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{VickieTern} NEW TG:New Hairdo 1/3 femdom F/m m/M F/M
Though people in this story mean well, or claim they mean well,
they do things you may think ought not to be done. So please
protect the underaged from reading about them. If you are underaged,
please protect yourself.
New Hairdo
by Vickie Tern
I know I looked especially nice as the Maitre d' seated us. I was
wearing my black sleeveless shift with silver-threaded tracery, the
one that glides past just a suggestion of my hips and flows to a
flirty hem just above my knees. Simple silver jewelry, including
the drop earrings April gave me for my last birthday. Elegant,
restrained, perfect. I felt the quiet pride any girl feels who's
confident she looks her best.
On top of it all my brand new hairstyle. You know what they say,
change your hairdo and change your life. Well, I liked my life,
but even so, April had asked Joanne to cut it a lot shorter, so
Joanne had shaped it radically in back and then fluffed it up into
a cute flip. She'd promised me it would be a lot easier to care
for than my old big-haired, down-to-the-shoulders layered cut. I'd
never again need to set my hair with rollers when I want people to
notice me, she'd said. Just blow-dry and go, and when you think of
it, comb it with your fingers. It was the kind of cut women favor
after their second or third baby, when their families demand all
their time and they can't fuss, women who nevertheless want to look
devastatingly feminine. And she'd given me bangs. I'd never
before worn bangs, but they made my face smaller, more pixieish.
Joanne told me my new look was fabulous. I wasn't so sure at
first, turning my head from side to side in her salon mirror. It
didn't seem to be me at all, but someone more pert and capable,
cute but with her own mind, an independent woman with her own
goals.
It was all rather sudden. April had called my office only a few
hours earlier and told me Joanne had just found an opening in her
schedule, and I should leave work early and stop by her salon to
get the sassy new hairstyling she'd wanted for me. "Then go home
and make yourself beautiful, sweetie," she'd told me, "so I can
admire the whole new you. When I get home I'll change too and
we'll have an intimate little candlelight supper at Le Cirque. So
change to something dressy. I've made the reservations already.
I'm dying to see how you'll look. Also, I have something wonderful
to tell you."
I'd had to push a lot of appointments into next week to get to
Joanne's in time for my appointment and then get home and get
ready. I was thinking that whatever April had on her mind, it
better be worth it. In fact I was still figuring out how to handle
next week's schedule when April arrived home, called for an
immediate display of the new me, told me I was gorgeous, and then
told me to grab my purse, we had to leave for the restaurant right
away.
It was still early, the last traces of sunset visible behind the
bank tower when I gave the car to the valet parking attendant and
smiled at him to encourage him to be careful with it. He smiled
back. I still hadn't gotten used to the notion that young men are
eager to please any woman who looks well turned out. They're so
impressionable. And the night was still young. I wondered what
April had in mind for us afterward. She'd been getting me
accustomed to flirting with men lately, taking me to bars with
small combos playing dance music, showing me how to accept
invitations from men and then laugh and accept their flattery while
I danced in their arms, April watching us from our booth and
sipping her one drink. She wanted me to feel comfortable with
them, she said, though she herself always refused invitations when
asked. She just didn't feel sociable, she'd say. But we'd giggle
delightedly enough afterward, when I'd tell her what seductive line
this man or that man had tried on me, and she gave me even more
pointers about fending them off and yet still seeming attractive to
them. It was harmless entertainment for both of us. She called it
my "finishing school."
I forgot about work when we entered Le Cirque's exquisite little
waiting area, off the rather grand lobby of the our best hotel An
hour's pampering at the beauty salon is supposed to be restorative,
I know, but my mind had been so busy with rescheduling that I
hadn't even bothered to watch as Joanne sculpted my new style, nor
had I listened to her chatter about it, "coy but not too innocent,
you'll see" I think she said. Nor had I heard anything at all
about who'd gotten divorced or seduced since my last visit. I
glanced again at April while we waited for the Maitre d' to find
her name on his list. She was looking straight ahead with a
strange look on her face, solemn yet exultant, like a cat preparing
to pay a condolence call on a canary.
Her mind was partly elsewhere, but she tried to seem attentive now
and then. "That's a new design for your eye make-up too, isn't it,
honey?" she asked. "That wide-eyed, little girl look? It does
look fetching with your new hairdo. Contrasty. Joanne's idea?"
"No, mine," I told her. "I thought with my new hair style I should
change everything else too. Become altogether a new woman." I
flourished both hands with a little wrist flip, to signal a display
completed and waiting for applause.
"Yes, I suppose," April replied. I wasn't sure she'd heard me.
Then, "Yes, that's what I had in mind for you too, dear."
We were seated at an intimate little corner table, knees tucked
under snowy tablecloths, napkins decorously draped on our laps,
leaning toward each other, fingernails and silverware gleaming, our
dinners ordered and our second cocktails just arrived, when April
finally dropped her bomb.
"Comfy?" she asked?
"Yes, of course, honey. Why do you ask?"
"Because I'd like you to be. I'm about to say something to you you
won't like, but I have to say it, and I don't want you to feel any
needless discomfort."
She used words like "discomfort" to her patients when she knew the
surgical procedures she was about to perform were painful. The
word helped to minimize their suffering in her own mind.
"Out with it!" That's what I'd say to clients when they waffled
about something they didn't quite want to tell me. It sounds
abrupt, but it shocks them into talking and saves time. I suppose
April's professional language prompted me to reply in kind. She
once told me that no woman would ever be that inconsiderate. A
woman would always let a person say whatever needs saying in
whatever time he or she -- usually she -- needs to say it. It's
only men who are more direct. Dressed the way I was, looking the
way I knew I looked, I knew immediately that the statement was rude
and regretted it. April meant to be kind.
"I'm sorry, April," I apologized, patting my lips with my napkin,
thinking vaguely that I should have had Joanne re-do my nails for
tonight, to use color rather than the clear polish I wore weekdays
at the office. My mind still wasn't fully concentrated.
"Don't be, for once. What I have to say is also harsh."
"Must you say it, then?"
"Yes."
I waited.
"Les, this will come as a shock to you. I know you've done
everything you could to please me. Gone along with my every whim.
So please understand that this isn't your fault. It isn't
anybody's fault, I suppose. It's just the way it is."
"The way what is?"
I began to feel uneasy. She'd called me "Les." When I'm dressed
and made up to look nice she always calls me "Leslie" or "darling
girl," so I'll feel relaxed and reassured. But this was "Les."
The name people called me at the office. My business identity. My
male name. She hadn't used "Les" in a long time, several years,
not since I'd agreed to live at home with her as a woman, not a
man. To be a woman everywhere except my office.
"Les, I'm divorcing you. I've already started the proceedings.
You'll get your formal notice in another day or two."
"What!!"
She sat silent now. It was said. She watched my eyes, done up in
that brand new baby-stare look. She knew how to look through them
and read my real feelings. She also knew my "What!!" was filler,
a stall for time while I felt for a suitable response. Of course
I'd heard her.
She also knew I knew that whenever she reached a point of decision,
further argument was useless. That decisiveness was what made her
a superb surgeon, one of her colleagues had once told me. She'd
first consider every contingency, then decide what to do, and then
do it and never look back!
"Why? Why, April?" My heart sank down deep into my gut. My
tummy, I corrected myself. I could scarcely breathe!
"Why, Leslie? Why? My dear, just look at you!"
I was bewildered. "Look at what?" I asked. She glanced around,
and I realized I'd better lower my voice. That that was why she'd
chosen this place, this time, to tell me. "Look at what, April?"
I repeated, in a softer, more appropriate tone. "I'm beautiful.
You said so yourself just now, with my new hairdo and all. And I
am, I can feel it! I'm what you've wanted me to be!" She didn't
respond. "April honey," I added, as if to attract her attention.
I realized I was beginning to plead, and that pleading was
pointless.
"That's true, Leslie. And that's the problem. You're no longer a
man!" She spoke as if to a child, explaining the obvious. "I
married a man, and you're now something else. So it's time we went
our separate ways."
"I'm what you made me!" A desperate cry, also a little indignant.
"You remember? Arguing and urging and pleading for me to consent
to this almost as soon as we were married? For how long, over a
year it was, until I agreed to the first step, I still remember it,
lacy panties and clear lipstick, that was all you wanted, that I
wear them until they were second nature! Then a bra, just to feel
what that was like. Then hormones to help fill it out. Always,
with each new step you were so happy, how could I deny you the
next? And for the past two years living with you as a woman full
time, exactly what you wanted all along, in a neighborhood where
none of our neighbors think I'm anything else! So I'm a man now
only at the office. Otherwise I'm what you've always wanted!
You've said so hundreds of times!"
"Well, yes, Les, sweet Leslie, but you're wrong about one thing.
You're no longer a man even at your office. No more than when
you're in bed with me. You haven't been for at least a year. Your
secretaries all know about you. They're only waiting for you to
say it, to tell them you're now a woman, not a man, so they can
congratulate you and welcome you as one of their own kind, one of
the girls, even if you are their boss."
That was crushing news! "But how could they know?" I asked her,
subdued. "I've been so careful! You told them?"
"You know I'd never do that! It wasn't necessary to do that!
There's no mystery -- just look at yourself! Your jaw and your
nose trimmed by surgery to look diminutive, dainty! Your eyebrows
raised, and your lips puffed just a bit. Even without make-up you
look adorable. No hair anywhere apart from what was heaped up on
your head until today. Your chest thrust way out -- you can't hide
breasts as large as yours, you know. When your men's shirts pulled
and strained I had to put you into women's shirts cut for a woman's
figure. Did you think no one would notice those Peter Pan collars,
and darts, and gores, let alone the flaps that button the wrong
way? Or the lacy tracery of your bras and slips under the shirt
material?"
She leaned forward. "Especially your hairdo, that bouffant look
you wore until today, the one you fancied when we first decided to
go out in public? No, I'll be honest, I fancied it for you then.
That was a dead giveaway. Do men put their hair up in large
rollers every morning, then come in with it combed and curled and
spritzed up to form an alluring halo framing their faces?
Unmistakeable, honey!"
"And the way you move now? Not that you swish, nothing so vulgar.
But so neatly! So daintily! Always so ladylike! The way you
drape your wrists when you're comfortable, or wave them in the air
when you think you're you're being persuasive, forgetting
altogether that your hands and nails now look more slender and
attractive than any man's hands and nails ever could!"
"Then you yourself decided that a touch of eyeliner at work would
make your eyes seem more dramatic, remember, and you had to pencil
in your eyebrows when you tweezed away too many hairs! And above
all, when you decided you'd wear seed pearls or large danglers in
your earlobes instead of small hoops, the kind men with pierced
ears wear? In both earlobes? I didn't want to say anything when
you lost perspective and began doing those things, but you did want
to, and by then there was no mistaking what you'd become anyhow.
Whatever did you think people would think?"
She sat back again, her expression incredulous as she saw that it
was all news to me!
"I just wanted to look nice," I said lamely. Then, "April, has
anyone ever mentioned any of this to you?"
"Of course. Your secretary was concerned. She told me everyone at
the office was concerned, because they all care about you. You're
a very nice man. Or you once were, she said, but now you're more
a very nice lady. I told her not to worry, that you'd explain
yourself to everyone in your own good time."
This was distressing. Also a little bit liberating. It was
sometimes stressful, trying to maintain a normal appearance at the
office. To no avail apparently.
"Do you think my clients know?" I asked, worried?
"Of course, honey. Your secretary told me the new ones all assume
you're a woman. A little butch, with your voice, but they figure
the woman you live with likes it. That I like it."
There was nothing more to say about that. April sighed and
returned to her core revelation.
"I'm really sorry, Leslie sweetheart. I truly am. But the fact
is, I no longer want to be married to a woman. I did want to, but
not any more. So I'm leaving you. Tonight, as a matter of fact.
When we're finished here, we'll leave here separately. You'll go
home, and I've made other arrangements."
This was utterly stunning! April had been my life for five years!
Longer! We were always together, every spare moment, nearly.
Especially as I became her "dearest girlfriend." We shared so many
more interests than most married couples. Shopping, styles,
getting our nails done, theater, gossiping about people at work,
everything! And now, soon, nothing?
I sat there with my wrists still draped. I wondered what I might
conceivably say to change her mind, but I was sinking deeper and
deeper into depression. I knew there was nothing to say. But at
least I could try to understand it. What had gone so terribly
wrong?
At that moment the waiter brought our appetizers. Crab salad for
April -- she loved sea food. Just a small chicory salad for me, no
dressing. As always I was concerned to maintain a girlish figure.
I'd fought to get down to a size twelve from my original eighteen,
and as I got more svelte April had given away my old clothing, to
box me in so there'd be no letting down or turning back.
Thw waiter looked at me. I must have looked just terrible, because
he asked, concerned, "Is something wrong, ma'am? Can I help you in
some way?"
That broke my spiral downward. I forced a smile and looked up at
him. "No, dear, thank you, I'll be just fine! It's nice of you to
ask, though." He left, reluctantly.
"See?" April commented, a little amused by the exchange. "Spoken
like a true woman. Gentle and considerate. You'll do just fine
without me, honey."
"I'm the way I am!" I said. My voice tightened, a little angry,
though I tried to keep it low. "I'm what you wanted! The way you
made me! In all these years, yours! Absolutely faithful to you!"
"I know, dear. You're what I wanted. You indulged me, and worked
very hard to achieve it, and gave up so much, and I'll always be
grateful. You'll always be my dream girl!"
"But if I'm now what you wanted, why don't you want me?" Near
despair, but still in my hushed, ladylike voice.
"That's a good question," April replied. She tasted her crab
salad, then set the fork down and again looked gently but very
firmly at me. "It's difficult to explain. Understand, sweetheart,
I still do want you the way you are, as a friend. A good friend.
My dearest friend. You're a far more fascinating woman than you
were a man. And I think you're much happier now too. More serene
and relaxed, even more playful." She smiled. "Certainly
prettier." She smiled at me this time, inviting my assent. "And
you know you love making yourself pretty! So I really don't have
any regrets, leaving you now, and I don't think you should either."
She settled back and looked serious again. "You see, honey, I've
changed my mind about what I want from a marriage. That's the
nearest explanation I can come up with. You were a wonderful man
for agreeing to become my even more wonderful best girlfriend
instead of merely my husband. You've been wonderful about all of
it. But lately I've been thinking that there's something missing
from my life. Male companionship. Being with a guy, living with
the decisiveness, even the feistiness of a guy. Anticipating his
moves, primping before a date so he'll find me attractive, special.
Flirting with him, so there's no doubt in his mind at all that I
also find him attractive, that I may have something in mind later
for the two of us."
She smiled to herself, and took another bite of crab. "And then
there's that part too. What happens later. Feeling his strength
embrace me even while it pushes deep into me. I miss that too!
More and more, lately!"
"April, we discussed that! Years ago now! When you started my
hormones, those heavy doses you told me would grow titties in no
time, but probably weaken my erections, and they did, and it did!
When I couldn't penetrate you any more you remember you told me not
to give it another thought, you preferred sex the way women have
sex together. And you made such passionate love to my new body,
kissing my nipples and rolling my breasts around in your hands. I
was in heaven, but so were you! I remember how delighted you were
that I'd responded so 'generously' you called it, that I'd gone to
a C-cup inside of a year, and it was all me!"
She nibbled at her crab, and said nothing.
"How many times did you tell me you much preferred me kissing and
licking you down there, so very sweetly you said, while your
orgasms rose slowly, and exquisite feelings rose with them, and
then finally overwhelmed you! You loved it that I couldn't invade
you, that there was no threat of thrusting to ruin the mood. You
said that so often!"
I paused. April said nothing. She just looked at me
sympathetically, and took another forkful and chewed it slowly.
Obviously she knew I had to vent, and she was allowing me to vent.
All I was doing was venting. There was nothing she intended to do.
There was nothing to be done.
I noticed that her lips were closed, as always when she chewed,
except when she opened them to take in a teeny bite with a flash of
teeny white teeth. I saw that her lips were made up perfectly, and
with a stray thought I hoped mine were too. Lately I'd wanted to
look more and more like April, and she'd encouraged it. Suave,
poised, a woman with a mind of her own. Since I could no longer
look like me, except at the office, I'd thought. But no,
apparently not even there.
"I learned how to make love to you those other ways," I went on,
knowing that I was only reciting history, not arguing with any hope
of persuading her. "Your ways. You said my face between your legs
was heaven, that my tongue was magic when it was inside you. That
you could never get enough of me down there. That's why I still
sleep that way most of the time, with my head between your legs!
I love feeling the strength of your thighs on my shoulders, and
breathing close to the smell of your pussy."
"That's true," was all she said. "And I still can't get enough of
your tongue. But it's no longer enough, Leslie. I know that this
isn't fair to you, that you've done everything I've asked you to
do, that you don't deserve this, and so on. I began by saying
that, didn't I? Right from the outset? So now I won't repeat
myself, and it's no use your repeating it. The loving we've shared
has been beautiful, memorable, sublime. But it's no longer enough.
I now want a real man who can take care of a real woman's needs."
She hesitated, then came out with it. "You're neither. You're
neither a man nor a woman. Not any more. Not yet."
I sat quietly. The waiter came again and glanced at me while
taking away our appetizer plates. I hadn't touched my salad.
"April," I said gravely.
"Yes, Leslie," she replied.
Was her tone now a touch mocking? She'd known all along that I had
to arrive at my next question. She stalled it, maybe for her own
amusement.
"Or 'Les', if you prefer," she went on. "But you're not much of a
'Les' any more, are you. Even back then, you were less of a 'Les"
than you thought you were." She smiled at her accidental pun, then
smiled to console me. "I think you kind of like what I've done to
you. You didn't at first, I grant you. But now? Don't you?
Don't tell me you don't!"
I ignored that question. It disturbed me, because she wasn't
wrong. But I had to know. I tried to be indirect, at first.
"April," I said. "How do you know you'd rather be with a real man
than with another woman." I paused. "A woman like me, I mean."
She looked seriously at me again, indulgent but no way apologetic.
Her banter had failed to distract. So she began the preliminaries
of an answer.
"I don't want to hurt you any more than is necessary, Leslie.
You're my dearest girlfriend, and I love you. We've shared so many
desires and secrets. I've wanted to share this with you for so
long. It's the kind of thing real girlfriends share all the time.
But I just couldn't. Not because it's wrong. Not because I
thought you wouldn't understand, or that you might take it the
wrong way. My best girlfriend would be happy for me, I knew that.
But my husband would not be happy, not at all. Not Les! He'd be
terribly jealous, and he'd feel so inadequate, he'd feel like such
a failure. And then I'd feel sorry for him, poor man, I just know
it. What little there is left of him, I mean. And where's the
point of that?"
"Tell me," I said. I took a deep breath. She was stalling. Then
on impulse I took up my purse, and opened it, and took out my
compact and lipstick, and looked at my reflection. My face was
smooth, nearly inexpressive. No need to touch up anything, not
even my lipstick. Perfect. I replaced all that female
paraphernalia and snapped my purse shut and smiled
conspiratorially. "I'm your best girlfriend, honey. You can tell
me!"
It worked! After a moment April leaned back relaxed and asked me
playfully, "How does a woman know she'd rather make love with a man
than with another woman? You answer that for me, Leslie love!"
"We learn by doing," I said rather vaguely. I didn't want to put
words into her mouth.
"Exactly!" April said. She propped her elbows on the table, and
her chin on her hands, and she looked at me mischievously. Her
eyes were dancing. Maybe also gleaming. "Leslie honey, it's been
wonderful! Really marvelous! You'll be so happy for me when I
tell you! I'm so glad I can tell someone, finally!"
Just then the waiter brought us our main courses. Curry for her,
and a small roulade for me. My figure, you know. I sat very
still, hoping her new mood wouldn't be dispelled.
It wasn't. I took a small bite, and as she did the same, I forced
another smile. "Tell me, honey," I said. "How you met, what he's
like, what you two do, how you feel about it, everything." I
leaned forward as if eager for her to dish the dirt. I noticed
irrelevantly that her hairdo was a lot like mine. My new one.
Curlier, because her hair was naturally curly. But I knew I could
get the same effect with a tighter perm. "This is so exciting," I
tried to add. But only a squeak came out.
April hesitated only a moment, then spoke. "His name is Scott. He
came to the hospital about a year ago, and we began talking almost
immediately about revising our surgical procedures with children --
he's a pediatrician. His idea was, gather them all together in a
big room and throw them a big party, then the next day do as many
as possible all at once. So they could be miserable together and
then gradually get well together. And keep each other cheerful
when their parents couldn't visit them. It was such an imaginative
plan, so considerate, so very sweet. But that's how he is."
I cocked one eye at her. My arched eyebrow went way up.
"No, I don't suppose you want to know that sort of thing. Well, we
got on beautifully from day one. We'd smile at each other at staff
meetings, and we began to have lunch together. After a while he
started telling me things. Personal things. We began to feel a
certain ... attraction. But we never touched each other. Other
people thought we had a thing going and made jokes about it, but we
didn't. Not then."
"Is he married?" I asked. For some reason I wanted to remind her
of our solemn estate, not to be entered or left lightly.
She looked pensive. "He had been. His wife died shortly after
giving birth, if you can imagine such a thing in this day and age.
A combination of things, including AIDS. Their baby was stillborn
and she died two days later. He was devastated."
"I can imagine," I said, to break into her silence.
"No you can't. He'd cared for her devotedly. No man more
attentive or tender. He'd known that her pregnancy could be
dangerous, so he'd tried to deny himself the "consolations of her
body" he called it, except for a very few times when she'd begged
him for it, seduced him shamelessly, really. Then those times he
took every conceivable precaution. It was just as well, since she
was HIV positive and she hadn't told him."
"Well, she got pregnant anyhow, and refused to abort. 'This is a
love child,' she told him. 'And you're its legal father, so I want
to bear it and to see you raise it.'"
"So?" I asked. I'd heard of worse marriages, if more fortunate
ones.
"You don't understand, sweetie, any more than he did then. A 'love
child' is a child out of wedlock. Someone else was the father.
After her death he found out there was no knowing who. It'd hard to
believe it, in fact the whole story sounds incredible, but
it seems that his wife had been unfaithful for years, sexually
insatiable. And he was so trusting, he hadn't a clue. All
day long while he was at work there had been a parade of lovers
passing through their apartment and into her bed. Gobs of their
semen overflowed her snatch, and she never bothered even
to blot, their maid said afterward. She took no precautions at all.
Then when the afternoon household help came on duty, her first task
was to run a bath so Scott's wife could soak off the sweat and cum
and saliva, and douche herself while the maid mopped
up the mess and changed the soaked bed and got the
sticky linens out of the apartment so Scott would never know.
Scott's wife could take on a half dozen men daily, he found out.
And did. Long before her pregnancy, and all through it."
"Anyhow, between the mother's marginal physical condition and all
those dickheads knocking on her door that baby never stood a
chance! When his wife found out the baby was dead she told Scott
it was no big deal, it wasn't his anyhow. That she'd never loved
him. That she'd married him only because she'd tried everything
else, and he was as boring as everything else. Then she died.
That's why he felt so devastated. His whole life had been a lie.
He left town and moved to this city to get away from everything
that reminded him of her."
I looked sympathetic, but said nothing. Then, "You said you never
touched each other. How long before you did?"
April grinned at me. "You want me to cut to the hot part, don't
you, sweetie. Well, all right! It was incredible, how it came
about! Unbelieveable! Let me tell you! About a month
after he'd settled in, when we were seeing each other daily, he
told me about his wife -- 'if she ever was one,' he said. And he
asked me to perform a vasectomy on him. If anyone he cared about
ever got pregnant again, he wanted to know for certain that the
child couldn't be his. He didn't want children. His patients
would be his children. He'd be a better pediatrician for it."
I'd heard enough about this Scott's nobility. "So?" I said. "The
touching?"
"It's a simple procedure, I arranged to do it in my office. I put
him in a gown, and set him up on a gynecological examining table I
keep there, and I fastened his wrists so he couldn't interfere or
thrash about, and I strapped his legs into the stirrups and spread
them wide apart. That gave me plenty of access. He looked so
cute, spread out like that! So helpless! Just like a woman!"
She smiled at me, and then looked away.
"But down there he didn't look at all like a woman. Not with that
equipment! Leslie, honey, you've never seen anything like it!
I'll bet not even when you were dating all kinds of boys back in
college!"
She was so entranced she'd forgotten who I really was! As her best
girlfriend, I nodded, trying not to break the spell.
"So I injected him with a local, and cleaned him up, and when I
thought he couldn't feel anything, I took up the scalpel and
prepared to cut in, to resect his vas deferens. But I teased him
first. Tied up the way he was, it seemed like fun. I said,
"You know, with a flick of my wrist I could emasculate you right now,
the way I did my husband."
"His voice came from the other side of the sheet we use to isolate
our work area, 'You have a husband? I thought you lived with a
woman. A lawyer, good-looking if a little butch is what I've
heard.'"
"'Yes,'" I told him. I didn't want to keep any secrets from this
man. And I wanted him to believe my teasing might not be teasing!
"He's a very good-looking woman now," I said, "You could say
pretty. But he wasn't when I began with him!" The same feeling
came over me I get when I'm playing with you. I felt so powerful!
"Would you like to join him? Join my little harem? You might end
up as pretty as he is!" I waved my scalpel high up, where he could
see it. I imagine no man ever felt more helpless than he did at
that moment.
His response was unexpected, Leslie. I'd never have imagined it!
"'April,'" he said. "'If you must, I want you to. I hope
you'll leave everything there. I guess this is as good a time as
any to say it. I have very special feelings for you. I want to
join myself to you. I want to become part of you. I want to make
you happy the way only a man can make a woman happy. I'll need
what's down there to do that. I love you. But because I love you,
I want your happiness above all! So you do whatever will make you
happy!'"
"Can you imagine? I couldn't believe my ears! That was so sweet!
He was willing to give up everything for me. Even more than you've
given up, Leslie. at least so far! I could accept him as a man or
unman him, whichever I chose. Greater love hath no man!
Right then and there I couldn't help myself. I felt so grateful!
A gift like that? I leaned forward and I kissed the very balls
he'd offered to me. Softly. I thought that with the anesthetic
he'd never know. But his cock swelled up immediately -- he hadn't
gone numb yet. So I came around the other side of the barrier and
I looked him straight in the eye. That rugged, handsome face. He
had a broken nose from his college boxing days, but that only made
him more handsome. Tears, I was crying, they flowed down my cheeks
and they fell on him as I leaned forward and kissed him on the
mouth. He kissed me back. He must have tasted my tears. I opened
my mouth, and he thrust in his tongue. It isn't as long as your
tongue, Leslie, but it tasted so very sweet!"
She'd finished with her main course. I'd finished mine earlier.
Now she set her silverware aside and seemed to be day-dreaming, as
if seeing it all again.
"I told him that no one had ever trusted me so completely before,
not even my husband. That I had to love him for that! And that I
wanted to kiss him some more, while we waited for the anesthetic to
kick in. He interrupted me. 'May I kiss your breasts, April?'
What a proposal! My smock and my bra just flew off, and there were
my breasts with their nipples protruding, rock hard. I decided not
to release his hands, though I desperately wanted to. You know
what it's like, Leslie, when you're aroused and want to feel your
breasts caressed and cupped and held passionately. I gave him just
a few minutes apiece of each breast dangling over his face, my
nipples hanging into his mouth. His lips closed on the ends of
each breast, and his tongue tickled and caressed the tips, and
shocks of pure bliss shot through me deep into my vagina."
"I don't remember when I climbed up onto him and inserted him into
me. I know we were both soaking wet when I came to myself and
found I was astride him and he was inside me and I was banging and
riding and writhing and twisting on top of him for all I was worth,
and my pussy was squeezing itself into one spasm after another.
Glorious! Chain orgasms, I'd heard of them! I've had them so
often with him since then! Most often when he's on top of me, that
gorgeous thing of his banging into me as ferociously and brutally
as he can slam it and pound it at me! God, I do love hard
fucking!"
Her voice had risen, and I looked around. She noticed, and ducked
her head. "Oops!" she said.
The waiter came and removed out plates and went away. He then came
back with dessert menus. April handed them back to him. "Maybe
later," she said. "Maybe not at all. Wait, and we'll let you
know. Is that all right?"
"The waiter mumbled 'Of course, madam,' or something like that. I
don't know why, but at that moment I turned toward him and gave him
a great big smile, perhaps of gratitude for his tolerance that we
could stay a while longer. Perhaps it was something else. To
reassure myself that I still was sexually attractive myself, as a
woman if not as a man? To overcome my jealousy of Scott, of that
cock hammering my wife's pussy as mine never would again? I
touched my hair a few times, fluffed it up a bit in back, and
looked the poor man in the eyes just a bit longer than I needed to.
He was startled at first, but he returned a grin as he turned away.
April noticed, but said nothing.
"I never did perform that vasectomy. When we were both fucked out
and my thighs were stiff from riding and bouncing on him, I just
climbed off the table and picked up the scalpel again, and grinned
wickedly, and said to him, 'So you trust me, do you?' 'Yes,' he
said, and he closed his eyes. So peacably! 'I do. I love you.
What you want is what I want.' Leslie, I had his balls in the palm
of my hand, and a knife in the other hand. But what I said to him
was, 'Scott, I want your baby! I want lots of them. And lots of
doing what we've just done! A lifetime of it!' It surprised me!
Amazed me! Him too!"
"But from that moment I've known that one day you and I would be
sitting here talking like this, Leslie honey. That I'd need to
tell you I was divorcing you to marry Scott. Because Scott opened
his eyes and he looked at me and he said in the most earnest and
intense voice I have ever heard, 'April, that's what I want! All
of it!'"
"So of course I set down the scalpel. And then with his cock erect
but absolutely numb, I gave him the best blow job I have ever given
anyone, while he watched. He couldn't feel a thing, but he knew I
had to, and he watched me do it with such understanding and
gratitude and devotion and fondness. We spent the rest of that
afternoon cuddled in each others' arms, kissing, spooning, loving
each other. My heart felt so very full. It still does."
"When was this?" I asked, a little bitterly.
April didn't reply. She just looked at me. I remembered my proper
role.
"That's so exciting, April!" I said. "I'm so happy for you both!
But for how long have you two been ... making each other happy?
And is it ... very often? You can tell me!"
She resumed chatting with her girlfriend.
"That was maybe a year ago. We've gotten together whenever we
could since then. Never often enough, never more often than four,
maybe six times a week! Our schedules are pretty tight, so it's
not easy to free up the time and place. We're quite an item around
the hospital. Hardly anyone hasn't opened a door and found us
humping each other standing, sitting, lying down, crouching, you
name it. Or me blowing him. We do little things for each other.
We love it. We love each other. There's no getting around it,
Leslie. That's why we want to get married."
"But you've loved me this past year too," I reminded her. "For our
kind of sex. You've come home eager, and crooked your finger at me
and said 'Come upstairs to bed with me quick, honey, I need you
badly.' And when I'd get upstairs you were already lying on our
bed with your skirt and panties off and your slip pulled up and
your legs spread wide, and you'd say, 'For God's sake, Leslie,
please! Your tongue! I need your tongue!' And you were already
dripping wet, really soaked down there sometimes, by the time I
could get my lips rounded and clamped over your slit to begin to
suck you and spoon those sweet juices out with my tongue. Some
days you were really filled to the brim, secretions pooled in every
crevice. I loved it, that you'd get so aroused just from
anticipating me!"
April was silent. Daydreaming again?
She looked at my face. "Yes, sweetheart. Sometimes Scott and I
didn't have time for more than one fuck before we'd be interrupted.
Phone calls, patients, something. And then I'd feel so frustrated,
unfinished! Now and then we'd both fly out of town for
professional meetings, and then we could spend three or four days
plastered together. That was always nice, my body always as full
of him as my heart! But at the hospital he'd get called away
sometimes before we could satisfy each other several times. I'm
really grateful to you that then you helped him out. I do hope you
enjoyed his flavor. I think he's delicious!"
She paused, and glanced again at my face, and saw the expression
there. "Oh, good heavens, honey! Did you think all that pearly
stuff in me was me? Good heavens, no! Some of it. Your tongue
still excites me! But not all of it! Not even most of it! You've
sucked and swallowed more of Scott's cum than I have during the
past year, Leslie. Much more!"
She suddenly stopped. She'd said too much? "That's what girls do,
honey," she said a little defensively. "And I do want you to
experience everything girls do!"
She sat a moment, then sat back. Then looked at me. The spell had
worn off. I was again her husband, not her girlfriend, now that
she'd told me as much as she meant to tell me. Maybe I was Scott's
jealous rival?
"We have to talk more, Les," she said.
"Yes, I suppose so," I replied. "Separation agreements, property
settlements, and so forth. But not now, April, please."
I was near tears. That bleak feeling was descending on me again.
Outside it was pitch black. Soon she'd leave me and I'd have to
walk out into it alone.
"Yes, now," April replied. "We need to talk. But not about those
things. Not exactly."
I just sat there. What else was there to say? I felt helpless.
I'd done everything she wanted. Sacrificed everything, nearly.
And now I was losing her! Could I begin my own life again? As
what? To cover my misery I took out my compact and lipstick and
began touching up my mouth yet again. I'm sure I was starting to
cry. I could barely see myself in the mirror. A teeny, forlorn
sound came out of me despite myself.
"Leslie," April said suddenly in the sprightliest possible voice.
I looked up. Her head was cocked vivaciously, and she seemed
buoyant, grinning. She wanted to cheer me up. "Let me ask you the
same question you asked me. How do you know you wouldn't rather
make it with a man than a woman? Have you ever tried?"
I appreciated her effort to jest.
"Of course not. You know that." I couldn't look at her.
"No, you've never even had a dildo inside you, have you. Even
though that's what women often use with other women. You never
knew that? It never occurred to you?
"
"No."
"Nor to me. I must be pretty straight, I suppose. I never did
feel like penetrating you, it was so nice just doing what we did.
And because I've been getting fucked so frequently by Scott, and he
stays hard so long and recovers so quickly, I've never needed for
you to use a dildo on me. But recently I've been wondering how
you'll get by, when I've gone off to live with Scott."
"I'll get by," was all I said. "I'll survive. Don't let me slow
you down!" I tried to be sardonic, but she wasn't buying it.
"I'm sure you'll survive," she said. Then, "You know, there's this
woman at work, Fran, she's another surgeon, abdominal mostly, she
said that she's cleared all kind of things out of men's bowels that
women have pushed into them and then couldn't get out. Or other
men have pushed in. Golf balls, soda bottles, light bulbs even,
you name it. Lots of wives have done it to their husbands. So one
day Fran decided to try something like that on her own husband.
But safely, with a dildo."
"Well, she said it was overwhelming! Really empowering! She loved
being the dominant partner! She loved violating his ass with her
own thrusting torpedo, at will or whim, whatever her pelvis felt
like doing, all the while he lay there helplessly and grunted and
just took it. She liked being the man. Being in charge. He hated
it at first, she said. But in a way he must have loved it too,
because his cock was a wooden pole the whole time. And when she
orgasmed just from the raw animality of pounding into him, he came
too! 'It was different' was what he said when she asked him how it
felt. 'I'll bet!' she replied. 'I heard you moaning for more!' She
found that when she was wearing the cock and he knew he had to take
it into his body, he'd submit to other ...ahh... indignities as
well. Even against his will. And be grateful afterward."
"Well, I told Scott about Fran and her husband, but that's where it
ended. Scott would never let me bugger him, not in a million
years. He has the tightest asshole in Christendom. I can't even
get a finger in! A real anal compulsive, anal retentive
personality. An uptight asshole, you'd probably say, if you were
a man. But he does have the tightest buns, too! I love them!
Yours got so plump when your hormones rounded them out that they're
even a little flabby now. I've been meaning to get you some
exercises to help you shape them up a bit more. 'Buns of Steel,'
you've seen the videotape."
"Anyhow, Fran asked me if I'd ever used a dildo on my girlfriend
Leslie. When I told her 'No,' she just looked at me and said,
'What are live-in girlfriends for, April? Good heavens? The woman
has a cunt, and you don't fuck her? She must be feeling terribly
deprived!'"
'"Yes,' I answered her. 'She may well be feeling deprived. I'll
have to ask her.' I couldn't very well tell her that my girlfriend
doesn't have a cunt, and that may be the reason why she's feeling
deprived."
"What?" I asked? "What was that, April?" Her last statement
hadn't at all gone where I'd expected it to go. I hadn't felt at
all deprived, not until tonight! I began to pull out of my
depression, to listen more closely.
"Leslie, tell me. Wouldn't you like to feel for yourself what it's
like, what I've just been describing about my affair with Scott, or
what Fran's husband feels these days? How it feels to be on the
receiving end. To give while receiving? To be really and truly
fucked?"
The obvious remark occurred to me, but I said nothing.
"I've been selfish, I suppose. All take and no give. But I do
want you to experience the ultimate pleasure a woman can have. I
owe it to you. You need to know why it is that these parking
attendants and waiters dance around you hoping for a glance and a
smile. Why those men pick you up at those clubs we go to, and
whirl you around the floor. They hope, they dream, vaguely, that
somehow you'll let them sink themselves into you, so they can feel
the pleasures a pussy provides. Could provide, if you had one.
And they hope for an opportunity to give you pleasure too!"
"April, cut to the chase! Are you telling me to take up with
dildos, or with men, or to let you equip me with a vagina?"
"Honey, I really and truly feel guilty about all this. I love you.
You know that. I don't want to just walk away and leave you
neither here nor there. I want my girlfriend to enjoy being what
she is. I certainly don't want you to resent that I turned you
into a woman, nearly, and that now I'm divorcing you for a real
man, the greatest fuck I've ever had, the love of my life!"
She hadn't answered me. She noticed that I'd noticed, and then she
went on.
"Honey, I guess yes, that's what I'm telling you. I don't want to
press you or anything, but give it some thought. You can only go
so far with dildos, or with satisfying your men with your anus, if
that's what you think I was thinking. The best sex between men and
women is what happens when a man's cock is inside a woman's vagina.
With no vagina, you can't experience that. Right now all of your
erogenous nerve endings are still in that useless penis of yours,
most of them down toward the base. I want you to think about
turning the whole assembly inside out. About having a sensitive
clit and a vagina that throbs with joy when a real prick strokes in
and out of it! Feeling heaven between your legs!"
"And there's something else. You know that Scott knows about us.
He isn't jealous of us, exactly. He isn't jealous of my relations
with women. I don't think he understands them. But we've talked
about you. He likes the idea of my spending time with someone
affectionate who shares my interests. A woman. With an intimate
girlfriend. He'd feel reassured to know there's someone I can be
with when he's not available."
"And I want him to have that reassurance. I'm now married to a man
who's nearly disappeared, and I'm divorcing what's left of him, but
that doesn't mean I can't still share things with my dearest
girlfriend. We won't live together the way we do now, of course.
You'll have your own place, the house we're in now, and you'll lead
your own life. Have other friends. Get to know the neighborhood
wives. See other men maybe. But we can still see each other.
There's no reason not to! You can still be my dearest friend. We
can still giggle together about everything!"
She paused. "Isn't that so?"
I nodded. It was so. I almost sobbed at the pity of it. A
friendship was all that remained of our marriage! But at least
that much! Maybe more!
"That's if you're a woman. If you're no way a man. You have to be
a woman. Scott has to be satisfied that you're a woman."
Understood, I suppose. She'd sort of said that. Then she leaned
forward to say more. "Leslie, Scott and I want you to be my Maid
of Honor at our wedding."
My mouth fell open.
"More than that, I want to do this for my Maid of Honor! I want my
bridal gift to you to be a pussy. I want to share everything with
you, the way girlfriends should. Nearly everything! Please think
some more about it."
"Think too about how much fun we can have picking out our gowns and
everything! I'd be so happy! Arranging different couples at
different tables. Maybe mixing up the husbands and wives, to see
what happens?" She threw me a wicked glance. "Honey, I don't want
you left all alone, after everything we've shared. And think about
after the wedding! There'll be lots of Scott's friends there, and
some of them are between wives, and some of them are roamers, and
I should think looking the way you do you'd have the pick of the
lot. I know you would. There are some wonderful experiences out
there for you, waiting to happen! If you can accommodate them!"
"April, you keep saying it. But I don't want to be intimate with
men. I really don't." I was appalled by the way she kept
returning to that notion!
"Honey," she said. "You think so now. But looking the way you do,
feeling the way you feel about yourself, it's only a matter of
time. Take it from me. I know that when you first try a dildo
you'll love it. It's like Fran's husband said, it's different. He
wasn't the least bit feminine when she started with him, but now
when she comes toward him he can't open up to her fast enough.
Then sooner or later you'll find that men are a lot more satisfying
than dildos. You already love the way they fall all over you for
a smile. Don't deny it. Well, you don't know it yet, but in bed
men can be very warm and loving, and when they're horny they have
moves and desires that can take your breath away. You'll see."
"Leslie sweetie, you're the woman I've taught you to be. That's
the next step! I have no doubt at all that soon your mouth and
your anus will be baptized with real sperm, sooner than you think,
and you'll be thinking about getting a pussy. I may not be moving
from man to man any more, the way I did before I met Scott, but
you'll be. You'll be checking out lots of the merchandise. The
way you behaved with that waiter? You must know that!"
I paid no attention to her reference to the waiter. "You've been
moving from man to man? For how long now?" I was shocked yet
again!
She looked at me narrowly. "Oh, Leslie, I've been thinking you
were my girlfriend, and I forgot you still think you're my husband
too. Of course! Practically since we were married! With lots of
men. Right away I missed the way some of my old boyfriends felt,
different from you, so I started in again with one, then with
another. I missed my old girlfriends too, the things we used to do
together, but they'd all moved away. That's why I wanted you to
fill in, to be my new girlfriend. And that's what you've been!"
She sighed, reminiscing. "Why do you think I found it so easy to
do without your cock? Why do you think I didn't care when you lost
your erections? On the other hand you know how I absolutely adored
those darling little titties of your when they first began to come
in, especially when your nipples got so erogenous that all I had to
do was touch them and you'd squeal, and then you'd do anything I
asked you to do. It all got a lot easier then!" She was lost in
reverie for a moment.
"When we moved to this neighborhood I quit with other men for a
while. We were women living together, and I tried hard to be
faithful to my partner. But then when you had your facial surgery,
you were laid up for weeks, bandaged? Remember? How you couldn't
go down on me? Well, I felt horny one night and went out and
picked up a stud at a bar, and we fucked all night. And I've done
that now and then ever since. Until Scott. I'm faithful to Scott.
I always will be, I think. He's all the man I need!"
"You made me ... what I am just because you wanted a live-in
lesbian partner to play with along with your men?"
"Honey," she said patiently, a little wearily I thought. "I wanted
a girlfiend, yes. Someone who shared my interests. And I wanted
the sex too, of course. But the main reason why I made you a woman
is fairly obvious now, isn't it? Soon after we were married I
thought I could get better fucked elsewhere. A lot better fucked.
And that turned out to be true."
That settled me back down.
"You really are my best girlfiend, now. But you were never much of
a man."
She reached out and took my hands and clasped them in hers. "Aww,
now I've hurt his feelings. But you shouldn't have those feelings
any more, baby! You're what you wanted to be! You've practically
agreed with me again tonight that you like things this way. That
you love what you are. Your new hairdo, for openers. And don't
you love the feelings that rise up in you when I'm suckling and
licking those plump breasts? The way those feelings melt and merge
into your whole body?"
"And the other things, not just sex! Don't you love choosing what
outfits you'll wear, and what accessories, so you'll look just
right for any occasion? You're very good at it, you know, and you
enjoy it, I know! Isn't there special satisfaction in knowing
you're as nice looking as you can be? And don't you love giving
full vent to your deepest, dearest, most heartfelt emotions, the
way any woman can, instead of suppressing them the way men feel
they must? You're a woman in your heart now, Leslie, nearly.
That's why I feel so close to you! That's the closeness to you
I've wanted from the beginning! It's special! Very different from
the way I feel about Scott."
"Suppose I go back," I said resentfully. "And have my breasts
removed, and get testosterone shots, ramp up my natural production,
be more of a man again. More the way I was."
She looked at me a little reproachfully. "Honey, let me say it in
the plainest of plain words. You can't. It won't happen. Your
testicles have shut down. They're almost gone -- why do you think
they tuck so easily these days? And your penis is now what, the
size of your little finger -- you've seen it. Could you be a man
now? If you could, you'd hate it. But you can't. There's no
going back."
"That's why I'm urging you, sweetheart, go the other way! Really,
you're only one step short of the goal. Have a vagina installed
and be done with it. One of your very own, to dispose however you
wish." She looked intently at me. "To use the way I've used mine.
The way any woman can, and no husband can ever really tell. You'll
be so much happier! Complete yourself, honey!"
Oddly, at that moment she sounded like my wife, the woman I
married, concerned and caring!
"All right, I'll think about it," I said. "But I don't think I'm
ready for it. I'm willing to be your Maid of Honor, but I can't
promise you anything else."
I disengaged my hands from hers and looked down. It was time to
part. I felt sad. Sorrowful, in fact. "I guess I should go home
now, April. When do you think we can see each other again?"
"Honey, no, not yet. There's just a little bit more we need to
talk about."
"What?"
"Two things, really, First of all Scott. I told you he has no
objection to our keeping up our friendship, as long as it's a
friendship between two girls. Well, his agreement to all this --
our continuing to see each other, your being my Maid of Honor,
everything -- is conditional. He knows you'd never agree to a
vagina right off. But he wants proof positive, absolute assurance,
that you're now my girlfriend and no way my husband."
"He knows you're no rival physically. He can tell that the way I
react when that fat cock of his shoves into me. I shriek, and my
moaning comes to crescendo almost immediately. It's obvious to him
I get nothing like that at home. But he needs to know you harbor
no bad feelings toward him. That there's no jealous husband left
in you. That you don't feel competitive in some way. That you
wish him well. That you're truly my girlfriend wishing us both
well. So we've thought of a test."
"What? For me to place your wedding band around his cock and guide
it into your pussy with my own hand? Is that it?"
Oh no, that won't be necessary Leslie. Just to do something for
him no ex-husband would ever do for the rival who's replaced him.
Though a girlfriend might."
What's that?"
"Now hear me out, Leslie!"
"All right. What? What do I need to do?"
"Not a lot. A gesture, really. A blow job. Just for you to give
him a blow job. To swallow his sperm from the source instead of
from my pussy. It really isn't much more than you've already done.
It's what girls do. To show him unequivocally that you want him to
be happy, by making him feel good. To show you bear him no animus.
To show me that you desire his happiness too. To prove it to me!"
She grinned maliciously. "Then again, I do think you'd enjoy it,
sucking his cock. Once you get past the idea of it. I do."
I couldn't believe what I was hearing! "While you watch?" I asked
sarcastically?
"Oh, no, that wouldn't be decent. You two need privacy for
something like that. But he does need to know who you are and who
you aren't. A girlfriend, not a man at all! He doesn't think any
man would be willing to wrap his mouth around his wife's lover's
penis. Of course Fran's husband does it, she tells me, with
several of her lovers. But he's a special case, and it took her a
while to get him there."
She paused, looking across the restaurant, back toward the lobby.
I followed her eyes. There was a rugged looking, rather handsome
man in the entrance hall now talking to the Maitre D', who pointed
at our table. He started toward us, but April suddenly held up a
palm to him. He stopped short, nodded, and then sat down at the
bar, looking over at us now and then.
"That's my man, sweetie! Don't you just love him? Feel a teenie
bit tempted to flirt with him? I want you two to meet. We both
want to get this matter settled now, tonight. But first, there's
one more thing. Please listen, it's serious."
"What?" I asked her. "He wants to fuck me up the ass, too? To
assure himself there are no jealous feelings hidden up there
either?"
"No, he doesn't want to. In fact he made a face when I suggested
it. But he's willing, because I want him to. And I want you to
let him. That's my test. That's what I need to know my girlfriend
knows. The joy of fucking while being fucked, of submitting to a
man while he pleasures you. The man in you won't want to do it, of
course, but I think the woman in you will love it! You'll need to
know how it feels if only to make a fully informed decision about
turning in your prick for a functioning vagina."
I was silent. I couldn't look her in the eye.
"It's such a weenie, you know!"
She wasn't taunting me. Just stating a fact.
"Just look him over, my gorgeous man over there! Isn't he a
dreamboat? If as a woman you can allow him into both of your
openings, if that's at all possible, then we have no problem,
Leslie. Because you'll have proved that you have no problem. So
I want you to go with him. Now. Is that clear?"
I was silent.
"Is it?" She looked grim, and picked up her purse. "Is there a
problem? Leslie? Is this how we say goodbye to each other?"
"No, April. Please!" I sounded as anguished as I felt.
"I mean now, upstairs, in this hotel. We've reserved a room for
the two of you to use."
I said nothing. She looked for a long time into my eyes, while I
struggled to find something to say. Then she just said, "Good!"
and raised a forefinger, and gestured to the man seated at the bar.
He stood up and moved to join us.
"I think I'll pass up dessert, honey. I'll stop by the hospital to
check on a few things, and meet you both in the Jockey's Bar off
the hotel lobby in about an hour. Let's say two. That should be
time enough."
She rose and headed for the Ladies' Room. Her man grinned to her
in passing. Then as he approached me, he smiled gently. I looked
up at him, wide-eyed, and I nervously touched my hair. I tried to
smile back, but couldn't. "So you're Leslie," he said. "I've heard
so many good things about you!" He held out his hand.
***************
The longest two hours of my life later, I stepped out of the
elevator into the hotel lobby and waddled toward the Jockey's Bar.
I stopped first at the Ladies' to pick up a tampon, so my favorite
black, silver threaded shift wouldn't get as soaked and stained as
my panties despite the Kleenex I'd stuffed into them. And I fixed
my make-up. Sure enough, my mussed hair fell into place when I
combed it with my fingers a few times.
I hurt. My jaw a little, and my rear end a lot, but my pride most
of all. Now, as April would have said, I'd graduated from
finishing school.
That man had fucked my mouth twice in quick succession. The first
time I'd rounded my mouth and cloaked my teeth with my lips --
"Don't bite!" he'd cautioned me in a strained gutteral at one point
-- and I'd closed my eyes and I'd sucked on his pole until I felt
his pelvis rear up and pump cum into the back of my throat. I
tried to feel dainty doing this, to feel like April's girlfriend,
but all I felt was a little soiled.
Then during the second blow job I found my mind was wandering, it
had begun to seem so routine, so ordinary. So accustomed. Not
thinking much about it, I slid my lips up and down him while his
large hands pressed tenderly at the sides of my head, holding my
new hairdo tight against my ears while he headfucked me. My tongue
slipped past the irregular ridges of his veins, and the rubbery
edge of his cockhead. I scarcely noticed when he came this time --
I'd gotten accustomed to the salty taste and slick feel -- and I
quaffed it down almost absent-mindedly. And resisted feeling
grateful that he'd finished, that it was done with. In fact as
he'd approached his climax it had crossed my mind that if I were to
slow down and hold him off just a little bit longer, I could get
him to do ... what? Something April might not find forgiveable,
when she heard about it. But instead, as he speeded up, I picked
up the pace myself, and when the time came swallowed his squirtings
effortlessly
I suppose now I'm qualified, a full-fledged woman, I thought to
myself. So Scott now can't object to my seeing April. He looked
satisfied enough with me as he helped me up off my knees and asked
me now to lie face down on the bed with my rear end raised high on
pillows.
As he explained, he was low on juice, so I should expect that he'd
be working his short but incredibly thick cock in and out of my
asshole for quite a while. He suggested I enjoy it, he knew I
would, but to be sure to let him know if anything hurt. In fact it
was nearly an hour before he finally shot his sperm into me a third
time.
He'd been lavish, slathering on the jelly, but no turd as thick as
that swollen penis had ever passed through my anus before, so his
lovemaking hurt at first, going in both directions. But it did
feel a little like lovemaking, especially when he reached around me
and grasped each of my breasts and delicately tweaked my nipples in
rhythm with his thrusting. A strange stirring in my groin grew
stronger, and I began to wriggle down on him repeatedly in search
of an enticing feeling that almost-but-not-quite eluded me. That
pleased him. I could tell. Each time I snuggled my cushiony rear
into him, he responded with greater ardor. This felt so ...
feminine, wiggling and teasing his cock with my pussy. Desireable,
vulnerable, yielding, yet aloof and somehow in control, calling the
shots. I don't like to confess it, but when he came pounding into
my ass and I could feel his cum impregnating my bowels I felt sheer
joy. My prostate gave way and I squirted my own clear juice into
the sheets. I remembered how April had exulted that she loved hard
fucking, and I understood. I really was a full-fledged woman!
There was no doubt about it! My mind wandered again, but this time
to thoughts about how men's hips moved when I danced with them,
those times when I'd gone out with April.
"You won't have any trouble fitting anyone else into your ass from
now on, little lady," my lover told me as he pulled his slackening
cock out finally. "That hole and those muscles back there are now
stretched out and relaxed for good. Just what the doctor ordered."
"You mean Dr. April?" I asked him coyly. "Or you, Dr. Scott." I
was feeling flirtatious! Smiling! It was a kind of triumph! It
was over and I'd serviced my first man, I'd lost my virginity at
both ends, and despite the supposed humiliation it had felt good!
Better than that, once I'd gotten into it!
"Is April her first name? Your wife, ma'am? That's who I mean.
I don't know any Dr. Scott."
"What?!!"
I was still pressing pads of Kleenex into my distended and leaking
rear end, but I had to turn to look at him closely.
"You aren't Dr. Scott?!"
My voice sounded high yet relaxed, not at all the way I felt! I
even stretched myself in a feline kind of way.
He flashed me the same broad, gentle, grin with which he'd met me
in the restaurant. "Babydoll, no way! I'm Ken. I should have
introduced myself, but I thought you knew. I'm from Stallions, the
escort service. I hope you found my cock pleasureable in your
mouth, and the fucking satisfactory, ma'am. 'We are always eager
to please' is our company motto." You sure did sound pleased
toward the end, the way you squealed each time I rammed into you!
It must have hurt you, your first time and all, but when we got to
that part you didn't sound in pain at all!"
"I suppose not," I replied. Maybe I had enjoyed it, a little.
More than a little? What had April done to me? And why? Where
was Scott? Why didn't I feel resentful?
Ken threw on his clothes and waved goodbye to me while I was still
trying to blot myself, wondering where he got all that cum after
I'd swallowed so much already. His nose wasn't broken, I realized.
I should have noticed that. It was a rather nice nose.
I located my heels way under the bed, and found my panties draped
on the champagne bottle we'd emptied quickly when we first arrived
in the room, and then I got dressed too. All the while wondering
why my wife of five years who was my girlfriend of four years and
my ex as of a few hours ago, why she'd set me up this way, with a
stud, not with her fiance. How would this reassure Scott that I
wasn't still his rival?
I still had no answers when I wobbled into the Bar, resolving never
to wear really high heels the next time I get my asshole reamed,
and sat down gingerly at a table.
No sooner was I seated, carefully, than a waiter brought over an
envelope with "Leslie" written in April's physician's hand on it,
barely legible.
"Miss, are you 'Leslie'? A woman left this with me to give to you
when you came in."
I sighed, and opened it.
Dear Leslie,
I'm writing this note ahead of time, because I know you so well,
and I know how things will go tomorrow when we have our little talk
in the restaurant, and I know how you're feeling right now as you
sit on one haunch in the hotel bar and read it. You're a dear, but
you're so predictable!
But now you're all Leslie, not Les, and now Leslie is her own
woman! You're no longer my husband turned into my girlfriend and
dependent on my whims and wishes. Like me, I think, you're now
capable of leading your own life unafraid, even with a sense of
anticipation, not with the helplessness that made you so miserable
when I left you just a short time ago.
It's been true in your case, what men are always saying about one
woman or another, that all she needs is a good stiff dick to
straighten her out. You've been ready for a stiff dick ever since
you lost your own. The problem was to get you to accept it.
Well, now you have. I'm happy for you. You're now so much closer
to the end of your journey. After all I've asked you to do, and
all you've done for me and for yourself, I couldn't leave you still
hesitating about taking that last step. But now you will. Because
you have no where else to go now!
I have some terrible confessions to make. I tricked you.
First, I know that everything you've done since our marriage,
you've done for me. That you couldn't conceive of life without me.
That you had to believe that even after I left you you'd continue
to be what you've been to me, my dearest girlfriend. So I told you
that's what you'd be.
But we won't be seeing each other any more. By the time you read
this, I'll have left town to take up a post in a hospital a long
way from here. I've known for months that when we ended our
marriage it would be better for us to make a clean break. And
Another thing. I told you that for us to continue our
relationship, you had to have sex with Scott. And you believed me.
Well, you should have known better. Any future husband of mine
will want no part of any kind of sex with any man. Or with any
other woman either. He'll have to be mine and no one else's.
Faithful, the way you've been. Until now, that is.
I knew you had to have sex with a man to strengthen your new
feelings about yourself as a woman. I knew that sex with a man
would mortify your manhood into disappearing altogether. So I had
to arrange it. But why didn't it occur to you that of course I
wouldn't ever share a new husband, even with you, no more than I
was ever willing to share you? I'll answer for you. Because the
woman in you wanted so badly to bed down with a man . To enjoy what
I was enjoying. Maybe also, to get even with me by taking my man
for a ride of your own? The man in you was appalled by the idea,
I'm sure, but the woman in you knew! Honey, you seduced yourself!
That's why, when I realized that you were useless as a man, that
your future was as a woman, I decided to end our marriage and let
you move on. For your sake. It was a sad, hard decision for me,
a sacrifice, but it was for the best!
And I knew that the man in you would never cooperate. Not old Les!
Think of the humiliation! You had to be finessed into it. And you
were. And now you know why. You do love it, don't you? Just a
little? The freedom to be yourself? The freedom to enjoy this
altogether new kind of sex?
There's one more little deception too. I've told you all about my
affair with Scott. But there is no Scott! No one Scott, anyhow.
I'm seeing a man now, all right, but I don't think you need to know
anything about him, except that he isn't a doctor, and he's never
been married and won't be, and how we met and what we've done
together for how long is our affair, not yours. Maybe you've
tasted him when you've gone down on me and maybe you haven't.
Maybe you've tasted others, sweetheart! But that doesn't matter to
you any more, dear, does it? Because you're now a woman with your
own past, aren't you? We've both enjoyed extramarital sex now,
haven't we? I just got started earlier than you, is all.
But you'll catch up I'm sure. Because I'm not abandoning you,
honey. I haven't left you alone. I know you'll still want a close
girlfriend of your own, an adviser, a good influence to help you
over other little hurdles as you live life as fully as a girl can.
Someone to guide you into some new paths. When you've read this
letter, just put it back into the envelope and lay the envelope on
the table and wait. See what happens.
I'll send someone to pick up a few essentials I've left at the
house. Everything else is yours. Even my clothes, sweetie, enjoy
them! I mean to begin my new life with a whole new wardrobe, and
I'd invite you to come shopping with me if you were any closer --
I'll miss your advice, you have such good taste! But I'll be too
far away, and I suspect you'll be far too busy anyhow, getting to
know your new girlfriend and some of her friends!
Enjoy your life, sweetheart. Don't do anything I wouldn't do, if
you find there is such a thing! I'm sorry you won't be my Maid of
Honor after all. But you aren't a maid any more anyhow. Of course
I hope you and lots of others will soon be enjoying a new space
between your legs the way my current man and I enjoy mine. Who
knows, you may even develop some maidenly modesty in the use of it!
Even I may some day!
Love,
April
I realized that April had now completed what she'd begun with me
way back, when she'd first found that her new husband bored her. As
a challenge, an entertainment maybe, she'd set about making me into
a woman despite myself, and making me want to be one, before she
dumped me as she knew she would. She'd now done just that and sent
me on my way. I didn't know if I wanted any more girlfriends like
her.
I decided not really. But probably I would take her up about
getting a new pussy. My asshole hurt!
As directed, I put the letter back in the envelope and set the
envelope on the table. Within a minute, a waiter appeared carrying
a drink for me and set it down next to the envelope.
"From the lady at that corner table."
He nodded in that direction, and my eyes followed. A tall,
well-turned-out woman in a very expensive beaded cocktail dress
rose up and began walking toward me with a willowy movement of her
hips. I thought, that's very attractive, I should try that -- but
not tonight, not the way my rear-end feels. When she arrived at my
table she paused, and her smile dazzled me. Her face was
beautiful, jewel-like, she was so impeccably made up. I felt
privileged that this stunning woman had sent me a drink. And I
felt a little intimidated by her, too, as she stood over me!
"You're Leslie?"
I nodded.
"Yes. Do you know anyone named Les?"
"No," I said. "I did once, but he's gone."
"Good! April thought that would surely be the case. A pity in a
way, because I know so many delicious games I could play with Les.
The kind I play with my own husband, and with some of his lovers,
and with some of the other people I let use him now and then."
"Oh?"
"Yes. April asked me to look in on you, to see that your life
doesn't grow dull. She tells me you've just lost your best
girlfriend, that you might want another. Someone to share all
kinds of new experiences with.
"That's possible."
"Well, I could certainly do with some help myself. Wives come to
me all the time with men who don't know how to satisfy their needs,
some of them their own husbands. To train them. You've been
through it. You know how a clever girl can make a man submit to
learn anything. Wouldn't you enjoy helping me with these? In your
spare time, I mean. I suspect we'd get along beautifully."
She leaned over me. "I'm Fran. April may have mentioned me.
Mainly I do surgery on people's lower parts. She tells me you're
a candidate. Well, I always ask the wives if that kind of surgery
is something their husbands want, or something they want their
husbands to have regardless. When I asked April, she said that you
really craved castration and a cunt but you didn't yet know it. So
we'll just have to help you find out, won't we?"
More tests, I thought to myself. More entrance exams. But I
didn't say anything.
"I love your hair, Leslie! I'm told a cut like that doesn't muss.
We'll see. Often, I expect!"
And she bent down and kissed me full on the lips, resting one hand
lightly on my breast. I opened my mouth, and her tongue entered
into me. Delicious! I breathed deep and closed my eyes. And as
I gave myself to her, I wondered what her husband might be like.
END
(c)1999 by Vickie Tern