end clenched up gratefully at her kiss. As her lips touched mine, I remembered that it was Tara who was supposed to do the flirting, not me. Well, she's the boss, I thought. And besides, being a girl who feels sexually attractive might be a fun thing! This one day I'd give myself the full experience. No, that was the wrong way to think. Beginning today and every day to come I'll have the full experience. Then tomorrow deal with that lip paint and return to normal.

Would that be possible? Not altogether. Because now, not only was I all those other lovers Tara liked to imagine me, I was also Patricia. Well, I considered further, with my bottom feeling so deliciously comfy, that's not a bad thing. At least I'm me when I'm Patricia, not a helpless stand-in for one of those men Tara tells me she fucks.

As I headed for the shower, I realized that this was a very peculiar way to think of myself. Genuinely a girl, yet a stand-in for men more attractive than me. But that was what Tara wanted.

An hour later, I was stepping carefully on high heels—"for the practice"—across a parking lot and through a mall and then into the capacious lobby of what looked like a brick professional building. I felt a little foolish, but Tara kept insisting I looked just fine, so I tried to pay no attention. I could feel against my skin the sexy lingerie Tara had provided out of nowhere. A bra and silicone boobs were visible under one of Tara's gauzy blouses, squeezing my chest, and I'd worked my legs into a skin tight pair of stretch jeans. Tara'd thought that for a casual expedition to a beauty salon pants were more suitable than a skirt, though they had to be women's pants unequivocally. So they were brightly flowered and tight, my genitals tucked way under so my crotch looked as flat as any woman's.

"All part of the show," Tara had said. "We wear tight clothes to show off our bodies, but always as if nothing could be further from our intentions."

I commented that I didn't have a woman's body—my ass was too slim and my waistline too wide.

"All in due time," was all she replied. "Meanwhile, enjoy being on show. Walk with one foot in front of the other so your rear rocks with each step—that always attracts eyes." She'd handed me some clip-on drop earrings. "These will do for now. And now mascara, just a touch so people won't wonder why you aren't wearing any. Sarah will do you up properly."

"Sarah?" I asked.

"Use a higher pitch, honey. Yes, Sarah. An artist. She does movie stars and theater people, even female impersonators. She's perfect for what we need right now. You're going to be seen up close, remember."

"I suppose that's what I am now," I said glumly as we arrived at the mall, me feeling like a clown in costume. "A female impersonator."

"Oh, no, honey! You're the real thing. Remember?"

I tried to remember. In fact, no one we passed in the mall gave us a second glance, so I suppose I really did look authentic. Now, in the building's lobby, I checked the wall registry and saw lists of doctors, dentists, accountants, real estate developers, and finally, "The Gallery: Make-up Artists"

"That's Sarah?" I asked

"That's her company. A group of specialists in remaking women's looks. If we had a week you could emerge as any kind of woman imaginable, gutter trash or a high sophisticate or a rocket scientist in spectacles. Even a schoolgirl for life, if that's your fetish. They do everything from nails to radical plastic surgery. But we have only a few hours for the basics, so pretty and proper is how you'll end up this time. For more you'll have to come back."

"Why would I want more, Tara?" She'd resumed teasing me again, as if I wanted to be doing this and she was only accommodating me.

"Oh, all women want to look as beautiful as they can, Pattie. And this is all at company expense, so cost is no object. You'll want everything. You'll be back.

This wasn't teasing, it was performance. Today, like all women, I was a woman for the rest of my life. So I'd be back. But not tomorrow.

Sarah was done up in high sophisticate style herself, her face as if enameled, her hair sculpted. "Lovely to meet you, Patricia," she said to me. "I'm sure we'll soon be much better acquainted. Tara tells me you need all of the fundamentals right now, so let's get started." Then to Tara, "You're right, her facial shape cries out for a long page boy ending just above the shoulder, curled in on her cheeks, and bangs of course. That way it'll swing quite fetchingly whenever she moves her head, and her face will seem smaller, cuter. We'll lighten the shade just a little while she's being depillated. The naive look you want for her make-up will be no problem at all, so I'm sure we'll have her ready for you in plenty of time. She'll be just lovely, trust me."

"I'm sure," Tara said. "Have you told Henri what I want, meanwhile?"

Sarah smiled confidingly, woman to woman. "Oh, yes! It'll be heavenly, just wait and see. He's in the Boudoir Suite waiting for you right now. Just put yourself in his hands and surrender yourself and you'll soon feel ecstatic. No woman has ever found fault with him. Marvelous hands—his work is exquisite!"

"So I've heard. That's why I've been eager to try him."

Then as I was deciding that Henri was a hairdresser, not a male sex companion, Tara turned toward me. "Pattie, I'll see you later. We're both going to be scrumptious, just you wait. Isn't it marvelous? Our first time in a salon together, and your very first time ever!"

"Yes, marvelous," I replied, trying to be a good sport about it all, especially her implication that I had many more visits to look forward to. This was it. "But what was that about depillation?"

Tara was gone. Sarah took me by the elbow and led me down yellow and pink corridors into the "Colette Suite." A bright, yellow plush room with a matching leather-upholstered sectional lounging chair leaning way back. "You can use that dressing room there to undress, Patricia. Strip to the buff, we'll need access to all of you. You'll find a robe there you can wear back out here to protect your modesty."

"You said something about depillation?" I repeated.

"Yes, I think you'll be pleased. It's our own method. No harsh chemicals, painful electrolysis, or wax-stripping. Just steam to open your pores, a quick spray to guide a pulsing laser beam to your hair roots, and your skin is as smooth and hairless as a baby's. Over your whole body. The same treatment also evaporates beard hairs and exfoliates the skin without causing the slightest irritation, and leaves you with a wonderful complexion. Just think, no more shaving or pancake make-up for the rest of your life! Any translucent foundation will serve, you'll have a natural look that saves endless time each morning. And all in under two hours!"

"Sarah, I didn't discuss this with Tara. It sounds permanent."

"It is. Sometimes fine facial hairs reappear in six months or so, but we'll attend to them easy enough if that happens. Tara understands. She said you'll need to withstand close inspection, so a beard cover won't do the job." She raised her eyebrows at me. "She told me, she's looking forward to satiny kisses instead of the sandpaper kind. I think that's sweet!"

"I'll never again be able to grow a moustache or beard?"

"No more than any other woman, Patricia. Were you planning to grow a moustache or a beard?"

I shook my head. No, I was thinking, but I'd have preferred to maintain the option. Without another word I went into the dressing room she'd indicated, unpeeled my jeans, stripped off my blouse and undies, and returned wearing the salmon-colored satin shorty gown I found hanging there, uneasy now about my flat chest and fearful that my testicles might be dangling visible below it. Sarah was still there. She gestured me into the chair, and as I lay back she velcroed me in. I suddenly found I couldn't move.

"I'd rather you left my arms free," I said in as level and stern a voice as I could muster consistent with civility.

"Oh, no, Patricia!" She sounded genuinely shocked. "That's not possible! This chair rotates on a long axis. As we depillate and nourish your skin we'll need to turn you for access to various parts of your body, and your arms would flop about! Also, they need to be secured so our nail technicians can do their work. This procedure is rather strenuous—you'll be glad you dozed through it!"

"I will?" I said, now alarmed! "But I don't intend ...."

"That's how we can do so many things in under three hours without causing our clients discomfort," Sarah declared in as firm a voice as I'd used a moment ago. "'Twilight Sleep' it's called. It's used by hundreds of thousands of women when they're giving birth. In a way that's what you're doing, giving birth to your new self. Isn't that wonderful? Believe me, you'll be pleased! Alicia, I think we're ready."

A woman's voice behind me said, "Yes, ma'am," and I glimpsed slim fingers and bright red fingernails fitting a plastic face mask to my nose and mouth. Then came a flowery, lemony smell, and I opened my mouth to protest.

Tara's voice asked, "Can she hear me?" and Sarah's voice replied, "Yes, I'm sure by now," and Tara's said, "Honey, you really look wonderful! I don't think there's the slightest chance you'll be mistaken for anything other than my secretary now. And a rather attractive one too. Take your time waking up!" Then in a different voice, "She's just what I wanted, Sarah. I'm very pleased. Thank you!"

"Oh, you're very welcome, Tara," Sarah's voice said. "I'll send my bill to the usual address. I hope you won't be too startled."

"Not at all, if this works out as I hope. It'll be well worth it," Tara's voice replied. "One must spend money to make money, and I can't think of a better way to spend it. All awake now, honey?"

I found that somehow my arms had been freed, and I opened my eyes. I was shocked to find long, gleaming, deep pink nails on the end of each finger. I stared at them bewildered for a moment. Were they my hands?

"You've had a lovely beauty rest, sweetheart. Take another moment, and then hurry and dress. We need to get home to get ready for our appointment!"

"All right," I said. And that was shocking too! My voice was way high pitched! "Tara!" I sang out alarmed, in soprano.

"Oh no, we didn't have your voice altered, Pattie," Tara said. She sounded a little amused. "Though maybe some day, if you want to. That sound is delightful! Sarah warned me, it's an incidental after-effect of the 'Twilight Sleep' gases on your vocal cords. It'll last through the rest of the day, but you'll probably sleep it off tonight. So much the better for our purposes. Say something else!"

"How long have I been asleep?" I asked in falsetto. This was positively weird!

"The full three hours it took to make you beautiful. Really, stop admiring your nails and do get dressed! I think you'll be very pleased when you see how the rest of you came out. But there's almost no time!"

When I turned sideways off the couch and stood up, I saw that my toenails matched my fingernails, the same deep pink. Whatever for? This thing in the hotel room was a one-afternoon stand, as Tara had described it, and I'd be wearing shoes the whole time. To persuade me that I'm a woman forever, so I'll act the role convincingly? That excuse was running threadbare. These women were playing dollies with me!

But my greatest astonishment was when I entered the dressing room and found a woman in a salmon colored robe entering the same room through the mirror image on the rear wall. Her hair was blonde, curving down fetchingly to just below her chin. Her eyebrows were a high, thin arch over huge, dark eyes that gleamed mischievously. Her cheeks were flushed, and her lips were two puffy pillows begging to press themselves against something, and colored the same shade as her fingernails. A delicate circle of gold passed through each of her ear lobes. "My God!" I thought aloud as I began to get dressed, my eyes fixed on her while she pulled on her lace panties and re-secured her brassiere, tucked in her boobs, then wrestled herself again into her too-tight stretch jeans. I had trouble tucking myself between my legs to achieve the flat crotch those jeans required, because my cock had gotten half-hard at the sight of that girl in her bra and panties. Could I blame it?

All this for a single afternoon's non-speaking role in the ongoing drama of my wife's career as a commercial office designer? This babe had been created just to play a walk-on? With her plucked eyebrows and collagened lips and pierced ears? For one day only? What is Tara really up to? For sure, I decided, I won't fall asleep again while this play is acting out. I will let nothing further be done to my body. No more orange juice or suppositories up the rear—even though I did feel good about each of them, I had to admit it. No more trusting that Tara's ambiguous sexual talk means nothing.

I grew quite grave as I realized it had gone beyond a sexually provocative game, that I really did not know what Tara was doing with me, nor why. And as I left the dressing room, once again clicking my way carefully in those high, high heels, I realized it was too late to resolve much now. To accept no more make-up on my face? It was already lovely, just as she'd said. Beautifully stroked on. Perfect. No one would dream I was not a woman. If this went on, soon not even me. Was that what she wanted? Why?

As I re-entered the salon, I saw that Tara's look had undergone a few changes too during her session somewhere else. She still had her businesswoman face, but it seemed somehow more artfully designed. Her eyes looked darker-edged, drawn out, more sleek and cat-like. Her lips seemed larger, larger even than mine, and they were bright scarlet. Overall the impression she gave was now one of forceful femininity, of dominant self-assertion, yet also of self-satisfied relaxation, as if she'd just emerged from a gratifying workout. Or from some great sex. I couldn't bring myself to confront her with my misgivings about all this. So we left the "Gallery" together silently. "Gallery" indeed! A gal had walked in with her agreeable feminized husband. And now two gals walked out, one of them feeling intimidated.

As Tara drove us home she tried to initiate girl talk with me, with her newly certified girlfriend. "Pattie," she said in a bright yet confidential tone. "I'm dying to tell you about some of the things Henri did to me while you were having your beauty nap. You'll never guess! A woman's body becomes a living, throbbing work of art under his hands. I was in raptures!"

"I'd just as soon not know, Tara," I said shortly. "Not guess at it and not think about it."

She heard, and was silent for a long while. Then "This isn't fun for you right now, is it, honey?"

"No," I said. "If it ever really was."

"Oh, it was," she replied. "I can attest to that and so can you. The way this kind of humiliation stimulates your ardor? Night after night?"

"All right," I acknowledged. "I forget sometimes that it's me having sex as well as me watching you having sex with different men. And that dildo last night was fantastic, I can't deny it. But look at me now."

She glanced. "What's the problem?" she asked. "You're gorgeous!"

"Yes," I said. "But I shouldn't be gorgeous! I'm your husband! Remember him? Your maybe much-cuckolded wimp husband?"

"Oh yes, my husband! I remember him. A lovely man, who allows me to indulge any fanciful notion my heart can dream up, who shares them all with me and helps me live them no matter what it seems to cost him in self-respect. My partner for life. My lover. My all!"

"That's right! Look at him!"

Her voice took on a tone of mild surprise. "Why, I can't, Pattie!" she said. "He isn't here. He promised to stay away today so my secretary and I could attend undistracted to the most important business opportunity of my career. One that will change our lives altogether, if it goes right." She glanced at me again, this time a bit longer. "At least he promised to stay away."

We drove in silence a short while. She was right. A promise was a promise.

Then with a faint smile, she said, "You didn't expect you'd end up looking this pretty, did you, honey. It bothers you, doesn't it? Does it excite you that you're so attractive to yourself? And maybe also to other men? Does it scare you just a little, because it opens up so many unfamiliar opportunities?"

"I guess," I replied, not sure what she meant. "Mainly it scares me that it looks so long-lasting."

"There's no other way to do this, dear. That's how it has to look, you know that. Because that's how women are. Committed to be women for life. All women look as if they'd never been anything else and know they never will be anything else. That's what's so convincing about them. You need to put yourself in that mind-set, that this is you from now on! Were you expecting Sarah to use thick stage make-up that wipes right off afterward? This isn't Halloween!"

She was right again. We drove a little longer in silence.

"Except for the body hair, there's nothing that can't be undone or recovered," she said. "Not yet, anyhow. And the hair's no loss—you've always complained about shaving, and I've always preferred the rest of you smooth."

"What do you mean, 'not yet,' Tara? You're planning on more?"

"It's possible. That'd be your choice," was all she replied. She volunteered no more, and I didn't want to ask.

And as we pulled into our driveway she added. "Honey, you need to reaffirm your commitment! This is my big chance. You have to be my secretary and girl Friday now, and nothing but. You're disturbed, and I don't blame you, maybe I should have prepared you a little better for what Sarah's done to you. But you know it was necessary. Looking the way you do, no one can possibly doubt you or embarrass you, and that's what we both want I'm sure. Aren't you sure?"

She waited. I nodded, maybe a bit reluctantly.

"But I don't want to force you to do anything—if you want to back out, now is when, and I'll never ever say anything about it again. Because from now on I need your complete cooperation. From now on you need to be a woman, my administrative secretary, willing to do whatever's necessary for the company you work for, whether I tell you to or not. So decide right now. Who are you?"

It wasn't a fair question. She'd reminded me what this contract meant to her, to us, to the uses of the office she'd built behind our house for managing projects on this scale. And I was in full make-up and costume, ready to go. To back down would betray my promise to her and her confidence in me and defeat both of us. It would waste talent, effort, and money.

By now we were both out of the car, standing together in the driveway. She waited.

"I'm your secretary, ma'am, of course," I said in my syrupy high voice, giving it a faint lilt. "That's who I am. And you can be sure I'll try to do my absolute best to please you! Whatever's necessary."

She relaxed. I hadn't realized how tense she'd been. "I do want this to be a good experience for you, Pattie. Of course it's taxing, and probably humiliating, at least to your manhood. But your manhood isn't joining us today, is it?"

"No ma'am," I said.

"Today, you need to enjoy your womanhood."

"Yes, ma'am."

"I love it, I must confess it, being with you this way, with your manhood on vacation, being just girls together. It's a whole new relationship! You'll benefit from it too—you'll learn a lot more about how women live and work and feel. Maybe a little about men too from a woman's perspective. Maybe more than you ever wanted to know, I'm sure you're worried about that! But relax and take what comes good naturedly, and you'll find you can enjoy it all. Whatever comes. Women do."

I saw her point. In for a penny. "Yes ma'am," I said.

"Please, just call me 'Tara' for now," she said. "We're a small firm, so first names are just fine. But always say it respectfully. We aren't partners—you work for me. Understood?"

"Yes, I understand, Tara."

And I noticed something odd. I felt more humbled calling her 'Tara' than calling her 'ma'am.' Because 'Tara' had been her name as my wife, but it was now the name of my boss. My wife was now my boss. I was her subordinate. It changed our relationship.

 

Seven

She made that clear immediately. "I'll have lunch now, Pattie. Just fix us each a small salad this time. We'll eat it together so I can brief you some more. In the kitchen this time. Though normally, expect to eat yours at your desk after you've brought me mine at my desk."

"Of course, Tara." 'Normally'? She was back to pretending this was a long-term arrangement? "A chef's salad, or something simpler?"

"I think simpler. You do need to lose a little weight if you mean to work for me long term—first impressions are so important when clients enter an office. I could do with less heft myself. Though the guys I get down with don't seem to mind." She wriggled her pelvis and grinned.

We entered the house, and she headed directly toward her study. "I need to make a few more calls," she said. "Let me know when lunch is ready," she said. "Oh yes, Pattie, this afternoon's likely to be stressful for you, so why don't you pour yourself another glass of that orange juice right now?"

I think she knew this would be a test of wills, because when I stopped and turned toward her to declare my ultimatum, I saw she'd already also stopped and turned and was looking straight at me. "Tara, I ...."

She broke in. "And while you're at it, put in another of those vaginal suppositories too. It's a good cure for a tight ass, if that's your problem. They're in the medicine cabinet, a whole three month's supply, you can't miss the package. From now on, you'll insert one each morning on arising—that should do you for the day. But today's special. You could do with the extra boost." Her cat-like eyes never wavered from mine.

"I wasn't going to ...," I began saying. Then I realized from the way I'd said it that I'd already given up the argument. I stopped.

"You said you wanted to please me. That's what would please me. So do it, please, Pattie. You'll feel more feminine, and then you'll do whatever's necessary without worrying so much about it."

I must still have looked reluctant, because she added, "I know! Just push it all the way in with your finger and then while your finger's inside you, enjoy the way it feels! Wiggle your tush on it a little. Take your time. And do exactly that every morning. There are marvelous sensations in store for you. Go see for yourself right now, and then fix us lunch."

She smiled, and waited for my slumped shoulders to signal agreement. It was not a mere request. "We're employer and employee, but that doesn't mean we can't be friends too. Over lunch I'll tell you all about Henri, those marvelous hands of his, how he massages and caresses a girl until her whole body glows. If this comes off as I hope, you'll get a session with Henri as your bonus, honey. Paid for by the firm. You'll walk on air for days after he's felt you up and done you over." She waited.

"That'll be just lovely," I said. So Henri wasn't an ardent French lover? More a masseur of some kind? She'd been teasing me there too? I went up, pushed in my second suppository of the day, and wriggled my ass on my finger as ordered. It did feel good. Then I washed my newly manicured hands, rubbed in the hand cream I found on the sink, and when I was back in the kitchen drank another glass of special orange juice.

She was right. Almost immediately afterward I felt mellow indeed. I began humming in my strangely high voice as I tore up lettuce leaves and sliced cucumbers and tomatoes. My long, pink-painted nails somehow fascinated me. It was fun! There was nothing to worry about. Go with the flow!

During lunch Tara told me more about Henri. He sounded like fun too, though I was only half-listening. It seems that while massaging different muscle groups as masseurs do, he also helps women flex and relax by teasing their anus and clit. He also oils their nipples between his thumbs and forefingers until they gleam and all of their muscles have stretched taut in an ecstatic tension very much like an orgasm. "You'll see," she said. "Though you won't get the full effect until your nipples enlarge. Soon, Pattie, be patient."

She smiled when she saw how I vacantly nodded my appreciation, then continued. "Honey, let me give you three pieces of advice."

I nodded again.

"I can see why men have never asked you out. You don't play the game. But we'll change that right now. When you first meet a man, look him directly in the eyes. Then keep your own eyes downcast after that, and look him in the eyes again only when you're telling him 'yes' or 'no'. But always seem absolutely attentive. That confers instant maidenly modesty but also a certain sexual assertiveness men find attractive. They feel flattered."

This sounded vaguely wrong. "Should I want to be sexually attractive to men?" I asked. "After all, I'm married."

"But not to a man, so it's all right," Tara replied immediately, smiling in reassurance.

This answer confused me. It was true, but ....

"All girls want to feel sexually attractive to men," Tara replied. "That's why we flirt. For fun if for no other reason."

"All right," I said.

"Secondly, keep your thighs together always, except when ... well, you know. Whether you're walking, sitting, or lounging. Always. We often spread our feet wide apart from the knees on down, knees together, toes pointed inward, that's very girlish, it looks so helpless. But open your thighs just once and you'll find some guy trying to get himself in between them."

"All right," I said, wishing vaguely that I had something to write these things down with. "A man between my thighs is bad?"

"Depends on the man, doesn't it?" Tara replied, still smiling.

I smiled back. A man between my thighs was bound to be disappointed.

"Thirdly, never mind all that talk about limp wrists and extended pinkies or anything else you may have heard about effeminate men. Just keep your elbows as close to your body as possible, and all the rest will follow. If you want to touch your face or rest your chin on your hand, first tuck that elbow in front of you as far as it'll go. It makes for a wonderfully feminine gesture. Try it."

I did. And sat there like that. It felt cute.

"Oh, lovely, it's as if you'd been a girl all your life! You'll be perfect! I think you're going to enjoy this! Now upstairs and change into your secretary outfit, and we'll be off."

Alone upstairs, still feeling very easy, I slipped out of my stretch pants yet again and then into the stockings and lingerie Tara had left for me and into the outfit Astrid's secretary had brought for me—a good quality Walmart skirt and blouse, an expensive cardigan sweater going a bit worn, panty hose—I rolled them up the way I'd seen Tara roll them before putting her foot into them, and it worked out fine, chunky shoes with a two inch heel, and a thick, gold-plated, braided wire necklace. It would match those gold wires now looped through my ears, I realized. The effect was lovely. I realized I was thinking like a girl.

Moreover, I felt as if I'd been one all my life, the way I dressed myself, as if routinely, daily for the office. Hooking the skirt and zipping it up seemed ... instinctive. That orange juice had dampened down my feelings of strangeness. I glanced once more at my face in the mirror, and approved it. Then when I came back downstairs I saw Tara waiting for me, a similar look of approval on her face. I raised one eyebrow at her, then took up my laptop and shoulder bag, and we went together to the car in the driveway. Though I usually drove us when we were going somewhere together, Tara got behind the wheel, so I walked around to sit beside her. She was in charge. It was just as well, I had no idea how my high, high heels might affect my driving. I checked my hair in the car mirror. Fine.

We were in full view of a neighbor who was clipping hedges across the street, but there was nothing noticeable about us. We were only two women. He scarcely glanced up.

 

It was our town's best hotel, the Regal Palace, an opulent, glitzy hotel designed to impress even wealthy people, with thousands of little glittery bulbs in chandelier after chandelier illuminating a gilt ceiling high over a capacious reception area, colored glass sculptures hanging here and there overhead, deep plush carpets underfoot, cream-colored carvings everywhere, everything inviting everyone to enjoy luxurious self-indulgence. The place was dotted with grave, attentive uniformed flunkies standing here and there, eager to be of service. In my dazed state I felt a little dazzled, but I did my best to move the way Tara'd told me, unashamed, with my head high, boobs forward, and thighs and elbows close in. No one in the lobby took the slightest notice. Gradually I relaxed. Tara smiled at me conspiratorially to encourage me, and I smiled back. She was right, it was exciting that everyone to assume I was a woman.

She peered through a decorated doorway, saw that her prospective client was not in the cocktail bar as expected, so she went to the desk. I followed but stood slightly back, as befitted my lower station.

"Mr. Bartram asks that you go right up," the man at the desk told her after announcing us by phone. "The Penthouse, eighteenth floor. They're waiting for you. That private elevator there."

"They?" I asked her on the way up in the elevator.

She shrugged. "Probably an assistant, the same way you're mine. Someone expected to sit quietly and take notes and follow up afterward on whatever's agreed, do the scut work. High-powered executives often keep such people close by. It frees them to concentrate on the business at hand."

This didn't sound quite right. "Often?" I pulled my mind together and tried to concentrate. "You thought it likely there'd be another man with him? But weren't you afraid to find yourself alone with him? Isn't that why I'm here?"

"You're here to help me, Pattie. If it bothers you, I can give you a pill like the ones in your orange juice to help you accept whatever happens as sort of natural and wonderful.

"No need," I said. I felt quite placid enough. I quit worrying.

The elevator door opened into a reception area, and in the sitting room beyond it I saw two men seated. One was thin and angular, seated on a couch and leaning forward over a laptop on the coffee table in front of him, studying its screen. The other lounged across from him in a large ornate chair that resembled a throne. They both looked up. The one on the throne stood and smiled and came forward toward us, with his hand out to Tara. He was large, with a craggy handsomeness. Obviously Bill Bartram himself.

"Tara, how nice. And as expected, I see!" He glanced at me, then looked steadily at Tara, the thoughts behind his eyes well-hidden. "All prepared? I've got a draft letter of agreement you'll want to look over carefully, but I see no problem. This lovely lady is ...?" And he gestured at me before turning to look me over more closely. Head to foot. And back again.

"My secretary, Patricia" Tara said, her right hand enclosed in the man's paw, waving her left hand at me carelessly. "Pattie, meet Mr. William Bartram, the head of Castro Enterprises, and in full charge of its expansion. Every bit as good-looking as I'd said, isn't he?" Then to Bartram she said, "I don't anticipate any problems. We both know why we're here."

"Good," Bill said, glancing at me again. "Then there's no problem at all." I acknowledged Tara's introduction by nodding at him. For a wild moment I wondered if I should curtsy. Bill then recalled the other man in the room with him. "Meet Jim McNaughton," he said. "My right hand."

His name having been mentioned, Jim McNaughton leaned further over the laptop and then stood up, but made no move toward us. Instead, he studied me with his cool gray eyes, then looked expectantly at Bill.

"Jim looks after my projects for me," Bill said. "He'll be my man on the scene if all goes well, as I expect it will, overseeing everything. Whatever he approves, I approve, and whatever he doesn't, well, we don't need to talk about that do we? Shall we get to it, Tara?" He gestured toward the door into an adjacent room, which I took to be a bedroom. "The papers are in there. Any last minute hesitation, now that you've had time to think about the whole scheme?"

"None," Tara said firmly, then turned to lead the way into the next room. I started to follow her. She paused. "Pattie, stay here and get acquainted with Jim. See what he may need, offer to be of help. Apparently you'll be seeing a lot of each other." She waited. My cue to speak.

"Of course, Tara," I said in my "Twilight Sleep" high-pitched voice.

Her eyes gleamed satisfaction, and she disappeared through the door without a backward glance. Bill followed her and the door closed behind them. I stared at it for a long minute. Just stood there staring. The two of them were in there alone. Why was I here?

"Come sit here if you don't mind, Patricia is it?" Jim said after a brief moment, gesturing to a space on the couch next to him. "You'll want to know what's in the agreement they're reviewing in there, our mutual obligations and so forth. I have it on this computer."

Uneasily, I sidestepped around the coffee table and sat down carefully on the couch next to him. The skirt fabric over my panties slithered against the damask of the couch's upholstery and reminded me to clamp my knees together and tuck my elbows to my sides. Not knowing what else to do with them, I folded my hands in my lap. Good God! There was my cock pressing against the back of my hand! Tumescent! After months of Tara's conditioning, I was fine-tuned to be aroused by the notion that she and that man were alone together! But this time he wasn't a fantasy man, he was real! What was really happening in that other room? Did I want to believe they were not reviewing that draft letter of agreement?

"Bill wants me to maintain close personal supervision over this contract until every condition is executed. For four months, maybe more. Your boss Tara thinks it'll take no more than that—and I admire her style if she can bring it off in that short a time. Then we'll negotiate the secondary contracts, the branch offices, an additional year's work. Those depend on how well you perform. If I'm happy, Bill will be too, and the work's yours. Your firm's anyhow. But we both need to be satisfied."

"I see," I said. I was still pre-occupied with Tara and that man in the other room, but I was listening. Four months? Tara will be busy with this Castro job for four months? That's nice. But this man, Jim, will be here the whole time? That's more awkward. Even in my tranquilized state of mind I realized that could be a problem. He'd expect to see Patricia whenever he visits Tara's office.

"Maybe you see. Please understand me. If I'm unhappy about anything, Bill will not be happy, and there will be no secondary contracts."

"Yes," I said vaguely.

"I'll be seeing quite a bit of both of you. You're taking possession of the new office space behind your house next week I understand. Tara's offered me one of her spare office spaces and I've accepted. I'll be there some part of every day during the first month or so, so I imagine we'll get to know each other pretty well. Tara told Bill when they last spoke together that she's sure you'll make me feel welcome. She said that if there's anything you can't provide me, or won't, not to worry, she will. She really wants those branch office contracts."

Worrisome. Despite my mood I began to feel closed in. Daily? For four months? Plus maybe a year more? Mine was the face of the company he'd be dealing with, my face and Tara's. Had Tara known this when she'd proposed this day's outing to me? Was that why she'd insisted I adopt a permanent mind-set, as if to live as if a woman for life, not just for today, or else be revealed as a fraud? How could I get out of this? Could I pretend to quit Tara's employment, then hide out as myself in the main house? Month after month? No, there was too great a risk of exposure—if he glimpsed me, Jim would see immediately that Patrick and Patricia were as similar as their names, and would then certainly advise Bill that the contract had been attained fraudulently.

So Patrick didn't dare live at home while this project was under way. I had to be Patricia. Why did Tara do this to me?

I suppose it was obvious. She'd needed all her persuasive powers merely to get me to consent to do this for one day. She knew I'd never agree to do it for as long as was in fact required, not right off. Fair enough, she wanted the contract. But then, why did she want me with her at all today? She was already alone in the other room with that man. And I was alone with Jim, passing the time.

I'm trapped into pretending I'm a woman for months, I was thinking. That orange juice still made everything that was happening seem ... normal. Usual. Worry-free. And what was it Tara had said, she'd provide whatever Jim wanted if I refused? What did that mean? It sounded like a warning to me to measure up.

I couldn't deal with the implications now. I decided to be as gracious and ladylike with Jim as I could, so as not to ruin things for Tara. To wait it out.

"Patricia, may I say something you might find too personal?" Jim's voice broke in.

"Why yes, Jim, of course," I said in my strangely flutey voice, remembering to look sincerely into his eyes and then to look modestly at my hands, still folded onto my lap. My thighs and knees were still snugged close together. Was he about to make a move on me? I waited. Should I be flirting with him? Flirt with a man? Unthinkable, yet it also seemed so ... natural. "Anything at all," I added.

"You've solved a big problem for me."

I glanced up. He was smiling at me now and gazing mildly into my eyes. I looked down again, my cheeks heated, probably flushed. I wondered if a flush was visible under my makeup, all that foundation, powder, and blush.

"What's that, Jim?"

"I'm gay."

I'd heard him clearly. My thoughts tumbled together. I hadn't expected this. It was surprising, even though not at all relevant to the job at hand nor to my present predicament. Why was he telling me this? To reassure me that he wouldn't be putting moves on me after all? I suddenly felt vastly relieved. He wouldn't be coming on to me now, nor during the coming months! Not to me nor to Tara! Maybe I could get out from under! Thank God!

"Oh?" I said. And I waited. Nothing more was forthcoming. So I added, "That's all right. Many men are gay. That shouldn't cause any difficulties. It could even make things easier." I ventured a quick, reassuring smile.

But even in my placid state I sensed that something was wrong. He hadn't said that it created problems, he'd said that it solved problems. "What do you mean, I've solved a problem for you?"

"Well, I represent the company on different job sites, and there's enough homophobia among construction workers to make for problems, if anyone were ever to suspect me. Problems for me and problems for Bill too, because we often work late together, and we're often seen together. We're quite close. If some of the guys knew about me and began to make jokes, it could get awkward for both of us. And loss of respect for us is loss of respect for Castro Enterprises, for our financing, ultimately for any of our projects. Everyone would cut corners. You know."

"I see," I said. I didn't, yet.

"So Bill insists that even though I'm gay I date women, visibly, in ways the different construction workers and supervisors know about. So I do. I'm not bad-looking, and I apparently have a manner many women like, so a lot of my dates are women who come on to me and then never understand why I never come back at them. They speculate, and a few stumble onto the truth and feel outraged that they've been used. Justifiably enough. Then they may spread the word in ways that are bad for me, for Bill, and for the business, all three."

"Oh," I said, still waiting for a light to dawn.

"But now with you there'll be no issues. We can be seen together to our hearts' content and never raise an eyebrow. We can double-date with other people involved on the project. Even with Bill when he's in town. All four of us can go out together, you and me and Tara and Bill, respectability and propriety all well-served.. We're a perfect match for each other."

I felt cold. I wasn't sure what he was saying, but I suspected I knew anyhow. He was saying that he knows all about me! He knows I'm not a woman, so I can't object to being used as a cover! Maybe.

"How?" I asked. "How are we perfect for each other?"

Instead of answering directly he took both my hands in his and let them rest in my lap. They pressed heavily against the penis I knew was lurking just under the thin fabric of my dress. Surely he could feel it there!

"I suppose you've felt this way all your life?" he said.

"Felt how?" I didn't dare move.

"Felt that you needed to be a woman. Don't be embarrassed, I think women like you are the most feminine things imaginable, the most exciting and enticing. The sexiest."

I swallowed. Stall, I told myself. "What do you mean, women like me?"

"Why, transsexual women. Little girls born into little boys' bodies who grow up to realize that they're women living in men's bodies. Women who finally realize they must live as what they are, as women, despite their bodies. Who can really appreciate what it means to be a woman, because they've been deprived for so long of all the little things born women take too much for granted. You're an enormously attractive woman, Patricia, to me especially because -- I hope you won't feel insulted—to me you're first of all an enormously attractive man."

I was baffled. But I had to play along. "I see," I said. Though I still didn't. Did he think I was dressed this way, that I looked like this, because I wanted to be a woman? He did.

"I understand how it is for you, Patricia honey. I know what it's like to have desires that are thwarted at every turn by social convention. How powerfully you feel the urge to give up on all pretense and just live as your own true self. I share the same desires, and like you I live as an outsider, closeted. Don't worry, I won't tell anyone about you—they'd think it was deception and want nothing further to do with you. Nor with Tara, for that matter. It would destroy the trust we all need to maintain our different business relationships. So this will remain our secret."

What could I say? He'd just warned me to play along. Or else.

"Yes," I said. Then, "How did you know?"

He now began to stroke my hands as they lay in my lap. Each stroke extended to where my penis was bulging against my panties. The tips of his fingers grazed my member through the smooth fabric, over and over. Then he began to stroke my cock directly, and each time his hand pressed down it rose to preen itself against his palm like a puppy. He patted it affectionately and continued. He knew.

 

Eight

"Look at me, Patricia."

I did.

"I've met many women like you in the gay bars I go to when I want to meet other men like me. You're beautifully done over, really lovely. Exceptional. Few people could ever imagine that you aren't everything you seem to be. But I can tell. You've transitioned only recently, haven't you? "

"Yes."

"Then you're probably still feeling exhilarated. It's intoxicating, I'll bet, after all those years of repression. Have you been with a man yet?"

"No."

"That's wonderful. Then I'll be your first. You can't begin to dream how happy you'll feel afterward. How liberated. The sense of completion, of a wholeness finally achieved. "

Despite my orange juice-induced glow, I began to feel desperate. What could I do? Expose myself, stand up in my full female regalia and declare myself to be a straight male after all? That is, expose Tara's attempt at fraud, her attempt to defend herself from Bill's horny proposals by bringing me along as her secretary? That would kill off altogether any sort of future for her with Castro Enterprises. She'd feel devastated. And everything I'd gone through thus far for her sake would be for nothing.

No, I had to play along with Jim's misconception of me. At least he couldn't do anything to me here. Not with his boss and my supposed boss in the next room.

So I said nothing.

"I know," he said, gently. "You're shy. I can't blame you. We'll go slow, don't worry. Are you full time even now?"

"When I need to be," I said, not quite understanding his question or my own answer.

"I understand," he said. He was still caressing my cock, I suddenly realized. And a sense of well-being suffused that part of my groin, despite this conversation being the worst of my life.

Our intimate talk continued. "Honey, exactly what is your relationship with Tara? Besides being her secretary or administrative assistant or something. It does her credit that she employs a transsexual woman, even though you do her credit by your remarkably pretty appearance. Or does she even know what you really are?"

"She knows," I replied. I hoped she still did, anyhow.

"Oh? Is she anything to you apart from being your boss? A relative? A neighbor? You were an old boyfriend, or someone who came out to her way back, someone she'd dress so you could spend odd weekends being a girl?

I saw no point to deception. Not when he'd be consulting us daily for the next few months in what was in effect a home office. "We're married."

"I see," he said. There was a long pause. "Better and better. Perfect, in fact. Then no one will ever want to begin talking to anyone about anything ever, for fear that different relationships they need to keep secret might unravel."

He continued to stroke my cock, which had now grown half-hard. Now deliberately, all along its length, with a gentle pressure I could no longer ignore. That old familiar erotic pleasure began to rise up from it and spread into my belly.

"Your lips are so soft and full, Patricia," he said, studying my face.

"Yes," I replied, recalling what Sarah had done to them. "I suppose they are."

He leaned over and kissed me. A man kissed me! I felt shocked, though it was over before I realized what had happened. But I could still feel the pressure of his mouth and the roughness of his stubble when he whispered, "Now you kiss me, Pattie. Can you find it in your heart to kiss me back?"

I had to. Full on the lips. Jim only sighed, "Now again," so I did it again, directly on his mouth. Deliberately. I actually kissed another man twice! Unable to think of a way out!

"Again," he breathed.

I pecked at his face this time, aiming for a cheek, but he turned and pushed his lips firmly onto mine, and his free arm wrapped around my neck and held me tight to him. His tongue came between the soft swellings which were my lips, and pushed in and out. He was mini-fucking me! I tried to clamp my mouth shut, to deny him entry, but the lips were too soft. He seemed to feel my crimping them as passionate nibbling. His tongue flicked between them even faster.

Then with both of us breathless, he leaned back. "Our bosses will be busy in there for a while longer," he said quietly. "They have a lot to go over. I think we have time to get to know each other better." His hand was now unabashedly under my skirt and rubbing my cock through my panties, caressing it with exquisite sensitivity. Delicately. Up and down. Despite myself it felt good. Wonderful. Yet a vague sense of dread grew in my stomach. How could I get out of this?

"Why don't you take my penis out and play with it? It's yours now, Pattie. Tit for tat."

I'd been afraid he'd say that. A moment passed when I did nothing. Still stroking me, he picked up one of my hands and placed it on his fly. "Unzip me, Pattie," he said. "Please."

What could I do? I unzipped him.

"That's right. That's the girl. See how easy? Now reach in and take it out that wonderful thing I have in there."

I did that too. It was already partially firm, not too long but very thick, and once free it grew quickly. It felt warm and slightly moist. I tried to pay no attention to it. I tried to persuade myself that my hand belonged to someone else. He began to squeeze my prick on its base on each down-stroke, and nodded to me. I wrapped my fingers around the whole of his cock and did the same. Tit for tat.

"Lovely," he said.

And he kissed me yet again. Full on my full lips again. Softly. And for a moment his hand pulsed on my cock through the thin fabric almost the way Tara's cunt gripped it when her orgasms began.

"Oh,God!" I moaned to myself. Because what could I do? Break off and pretend indignation?

"Now kiss me once more," he said, his eyes closed.

I closed my own eyes and leaned forward to kiss him yet again on the mouth. Chastely this time, I decided. It all seemed so natural. So calm. That damned orange juice.

"Not on my mouth this time," I heard him say. "There." His hand on the back of neck, began to press my head down. I had to yield to it. To bend way over toward his cock. I smelled its moist musk and some kind of men's talc before my plump lips contacted its rubbery head. Eyes still closed, I delivered a delicate kiss and pulled back, aware of something sticky that had touched my upper lip. Pre-cum.

"Yes," he whispered. "Lick it off, honey! And begin to pull me off too while you're at it. In fact, why don't you wrap your lips around it and suck me off!"

The pressure of his hand on the back of my head increased, unrelenting as he pushed my mouth toward his cock, and his stroking of my own cock grew more intense. I licked and tasted another drop of salty syrup atop his pee hole. Then finally I opened my mouth wider and he slid into me of his own accord. A man's cock. I closed my lips around that fat, warm, soft tube and it slid out of me again, then into me, then out.

"Lick me while you slide on and off," he breathed. "And suck!"

I did. Now it's official, I thought to myself. I'm not only a pretend girl, I'm a cock sucker. And an unfaithful husband. My wife is married to a pretend girl who sucks other men's cocks. Up and down. It has pleased her to imagine it whenever we've made love, and now it's my reality. How can I explain this to her? What can I say? I'm sucking this cock so she won't need to suck it? She'd never need to suck it. Jim is gay.

Do I need to say anything?

It then crossed my mind, did she set me up for this? Did she want this for me? I mean, in actuality, not just to taunt me that I supposedly want it? Would she have arranged for me to do this? Why?

Jim pushed into my face yet again, and I firmed my lips around him and began to bob my head in rhythm with his thrusting and stroking of my own cock. This wasn't imaginary, this was real. And my own groin felt good. I was getting close, there in my own half-ignored crotch.

Yes, of course Tara would have to know about this sooner or later. This man would be working with us daily for months, in an office attached to our house, and now I'd need to be working there too with nowhere to escape to. He'd be in our laps as it were, mine especially, like his hand right now, maybe daily expecting more reciprocating ... intimacy from me. Not only will I need to dress and look like Tara's secretary while this contract is in force, but my newly blonde and smoothly coiffed head and my pretty puffed lips will now need to bob up and down his lap daily! Did Tara realize this before I did? With other larger contracts at stake and one of her favorite fantasies for me fulfilled under her very eyes, would she mind? No. she'd welcome it.

And not only my head and lips were committed. Now and then maybe, probably, how can I doubt it, my rear end would be too. He's gay, after all. That's what gay men do. What had I gotten myself into? I'd signed up to help my wife hustle a contract for a couple of hours. Now here I was giving sex as a woman and committing to do much more. For months.

And getting sex too. His hips rose and held themselves up, and I knew what was coming. For me too. "You can let go too now, doll," he muttered between his teeth. "Don't worry about your skirt, I'll catch it in my hand!" His hand released the outline of my cock in my panties, then crept into the wristband and grasped it again by its naked head, his palm cupped. A man's hand was now holding my bare cock. And it all seemed so normal!

I clamped my lips onto his tumescent tube just below the head and sealed them tight, and pulled once or twice more on the base. It pulsed, and my mouth filled with salty-tasting syrup. His cum. Not mine this time, not from my Tara's pussy, but his, direct from the source. A man's cum. As I swallowed it and my mouth re-filled with more, his hand pressed deep onto my own crotch and my cock grew rigid and strained and then it too began to pulse. I came too. Gloriously, repeatedly, into his cupped hand, while I moaned in bursts with each spasm.

"Ahhh!" he said finally as his own convulsive squeezings stopped. "Perfect, just lovely! You have the most marvelous mouth! It was inspiration, filling out your lips so they'd feel like two pillows when they're pressed on a man's cock! You must have wanted to give head like this for a very long time. We'll do it again very soon, I promise you." He smiled. "But now here's your dessert."

He lifted my skirt clear of his cupped hand as he twisted it out from inside by panties and brought it up to my mouth. I was still bending over his crotch, half-paralyzed with shame because a man had made me cum and I'd just made a man cum, and also half-exhausted from my own throbbing climax.

"Here you are. All for you."

He held his cupped hand to my mouth. I looked in. There were a couple of teaspoons of cloudy fluid pooled at the bottom. I looked up at him. "You have beautiful eyes," he said. "Next time I'll want to look into them the whole time you're blowing me. But for now enjoy your last licks." He held his hand carefully to my mouth.

I lapped up my own sperm, then licked his hand clean as if grateful for the favor, like a dog thanking his master. Was this my life from now on? I then sat up straight again, primly closed my thighs and straightened my skirt, looked to see where my purse was, and saw it where I'd left it, there on the coffee table.

Jim leaned over and kissed me on my cummy lips.

"Jim, I don't think ...," I started to say.

"Shhhh," he said, kissing me again. "Nothing needs to be said. The contract is Tara's, just as promised."

My brow furrowed at that.

"She didn't tell you? Weeks ago! An interior designer she hired outed me to her. He'd told her I was once his lover, and she wanted confirmation. So I confirmed it. She told me she was delighted to learn that I'm gay, because it could make things so much easier for both of us. That was when she told me about the woman who works in her office who was once a man. You. She never told me you were her husband, but she sang your praises, Patricia. And you're everything she told me you'd be. She told me how she wanted this for you as intensely as you've wanted it, so you could feel completed as the woman you've struggled to become."

Tara had set me up for this? To do what I'd just done? Knowingly? I tried to feel stunned, but I couldn't. That tranquilizer-laced orange juice, still!

"Well, now she'll be happy. I know you're happy—maybe a little dazed, you poor dear, I can see that in your eyes, but happy. So it's win-win for everyone."

I tried to say something, but nothing at all came out.

Jim understood. "Oh, Patricia," he said. "We have such wonderful times ahead of us now. Whenever Tara's willing to spare you or share you. Here, lover, let me show you what's at stake."

He turned to his computer and a few strokes on the keyboard revealed the terms of agreement Tara and Bill were reviewing in the other room all the while we were otherwise engaged. It was highly favorable to Tara, as far as I could tell. As I read down the lists of specifications and obligations and undertakings I saw two things immediately. One was that Tara's talents were indeed equal to everything the job required—she deserved this chance and would have no problem surpassing its requirements. The other was that when this regional office work was completed, if she achieved the branch office contracts we would both be rich. We'd always shared our income and pooled our finances. In another year at the most we'd each be able to live as we wished, work or not as we wished, and play as we chose. Wherever we chose. An incredible luxury.

I could see now why Tara had schemed to implicate me in this way, why she'd manipulated my consent to assure that the contract she deserved and the luxurious life she desired could become realities. It was obvious why she hadn't consulted me first, why she didn't just ask me please, pretty please, pretend to be a transgendered woman for just a year or so and have an affair with a gay man. After the months of teasing me about her supposed infidelities and my supposed desires and perversions, I'd never for a moment have believed she was serious. Yet those very same months of teasing had subtly conditioned me to accept this ultimate humiliation for a straight man, to suck another man's cock and swallow his cum.

Step by step, I'd made my own decisions, acting out of necessity as I saw it. I'd dressed like a woman supposedly to safeguard her virtue, and I'd sucked Jim's cock as the path of least resistance, but also to safeguard her hopes for these Castro contracts. All for her sake, for the love of Tara, because she wanted it. At some risk, too, because I knew that any gratitude she might feel for the man who did these things for her could quickly dwindle into mere appreciation, then condescension, then contempt. Because he'd sacrificed his own self-respect. So it wasn't to keep her love. Nor was it for the money. If I'd done it for the money, I'd be self-defined as a high-priced whore. And awesome as the money might be, I wasn't that. Not yet.

Tara had saved me from that, and herself too. She'd wanted the contract and what followed from it, and she wouldn't sell her body to get it, so she'd hoped that like a gentleman I'd offer mine. All she'd done was ask me to accompany her. The rest had been all my doing. I'd decided on my own that I had to use my body and suck Jim's cock simply to make good her story, to preserve her honor. So I'd backed up her tale that I was a genuine transgendered woman interested in a man. And now I was committed to it. With worse to come for at least for four months. And I had to perform, or else sacrifice everything thus far gained for her. For us. I'd have become a transvestite cock sucker for nothing.

All by my own choice.

I returned my attention to the computer screen. Toward the bottom of the agreement I saw a rather murky non-performance cancellation clause about parties of the second part prior to signature satisfying parties of the first part as specified by way of ratification in validation of good faith. Or something. I asked Jim what it meant.

"Don't trouble your head, honey. That's a clincher the legal department always includes for our self-protection, so we can back out at the last minute if need be. It's meaningless, except that Bill always interprets it in his own way. It's his little indulgence. He likes to seal his agreements with a kiss. Many contractors can do the work we want done, at comparable prices too. The one who provides us a little something extra, that's the one with the edge who gets the job. What's wanted is a gesture of appreciation, an expression of gratitude more personal and intimate than a handshake. They may be at that stage right now, your boss and mine. Tara's may be reassuring Bill as only a woman can that he's made all the right decisions. You know."

He paused. "Oh of course, you're still married to her, aren't you? Well, I'm sure she's doing nothing you haven't already done and won't do again. Women are women, aren't they?"

Despite the orange juice my stomach sank! I stared at that closed bedroom door.

But even as I stared at it, it opened, and Tara came out, a sheaf of papers in one hand. I caught a glimpse within of a desk with curved legs painted ivory and pink blush, of a kind of French provincial boudoir. That was what Bill wanted for all of Castro's offices? Incredible! But achieving that very style tastefully yet functionally was where Tara excelled, I knew.

Her hair and clothing didn't seem mussed, but her eyes were glowing. "That was quite a tussle," she reported to me where I sat alongside Jim. "But everything's settled except maybe for one thing." She looked at me. Calculatingly? "Patricia, may I speak to you privately for a minute?" She nodded to Jim, who no doubt already knew what she had in mind, then took me off to a small alcove where we couldn't be overheard.

"So was I a big help, coming here to help safeguard your virtue from your Mr. Macho?" I asked her a little resentfully.

"Honey, I'm not teasing you now, this is serious. Nothing's happened with Mr. Macho yet, we've been talking business. But now he's insistent, and it's worse than I'd anticipated. You won't believe this, but he wants to close the deal with ... an intimate act with one of us. At the very least a blow job. He's made other demands too but I've bargained him down that far, and there's no getting around that much."

I raised my eyebrows as if surprised. "I see. So what do we do now? Leap onto our high horses and leave?"

She did not appreciate my sarcasm. "Honey, I want this contract. You came here to save me from something just like this, and here it is. He's ruthless and determined. I hate to say it, but before we leave here that man is going to get his cock sucked."

"By Jim?" I asked. Not a chance, I was thinking. But it was my way of letting her know I also knew Jim was gay, and that I might even know what she'd told him about me.

She paused. I remained silent. I wasn't sure she'd heard me.

"I got you into this," she continued. "And I see that you're under enough stress already. So I should be the one to do it, I think, not you. You can watch if you wish, to see that nothing much else happens. The way you like watch me and my imaginary lovers during the little games we play together in bed. Only this time for real." She paused again, and then added, "Who knows, maybe you'll get off on it the way you usually do."

I ignored that last jibe. What was it she'd said? That she "should be the one to do it"? As if I were also a candidate, an alternative cock sucker also available for the purpose?

Well, wasn't I?

"Of course that would change our relationship," she went on. "Once you knew for certain that I've actually had sex with another man, there'd be no more teasing, would there, only plausible confessions. The excitement would be gone from our lovemaking, all that deliciously agonizing uncertainty you seem to enjoy. I might even feel I might as well go all the way with him after that. And then with others. There'd be no reason not to, would there?"

She stared intently at me, saw no response in my face, and went further. "And it's possible that once I've had other men you won't seem nearly as appealing to me sexually. Maybe because they're better than you are. Maybe because now that I've seen you like this, I'll always remember you as a woman, not as a man at all. Well, look at you. Not very manly, are you?"

"I hope not," was all I could say confusedly in my own defense.

She paused, then went on. "I know, I'm being terribly unfair. I did get you into this, and it's my fault, and I know you did it for me, and that was lovely of you. But you've got to admit it, right now you aren't the man I married. You're a girl. And that must change how I feel about you sexually, it's unavoidable. My only consolation is that you did agree to help me out of a loving desire to spare me possible embarrassment, and I'll always remember that."

She looked at me sorrowfully. "We've both given up too much to back down now. So one of us is going to have to do it. Shall I leave it up to you which one of us? Let you decide?"

She looked at me hopefully. I said nothing.

"You've tasted so much cum by now it must seem pretty ordinary. What's it like?"

"Not too bad," I replied. "Different men taste different, of course. You know that too, don't you?"

"Do I?" she asked. Then her eyes widened slightly. Did she realize that her scheme for me to win Jim's approval of the contract had worked out even sooner than expected? Had she caught the implication that I've now tasted semen other than my own? She looked at me intently, trying to decide whether I was teasing her. She couldn't decide.

I wasn't altogether sure about her either. Was she again sandbagging me into dispensing sexual favors? Or was she merely asking me to rescue her from a situation that had gone out of control? It was plausible enough, I'd seen that last clause, and Jim had explained it. If Tara was in fact a faithful wife, and she'd been faithful to me all this time, her discomfort at this moment was genuine. And she did seem near tears. It did seem genuine.

I made up my mind. I was already a cock sucker and would be for life, even though she didn't yet know it for sure. And as they say, a slice off a cut cake is never missed. I'll be her white knight one more time, I decided. Maybe it was the orange juice talking, but dispensing sexual favors to men, doing what women do as women, it didn't seem that bad. It seemed almost ... natural.

 

Nine

"Honey, don't. Don't cry. I know what this contract means to you. I'll do it." I paused, then decided to move the decision into the realm of our accustomed sex games. "You've known for months now that I'm eager to suck cock. You've kept telling me that. And just last night you allowed me to suck on yours, remember?"

She hesitated, then looked genuinely grateful. A playful lilt returned to her voice, though her words remained serious, cautionary. "It'll be your first directly from another man, though, sweetie. Won't it? The first time you wrap your lips around a warm tube and swallow whatever squirts out of it?"

So she didn't know? Or she did know, but was soliciting a confession from me? I said nothing.

She continued. "And what I just said about knowing for certain goes both ways, remember. I'll know. Aren't you afraid it'll make you seem like even less of a man in my eyes?"

"Yes. But you've already told me that I'm now forever a sissy in your eyes. Can my servicing a man make things worse?"

"It can. I mean, look at you, girlfriend. You're a deliciously feminine man now, I must say. A swish sissy, even if a cute sissy. But afterward? You'll be a faggot afterward."

This was true. It was already true.

"Yet, if you do it, I won't doubt for a moment that I'm married to a whore."

"WHAT?!!" Could I believe my ears? I'd wondered about that very thing myself only a few minutes ago, and now she'd raised the issue! "A whore?! I'm not doing this for the money! Its ...!""

"Did I say that? A whore? Oh, my dear, no, I meant "a hero"! A hero! Honey, by saving me from sex with another man, you keep me true to you. I think that's the most selfless and generous thing any man can ever do for any woman, don't you? Suck another man's cock for her so she can stay faithful to him?"

Jim's cock sucking crossed my mind, but this was not quite the right time for full confessions. "Does Bill know what I really am? If he suspects I'm a man, he won't find me acceptable. Does he also think I'm a transsexual woman?"

Yet another understanding dawned in her eyes, mixed with amusement. "Jim told you about our earlier conversation, didn't he? You got on?"

"We seemed to."

"Maybe you also got it on?"

"Maybe," I finally said.

Tara looked amused. Maybe I was joking? Maybe not?

"I did hope you'd get on. I told him you were a man who likes to imagine he's a woman, so he'd feel more friendly toward both of us."

"He does." I didn't remind her that she'd told him more than that, not just that I liked to imagine myself a woman but that I felt I was one. That's what had encouraged him to seduce me into sucking his cock—he was doing me a favor, completing my womanhood for me. Nor did I remind her that she'd been the one who gotten me dressed up like a woman to begin with. Nor did I remind her that she'd told Jim about my supposed transsexuality weeks ago, yet she'd proposed this cross dressing event to me only yesterday—she'd been scheming this for a long time. Nor did I mention that she'd told me it was for a single afternoon when she already knew it could well be for months and months. I said none of these things. She nevertheless heard resentment in my voice.

"Surely you understand, Pattie. Jim is Bill's first Vice-President. He advises Bill about all of his business deals, and Bill always takes his advice. It was essential to get him on our side. Transgendered people and gays have a lot in common—social rejection, problems with understanding partners, you know. I thought that if he thought you have gender issues the way he has gay issues, he'd feel more comfortable with us."

"He does."

She looked at me quizzically for a moment, then gave up. "Now we need to get Bill on our side too. Last night when your ass was filled with my cock you were emphatic. 'Bring it on!' you said. Well, here it is. I'll wait. Do what you can, honey. Don't be too long!"

I did now feel more a whore than a hero in my own eyes. As I turned to walk back toward the creamy French Provincial bedroom, she added in a low voice, "Better refresh your lipstick first, Pattie. Some of it's worn off, a really passionate blow jobs can do that even to these new cosmetic dyes. And give your hair a quick brush too. I see a bead of semen near your right ear."

I did, but I was almost at the bedroom door before I realized what her statement meant. It meant she'd known all along that my mouth was no longer virginal. What I'd done with Jim. She'd only pretended she didn't know. Why? To save my self-respect? To keep me unembarrassed, so I'd keep deciding in my usual way to do things her way? To hide her complicity in making her husband over into a cock sucking femme?

Now I'd be personally delivering Bill his bonus for signing on with her. Then I'd have to settle in to be Tara's conceptually cuckolded husband by night, her Girl Friday office staff by day, and when necessary Jim's feminized boyfriend. This was to be my life for months to come. Maybe for life.

I'd been too trusting. I still didn't understand everything Tara had been doing. I'd need to wait and see, and try to stay off the orange juice one day at a time, and keep my own counsel. Meanwhile, from now on, I realized, I had to do whatever I did for my own sufficient reasons, without concern for Tara's. So whatever the consequences, whatever Tara had set in motion, whether I liked it or not I would have nothing to regret. She'd wanted this, and I'd gone along. Despite her trickery as I now understood it, I'd agreed, and short of a sudden and rancorous divorce I now had to finish what I'd begun. But I'd been a gentleman with her for too long, and though pretending to be a woman, though feeling like a woman supposedly, I'd exercised a woman's prerogatives not at all. It was time to change over, to stop being a gentleman and act like a woman on my own behalf. To take some of my own initiatives. That now understood, I entered Bill's bedroom.

A half-hour later I returned to where Tara and Jim sat waiting, my freshened lipstick still intact. "Here's our copy of Bill's letter of agreement," I said to Tara. "Every clause initialed. The actual contract to be signed at our lawyer's office next Monday. Jim, here's Bill's copy. You'll set up the arrangements?"

He looked up. I was speaking more affirmatively than he'd ever heard me. "Of course, Patricia." He glanced at Tara, then again at me. "Will you be there?"

"No, Tara can sign for me, she has my Power of Attorney stashed away somewhere, just as I have hers." I thought it useful to remind her of that. I was an officer in her office design corporation, nominally. And we'd signed our signatures over to each other as tokens of our trust and love when we were first married.

"I'll be too busy." I added. "Tara wants me to finish organizing our new office by close of business Monday."

I was deliberately speaking for her even in her presence. "Your own office space will be ready for you by then if you want to stop by after the signing. Do let me know if you have any special needs. Coming, Tara?"

She'd been sitting in the throne-like chair opposite Jim, chatting with him. Apparently about business -- several swatches of upholstery material were spread out on the coffee table. She looked up at me, uncertain how to proceed. I was not as docile as she'd expected.

"I really must get back, honey," I said to her. "There's so much to do."

"All right," was all she said, and she stood up.

Jim seemed amused by my take-charge efficiency, but he obviously had things to do now that the contract issue was settled, and he awaited our departure with polite impatience. Tara hadn't stopped staring at me. She gathered her samples, picked up her case and her purse, nodded to Jim, and we both left.

"So how was it, girlfriend?" she asked as soon as we were in the elevator and the door had closed. "With Bill I mean. Was he good?"

I looked at her. "You really don't know, wife?"

Tara actually flinched! My heart went out to her, but I could say nothing. "We kept to business, as I told you. Did you enjoy your blow job?"

"I didn't give him a blow job. It wasn't necessary."

That took even more wind out of her sails. "You talked him out of it? How in the world did you do that?" She looked at me with unconcealed curiosity.

"I didn't talk him out of it. I fucked him out of it." The elevator door opened, and we stepped into the main lobby.

"Oh!" she said. She seemed subdued, yet at the same time, impressed. "Is that why you're limping?"

"I'm not limping, Tara. I'm just walking very carefully with my thighs together, just as you'd advised. But you're right, we new women aren't as well broken in as you older ones. My vagina isn't as accustomed to the odd cock as you claim yours is. You'll just have to give me a little more time to get used to it."

"Oh," she said a second time. And remained silent. Which gave me great satisfaction.

By the time we recovered the car from the parking valet she'd recovered somewhat. I drove this time, heels or no heels, and she sat alongside. There was a long silence. "I still remember my first," she said conversationally. "I liked the boy, but he didn't know what he was doing, so it was very disappointing."

I refused to pick up on her hint, so she went further. "I imagine you found Bill's cock fairly respectable."

This time I couldn't resist. "Not given the disreputable place it came from when I last saw it," I said.

She burst out laughing, and her shoulders continued to wriggle delightedly as she said, "Maybe so, honey. But I know a girl who couldn't stop shrieking last night when there was a dildo moving in and out of there. Is that why you wanted to try the real thing?"

"Partly," I confessed. "Also, I was feeling bitchy. I don't like any man thinking that I'm on call. I told him that. I told him I'm the one who decides who gets fucked and who gets sucked. And I told him that if he wants either fucking or sucking he'd first have to kiss my ass."

Tara was solemn. "That could have cost us the contract," she said. "What did he say when you told him that?"

"Nothing. He kissed my ass. Then, since it was already bare and there, I told him to go ahead and fuck it. He did that too. Enthusiastically."

"And how was it, honey? Was it good for you? Did you shriek, like when I fucked your ass?"

I turned to smile at her, and at first said nothing. It had felt marvelous, Bill's hot, thick cock sliding back and forth inside me! I suppose I owed Tara for that. So finally I said, "Not quite as loud as with you. Tara. But nearly!"

And Tara actually seemed pleased. "He never noticed your own cock and balls dangling down there?"

"He wasn't looking down there. He was looking at the back of my neck. Anyhow, I covered them with my hand. I suppose he thought I was diddling my clit."

There was a long pause.

"No, he knew about your cock and balls, honey," Tara said slowly. "That's why he enjoyed you. Bill Bartram is gay. Just like Jim."

"WHAT?!" The car lurched. I stared again at her.

Tara looked at me, concerned. "Maybe you should pull over for a minute, honey?"

I did. Then I sat there breathing heavily, trying to control my rage, my confusion! What was going on? What had been going on?

When I'd calmed down I said simply, "Then Bill Bartram never would have made moves on you? Your honor was never at risk? You never did need me to go to that hotel room with you disguised as a woman?"

"True, my honor was never at risk. It was your honor that was at issue. And I did indeed need you to be there with me. That was always clear, from the very beginning."

"What beginning? Of what?" I was utterly baffled. I sat staring at her.

"Honey, it was like this. Some months ago Jim and Bill were keynote speakers at an office architecture conference, and I got to chatting with them afterward. There were rumors that Castro Enterprises intended to expand into this city, and I wanted the business. They knew my work, and they'd heard stories about how diabolically clever and effective I can be at getting difficult jobs done. So clever that they didn't believe any of the stories."

She sighed, then continued. "I told them I could prove I was clever, no problem. They said they didn't think I could manage a huge project, not without a home office, so I told them I could get one, no problem. I saw they were amused by my determination, so I opened up and flirted with them a little, and that amused them even more. After a while they explained that they'd be far more interested in my husband than in me, and then that they might be more interested in my work if I could actually make my husband available to them. Maybe it was a joke at first, but it turned serious. I told them I could do that too if it was essential, also no problem. That it wouldn't be easy, because you were not inclined in their direction, not at all. That in fact you are as straight and true to me as they come. Well, that tied it, they didn't believe that either."

"When they said so, my dander got so far up that I made a bet with them then and there, and we signed it as a binding letter of intent. Within six months I would prove that my husband is absolutely straight and also utterly faithful to me, and then I would arrange things so that knowingly, willingly, informed and consenting, he would suck or fuck each of them in turn. They didn't believe I could do it, so they signed. If I did it, they agreed, the main project would be mine. They'd believe I could do anything I claimed."

I was now stone silent. I took a deep breath, then started the car again.

"Now it's mine. Today I won the bet. Thanks to you."

"You're welcome," I said. I saw what she was saying, but I was getting confused again anyhow.

"First of all," Tara said, "they wanted evidence that you were in fact a straight stick, not a closet gay or a bisexual swinger. That took the months and months of audio tapes I made of us in bed fucking and teasing and fucking some more to convince them. For months I confessed or dropped hints to you about all sorts of sexual infidelities. It was such fun! To your face, and into your face, I brought forward lover after lover. Yet you seemed to love me all the more, and you remained staunchly faithful to me. You were so hopelessly enamoured by the idea of me fucking other men, so deliciously titillated by it, so in love with me, that it never once occurred to you that if I was unfaithful to you, you could justifiably be unfaithful to me with someone else. You made no such moves. In the end they believed me and believed in you because they thought you were simply unbelievable."

I was silent at that as I pulled back into the stream of traffic and headed across town. I couldn't just sit still. I had been heading home before. But now I didn't know where I was going.

Tara looked at me. "We need to go shopping, Pattie. Head for the Main Mall with all the upscale stores. We're going to celebrate this triumph tonight in style, so you need a gorgeous dress to wear. With all the trimmings. You also need appropriate clothes for Monday, and for the weeks to come. Baby, you need everything! You'll be the first person people see when they come to consult with me, so you'll need to impress them at the outset with our good taste. Then too, Jim is an important corporate executive, he'll want to be seen with a girl who's stylish as well as beautiful whenever you're out together. Whatever you need is chargeable to my company, so cost is no issue, that's the least we owe you." She grinned. "And even if that weren't true, I'm sure as a woman you'll understand this—there's a 70% off sale on bras at Filene's that neither of us can afford to pass up."

"I don't need any bras," I said truculently.

"Oh yes you do," Tara replied. "You're well on the way, Pattie. I started you on hormones months ago, you're well-softened up. You didn't notice that half of what's filling your C cups right now is already you? And those suppositories made it irreversible—the two you've already pushed into your pussy gave you a wonderful jump-start on the rest of your figure. And on your future. You'll want to keep using them, if only because they provide the most comfy lubricant a girl could ever ask for when a cock comes calling. Then by the time Jim moves on to his other projects, your figure will be so girlishly curvy he'll have lost all interest in you, you'll never be able to persuade him you're still a boy. No matter, because by then you'll have discovered a whole world of hunky contractors out there. And of course there's always Henri, with his magical hands, so understanding of a woman's every need. "

I kept driving, now utterly addled. Toward the mall. Now we were both silent.

"I'm afraid it's decision time, sweetheart!" Tara said suddenly. "The moment I've dreaded, but there's no use putting it off any longer! What are you now, Patrick or Patricia? Are you a much-used, much abused, credulous, tricked, feminized, maybe cuckolded wimp husband who's headed straight for a divorce from the wife he still loves and who somehow still loves him? Or on the other hand are you an equal partner in a very lucrative office design business living with the girlfriend she loves despite everything, living as the woman she finally became not an hour ago, a woman confidently in charge of her own life? Confident enough to fuck anyone she wants if he'll first kiss her ass?"

Not easy. I had to feel my way through my own feelings. What was I indeed? What did I want? Could I see where my accumulated feelings and confusions had led me? Where my desires really lay?

"You betrayed your own husband," I said resentfully. "You used me to advance a business venture."

"That's true," Tara said. "I'm ambitious. I did get carried away. I'm sorry. I couldn't resist the challenge. But it's done. And are you worse off now? Think about what you were and what you are."

The difference was obvious. My feelings and desires finally arrived where Tara had led me anyhow. No contest.

"You really did win that bet," I said to Tara. "I did do everything willingly. I'm still willing. You really are diabolically clever, girlfriend."

Tara laughed, so visibly relieved that she now seemed to sink deep into her seat. "No," she said. "It's just that men are easily fooled, that's all. They want us so badly we can do anything to them!"

"Not true, Tara," I replied. They love us so madly we can do anything to them. But that doesn't make it right."

Tara was silent at that. Then, "You'll love our life together, Pattie," she whispered in a low voice. "I promise you. Because we do love each other! From now on, you be my conscience, and I'll always listen. Almost always."

"Yes," I said. And there were tears in my eyes.

I waited a moment, and then decided to take advantage of our new intimacy woman to woman to settle the one question that had teased me from the beginning. "Tara, about all those men of yours. The hunky contractors and so on? Were they ever real? Any of them? Are they? Were your husband's fears ever justified? Or his desires?"

"I told him about them every night for months," Tara replied. "I acted out my fucking them, and he acted out sucking their semen out of me. It got him accustomed to sexual humiliation and it weakened his grip on his own masculinity. Eventually he started acting out the submissive femininity he needed to help me win the Castro contract, and he enjoyed that well enough. But you know what? I don't think he ever really believed me. My infidelities made such wickedly attractive fantasies, he was so much in love with the idea that I was fucking other men, that he always decided I was only teasing him."

"Well, weren't you?"

"Why of course I was, honey!"

Before I could ask her what that meant we arrived at the Mall, and Tara and I together began to live the rest of our lives.

 

END

© 2004 by Vickie Tern. May be copied freely to any free archives—but please let me know ( VickieTern@aol.com ).

  

  

  

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