A Time To Marry

by Dave Hicks

  

1

  

I live with my mother, grandmother and older sister, Sandra. So far, I've remained unmarried. Any one to marry me would have to be pretty exceptional to satisfy my mother's standards for her only son. Living at home suits me fine - most of the time. My mother doesn't seem to be in any hurry for me to get married anyway but she knows I have to sometime – it's the law.

Sandra has a boyfriend, named Tony. He isn't very smart, has a sarcastic disposition and ugly as sin. He's aggressive and has the table manners of a pig. I think he's an egotistical, loud-mouthed idiot – and just about everything else that gives men a bad name.

When the number of women in the world far out numbers males, Sandra knows she can't afford to be too selective. Like all males, until I get married, I stay under the control of my mother. Tony's mother lets him do whatever he wishes. He's not aware Sandra's and my mother have been gradually imprinting him over the last few months, to get him to marry Sandra. I'm not about to tell him what's happening - they'd both make my life a misery if I did a thing like that. Most of the time he talks a load of shit. Good luck to Sandra, I say. It's what happens when your mother doesn't take good care of you – some women's bound to get you eventually. Once Sandra and Tony are married, she'll probably feminize him immediately anyway, that's what happens in a lot of cases.

My mother's name is Catherine. She has a particularly large bosom, even for a woman her age and she's won many prizes over the years, for her magnificent breasts. My grandmother was national champion on two occasions when she was young. My sister has really fine breasts too – they made sure of that - but until she's had children of her own, she won't be able to compete successfully with older women. Sandra's done rather well within her own age group, having already taken out one junior state title. Grandma says proudly that her mother was quite famous from her bosom, in her time.

I think big breasts must run in my family. My mother laughed once when I asked her about it and said; it doesn't hurt to give nature a helping hand, at times. I'm not quite sure what she meant by that, but I can guess.

Most evenings, Tony has dinner with us. Personally, I think it's because he's too lazy to cook for himself, but I keep my opinions to myself – most of the time. My mother's a very good cook and my grandmother prides herself on doing the sweets. All three women seem to make a big fuss over him. I enjoy eating solid food but I have to be careful how I behave at meal times or my mother will put me back on the breast again. She's done it often enough in the past. Somehow, I suspect she prefers it that way. Grandma enjoys feeding me. I am very fond of Grandma and I don't mind doing it for her, when she asks me to.

I never had a father – very few people do these days. Although I do remember Grandpa vaguely, when I was a kid. He was a pretty quiet sort of man, who spent most of his time in the garden shed brewing and drinking beer. I do remember he once told me that women could never be completely trusted. I don't think he was very well at the time. I suspect he had some form of neuron degenerative disease. Grandma used to look after him all the time. He seemed to become easily confused. I know Grandma had to remind him to do various things all the time. She was always very patient with him. I don't remember him being a particularly happy person but when you're a kid you usually get the story wrong. Grandma doesn't talk about him much, except to say he was a good husband. My mother says he was a wonderful and loving father.

 

2

 

One of the married men at the hospital where I work was feminized recently. He - now a she – seems to be happy enough about it. But with the availability of imprinting these days, he could've easily have been programmed to think that way. I was glad she'd decided to keep working. She's a good theater sister and I need all the good staff I can get.

"What's it like – being a woman?" I asked her, as we had coffee in the hospital kiosk, between operations. "I hope you don't mind me asking, but we've known each other a fair time."

"It's very different," she smiled.

"I can imagine," I remarked, shaking my head.

"Don't look so worried," she laughed. "It really is okay. I like being a woman and my wife is very happy about it too."

"What about your sex life?"

"Very good," she smiled. "Being a woman does give you a very different perspective. Let's hope men never find out how good it is for us or they'll all want to change."

"If it's that good, I guess they would," I commented pensively.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to leave nursing," she informed me. "I know we do important work and my wife is quite happy to let me continue."

"That's good news," I smiled. "I get on better with you than anyone else in the hospital. And I don't want to loose someone with your skills and ability. I rely on you too much for that. Good nurses are always hard to find."

"That's very sweet of you to say so, David," she smiled, a little coyly.

"I could never tell you that, when you were a man," I laughed. "It wouldn't seem to come out right - unless we'd both been drinking for a few hours."

"Thank you, David. I do appreciate what you're saying," she remarked. "You've reinforced my belief, I was doing the correct thing - to stay working."

I thought for a moment.

"Can I ask you a question?" I smiled.

"You just have," she grinned.

"Do they get in the way?" I asked, pointing to her breasts.

"Sure they do," she laughed. "Are you thinking of getting a pair of your own?"

"And you don't mind having them?"

"Why should I?"

"I don't know," I had to admit. "It was just a thought."

She laughed good-naturedly but didn't reply.

 

3

 

One evening Tony was bragging again about how important he felt his job was.

"You deliver the mail," I told him, unable to control my temper any longer. "You work in the basement of an office building. Stuffing mailboxes doesn't require any real skill."

"What makes you think your job's any better?" he asked sarcastically. "You think you're so important around here. You're just a doctor. A machine does most of your work anyway. Anyone could be one these days."

"I had to study hard for seven years to do what I do," I replied, becoming a little heated. "Somehow, I rather hope I get you on my operating table one day."

"David," my mother said kindly but firmly. "Why don't you go to your bedroom and cool down. I'll talk to you later."

"Ha," laughed Tony. "David is being sent to his room, like a naughty little boy."

I was about to say something hurtful to him in response, but out of the corner of my eye, I saw my mother slowly shake her head. Reluctantly, I did as she asked.

"Don't say a word, David," my grandmother warned.

 

4

 

I sat on my bed, allowing my anger to gradually subside, when Grandma entered the room and sat on the bed next to me. She put her arm around my shoulders and pulled me towards her.

"Are you feeling a little calmer now, David?" she asked, with an encouraging smile.

"He's just so full of shit, Grandma," I told her. "Surely Sandra can do better than that for a husband - anyone could."

"Yes," she laughed. "He certainly is a fool."

"I'm bloody sick of him," I confided. "He's just a narrow minded parasite."

She waited for a few moments.

"Catherine had to send you away, you know," she remarked.

"I guess so," I answered. "I'm sure she had her reasons. What were they?"

"We're hoping to persuade Tony to marry Sandra tonight," she explained. "We didn't want you upsetting him at this point and ruining our plans. We've worked too long on this - to risk you messing it up."

I nodded thoughtfully.

"Tell me what was Grandpa like?" I asked her.

"He was a lovely man," she smiled, a little wistfully. "We loved each other. I was extremely fortunate to marry him. He became very ill in the last years. I don't suppose you remember him. You were very young when he died."

"I do remember him," I said. "Just a little. He carved me a wooden boat once, with his penknife. I've still got it. He used to spend his time in the garden shed drinking beer."

"Yes," she nodded, with a smile. "He did that more and more towards the end. I saw no real harm in it and it did keep him occupied."

"Why did he drink?"

"I know he was very disappointed that no one married your mother," she explained. "He was overjoyed when you were allocated to her – even thought she wasn't married. He loved both you and Sandra – as we all do."

"Thanks, Grandma," I said, giving her a hug. "I hope I didn't upset you, asking all those questions."

"No, David," she smiled. "I have many very good memories of your grandfather. You're a little like him, in many ways."

 

5

 

An hour later, my mother came to my room. She embraced me and sat on the bed.

"How's it going with Tony?" I asked her.

"All done," she grinned. "He and Sandra are married."

"Poor Sandra," I remarked. "Surely Sandra could've done a little better than that for a partner?"

"Yes," she nodded sadly. "But we wouldn't want two spinsters in the family – would we? We can change him now – to make him a little more acceptable."

"Will you fully feminize him?" I asked.

"Yes," my mother nodded. "As soon as possible – within the next few days. It's not something we normally do to our partners in our family, but in this case, there doesn't seem to be much choice. We don't want him continuing the way he is."

"What will he look like?" I inquired.

"Sandra will make him rather plain looking, I imagine," my mother answered. "She has no real feelings of affection for him."

"Will you get it done at my hospital?"

"That's something I wanted to asked you about," she replied. "Do you mind having Tony feminized where you work? It is the best place. It won't cause any problems for you, will it?"

"Not at all," I smiled. "I might even end up being the one to do it. That certainly would be ironic, wouldn't it?"

"Yes," she laughed. "It definitely would be."

As it happened, a fellow doctor performed the procedure. It was probably just as well.

 

6

 

A few days later, I returned home from work to be greeted at the front door by a rather thin, plain looking, young woman in a loose, pink, shapeless dress.

"Welcome, David," she said, in a flat voice, taking my coat from me.

"Hello," I said in return. "What's your name?"

"Annette," she replied flatly, as she turned away from me.

A little mystified, I went to the kitchen to make myself a cup of coffee. My mother was there, preparing the evening meal.

"Is that Tony?" I asked.

My mother gazed at me patiently, waiting for me to answer my own question. Suddenly, the answer struck me.

"That is Tony," I decided. "You were right about him ending up homely looking. Is he going to be the maid – or something?"

She nodded noncommittally and smiled.

"He doesn't seem too happy about it," I continued. "Although, I don't imagine he's good for much else."

"Sit down and I'll get you a cup of coffee," she smiled.

I sat at the kitchen table.

"A letter came for you this morning, while you were at work," she informed me with concern, placing the cup on the table."

She sat opposite me.

"Who is it from?" I asked.

She reached into the pocket of her apron and handed me the letter. I opened it and read the single sheet inside for a few seconds.

"It's a demand to marry," I told her. "I've got thirty days."

She nodded but didn't reply.

"What do I do, Mom?" I asked.

"You'll have to marry someone, David," she said. "It's the law."

"I guess it had to come sometime," I nodded resignedly.

She gazed at me for several moments.

"Do you know anyone you like?" she asked.

"There's plenty of women I like," I answered her. "But certainly none I'd want to be married to."

"There's Nancy," she suggested. "She a nice young woman. And she does have a reasonable bosom."

"And a proportionally small brain to go with it," I replied. "I don't want to spend the rest of my life being told what to do by someone who has difficulty understanding the internal working of a common house brick."

"Is there anyone at work you like?"

"I guess there is," I answered. "Some of them are okay, but none of them I could ever fall in love with. The woman I like most is my theatre sister, who used to be a man."

"Oh."

"Can you think of anyone?" I asked her.

"I'd much rather the choice be yours."

"Well, Mom," I smiled encouragingly. "I've got thirty days to think about it."

"Yes, David," she responded.

 

7

 

"Grandma," I said, as I entered the lounge room, carrying my coffee from the kitchen.

She looked up from her sewing and smiled. I sat in a chair beside her.

"Hello, David," she greeted me. "Did you have a nice day?"

"I did until I got home and read a letter for me,"

She nodded

"I've got received a letter, telling me I have to marry," I informed her.

"Yes," she answered. "Your mother guessed that's what it would be."

"What do I do? I don't like anyone."

"It's simple," she laughed. "Become my son-in-law."

I thought for a moment.

"You mean marry my mother?" I asked.

"Sure," she smiled. "Who else can you trust? Catherine's now the only woman in our family who never married. That used to upset your grandfather so much, at times. He loved Catherine dearly. However, you could remedy all that."

"But I'm her son, Grandma," I told her. "We're related."

"Not by blood," she remarked. "She could easily disown you and marry you at the same time. It's been done before."

"Could she? Would she?"

"Of course she could and would," my grandmother replied. "All you have to do - is agree to it. She'd never disown you, if she thought she'd loose you. However, you'd better be sure that's what you want. Give it a lot of thought, before you decide."

I stared at her but didn't answer.

"Think about it, David," she smiled, picking up her sewing again.

 

8

 

"I've been a pretty rotten son," I said jokingly to my mother, as we sat in the lounge that evening after dinner.

"The worst son a mother ever could have," my mother agreed.

"I don't know how you've put up with me for so long." I added.

"Yes," she agreed. "I've the patience of a saint. There's no doubt about that."

"And you forgot her birthday, four years ago," Sandra mentioned.

"I happen to know," Grandma added, "that you didn't like eating cabbage when you were younger."

"That's right," said Sandra. "I remember that. He threw it on the floor."

"I was only four at the time," I replied, defending myself. "You have to make allowances."

"Yes," Sandra grinned. "But it does indicate the sort of horrible person you were going to grow up to be – doesn't it?"

"I guess so," I nodded sadly. "Maybe Mom should disown me. No mother should have to put up with a son like that – should they?"

"Or a younger brother like that, either," Sandra added.

I turned to my mother.

"What do you think, Mom?" I asked her.

"A mother will forgive her child anything, David," she responded. "That's what mothers always do. It's a fine print clause in the devoted mother's contract."

"Grandma," I inquired. "What do you think?"

"I think the sooner you get married the better," she advised. "Perhaps then you'll see the error of your ways and give your poor suffering mother a break from you."

"I agree," I decided. "That's what I'm going to do."

"What?" asked Sandra.

"Get married," I told her.

"To who?" Sandra inquired.

"To her," I said, pointing to my mother. "She's got a bigger bosom than you have, for a start."

"You leave my breasts out of it," she said indignantly. "Bosoms aren't everything you know. Anyway, I'm already married."

"Women with flat chests always say that," I responded, with a laugh.

"I haven't got a flat chest," Sandra insisted, turning to her mother. "Have I Mom?"

"No, darling," my mother smiled patiently. "You've got a lovely chest."

"See," Sandra said, poking her tongue out at me.

 

9

 

"Are you sure," my mother asked me later, as we sat on my bed together. "I'm quite a few years older than you."

"Yes," I said taking her hand. "I'm sure."

"You'll have to learn to call me Catherine," she smiled. "You wont' be able to go on calling me Mom, if you do."

"I think I could handle that - with practice."

She kissed me on the cheek.

"Can I have a pair of breasts too?" I asked her.

"Would you like to?" she asked, a little surprised by my request.

"I think so," I nodded. "Everyone else seems to have them. Even my sister Sandra's husband has a pair. I'm beginning to feel like the odd one out. I'm told having them is quite nice."

"I suppose you could," she agreed. "That's if you really want them. After all, they do tend to run in the family. I think you'd look rather attractive."

"Good," I said, giving her a hug. "But I don't want to be feminized though."

"Don't worry, David," she smiled. "I definitely won't be feminizing you. I like you just the way you are. Anyway, Grandpa would rise out of his grave if I did. He didn't agree with that sort of thing."

"But breasts would be nice."

"Yes, dear. I'm sure they would be."

  

  

  

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