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<head><title>Male Mother</title></head>

<body>

<h2 ALIGN=CENTER>Male Mother</h2> <center>

<H3 ALIGN=CENTER>Chapter 1</H3>

Wendy did her best to be cool, to drive with at least a

semblance of composure, but it wasn't easy. She found herself gripping the

wheel in high delight; her stomach kept lifting in excitement. The corners

of her lips twitched irrepressibly.

In a few hours she'd have her husband Bob just where she wanted him.

Mouse-trapped. He'd be hers forever.

Squinting against the brightness of the day she aimed the car down the

highway, consciously preventing her foot from flooring the pedal as it

wanted to do. There was time enough, no sense in getting stopped for

speeding.

A limitless blue sky embraced lush summer fields and undisciplined

copses of shade trees on either side of the road. Through the open windows

a breeze tempered the afternoon warmth, and all was well with her world

. . . and was going to get better.

She sneaked a glance to the side. Bob sat tense in the passenger seat,

staring straight ahead, lipstick a startling red against the anxious pallor of

his face. Shining brown hair lifted and fell in the wind of the car's passage,

offering capricious glimpses of the gold-caged garnet earrings she gave

him when he agreed to have his ears pierced. He was just

darling.

He'd come a long way. Electrolysis had left his face smooth and so

youthful he looked hardly eighteen instead of twenty-four. Falsies in his

bra filled his dress becomingly--she'd bought them for him in a B-cup, her

own size. An absence of hips and bottom betrayed a hint of his true gender,

but it was cute. He had the kind of boyish figure some women would die

for.

She should be content with that much, skirts and makeup and falsies,

but she wasn't--he could still cut his hair, go back to wearing men's

clothes, and resume his role in male society. Go back to being her

husband. A man. Like her brutal father.

Never again, she thought with smug satisfaction. After today he'd be

committed to life in dresses.

She should be ashamed of herself. What did Bob ever do but love her

like a puppy dog? Taking advantage of him this way was perfectly

disgraceful.

As if responding to her pang of conscience, Bob said, "Wendy? Maybe

this isn't such a good idea."

She gave him a cautious look. His hazel eyes were wide with

apprehension. She took one hand off the wheel and patted his knee.

"It's just cold feet. It'll be all right, you'll see."

"Doctor Goody said it would be permanent."

After a moment she said, "I know. But you had electrolysis, and that's

permanent too. Remember how nervous you were? It worked out just fine."

"This is different."

"Sure it's different. It's better! Oh Bob, you're going to be so

cute. I can hardly wait."

The fulfillment of her obsession was so close she was not about to

listen to his protests.

"Besides--" she put her hand back on the stockinged knee and slid it up

under his dress, up past the silkiness of nylons, onto the smoothness of

bare skin, mischievously grasped the satin-covered masses at the junction

of his thighs "--you won't be sorry. I'll see to that."

Bob jumped and pushed at her hand. "Quit! It tickles." She saw him

trying not to titter.

She gave him a squeeze on the swelling in his panties and smiled. Bob

was so responsive these days. Or maybe she was, and that started him up.

Ever since that first evening a year ago, when she induced him to wear

one of her nighties to bed. On an impulse she hid his pajamas in the

laundry and told him she hadn't done the wash yet, and urged a dainty

gown on him, persuasively likening it to a nightshirt. Dressed in her frills,

he was suddenly, unexpectedly, stupefyingly, non-threatening.

She could relax, even take over, straddling him on top, and it made all the

difference. A surprising slippery flow between her legs let her push herself

down on that huge thing, and there had been no anxiety, only ecstasy. For

the first time, the first time in their two-year marriage, the first time ever,

she experienced orgasm.

And that was that. She had to have more.

Bob said, "It's kind of creepy, isn't it? Does wearing a dress make you

feel that way too?"

"What?"

"You just went ahead and put your hand under my skirt and

. . . touched me. It was like I wasn't even dressed."

"Oh." Bob was reacting to the--defenselessness--of having his legs all

but bare, covered only uncertainly by a skirt. She remembered how her

mother made her give up jeans on Sunday-school days. "I used to hate it,

but I like it now. It's kind of daring."

At first she thought it was only the thrill of sexual fulfillment that

made her egg him on to greater and greater lengths, first to wear her

nighties, then little by little, step by step, panties instead of boxer shorts,

stockings and garter belt secretly under his trousers, "rewarding" him at

each step with the kind of erotic lovemaking she had never shown him

before, until finally he was wearing her dresses and heels and let his hair

grow.

She came to see it was more than just a thrilling new kind of sex.

Making him wear her clothes put her deliciously in charge. She found a

deep need to be in control of him  . . . because he was a man.

Because of a fear that he might dominate her instead, unless she took the

initiative and rendered him powerless first.

Since Wendy was in other respects a well-balanced woman she knew

how irrational that was.

From the day they met he had adored her; and not once had he been

anything less than gentle and patient and tender. He never bullied her,

never showed the slightest inclination to do so. It was why she married

him. That gentleness, and because physically he was a small slender man,

five-five, her own height, far removed from the brusque hairy masculine

types who caused her to panic inside when they moved their knowing eyes

over her.

But it wasn't enough. Men beat women and children and

then deserted them.

Her head knew her father had been killed in a car accident; her heart

knew he had abandoned her and her sister.

Bob's tremulous voice interrupted her train of thought.

"Do I have to?"

"You promised."

"I know, but it's scary." He shifted in the seat. His fingers, tipped with

scarlet to match his lips, shook as he smoothed the skirt she had pushed

up. His wedding ring glinted. "Maybe we should think about this some

more. It's happening too fast."

He was right, she thought, it was scary. So--irrevocable.

"You know you'll like it."

"You will, you mean."

Wendy decided the car in front of them was going too slow, and

focused her attention on passing it on the bright open highway before

saying, "I admit it. I'll love it. Oh Bob--I mean, Barbara--

you've made me so happy these last months. Don't spoil it now."

"Why can't I just keep on like this? It's crazy enough just wearing a

dress outside the house. Suppose someone recognized me. Or

. . . "

His voice trailed off, and she knew what he was remembering.

"Like those men who--got you? Darling, you have to stop thinking

about that. It's in the past. Forget it and go on from here. They did it to me

too, you know."

"That's different. You're a woman."

"What's that supposed to mean, it's okay for women to be raped? Never

mind. Anyway, it was good for you."

"Good for me!"

"Yes." She went on doggedly, "Now you know how women feel, and it

made a change in you. You got gentler, more, I don't know, sweeter, more

feminine, and you have to admit that's good if you're going to wear

dresses."

There had been more than just a change in demeanor. After that

traumatic incident he developed rudimentary swellings on his chest that

reminded her of herself when she entered puberty, incipient little titties

that you could jiggle, almost as if his body was reacting to its violation by

feminizing itself. She loved it. The nipples were perceptibly larger,

oversize for a man, and were poignantly responsive when she applied

suction to them every day with her lips and tongue, in the hope of making

them bigger yet.

Then she learned Dr. Goody had a way to make men grow breasts, real

breasts. She hadn't given Bob a minute's peace until he consented to go for

treatment.

"You like wearing dresses. It turns you on. Doesn't it."

Bob's voice was a shy whisper. "I guess so."

"Me too. You'll never know how terrifying it was after--those men--

when you wanted to stop wearing dresses and grow a beard. Everything

was going straight down the drain. It was such a relief when you changed

your mind and I had my darling Barbara back."

"It means a lot to you."

"More than anything." Wendy slowed to make the turn onto the

country road leading to the clinic. "I'll be so proud of you! It's such a turn-

on to think of you with breasts. It'll be just like two women living together.

Except when we're in bed. It'll be paradise."

"But it's so  . . . irrevocable," he said, as though he had

been reading her mind before. "I couldn't ever go back to looking like a

man. Say," a sudden awareness was in his tone, "that's it, isn't it? You

want to make sure I can't change back."

"Of course not," she lied. "Don't be silly. I'm thinking of you. You'll

love it."

He brooded. At last he said, "I'll have to get a new job next tax season.

That might not be so easy."

"Lots of tax accountants are women. With your experience, any tax

firm would jump at the chance to hire you."

"How would they know? I couldn't give them references."

Wendy relaxed. He was going to go through with it, that was all that

mattered. They'd worry about a new job, or even buying a house in another

part of town if the neighbors got curious, when the time came.

The exultation that made her stomach lift returned. He was such a

dear. She wished she could stay with him at the clinic, but the doctor said

it would be "counterproductive." Never mind, next week she'd go to San

Cabrón with her sister and brother-in-law during the three months

of treatment. It would make the time pass quicker.

Reading her mind again, Bob sulked, "You'll be basking on a sunny

beach with Judy and Leon while I'm being tortured."

"Tortured." She laughed. "You know they'll treat you like a king. A

queen, I mean." She nudged him with her elbow. "Places like that always

do. Cheer up, it'll all be over soon."

"That's what they say on Death Row. I guess I'm just worried about,

well, you know, everybody there knowing."

"Only staff. Doctor Goody said the patients don't see each other."

"They'll think I'm gay."

"Gay! You're not gay."

"They'll think I am."

"We know better."

"It's embarrassing."

A pair of black wrought-iron gates loomed ahead.

"This must be it. It's the end of the road."

"I wish you hadn't said that."

Wendy turned through the gates. Gravel crunched under the tires as

the car moved along a winding driveway flanked by lawns and tall stately

oaks.

"God, it's a mansion," Bob said bitterly, looking at the sprawling three-

storied brick building. "This is going to be expensive."

She stopped in front of a columned portico. A white-coated orderly

opened the passenger door. Bob's skirt pulled up as he swung his legs to

the ground. She saw him blush as he stood and let it fall into place. He

wasn't used to being out in public in a dress. Wendy wondered if the

orderly knew what they were here for. Others must come for the same

treatment.

Birds made cheerful trills and katydids chirped as they walked to the

big doors. For a second Wendy thought Bob was going to bolt. He stared

around at the outside world with a look of panic, but when she took his

hand he subsided, gave her a shaky smile, and followed her to the

reception desk. The click of their heels echoed in the marble lobby.

"Mrs. Miller to see Doctor Goody," Wendy told the girl at the desk,

meaning Bob, thinking suddenly they couldn't both be "Mrs. Miller."

Maybe she should take back her maiden name, Ogden. Mrs. Ogden. It

sounded funny, that was her mother, rest her soul.

"Doctor is expecting you. You can go right in."

Dr. Goody looked up owlishly through milk-bottle lenses when they

entered the office. He had sandy hair and a pleasant face.

His eyes examined each of them thoughtfully.

"Which one of you is here for treatment?"

Wendy grinned happily. "She is."

He said to Bob, "Mrs. Miller. I couldn't tell. Both of you are so

attractive." To Wendy as she seated herself, "And you would be the lady I

spoke with on the phone. Another Mrs. Miller, eh? You must be sisters-in-

law," he said with a twinkle behind the thick glasses. "I'm glad you came. I

wanted to speak to both of you, to be certain you are fully aware of what's

involved. Protogen, the substance we'll be treating Mrs. Miller with, hasn't

yet been approved by the Federal Drug Administration, so you'll both have

to sign a release registering him--her--as an experimental subject. Mrs.

Miller--" He hesitated. "This is too awkward. I can't be calling you both

Mrs. Miller. You won't know who I'm talking to. What are your first

names?"

"I'm Wendy and she's Barbara."

"Wendy and Barbara, don't let the word 'experimental' alarm you.

We've been working with protogen for years. It's quite safe. Do you know

what the treatment will do?"

"Make her breasts grow."

"Yes, certainly, but there is more to it than that. Let me explain how

the drug works." His voice took on a kind of pedantry. "In males, the

testicles produce testosterone and other androgens, hormones which cause

men to look and behave like men. In females, the ovaries make estrogens,

necessary for female characteristics. But in men and women alike, the

suprarenal glands, small structures adhering to the renal organs, the

kidneys, secrete both types of hormones in their cortex--androgens and

estrogens.

"Protogen was discovered by a team of researchers seeking a way to

increase sex drive in dysfunctional males. What it does is stimulate the

production of these adrenal hormones. The glands enlarge, becoming

almost the size of the kidneys to which they are attached. The output of

testosterone increases sharply, and to that extent an unparalleled success

was achieved, all the more because in a way that is not yet fully

understood, the use of all the body's male hormone--that manufactured by

the testicles as well as the adrenals--is focused on the genital complex to

produce large amounts of semen and spermatozoa, resulting in a marked

increase in sex drive.

"However, it leaves little or no male hormone to affect the rest of the

body's processes, such as the development and maintenance of male

physical characteristics.

"In the meantime the adrenals' supply of estrogen--female hormone--

increases to levels normal for women. As you might expect, in the absence

of testosterone to counteract it, the body reacts by becoming feminized."

He droned on while Wendy's mind wandered.

"  . . . new bone formation at symphysis pubis and iliac

crest  . . . flattening of the thyroid cartridge  . . .

general regression of thorax and corresponding drop in clavicle angle

 . . . gynecomastia  . . . increase in

subtrochanteric, gluteal and patellar fats  . . . island of

abdominal fat leading to deeply-set navel  . . . pre-pubic

cushion  . . . overall reduction of amount and coarseness of

lanugo  . . . "

She didn't understand a word he was saying. Was Bob going to have

tits or not?

Just then he said to Bob, "You would be a woman in all secondary

respects," and her heart stuttered. "The effect is permanent and

irreversible. Protogen is not a hormone, you understand. It merely redirects

and rechannels the body's use of its own hormones, fooling it into believing

it is female, as it were. Once it has done that, no further treatment is

necessary. Do you understand?"

"I'm not sure what you mean by 'secondary'. "

"Your primary sexual organs are the penis and testicles, just as a

woman's are the vagina, ovaries, and uterus. The other distinctions

between male and female, despite their social importance, are secondary--

just window-dressing, so to speak. You would still be a male, but you

would have the appearance of a female."

Appearance of a female. So he would have tits.

"Oh." Bob looked thoughtful.

Dr. Goody continued, "You must be quite sure you want to go through

with this, because you won't be able to change your mind when we begin.

Once started, the process can be slowed, but can't be stopped. Er, I assume

you two enjoy normal conjugal relations? I apologize for being so personal,

but it is essential that you consider every aspect of this matter."

Bob hesitated. Wendy thought he must be wondering about being on

his back when they made love--was that normal? She saw him decide the

doctor meant did they have sex together as man and woman. He said,

"Yes."

"Do you both expect to continue after the, ah, changes appear in

Barbara's body?"

Wendy said, "Yes! Why? Won't he be able to--?"

"Of course. In fact his, er, ardor, is certain to increase. As I said, that

is what the treatment was originally designed to do. I meant, will you

remain, ah, enthusiastic too? After all, he will look very much like another

woman."

"You don't have to worry about that. I'll love it."

"Well, then. You're both of age--" He looked at Bob. "You are of age,

are you not? You look younger than I remem--than I thought."

"I'm twenty-four."

"Yes. You're both of age, you know what you want, I see no reason we

can't move forward. It's fortunate you are not tall and muscular. Such cases

don't usually work out well."

He said to Wendy, "As I told you on the phone, the process goes much

more smoothly if the patient doesn't have visitors. Not to worry, we won't

keep him long." His eyes turned back to Bob. "Now as to financial

arrangements  . . . "

When they heard how much it would cost, Wendy saw the color drain

from Bob's face.

It would wipe out their bank account. They depended on the money

Bob made during one tax season to carry them through to the next.

Dr. Goody said, "I usually get half the fee before the start of treatment

and the remainder when the process is complete, in about three months."

Wendy caught Bob's eye and pleaded silently with him to say yes. She

ventured, "We could take a mortgage out on the house."

He knew that the house, free and clear, was her pride and joy. For her

to make the offer must tell him something.

Bob said at last, "All right," and her heart beat so hard it made her

dress vibrate.

Dr. Goody smiled. "Good. We can get started with your examination.

Go through that door, remove your clothing, and I'll be right with you." He

said to Wendy, "It will take about two hours, if you want to look over the

grounds. We have an especially nice garden."

She stood up and bent to kiss her husband on the cheek. He looked

frightened. Never mind, she told herself, he'd get used to the idea, he'd be

happy about it. She'd make him be happy.

Her Bob with breasts! She hugged herself with excitement as she went

out into the brilliant sunlight and wandered through formal gardens lush

with color. Wouldn't Judy and Leon be surprised. They knew Bob wore

dresses, and often they all had dinner together, three "women" and a man.

Judy would be jealous. Seeing Bob in female garments aroused her for the

same reasons as Wendy--how much more excited she'd be when he had

boobs. She'd be green.

It was because of their father. A bull of a man who treated his farm

animals more kindly than he did his family, he used to take her and Judy

into the woodshed to whip them with a broad razor strop for the slightest

misdeed. It was child abuse, she knew now. The spankings went on too

long when he made them bend over the woodpile, everything showing,

while their mother wrung her hands in the kitchen listening to their

screams. They were too young then to understand what it meant, but they

soon learned their punishments were never over until a wet stain appeared

at the end of something pipe-like in his overalls.

It left them with a strong anxiety about men. Judy handled it by acting

bold and flirtatious; but Wendy noticed she too married a man who could

be dominated, at least in private.

She wouldn't say anything to Judy and Leon until they all got back

from San Cabrón; then she'd have them over to dinner. Maybe

she'd get Bob to dress up as a French maid. Wouldn't that be delicious! She

recalled the time Judy made Leon serve them all, as a butler or houseboy or

something, and then spanked him with his pants down when he spoke out

of turn. It was a game the two of them played: Leon liked Judy to be a--

what was that word she used, a dominatrix, that was it--he liked her to

discipline him and tell him what to do.

This was a game too, better than theirs.

God she was excited. She wondered if Bob would be able to wear her

bras without padding. Three months wasn't all that long, but she could

hardly wait. There was moisture in the join of her legs, and the prospect of

three months without sex was excruciating.

She went to the car to remove his suitcase, gave it to the orderly, and

arranged for the clinic's limousine to take her back to Chardsville. That

way if something went wrong, if Judy and Leon's schedule didn't permit

her to pick Bob up when he was released, he could drive himself home.

The sun was sinking below the trees by the time Bob came out to the

garden. He was still pale but didn't look as wretched as before.

She asked, "How did it go?"

"Okay. He gave me the first shot."

"Already? That's wonderful! Oh Barbara, it's a dream come true. You

can be my sister and my lover at the same time."

Bob's shy smile lifted her heart. He was so attractive. As a man he

wasn't anything special, just kind of bland, but as a woman he sparkled.

His eyes caught the light and turned from hazel to a deep gold; his brown

hair, cut in a short bob, shone softly. The slender wrists and hands that

looked out of place on a man were just right in his current guise; and his

stockings caused his legs to be sleek and round; his heels slimmed his

ankles.

Bob put his arms around her. She felt something hard against her

stomach. He was erect in his panties.

She rubbed her pelvis suggestively against the hardness.

"Mm. You're going to miss me. --What's that smell?"

"What smell?"

"It's coming from you. Kind of like perfume. Sexy."

"I don't know. I have a funny taste in my mouth, though. It must be

from the shot."

She kissed him deeply, then pulled away feeling breathless. "I wish I

didn't have to go. You'll be all right?" Her conscience was still trying to

bother her.

"Sure. Doctor Goody talked to me. It made me feel better."

"I'm glad. Let's sit here on the bench and you can tell me all about it.

Did he say the stuff, what did he call it, would work?"

He sat next to her, smoothing his skirt primly. "Yes. He said I'd most

likely have good results. It was embarrassing, though."

"What was?"

"You know, taking off my clothes. I mean, I knew he knew I was a

guy, but  . . . well, it was embarrassing anyway. And then

when he examined me, he looked everywhere."

She patted his knee. There was a beep from the parking lot.

"Oh, there's the limo. I'm taking it back to Chardsville. Here, the keys

to the car. I'll leave it here, so you won't be trapped."

"Thanks." His eyes widened. "Oh-oh. You better get back on time.

Suppose something happened and a policeman stopped me? My license

says I'm a male." A shy smile touched his lips. "I don't resemble my photo

much, either."

They looked at each other and started laughing.

The limousine beeped again. Wendy said, "Quick, let's say good-bye

here so the driver won't see two ladies kissing."

He was still hard and that odor from his skin excited her. "I'll miss you

too."

Arm in arm they walked to the limousine. She gave him a quick self-

conscious embrace in front of the driver, putting her cheek next to his in

the way women do when they don't want to muss their makeup, and

climbed in.

She said, "I'll see you in three months."

"Yes. Get a nice tan."

She looked back as the limousine passed through the gate, but he had

already gone inside the building.

<H3 ALIGN=CENTER>Chapter 2</H3>

Bob's room was efficient; that was the best you could

say for it. It was white and tiled and its principal article of furniture

was a hospital bed. The setting sun streamed through the window.

He sat on the edge of the bed collecting himself, trying to still the

butterflies in his stomach, forcing his mind away from the terrifying

future. He felt as though he had jumped out of an airplane and was

hurtling dizzily toward the ground, wondering if the chute would

open.

Along with his fear was relief. He was committed. The decision

had been made; he took a cold comfort from that. The shot the

doctor gave him had started the process, and though further

injections would hasten its completion, the change in his appearance

was now inevitable. His body had been given notice, so to speak.

It was nice of Dr. Goody not to mention his earlier visit in front

of Wendy. Bob had called him this morning to say he hadn't said

anything about it to her; he would prefer she didn't know.

He first heard about the doctor through a tax client. In

connection with medical deductions the man mentioned, snickering,

Dr. Goody's specialty.

Months afterward, Bob remembered the conversation while

stuffing falsies in his brassiere, and was suddenly galvanized. Real

breasts in his bra! Wouldn't Wendy be thrilled. On an impulse he

sneaked down to the doctor's city office.

When he heard the process was permanent, he was

disappointed. It would have been fun. But go through life with tits?

Forget it.

He permitted the doctor to give him a test scratch--some people

were supposed to react adversely to protogen, and Bob had just

enough curiosity to want to know if it would have been possible for

him after all, but had no intention of going through with it.

Far from rejecting the drug, his body responded so

enthusiastically to the minuscule presence of protogen that in a few

days a certain discomfort made him examine his chest, only to

discover spongy areas overlaying the pectoral muscles. In a few more

days they had grown alarmingly, becoming real, though rudimentary,

breasts, like a flat-chested woman, before the growth subsided. Other

changes occurred. His voice lost some of its resonance; over the

phone people occasionally mistook him for a female; and a not-

quite-determinable modification of his body appeared, as though a

marginal layer of fat smoothed the lines. Where before he could be

characterized as "lean," now one would think of him as "slender."

He could still get a haircut and don a shirt and trousers, but

something very strange had happened to his body.

When Wendy noticed, she was enchanted. She formed the theory

that the trauma those men had put them through was the cause. She

couldn't seem to leave him alone. She kept nursing on the incipient

breasts, sucking hard. It was uncomfortable at first, but as he got

inured to the suction he began to derive sexual enjoyment from it;

her moving tongue sent thrills to his genitals.

"There," she would say, "I made the nipples stand up. They're so

cute."

He made the mistake of telling her what the tax client said. From

that moment she was relentless. But it was permanent, he

said helplessly, and finally offered to have implants put in.

"That's no good," she said, "They're artificial. You want to have

real breasts. Besides, I heard there's a risk of cancer with implants. Or

the silicone leaking."

"How about hormones? They're supposed to give you real ones."

"But then you can't do anything in bed. Except sleep," she

smiled. "What good is that? Besides, you have to keep taking them,

otherwise you go back to normal. Please, Bob, for me?"

Her slip of the tongue--"otherwise you go back to normal"--struck

him at the time, but he didn't make the connection until today in the

car. She wanted the change to be irreversible.

She got her way, as she usually did.

He caught himself. It was all right. He loved her dearly and

wanted to please her. He had always loved her. At first he

worshipped her from afar, right through high school--he never dared

approach the beautiful golden-haired girl who was so aloof. It wasn't

until he had gone on to college, just before his graduation, that at

last he met her face to face.

He was on his way to a class, but stopped when he saw her

huddled on a bench in the park, crying as though her heart would

break. He sat next to her and handed her a handkerchief.

"Thanks." She pressed it to reddened eyes and gave him a

tremulous tearful smile.

Her mother and father had just been killed in an automobile

accident. He started by comforting her, and went on to court her,

during the remainder of the semester.

If Bob had been a painter he would have put Wendy on canvas

exactly the way she was--no embellishments, no "improvements," no

enhancements of any kind. They were not needed. Wendy's hair was

a luxury of red-gold curls, tumbling to the middle of her back. Her

eyes shone green as emeralds, their shape reversed from the normal,

wider at the outer corners than at the inner. She was slender with

good breasts and a narrow waist and legs all the way up to her ass.

She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and he wanted

to keep her forever. If he were Sir Walter Raleigh, he would count it

a privilege, not to lay his cloak over the mud puddle, but to lay

himself across it so she could step on him. Her seeming aloofness

turned out to be no more than shyness with boys. The day after his

graduation they were married.

She was a virgin. He saw fear in her eyes on their wedding night

and although her beauty roused in him a burning, compelling lust,

he forced himself to forego intercourse until she got used to being in

bed with him. In a few days she asked him to do it to her. The fear

still lurked in her eyes; she was tight and dry; and breaking her

maidenhead was painful to her no matter how gentle he made

himself be. Later she told him she asked only because she wondered

if he found her unattractive, or didn't love her as much as she did

him. She knew men had certain desires that had to be satisfied. She

did love him, but it wasn't long before he realized intercourse was a

chore for her, not the joy he had hoped to give. As time went on,

their once-a-week routine seemed to yield satisfaction to her; but he

sensed it was only because it was proof that she remained desirable

to him.

He did everything he could think of to make things better, to

invoke some kind of feeling in her down there, without success.

Until that magic day when he had run out of clean pajamas and

had to borrow one of her nightgowns. For the first time he saw

excitement in her face when they went to bed, and was astonished

to hear her ask timidly if she could be on top. He was thrilled. Never

before had she wanted to try anything but the missionary position.

And then--it was beyond belief. She was like a tiger. By the time

he ejaculated she had climaxed a dozen times, it seemed.

The key was for him to wear her garments. He was more than

eager if it produced such an ardent response, and got excited

because it was so bizarre and gave her so much pleasure, and that

was what he wanted, to please her. There was an added bonus. He

loved her so much that in a way he wanted to be like

her. Wearing her clothes turned him on; he identified with her.

The whole thing grew more and more intense and arousing for

both of them. He remembered the abandon of their lovemaking after

he went out with her in public in a dress the first time, it was in

Chard's Lake Park at night, he'd been terrified, but when they were

safe home again the terror metamorphosed into lust.

Somehow it got out of hand and led them to this.

Not satisfied with putting him in women's clothes, she was

putting him in a woman's body.

How were they ever going to pay for it? Wendy was right, they

would have to mortgage the house. He'd have to go to work at a full-

time job. Until now he'd been able to work hard for only the three

months of tax season to provide them with a living for the rest of the

year. Wendy liked him to be able to spend time with her, help her

with chores around the house. The arrangement was financially

marginal at best--it was always touch-and-go with their bank account

by January--so their budget couldn't handle a mortgage payment.

God, a full-time job. That meant wearing a dress in front of

fellow employees, not just in the house or in brief daring forays into

the outside world, as today, but up close! He knew his disguise was

good; he didn't know if it was that good. Could he get

away with it? Find work as a woman, keep up the

pretense in front of others who would see him day after day? He'd

have to. There wouldn't be any choice.

Richard Haskell, a lawyer in town, had been after Bob to come to

work for him for years, evidently seeing an increase in business if he

could offer his clients tax accounting services in addition to legal. In

a last-ditch effort he had recently offered Bob a partnership. He'd

have liked that. It would have meant a lot more money, and a chance

for them to build that new house. But he guessed it was out now.

A voice broke into his thoughts. "Mrs. Miller?"

It took a moment for him to remember he was "Mrs.

Miller." When he turned, a comfortable-looking fortyish woman in a

starched white uniform smiled at him.

"I'm Nurse Baker. I'll be attending you during the day. Mrs.

Simmons, you'll meet her this evening, will be your night nurse."

Her eyes moved over him frankly. "My, aren't you going to be the

pretty little thing. It's nice when they're not all macho to begin with.

It comes out so much better. Let's see," she looked at a clipboard,

"Cauc male age twenty-four, five-five, et cetera et cetera, married--

married? hm!--no children, good health, no allergies to medication.

Blood type O-positive. I see we already had our first shot. Good, all

we need to know. Sit right there while I unpack our suitcase."

She busied herself with hanging his dresses in the closet and

putting his underwear in a cabinet drawer.

"What nice clothes you have. Does your wife pick them out for

you? She has such good taste. You won't get much use out of them

here, though. Did Doctor tell you what to expect?"

"He said I'd be sick for a while."

"Yes. Don't worry, dear, I'll be here to see after you. What's the

matter?"

Bob closed his eyes, feeling queasy. He put his hand out to stop

himself from swaying.

"Nothing. I just felt funny for a moment."

"We got here just in time, didn't we? We'd better get right in bed."

She took a hospital gown from the closet and draped it over her arm.

"Get out of those things and I'll tuck you in."

"I'll change in the bathroom."

Nurse Baker smiled. "Not on your life. Doctor would have my

head if I wasn't with you every minute for the first few weeks. Oh,

look how pink our face is. We don't have to be embarrassed. I've

been through this many times," she said practically. "Turn around, I'll

help with your zipper."

Bob shook his head stubbornly. "I'm not going to undress out

here. I'll change in the bathroom." He took the gown from her.

"Honestly, some patients." She glared at Bob before capitulating,

"Don't close the door all the way. I have to be able to hear."

Something in her manner told him she was only biding her time,

she would pay him back later. He took off his clothes, leaving the

panties on out of modesty, put on the short gown, and washed his

makeup off with cold cream and soap before pushing the door open

and climbing into bed.

Nurse Baker held out her hand.

Bob looked at her. "What?"

"Underwear."

His cheeks heated. He wriggled the panties off under the sheet

and handed them to her.

She picked up the discarded clothing in the bathroom. He heard,

"Huh. We won't be needing these in our bra any more, will we?"

She returned shaking a thermometer.

"Turn over," she said cheerfully.

"Uh, can't you do it another way?"

"This is the way we do it. Turn over."

Bob rolled onto his front. She pulled down the sheet and lifted

the brief gown to expose his bare ass. Her warm hand spread his

cheeks; a moment later the thermometer poked in, sliding icily half

its length. She left her hand on him while she waited. "I'll be giving

you your injection each morning after Doctor makes his rounds." She

patted his ass and said sympathetically, "I'm afraid the next few days

will be difficult, but we'll do our best for you."

That night he slept poorly. Restless in a strange bed, beginning to

feel sick to his stomach, he tossed and turned until the night nurse

woke him to give him a sedative. He had a moment to appreciate the

irony of waking somebody up to give them a sleeping pill before he

dropped off again, troubled by uneasy dreams. His chest hurt. He

tried sleeping on his side, but it didn't help much.

In the morning he was genuinely ill. Dry, feverish, he endured

Nurse Baker's ministrations, unresisting when she turned him over

and inserted her thermometer, or when he felt the bite of a new

injection in his backside. When she helped him to sit up and put a

glass of orange juice to his lips, he sipped eagerly, hoping the clear

acid of the juice would wash away the taste in his mouth; but he

wasn't able to keep it down. The room spun. He moaned, and

spewed into the pan the nurse held for him.

As from a distance he heard, "There, there, poor dear. It's taking

hold very well, I can tell by the odor. It shows your glands are

adjusting. Lie back, I'll give you something to make you sleep."

Bob felt a new needle, in his arm this time, and let himself drift

down into welcome oblivion.

Nurse Baker had said it would be difficult. "Difficult" wasn't the

word. The next weeks were pure misery. Days and nights ran into

each other as, doped up and nauseated and aching in every bone

and muscle, Bob endured the torment. His chest and hips hurt

abominably, and he couldn't seem to get comfortable. When he lay

on his stomach, burgeoning unfamiliar fleshy masses on his front

warned him with pain; every time he tried to lie on his side, his

pelvis protested. His skin exuded a mushrooms-and-vanilla aroma

from every pore. A sweet taste of musk set up residence in his

mouth.

He was troubled by frequent erotic dreams that left him sweating

and only barely conscious of achieving release; the hospital gown

seemed constantly wet and sticky near its lower edge, though it was

changed often.

At last, through a drugged haze, he heard Nurse Baker ask the

doctor, "No shot today? It's only been three weeks."

"You see how responsive he's been. His body has taken over on

its own."

"I'm glad of that. He's had the whole staff in a state."

"I know. I feel it too. There's something, er, primal about that

odor, isn't there?"

She gave a short laugh. "It makes you want to take off all your

clothes. My husband doesn't know what to make of me."

Bob lapsed into a slumber that lasted through the remainder of

the day and night, except for the times Nurse Simmons shook him to

ask if he was asleep. The next morning he woke rested, still aching

and desperately weak, but ravenously hungry.

He sat up unsteadily. A drag on his chest caused him to look

down. The top of his gown was full. It didn't mean anything to him;

he was sleepy and dazed and grateful for the relative absence of

soreness in his body.

Nurse Baker came in with a breakfast tray.

"Good morning," she said cheerfully. "How are we today?"

"Better. Hungry." There was something wrong with his voice.

"We must be starving! The only nourishment we've had for three

weeks has been through an IV tube."

"Three weeks," he repeated dully.

"Yes."

"It feels like a lifetime. Is it over?"

"All over but the cheering. We'll have to stay a while until

everything settles down, but no more shots. We're lucky, it usually

takes twice as long."

He was conscious of her watching him while he applied himself

to the oatmeal and toast. He wished there were eggs and ham and

fruit, but realized his stomach must have shrunk: the last swallows

went down hard. He waited. Mercifully, the food stayed in him.

All over? Gradually it came to him. Then  . . . the

weight on his chest, the tender swellings that kept getting in the way

of his arms as he fed himself, were breasts! Already! It

was over. A tumultuous series of mixed emotions swept

through him. A terrible sense of violation. A diaphragm-lifting

excitement. Apprehension--had it worked? Were they big enough to

make the torment worthwhile?

Bob looked down at his chest. The hospital gown was pushed

out. His heart pounded.

He glanced up at Nurse Baker shyly. He wanted to see himself,

but was too abashed to do it in front of her.

She smiled. "All done? I bet I know what we're thinking. I'll just

put this tray away, and we'll let you have a look at yourself in the

mirror. Do you think you can stand up if you lean on me?"

Bob struggled out of bed and sat panting weakly on the edge.

The blood drained from his head. He paused while the room

brightened again and stopped its reeling. It was amazing, he thought,

how frail you could become in only a few weeks.

Nurse Baker said, "There's a full-length mirror on the back of the

bathroom door. Careful." She put an arm around his waist and

helped him to his feet. His skin felt as if it had been turned inside

out and all the nerve endings exposed. His legs shook, knees weak,

as she guided him to the bathroom.

"Here we are," she said, flicking on a bright overhead light and

turning him to face the mirror. "Lean back against me and we'll just

open our gown. We're going to be pleased."

She pulled a Velcro fastener at his shoulder. The whole front of

the garment fell open.

Bob gasped, forgot his embarrassment, and stared.

His reflection was alien. What he was seeing wasn't

him, it was a girl. Her hair was matted and stringy, but

her figure was stunning. Incongruously, at the junction of her thighs

she sported a penis, balls hanging under it in a rosy sack.

The image's slender hands lifted wonderingly to cup a pair of

alluring breasts. It was not until he felt himself touching them that he

identified with the reflection in the mirror.

His jaw dropped.

The tits he was holding were pert and proud, perfectly formed,

very nearly as big as he remembered Wendy's. They had swollen

areolas tipped by nipples as thick and pink and cylindrical as new

pencil erasers. They were beautiful! A warm feeling of satisfaction

came over him.

He squinted. He had lost weight; his ribs showed; but was his

waist narrower than it had been? After a moment he felt sure of it.

His satisfaction increased--he'd be able to wear form-fitting dresses

without the damn' waist-cincher. That protogen was powerful stuff.

Wendy would be tickled pink.

His knees gave way. Nurse Baker caught him.

"That's enough for now. There'll be plenty of time later," she said

gently. "Let's get back to bed."

It was all he wanted. He was suddenly exhausted. By the time

Nurse Baker tucked him in he was asleep.

When he woke again the mid-afternoon sun was making bright

panes of light on the tile floor. He felt refreshed and excited.

He sat up, gave a wary glance at the open door, and pulled open

the gown. He hadn't been dreaming. He had breasts, just like a

woman! It was so kinky a thought that his cock warmed and jumped

into erection. He started to caress them, but they were sore.

The squeak of rubber-soled shoes in the hall warned him that the

nurse was coming. He closed the gown hastily.

"Well! We're awake at last," she gave him a cheerful smile. "How

are we feeling?"

"Fine. Much better." He returned her smile sheepishly, conscious

of his hard-on.

"We do look better. How about a nice sponge bath and a late

lunch? Or early dinner. But first," she took out her thermometer and

shook it, "let's get this over with. Turn over."

Bob rolled onto his stomach, making sure his erection was

pressed up against it and hidden. Why couldn't she take his

temperature like normal people?

The cold insertion caused his prick's stiffness to increase. His

weight on the new breasts hurt; he had to lift the upper part of his

body on his elbows.

Warm hand on his ass, Nurse Baker said, "Doctor was quite

pleased with our progress. He said we could probably go home

within a month from now."

"I thought it was supposed to take three months." It came out a

squeak. He cleared his throat.

"It varies. Some people do better than others. If everything goes

as well as it has so far, we'll be the fastest case yet." She removed the

thermometer and looked at it. "Excellent. We're doing very well. Now

we can sit up."

He pulled up the sheet to keep his erection hidden.

"What's the matter with my voice?"

"Voice? Oh, I see. Our vocal cords are tightening up. It's natural,

just the reverse of our voice breaking during adolescence. But then

we wouldn't want to sound like a baritone anymore, would we?"

She filled a pan of water in the bathroom sink and brought it to

the bedside. "Now for a sponge bath. Tomorrow we'll do our hair."

She must have misinterpreted his expression because she said,

"Don't worry, I know we must still have discomfort. I'll be careful."

With practiced movements she dipped a washcloth, soaped it, and

wrung it out. She kept up a running chatter.

"My, things have changed, haven't they? Welcome to the club!

This is the part of my job I like best. Patients come in all full of beans

and vinegar, and leave all sugar and spice."

Bob winced when she hefted his sore breasts to wash them.

"A little tender? It'll go away in a few weeks, when we're all done

developing."

"I thought I was done."

"We're finished with the injections, but our body is still changing.

In a month or so the process will be complete."

Bob thought it over, prick straining.

"They'll, ah, get bigger?"

"When the discomfort stops we'll know they aren't growing any

more. I'm sure we'll have nothing to be ashamed of when we see

other women. We're in for some surprises, though. It's hard out

there. Men make the rules and you have to go along with them. I

don't know what you do for a living, but you'll probably have to take

a cut in pay for the same work. Oh, sure, men treat you with

consideration, they hold doors for you, but that's only because they

think you're too fragile and feeble-minded to do it yourself. Scratch

any man, no matter how enlightened he says he is, and under that

smug surface is someone who thinks that all that women are good

for is the kitchen and bedroom. You'll see."

She was sharing a woman's point of view with him. Her words

held bitterness, but paradoxically they gave Bob a perspective that

filled him with anticipation. It would be like being a new person.

He'd be able to leave his past behind, his failures, and start over.

Nurse Baker went on, "Never mind, there will be rewards too.

Oh-oh. What have we here?"

She started washing his erection.

"It's time for us to become acquainted with Miss Vee, I see. Don't

be embarrassed. This always happens. I like to think of it as the male

part protesting its fate. My, he's a big fellow, isn't he?"

She dried him, giving his stiff penis a teasing squeeze, mercifully

drew the sheet over him though it was held up like a tent, and

gathered up the washing utensils.

"Try to get some rest, now. I'll be back later to introduce you to

Miss Vee."

Surprisingly refreshed by the sponge bath, somewhat reassured

by Nurse Baker's matter-of-fact acceptance of his hard-on, Bob lay

wondering who Miss Vee was, and whether they actually expected

him to be unfaithful to Wendy, and drifted in and out of sleep until

Nurse Baker returned holding an instrument in her hand.

She said, "Hi! Ready to meet Miss Vee? Miss Vibrator. We're going

to be seeing a lot of her."

She showed him the device she was holding. It was a clear

plastic tube, the lower half of which was encased in folds of pink

rubber. A hose led to a small pump.

Bob felt a scarlet blush flame over his entire body.

He remonstrated, but she overbore him. He was still too

strengthless to withstand her. He remembered her expression when

he refused to take off his clothes in front of her.

She sat on the edge of the bed, squeezed lubricating jelly on her

fingertips and smeared it around the tube's opening. Lifting the

gown, she exposed his swollen cock. He flinched uncontrollably

when she grasped it with one hand and with the other slid the

device down on it, engulfing him in slippery latex.

She touched a switch. Instantly suction clamped his organ wetly

and the device writhed upright. An exquisite vibration began.

A broken sound emerged from his throat.

He started to pull the thing off, but she grabbed his wrists and

held them away from his body.

In an agony of humiliation, desperately conscious of Nurse Baker

watching, unable to move, he felt his genitals gather tension. The

machine took over, sucking and trembling in an irresistible rhythm.

Within ten seconds ecstasy gripped him as he ejaculated wildly,

pumping helplessly into the tube, his semen drawn by the vacuum.

The orgasm ended, but the vibration and clenching of the

machine prevented his penis from softening. He looked desperately

up at the nurse, imploring her with his eyes to remove it, but it was

not long before a new warmth attested to the fact that his balls were

getting ready to loose yet another series of squirts.

In half a minute his prick erupted again. The sensation was

sharper, more intense, now that it wasn't just a matter of relieving the

pressure. He gasped, "Ooh-h," and writhed in a spasm of rapture, as

his testicles were drained.

When it was over she released his wrists. He panted, "No more."

"Again." Her eyes were obsessed.

He submitted to the continuing mechanical rape. In less than a

minute he was sobbing and whining in frenzied ecstasy as surge after

surge of semen pulsed through his organ. He convulsed, gripped his

aching breasts, the stiffness of erect nipples sending their own

zigzags of sensation down to his groin--and the turbulent throbbing

went on, spurting until his balls were wracked with effort and his

cock began to soften, bending in the liquid-washed tube, snatched

upright again by the rhythm of the suction.

He moaned ecstatically, despairingly. His eyes dimmed. He lost

consciousness.

The next thing he knew his prick was a flaccid weight on his

belly and Nurse Baker was holding the device up to her eye, looking

at the quantity of mottled white fluid in it.

She said, "Yes, indeed. We needed that." She covered him up.

"There now. Don't we feel better? Miss Vee will be back tomorrow

morning. Twice a day from now on."

He savored the pleasurable emptiness of his balls, sensing that

they were already working to fill again, and thought he would

welcome "Miss Vee" when Nurse Baker brought her back. God, she

had made him come three times in two minutes. It must be some

kind of world's record. He might look like a woman, but he was

definitely still a man--though being taken over by Nurse Baker in that

personal way didn't help much to make him feel like one.

He had a sense of fatigued well-being. The hard part was over.

He would have a month more convalescence to let his body

complete changing on its own, and then he could go home.

It would be another month and a half after that before Wendy

returned. He didn't know how he could wait. He was dying to show

her what he looked like. The grateful delight on her face blessed his

inner eye as he drifted down again into a peaceful slumber.

<H3 ALIGN=CENTER>Chapter 3</H3>

Andrew Joiner's shoulders got warm in the sun in an

hour or so despite the chill autumn air. Sweat trickled under his

arms. He wished he could take off his flannel shirt, but he knew

nobody would pick up a bare-chested hitchhiker. He used the inside

of his elbow to wipe perspiration from his forehead.

He sat down on the concrete wall of a culvert that bridged a

sparkling brook and thought, In a minute I'll climb down and have a

drink and soak my head. He was tired and his belly felt bloated and

uncomfortable. He folded his arms against it and bent forward. It

helped.

Andy figured he'd covered about ten miles from Dr. Goody's

clinic. It would be another ten to the highway. He could do that in a

little more than a couple of hours if he got moving.

He clambered down to the brook and washed his face and drank

his fill. The water was cold as ice, refreshing. He ran a pocket comb

through his wet hair, staring into the stream to see his reflection, but

it was running too fast. He knew what he looked like, anyway. Like

somebody had chiseled his face out of rock and did a clumsy job of

it. Chickadees twittered in the silence of midday.

He hefted his small duffel and started walking again. Thirty-six

hundred bucks, he thought. Might as well be thirty-six million.

He concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other,

trudging doggedly along the side of the deserted road. There was

little or no traffic here, small chance for a ride until he got to the

main highway. The only cars he'd seen this morning had been

heading toward the clinic. Didn't anyone ever leave?

Thirty-six hundred. His mouth had fallen open when the doctor

handed him the itemized list. The basic operation alone was twelve

hundred, and it wasn't any good without the cosmetic surgery to go

along with it. A chagrined blush warmed Andy's cheeks when he

remembered how he pleaded with him to let him work at the facility

in return for the operations. He wasn't used to begging. It had almost

worked, though. He saw sympathy in Dr. Goody's face, and the man

hesitated before repeating that there were no openings.

How long would it take him to raise the money? The trade school

had given him the elements of woodworking, he had graduated at

the top of his class, but at eighteen he had years to go before he

could claim to be a skilled cabinetmaker, and the chances of getting

a carpenter's job on a construction site were zero unless he belonged

to the union--and the chances of getting in the union during this

recession were also zero, unless, like his classmate Ray Tynan, he

had a father who was a big shot in it.

Never mind, he told himself. He was young and healthy and

strong, and willing to do just about any kind of work. That's all you

need to make a mark in the world, his father had told him before he

died. He'd make out.

But he could see he might have to resign himself to his disorder

for years and years before he could have anything done about it. It

was discouraging.

His father had put up with it until he was past thirty; so could he.

It was a family thing--his grandmother suffered from it, too, though it

was different for her.

Andy's stomach rumbled with hunger. The pang was followed by

another kind of gripe situated in his intestinal region, warning him he

was in for another siege. Damn it. He hoped it would hold off until

he got to a drugstore. If he got a ride soon.

In answer to his wish, the thin buzz of a motor behind him came

to his ears. He turned and held out his thumb.

As the car passed, he saw that its occupant was a young woman,

hair fluttering in the breeze of the car's passage. She gave him a swift

appraising look from hazel eyes just before he dropped his thumb

disconsolately. A woman alone in a car didn't pick up hitch-hikers.

An instant later, however, the car slowed to a stop. It waited by

the side of the road.

He ran to the door, opened it, and slid in, tossing the duffel on

the back seat.

"Thanks," he panted. "Thought I'd have to walk the rest of my

life."

"Where are you headed?"

"See if I can find work in the city."

She put the car in gear. "I'm only going as far as Chardsville, but I

can let you off on the highway when we get there."

Her eyes sparkled. There was an air of suppressed exuberance

about her. Her happy look lifted his spirits. She reminded Andy of

how he used to feel as a child when he woke up realizing it was his

birthday.

He watched her out of the corner of his eye. Wow, nice

bazooms. Nice legs, too. Her skirt was drawn up to free them for

driving, showing a shapely expanse of thigh.

She must have sensed his interest, for she tugged her dress down

to a decent height. He turned his eyes away tactfully. She had a

wedding ring, hands off.

She was a good driver, handling the car confidently, keeping to

the speed limit, braking slightly before curves but accelerating on

them so he felt almost no sway. He relaxed against the seat back and

enjoyed the drive.

When they came to the highway she got a strained look; her

generous lips compressed. She slowed to well below the limit. He

glanced back and saw that cars were beginning to pile up behind

them, and at regular intervals they roared past impatiently. Each time

it happened, she shrank and her cheeks got white under the rouge

highlighting them. He wondered what was wrong.

After half an hour of tension he was thrown forward and back

when she braked sharply and accelerated again. There was nothing

in sight. He darted a glance at her. She was pale and anxious and

kept looking in the rear-view mirror.

"What's the matter?"

Still staring in the mirror she said, "Oh, he's turning. A policeman.

I shouldn't have put on the brakes, but I was startled when he went

past."

Andy twisted to look back. Several cars behind, a black-and-

white was completing a U-turn.

"Don't worry, he won't bother you. You didn't break any laws. At

the most he'll want to see your license and registration."

"I don't have a license!"

"You don't have--?" He thought fast. "Okay, turn in up here. Here.

The Flakey's Diner. Quick now. Park on the other side of that

eighteen-wheeler. Away from the road."

The tires screeched as she swerved into the parking lot. Before

the car had stopped rocking he was out and racing around to the

driver's side.

He opened the door.

"Shove over. If he comes looking for us, I was driving, right?" Her

body was delicate as he bumped her over to the passenger side with

his hip.

They were just in time. The cruiser, lights flashing, stopped

quietly behind them.

Andy climbed out of the car and waited.

A trooper, a big man of middle years with a gentle, cautious face,

moved toward him and held his hand out. His eyes were amused as

they glanced between Andy and the frightened-looking woman in

the passenger seat.

Andy pulled out his worn wallet and gave him his license.

The trooper looked it over carefully, comparing the picture on it

with Andy's face.

"Registration?"

"Uh  . . . "

The woman scrambled in the glove compartment. A moment later

she leaned over and poked the registration slip at him through the

window. He passed it to the trooper.

"Robert Miller?"

"My huhk. Husband," the woman said.

The trooper handed the documents back to Andy. "You were

driving a little erratically back there."

"A bee flew in. I lost my head for a moment."

"Yeah?" Smile wrinkles deepened at the corners of his eyes.

"Gotta watch them bees. Okay, sir. You have a nice day."

When he got to his cruiser the trooper turned.

"She wants to learn to drive, take her out to some deserted road.

Too much traffic on the highway."

Andy grinned, "Thanks."

He got in the car and started laughing as the trooper backed out

of the lot.

The woman looked surprised, then giggled. "A bee! You said a

bee flew in! Quick as a wink." Her laughter grew. There was relief in

it.

"We didn't fool him for a second," Andy gasped.

They laughed together until she said, "As long as we're here let's

get a hamburger."

He sobered. "Uh  . . . well, you go ahead, I'm not too

hungry."

The hazel eyes softened. "It's okay," she said. "It's on me. I owe it

to you. You were so clever and resourceful. I don't know what I'd

have done without you. Come on, keep me company."

At the table she grinned, "I guess we should introduce ourselves,

since we escaped the clutches of the law together. I'm Barbara

Miller."

He smiled back. "Andy Joiner. How come you don't have a

license? You drive fine."

Her eyes dropped and color mounted in her cheeks. "I used to

have one, but I carelessly let it expire."

He didn't know whether to believe her, maybe it was suspended,

but let it pass.

The waitress brought their hamburgers. His mouth watered. He

tried to eat casually, but when the last French fry was gone he

realized she was still on the first half of her hamburger, and that he

had wolfed his meal.

She said, "Oof. I can't finish this. Would you?" She pushed her

dish toward him. "I don't like to leave food on my plate."

"You sure?"

"My eyes were bigger than my stomach."

Through a mouthful of burger he asked, "You live in Chardsville,

huh?"

"Yes."

"I'll drive you there if you want."

"Would you? You're so nice. It won't be taking you out of your

way, will it?"

"Naw, any town's good. Maybe I can get a job there."

"What kind of work do you do?"

"I'm a carpenter."

"I bet you won't have any trouble. You were at Dr. Goody's

clinic, weren't you? It's the only place on that road. If I'm not being

too personal can I ask why?"

"I went to see him about an operation," he said, and stopped. It

was too private to talk about.

"What kind of operation?"

"Just  . . . uh  . . . kind of cosmetic

surgery."

"Oh." Her gaze was direct and speculative, but she didn't persist.

"Tell me about yourself. How old are you?"

"Eighteen."

"I thought you were older, maybe my age. I'm twenty-four. Why

are you hitchhiking? Aren't your folks worried?"

"They died a couple of months ago in a fire, and after the funeral

I decided to see if I could find work down in the city. More people,

more contractors, more chance of a job."

"Poor boy. It must be terrible to lose both your parents at once."

"Yeah, well  . . . " He looked at his plate. He didn't

want to talk about it. He might start crying or something.

She said, "Look, we have a small house in Chardsville. There are

all kinds of repairs we've been putting off. We can't afford to hire

you, but if you don't have a place to stay you could sleep in the

guest room and earn a little pocket money by doing odd jobs for us

while you're looking for work."

He stared.

"You don't know me. Aren't you afraid I might be some kind of,

uh, maniac?"

She laughed. "Are you?"

"No, but I mean, well  . . . "

"I know what you mean. Let's just say I'm a good reader of

character. Besides, how do you know I'm not a maniac?"

He grinned, "I'm a good character-reader too," and then laughed

out loud at the thought that he might be afraid of this delicate

creature.

"Come on," she smiled. "It's still an hour's drive."

"Okay. Can we stop at a drugstore on the way? It won't take

long."

"I have to pick up some groceries anyhow. There's a pharmacy in

the shopping center."

Her house was one of a row on a tree-lined side street. He

maneuvered the car into a garage squeezed between the side of her

house and the neighbor's, and followed her through the back door

into the kitchen. When she turned on the lights he noticed the

cabinets had been repainted so many times the paint was practically

thicker than the wood, and the linoleum on the floor was worn.

He put the groceries down on an old white-enamel table that

looked like it had been picked up at a rummage sale. The house had

a musty unlived-in smell. Nobody seemed to be home.

"Where's your husband?" he asked.

She hesitated. "We're separated. I live with my  . . .

sister-in-law."

He heard the same artificial note in her voice as when she told

him her license was expired, but it was none of his business, so he

didn't press her.

A pang of discomfort in his belly made him wince.

"Uh, you mind if I use the facilities?"

Peering into the refrigerator, she said, "At the top of the stairs."

He took his duffel and the package from the drugstore and sat

on the toilet to relieve himself. Damn it all, he knew it, his jockey

shorts had tracks on them. Well, it happens, he thought resignedly. It

would stop when he had the operation. He wiped himself, used one

of the pads in the package, and secreted the box in his duffel before

going back downstairs.

The house was neat and clean and comfortable, but shabby. It

was easy to see she wasn't exaggerating when she said "all kinds of

repairs." Everywhere he turned he saw something that needed done.

He knew people got used to places they lived in and lost sight of just

how run down things became; but it was long past time to do

something to halt the downward slide. This kitchen for example

. . .

"How about if I fix up your kitchen?"

"What?"

"The kitchen. It needs painted and a bunch of other things." He

pointed to the leaking faucet and the stained wall which shouted the

presence of a problem with the pipes. "You could use some new tile

on the floor, too."

"I know! But--well, it sounds expensive."

"Yeah. I could look around and see if I can come up with a

bargain on materials."

"You can't do all that just for room and board," she protested. "I

didn't mean for you to do slave labor."

"Hey, you were nice to me, let me be nice to you. Besides, I ain't

got anything else yet."

The more he gazed at the room, the more there seemed to do. A

kind of happiness came over him. This was the kind of work he

liked. Look, if he tore out the stove and built it into a counter right

where the kitchen table was, an island, like, she'd have more

cabinets for those orphan pots and pans, and it would save her steps.

He could shift the sink over to where the stove had been to give

plenty of counter space on either side, and she'd be looking out the

window when she was washing the dishes instead of at the wall. It

wouldn't take too much to totally transform the room--a little

Formica, strip and repaint, shape up the cabinet doors so they all

matched. He guessed his enthusiasm was contagious, because in the

end she said, "We-ell  . . . I do have some money coming

in. This law firm has a couple of clients who asked for me to do

some stuff for them. Maybe we could afford a little

work."

"Trust me. I'll do it as cheap as I can. Have to rent tools, though.

You got any credit in town?"

"You just tell me where to call and I'll fix it up."

The next morning he looked up a tool rental place in the Yellow

Pages, drove her car there, and salivated at the tools on display. He

told her about it when he returned, unloading all his treasures.

"The guy was real nice. At first he thought I was a do-it-

yourselfer, but when I asked for sharpening stones--so's I could

return his stuff in good shape, you know--he said if I did a good job

for you I maybe could work off the price of the tools. So they might

not cost you anything."

"That's good news."

"I told him I got in town yesterday, and he was surprised I

already found work." Andy grinned. "Said I must be a Goin' Jessie,

whatever that is. I didn't tell him it was only for room and board."

He did what he could to schedule the work to cause the least

inconvenience--he built the island and counter tops before tearing

out the things they were meant to replace--but inevitably there came

a couple of days when the kitchen was inoperative. He turned off the

gas and water and disconnected the stove and sink, and, with a

propane torch and solder, set about changing the run of the pipes to

the new locations.

Mrs. Miller was dismayed when she saw the baseboards pried off,

the floor laid bare of linoleum, cabinets stripped of paint, wall torn

open; and hesitantly asked if the work would be finished by the time

her sister-in-law returned in a month. It surprised him. He was almost

done, couldn't she see that? The hard part was the preparation. He

looked around and tried to see it through her eyes. It did look kind

of terrible. But everything should go like clockwork now.

He told her it would be finished in a couple of days. She looked

doubtful, but bore up like a trooper, cheerfully ordering take-out for

them and cooking their bacon and eggs on a hot plate on the dining

room table in the morning.

She was working hard too. It turned out she was some kind of

tax accountant, which amazed him at first. He didn't know she was

such a big deal. She set about preparing complicated tax returns for a

couple of rich people, a bank president, she said, and the owner of a

big company in town. He admired her diligence when he passed

through the dining room, which she was using as an office. She had

large volumes of fine print piled all over the table, and was cute as a

button behind big round reading glasses perched on her nose. Once

or twice he tried to make out what she was doing, but it was all

Greek to him. That was okay; she couldn't saw a straight line.

Everyone to his own trade.

When he began to lay the tiles she got a worried expression.

"A new floor? Er, isn't this all going to be pretty expensive?"

"I tried to keep the cost down, but I figure it'll add to the value of

your house. I'm not sure exactly--the materials, paint--I didn't want to

skimp on paint, have you do the job all over again in a year. I found

a place that sells seconds in plywood--and then renting the tools,

they're pretty expensive. But they don't count, the rental guy said I

could work them off. I guess," he said hesitantly, "I guess maybe like

two-fifty."

"What?"

He blushed. "Two hundred and fifty dollars. I know it's a lot.

Prices are high these days. I could've used crummy materials, but

there wouldn't be no point."

"It sounds like too little! I thought, well, five thousand or so."

"Five thousand!" He laughed out loud. "Naw, I didn't have to buy

anything except paint and a little bit of wood for the island and the

cabinet where the stove was. And the Formica for the counter tops. I

got a deal on that. Some guy had a bunch in his garage. He

practically gave it to me to get rid of it."

"What about the flooring?"

"Oh that. I fixed it up with the floor man to do some work for

him in return for the tile and underlayment."

"Two-fifty for the whole thing? Andy, you must be some kind of

genius!"

It made him shuffle his feet.

A little later she asked, "Could you build a house?"

"Sure. You mean rough-framing and all? Well  . . . I

don't know too much about pouring foundations and putting in

electric, but I can do plumbing and sheet rock and everything else."

She looked thoughtful. "You know, we own a residential lot on

the other side of town. I've been thinking about putting a house on it

if we can sell this one."

"One guy could build a house, all right, but that ain't the way to

do it. It takes too long. You should have a crew."

"It's something to think about."

Having work to do boosted Andy's spirits, and his latest

depressing "spell," as he had come to think of the symptoms of his

disorder, was over. He felt vigorous and self-confident, and each

night as he went to bed had a sense of accomplishment.

They got along well, keeping out of each other's way during the

daytime and chatting amiably over a meal in the evenings. She was

easy to talk to. Andy found himself telling her about the prospects of

work he had picked up at lumberyards and the rental shop. It looked

like he would be able to make a living in Chardsville, he said, and

even put something by for a nest-egg. "I was thinking, maybe I

wouldn't have to get a job. Maybe I could have my own business as

a contractor."

"That would be grand! You work harder, but it's for yourself, and

you don't have to worry about getting fired. I'll do your books. Then

I'll be working for you instead of the other way around."

He laughed, then said seriously, "I dunno, I'm kind of young."

"You get older."

"You really think I could do it?"

"It's for you to decide, but I don't have any doubts. You're a

'Goin' Jessie', remember?"

He wasn't the only one with prospects. She was out of work, but

confided that if she did a good job on the taxes she might get a job

with that lawyer. There was more to it than that, he suspected. Her

expression became guarded when she talked about it, as if she was

trying to set herself up for disappointment. He figured she'd tell him

what was bothering her when she got around to it.

She never spoke about her husband, except to respond once to

his question, "Oh, that's all over."

It was funny, she was so classy and educated and all, but she

treated him like he was special. He wasn't used to it. She talked to

him like a friend, and not a day went by that she didn't do something

nice for him, like he was a real human being, not just a workman

remodeling her kitchen. She did his laundry and mended his jeans,

so each day he started out neat and clean; and after he let it slip he

had no pajamas, went out and bought him a pair. Another day she

remembered him telling her how he missed his mom's apple pie, and

baked him one; and watched him eat it, and seemed to appreciate

his enjoyment.

He lost his heart to her, of course.

Like when he had that crush on Mrs. Mortola, his fourth-grade

teacher. Only now he wasn't in fourth grade. It was sometimes hard

for him to get to sleep, thinking about their being alone in the house

together, her sleeping in a room right across the hall. At such times

he had to play with himself until he came. It was the only way he

could get relaxed enough to drop off.

When the kitchen was finished, she was like a little girl beside

herself. Seeing her delight, he broke down and grinned hugely. He

knew he had done a good job--everything was new and spanking

clean and color-coordinated and efficiently laid out. The rental man

came over, and though he didn't say anything beyond a dry "Hmf,"

Andy could see he was surprised. On the spot the man asked him to

come down to the shop in a couple of days to build a storeroom in

back for him. Andy would get to keep the tools he had rented, and

the man would recommend him to his customers.

That was the day Mrs. Miller got a phone call from that lawyer,

asking her to come down and talk about a job. The rich people had

liked her work. He heard her on the phone making an appointment

for the next day.

So they both had things to celebrate. She served wine at dinner

in the new kitchen, and might have had a glass too many, because

she asked suddenly, "Andy? Are you still thinking about getting that

medical treatment?"

He ducked his head. "Yeah."

She toyed with her fork, not looking at him. "I know it's none of

my business, but  . . . I know about Dr. Goody's

specialty. Are you sure? It might be a big mistake. It's irreversible, you

know."

Well, of course it was irreversible. What would be the point?

She went on, "Please don't think I'm being a busybody, but

believe me it wouldn't work all that well for you. I mean, you're such

a big, handsome boy  . . . Did he advise you to go

through it?"

Big. Handsome. A pleased flush warmed his cheeks, but he knew

better. Not handsome, ugly. He didn't care. He was a guy, a guy

didn't have to be good-looking.

"Not exactly. He said he'd do it, but he wasn't all that happy

about it. He said I might be sorry later. I dunno why."

"There. See? He knows." Crimson, she continued, "I shouldn't tell

you this, but--we're friends, aren't we? So if I can do anything to keep

you from making a tragic mistake  . . . Can I trust you

never to say anything to anybody?"

"Sure." What was she talking about?

"I had the same treatment."

He stared.

Her white grin flashed nervously. "It was all right for me, I'm kind

of small, and you know, not all that muscular, but you're so

masculine-looking it really wouldn't look right."

His mind raced. Why would she have the operation?

He was completely at sea.

"Y-you," he stammered, "h-had the operation? I don't--"

"It wasn't exactly an operation. It was protogen, it just made me

look like a woman. Why, were you thinking of going all

the way? The full operation? Oh don't," she said. "Think very

carefully. I'm going to talk to you like a sister--" She gave a self-

deprecating laugh. "Or like a brother. If it's because you, ah, like men

. . . Is that it?"

For a terrible moment Andy wondered how she knew about the

occasional fantasies he had about men while jerking off, or about the

furtive experiences in the basement of Ray's apartment house. No,

she couldn't know. She had it all wrong. He tried to make sense of

what she was saying.

"It made you look like a woman? Y-you're not a woman?"

"Well," she said shyly, "That's not how we like to think about it.

But yes, except for the way I look, I'm like you."

"Th-they're not real?"

"They are so!" A spark of indignation was in her eyes. "That's

what happens with proto  . . . Oh-oh. We haven't been

talking about the same thing, have we?"

"I don't think so."

"Then what were you talking about? What operation?"

"Just an internal problem."

She turned bright red. "Oh-h. And you-- I-- I'm such a fool. I told

you-- You won't say anything, will you?"

"I'd never."

"Oh God." She hesitated, peeping at his face, and stuck out her

hand. He engulfed it in his, sealing the bargain.

She was so feminine, yet she had just told him she was a man.

Unaccountably his cock stiffened in his jeans.

"Are you sure--? I mean, could I still be misunderstanding you?

You're really a guy?"

Red and white chased themselves across her face, and she

looked down again.

"Yes," she whispered.

"It's hard to believe. You're beautiful. How come? I

don't mean how come you're beautiful, I mean how come you, uh,

changed?"

"It's a long story. My wife--Wendy's not really my sister-in-law,

she's my wife--she wanted me to wear clothes like this. Her dresses.

She said it would make things better  . . . in bed, you

know. Anyway, the more I did it the more she liked it, and I did too.

Then one day some men found out, and, well, you know, they did it

to me. Wendy figured  . . . well, it made me so I didn't

feel as confident about being a man anymore, and she figured I

might as well go all the way. Or maybe not all the way, she didn't

want it cut off or anything, but at least I could take the protogen."

"Some men did it to you? I don't get it."

"You know. Did it to me." Her eyelashes fluttered. Timidly she

added, "Back there."

"Oh." Andy tried to picture it. His cock got harder than ever.

A long-forgotten memory trickled up through his consciousness.

A time in freshman year in high school, in the hated shower room

after football practice. Seeing the other boys' naked horseplay, he

had a sudden irrational terror of being raped. What was worse, the

thought kindled warmth in his genitals, so he had to stand facing the

wall under the spray and grimly recite the times table to himself to let

his erection simmer down.

He made himself continue to sit and chat with her as if nothing

was wrong when she served coffee, but he had a sick feeling in his

stomach. He tried not to stare at her to see if there was anything,

anything at all, that might give away her true gender. As soon as he

decently could, he went up to take a shower before going to bed. He

was shook.

Standing in the spray he thought, Her wife made her do it. Boy,

she must be some bitch.

Under the shower his prick was so stiff it hurt. Its head was

tumid, shiny with strain, a bright turgid red.

She was a guy, not a girl. He couldn't believe it. But she was

telling the truth, he knew that. He'd come to know that much about

her over the past week.

It made him kind of mad. How could she fool him like that? He.

How could he fool him like that?

She had a cock under those dresses. The image in his mind was

so stultifyingly erotic he couldn't bear it.

Some guys had raped her. Served her right. He wondered if she

blew the whistle on them, then realized she couldn't--what would

she tell the cops, she was a guy wearing a dress?

His soapy hand moved on the rigid organ standing like a two by

four at the fork of his legs. What did they do to her? He tried to

picture it. He could see her trying to run away, but caught and held

by one faceless man while another shoved his cock up her ass. What

would it be like to dork another man? He pretended he was the one

doing it. She was being held so tight she couldn't move. He could

take his time. He'd spread her ass cheeks and poke it up her while

she screamed for mercy, shove it back and forth, knowing she was a

guy, maybe holding onto her prick and balls while he rammed in

and out. So vivid were the images that his cock erupted in his lathery

hands long before he had a chance to savor the fantasy.

When his ejaculation was over he felt ashamed of treating her

that way, even if it was only in his mind. She had been too nice to

him. She didn't deserve it  . . . or maybe she did for

tricking him, but he was sorry for it anyway.

He went to bed confused and unhappy.

The next morning he kissed her.

<H3 ALIGN=CENTER>Chapter 4</H3>

Bob reached out with a sleepy hand to shut off the

harrowing buzz of the alarm clock. He buried his face in the pillow,

hair silken on his cheeks, gradually waking, gradually coming to

terms with himself, as he had to do each morning.

In time, perhaps, he would get used to it, to the soft swelling of

breasts under him, the unfamiliar breadth of hips and bottom, the

bareness of shaven legs and underarms. It would take quite a bit of

getting used to. All his life he had been a male; now he wasn't; not

by a big margin, his unduly frequent erections notwithstanding.

No longer was it just a game to turn Wendy on, a sexual make-

believe. He was condemned to pretend to be a woman for the rest of

his life.

The first night home he waited until that boy had gone to bed,

and tried on his old clothes. His trousers were tight around the hips

and loose at the waist; his shirt buttons strained appallingly. He

looked like a girl in men's clothes. That was the moment he fully

comprehended what he'd done. As if it had been lying in wait,

buried in his subconscious waiting for the moment when he could

bear the sudden knowledge, the enormity of the change in his body

crashed in on him. From the moment he left Dr. Goody's clinic he

had known he couldn't wear men's clothes anymore, but it was an

intellectual knowledge only, not visceral. Now it was all very real.

Half the time he was aghast at the consequences of his reckless

surrender to Wendy's whim; half the time he was exhilarated. The

trouble was, even he could see he was brilliantly successful in his

masquerade. Fooling everybody was a special thrill. But he could

have done that--had done that--without undergoing this drastic

physical change.

Now he had to live with it. It was hard, especially in public. He

felt naked in a dress, legs uncovered, privacy vulnerable to any

vagrant breeze that might lift his skirt.

He was shy for other people to look at him. When he forced

himself to go out he found himself hunching his shoulders to

minimize his breasts.

Alone, however, he was proud of them, liking the way they

jiggled when he moved, and the unaccustomed erotic pleasure he

got from fondling them. It had taken several weeks at the clinic for

their ache to subside, but it was worth it.

They had developed to fill a C-cup amply. When it came time for

him to try on street clothes again, Nurse Baker took one look at the

bra he wore when he arrived, Wendy's B-cup, and shopped for

another for him in the proper size.

If he knew Wendy, she'd love them.

He shifted comfortably in bed, feeling their presence. The

sensation fueled his morning hard-on. He needed sex. He thought

wistfully of "Miss Vee," who had given him so much ecstasy so often

despite the shame of Nurse Baker's presence. At first the nurse

seemed impersonal, but as time went by he sensed more interest in

the procedure than was proper. She began checking him for an

erection, not just morning and night, but every time she came in, and

let her hand linger just a little too long. She fondled his balls while

Miss Vee worked. In the final week she said they needed laboratory

samples of his semen, and milked him manually into a flask. Her

fingers trembled, betraying an unseemly excitement. He pretended to

believe her lab-sample story, but a furtive expression on her face

alerted him; he began to watch her through half-closed eyes when

she went in the bathroom ostensibly to label the sample. One

morning she failed to pull the door far enough closed. He caught her

tilting the "sample" to her lips, throat moving as she swallowed, a

look of desperation on her face. It was as though she were a drug

addict and his semen was her "fix". He didn't let on that he knew

what she was doing. It would have been too embarrassing for them

both. But now--where was she when he needed her?

He groaned. He was off the wall waiting for Wendy to return,

and there was still a month to go.

That special musky fragrance his body emanated during the stay

at the clinic had become attenuated, but remained with him

nevertheless, now heightened by the closeness of the warm

bedclothes around him. He breathed it in. He didn't smell like his old

self at all.

Time to get up.

He drew his knees under him and raised his ass, crouching under

the blankets, stretching his back luxuriously. His, um, tits-

-it tickled him to call them that--hung straight down. There was a

refreshing coolness in the creases under them as the dampness of

sweat evaporated.

Why had he set the alarm for such an early hour?

Richard Haskell. He had an appointment with him this morning.

Oh, God.

He would have to go down to the man's office and beg for a job-

-in a dress! What would Haskell think?

His stomach fluttered wildly; his erection disappeared, shriveling

into a flaccid pendant.

He couldn't do it. He would call and cancel.

But he needed the job, they were running out of money, and he

had to have a new place to work, he couldn't return to the tax-

preparation firm that had employed him as a man--and the job with

Haskell would be a good one. With the Chard and Myers tax returns

Bob had done, Haskell would practically be forced to offer him a

good salary, or maybe even the partnership he had mentioned. Well,

he deserved it. He was a good tax accountant; his changed

appearance didn't alter that. It was worth a shot, even if it meant

laying bare his secret. He struggled out of bed. He had to face the

music. Oh God. What would the man say?

Remembering Andy was in the house, he threw on a robe before

shuffling barefoot to the bathroom. Damn, he let the cat out of the

bag last night. How could he have done that? The boy must think he

was awful.

Bob forced his mind away from his embarrassment. He was

pretty sure Andy wouldn't say anything. He was a nice kid. He'd be

leaving as soon as he found work, anyhow. Bob would be sorry to

see him go. He worked hard, so full of energy he was about to

explode, at it from morning until well after dark, grateful for the

slightest human consideration. His face, which had seemed so plain

to Bob at first, had a handsome roughness. When Andy smiled the

sun came out, and the youthful joy simmering under the surface

never failed to touch Bob's heart.

The boy had been good for him, his presence making him

behave as womanly all the time as he possibly could. It was good

practice.

He drizzled bath salts in the tub while it was filling, meaning to

take a long relaxing bath, but found himself too nervous to lie still.

He shaved his legs and under his arms--not much of a chore, the

protogen treatment had all but stopped growth of body hair, even in

his pubic region--and got out of the tub, toes curling luxuriously in

the shaggy bath mat. He dried himself pink, dusted with body

powder, and padded back to the bedroom to get dressed.

He would wear the new strapless bra. Supremely lacy and

feminine, it looked hardly large enough to contain his tits. The

underwiring lifted them and squeezed them together--the saleslady

called it a push-up-push-in bra--so his cleavage was pronounced.

He took special pains with his garter belt, lining up the garters so

they were straight along his thighs, buttoning them to beige

stockings which made his legs look sleek--then changed his mind

altogether and put on panty-hose instead. Wendy liked him in

stockings, she said they looked naughty, and he agreed, he preferred

them, but of all the things he didn't want to be today, it was

"naughty". He tucked his cock carefully down into the crotch of his

panties so no bulge would show under a tight skirt. He had already

selected his dress for the interview. It was Wendy's blue cashmere,

the top of which the seamstress at the cleaners had let out. Wendy

would be irked if she knew, she liked the dress, but he would have

it taken in again before she got back. The color flattered his

complexion. In the mirror the dress looked sophisticated and, he

hoped, reasonably businesslike.

He filched Wendy's pearl earrings for discreet accents, and

decided against a necklace. Pumps of the same shade of blue as the

dress completed the ensemble. The mirror told him the two-inch

heels made his ankles trim.

Sitting at the dressing table he brushed his hair until it shone,

and applied cosmetics with meticulous concentration, stopping at

each stage to evaluate the procedure critically, resisting the

temptation to use too much makeup, as if somehow makeup would

be a mask to prevent anyone recognizing him.

He had managed to submerge his nervousness by focusing on

getting dressed. Now the butterflies started up again.

It was still early, but he could hear Andy stirring in the kitchen.

He didn't have enough to worry about, now he had to go down and

face the boy. Well, it would be good practice. It seemed this was the

day for having his secret known. He would have to face Andy, who

knew, and then go and tell Haskell and face him too.

He took a breath, conscious of the way his tits lifted in a bra that

held him so firmly it was beginning to be uncomfortable, and went

downstairs to make breakfast.

Andy was putting the coffee on. He looked up cheerfully.

"Morning." He gave a low whistle. "Wow, you look nice!"

Bob smiled shyly, not quite able to look at him. "Thanks." He

tied an apron around his waist, conscious of Andy's eyes following

him. "I have an appointment downtown."

"Yeah, for that job, right? Don't worry, you'll knock 'em dead."

"I hope."

He put on bacon and eggs to cook.

Andy set their places saying, "Sure. You look great. It's about

those taxes you did, ain't it?"

"Yes, kind of. You see, last spring I prepared a tax return for a

man who turned out to be a bank president's son-in-law. He showed

him some of the ways I saved him money, and the next thing I knew

the bank president asked his lawyer, who had been doing his taxes,

to get me to do them this year. Also the bank's chairman of the

board, Mrs. Chard. She's rich. I knew she owned most of Chardsville

but until I did her personal taxes just now I didn't have any idea how

rich. I bet she's the richest person in the state."

He wiped his hands on the apron, served the bacon and

scrambled eggs, and sat down opposite Andy.

"So did she like the job you did?"

"Mr. Haskell said so."

"You got it made," Andy said confidently.

"Yes. Well, I hope so, anyway."

"You look worried. Don't be. You gotta look like you don't need

him. My dad said that was the only way to ask for a job."

"I suppose so."

Andy really was a very sweet boy. For a moment Bob

contemplated telling him what was troubling him, but he didn't want

to get into the business about his being a man again. Andy was

pretending he didn't know, and maybe that was best, they could just

forget the whole thing, make believe he hadn't said anything last

night.

Andy said, "You got a nice day for it."

The weather was fair. An autumn sun streamed through the

kitchen windows, brightening the new paint and floor tiles.

The boy shoved his empty plate away and finished his coffee.

"Want me to drive you?"

Bob stood up to clear the counter. "Thanks, it's such a nice day I

think I'll walk." He needed exercise to settle his jumping stomach.

He got his coat and purse and prepared to venture out into a

world that was suddenly fraught with peril.

His voice trembled when he said, "I'll see you later."

Andy's expression was sympathetic. He walked to the door with

him and patted him on the shoulder.

"Good luck. I'll keep my fingers crossed."

He bent quickly and kissed him.

It flustered him--after all, it was inappropriate, the boy knew he

was a man--but it was such a spontaneous, genuine act that it lifted

his spirits. He walked down the street, self-conscious about the click

of his heels on the sidewalk, but feeling better.

Haskell's new offices were impressive. Too impressive, Bob

suspected. He didn't know how much the rent was, or, if Haskell

owned the two-story building, what the mortgage payment was, but

he was willing to bet it was an arm and a leg, more than half the

lawyer's gross revenues at least. Add to that the cost of running

expenses, secretaries, insurance and taxes and other items of

overhead, Haskell must be lucky to barely clear enough to support

his Mercedes and Lake District home.

Bob could understand why the man wanted to expand his law

practice to include financial planning for his rich clients. It would

probably more than double revenues. People's need for a lawyer was

only sporadic, but managing their investments was a year-round

proposition. Rich people talked to rich people; Bob had no doubt

that if Haskell could offer successful tax-planning and management,

the division would become the tail that wags the dog.

He hesitated in front of the intimidating front door and adjusted

the new brassiere, the elastic of which seemed to be trying to crawl

up his back, and smoothed his skirt. He couldn't put it off any

longer. He opened the door.

The immaculate wine-red carpeting in the reception area was so

deep his spike heels plunged in and threatened to overset him. Tall

narrow windows transmitted a pearly light into the room,

illuminating delicate period furniture.

The receptionist was a blonde girl a couple of years younger than

he, obviously chosen for her attractive smile.

He made himself answer the smile. "I'm Barbara Miller. Mr.

Haskell is expecting me."

He took off his coat and straightened his shoulders, self-

conscious about the prominence of his breasts, but determined to

brazen it out. He hung the coat on an old-fashioned oak coat-tree by

the door.

The girl glanced down at the appointment book on her desk.

"Oh dear," she tittered. "I'm afraid Mr. Haskell thinks you're

somebody named Bob." She spoke into the intercom. "Mrs. Miller is

here, Mr. Haskell." To Bob, "You can go right in."

Doing his best to control his breathing, he forced one leg after

the other to carry him to the office.

Haskell was scrutinizing some papers on an enormous polished

mahogany desk. Without looking up he said, "Hi Bob, be with you in

just a sec."

He finished reading the page with an expression of satisfaction.

"There," he said, "That's done. One more fat fee."

He stood up.

His expression changed to surprise. He looked him up and

down. "I'm sorry, I was expecting somebody else. Janey did say

Miller, did she not?" He snapped his fingers. "I get it. The

resemblance is unmistakable. I didn't know Bob had a sister. Have a

seat." He indicated a conversation area comprised of a comfortable-

looking couch and chairs around a Hepplewhite coffee table. "What

can I do for you? Where's Bob?"

Bob closed the door and turned.

"I'm Bob."

Haskell's uncomprehending smile stretched his pencil-mustache.

Clean-shaven except for the mustache, he looked dapper and

distinguished with a sprinkling of silver at his temples. The man was

of average height, only a couple of inches taller than Bob was in

heels.

Bob couldn't prevent the blush he felt coloring his cheeks. "I'm

Bob. Really."

"The Bob Miller I'm talking about is a man. Older than you. He's

a tax practitioner."

"That's me. I am Bob Miller, Dick," Bob insisted. "I chose a new,

ah, life-style. But I'm still a tax accountant."

The man stared at him dumbfounded. Slowly Bob saw

recognition, then belief, trickle into his eyes.

"You-- You-- How--?"

"It's a long story."

Still staring, Haskell said, "Come on, sit down and tell me about

it, er, Bob." He waved at a chair.

"It's Barbara now." Bob sat as gracefully as he could, and tugged

his skirt down.

Haskell looked at his knees.

"Barbara! Of course. Barbara. Forgive me, I'm having a tough time

assimilating this." He dropped into a chair opposite. "Let me catch my

breath."

His eyes traveled over Bob's figure. He shook his head. "I don't

believe it. I never knew you were gay."

"I'm not!"

"Then what are you doing, er, in drag?"

"Wendy wanted me to do it, and then it turned out I liked it."

"Wendy? That's right, your wife. You two still married?"

"Sure we are."

"I just thought, with you looking like that  . . . Why

would she want you to adopt this life-style?"

Bob looked down uncomfortably. "She just does. Anyway, I can't

go back to the other firm dressed like this. Everybody would know,

the preparers and all my clients. So that's why I'm here. We've been

acquainted for a long time, I trust you. I know you wouldn't tell on

me. I thought if that offer was still open  . . . "

"Gee, Bob--er, Barbara. Things have kind of changed, haven't

they? Who else knows about this?" His eyes were calculating.

"Wendy. Nobody else."

"What about Mrs. Chard and Mr. Myers? They know you're a

man."

"I relayed all my questions through you, remember? I never

spoke with them. They don't know if I'm a man or a woman."

"Yes." Haskell was thoughtful. "I guess it could be passed off as

some kind of mix-up. Bob. Barbara. Bobbie. It would be easy to

make a mistake, I suppose. But they may not like the idea of a

woman doing their finances. Some people are funny that way."

"Lots of tax accountants are women. Besides, you said they were

pleased with my work."

Haskell gave an uncertain laugh. "You really are Bob, aren't you?

I can't get over it. Yeah, they did like it. They raved about it. You

saved them thousands in taxes, and they followed your advice about

shifting funds, so now they're making more than ever, most of it tax-

free. Er, what was that business about rent?"

"Rent? Oh. You arrange to buy the company's offices, using

company money, of course, borrowing it or something. Then you

charge the company rent in lieu of salary or dividends. There's no

self-employment tax on rental income, so you cut your personal

taxes sharply. Plus the company benefits by an expense that reduces

income without having to pay its share of Social Security tax."

"Really? Could I do that?"

"Maybe. We could sit down and talk about it. I'd have to know

all the factors."

Haskell shook his head. "That's what makes you such a good

financial planner--you don't commit yourself until you know all the

details."

"So? About working here?"

Haskell stared at the wall in silence. Bob could see the wheels

turning, like a used-car salesman figuring out how much he could

charge the buyer.

He said slowly, "We-ell, we could give it a try. I know I said

something about a partnership, but maybe we'd better hold off on

that until we see what's going to happen. I'd be sticking my neck

out, you know. If anybody found out  . . . I'd have to say

I didn't know anything about it."

Again he inspected Bob. "You know, you really do look pretty

good. If we're careful nobody would ever guess, would they? It's

kind of a kick. Okay." Bob saw he had made up his mind. "How

about this. You work for me on retainer plus a commission equal to

two-fifths of any financial planning business that comes in, including

Chard and Myers. And two-fifths of anything the firm bills for

fiduciary tax return preparation. That's fair, isn't it? We'll get one and

a half percent for managing portfolios of under a million, and one

percent over a million."

Bob's heart lurched. Haskell had just said yes. He was taking

advantage of him, he knew, last year he got two-thirds for tax

returns, but the deal sounded good anyway. He did a swift

calculation. His income would skyrocket immediately. With judicious

application of some ideas he had already formed, it could increase

tenfold in just a few short months. They could start building that

house.

His heartbeat was so violent he feared the vibration of his dress

would betray him.

"It's a deal."

He shook hands with him.

The lawyer asked, "Can you start tomorrow? Sam Lovell,

president of Chard Industries, is coming in. Seems Mrs. Chard

mentioned you. I'll have an agreement messengered to your home

this afternoon. We'll have to get you a secretary too. You got anyone

in mind?"

The president of Chard. That meant not only his individual

account but the company's profit-sharing accounts as well. From

Haskell's watchful expression he was almost sure Lovell had been

told to ask for him personally. He should have held out for a better

deal.

He answered the question. "Not right offhand. I'll call you if I

think of somebody."

"Let's go meet your new associates."

Haskell guided him with one hand lightly on the small of his

back, making Bob aware of a perceptible change in the man's

reaction to him, not quite patronizing, but somehow as if Bob were a

child.

The lawyer introduced him around. Jane Bloom, the receptionist,

gave Bob a smile that was a bit too radiant; he sensed she was

nettled, another "woman" was to be her boss.

The elderly gentleman in charge of research, Bert Jaffe, expressed

surprise at Bob's youth and apparent gender, but complimented him

on the precedents he had used to support certain of Mrs. Chard's

deductions, and said something courtly about Bob's skill being equal

to his comeliness. Bob caught an amused glitter in Haskell's eye and

looked away hastily.

Two research assistants maintained a careful respect when Bob

was introduced, but when he and Haskell left the library he heard an

aggrieved whisper. "That broad is younger than we are. She's

supposed to tell us what to do?"

Haskell made as though to reenter the library; Bob stopped him,

saying gently, "These things sometimes take a little time. I'll handle it

later." But the incident frightened him; he had to have the young

men's cooperation to do a good job, and wondered how he'd be

able to gain it. Mrs. Brower, in charge of the files, proved a doughty

old battle-ax who looked at Bob with approval. "About time we got a

woman associate," she said.

Bob's office was every bit as large and luxuriously appointed as

Haskell's. The walls were paneled; the desk a gleaming expanse of

dark wood in front of an imposing high-backed leather chair that

made Bob think of a throne. He tried to imagine the desk covered

with books and papers and a calculator, and couldn't. It was a

beautiful office, but it was for show. If he wanted to get any work

done he'd have to do it in Research.

Haskell explained, "In this game appearances are as important as

anything else. You have to impress the clients with your success.

Don't forget, we want to give the impression that we don't need

them, they need us. It would be better if you were a man and didn't

look so damn' young, but I guess there's nothing we can do about

that now. They'll just have to live with it. He held out his hand. "Glad

to have you with us  . . . Barbara. See you tomorrow."

As soon as Bob got out in the deserted lobby he leaned against

the wall. His vision dimmed and his knees shook. His heart was a

galloping runaway in his chest.

I did it, he thought. I did it!

He rested panting until elation impelled him out to the street.

He walked on air, paying no attention to where he was going,

just needing to work off the tension and anxiety of the morning by

some kind of exercise, not feeling the chill wind that swirled up

under his coat and around his stockinged legs, kept warm by the

exultation ablaze in him.

It was the lunch hour. Office workers thronged the streets.

He grinned irrepressibly at the freckled redheaded girl coming

toward him. "Hi, Nancy," he blurted absently, saw her startled look as

they passed, and an instant later knew he had made a big mistake.

Nancy Dahl was the receptionist at the tax firm he worked for, a

diminutive homely girl whose cheery smile was so bright it almost

made her look beautiful. He had always liked her for her exuberance

and energy and the tact with which she avoided office politics. They

had worked closely seven days a week for three months of each

year. Of all people to pull a boner with!

His footsteps faltered in dismay.

He made himself continue down the street, hoping she thought

he was a customer from last tax season or something--and flinched

wildly as he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Bob? Bob Miller?"

He didn't respond, but the girl skipped ahead and stood in front

of him, blocking his way. Her pale green eyes were wide.

"It is you, isn't it? Why, Bob!"

He darted a look to either side to see if anyone was watching.

"Shh. Not so loud."

The girl whispered gleefully, "Why are you like that? Let me see."

She stepped back and looked him up and down. "You're

gorgeous!" Apparently correctly interpreting his

expression she added, "Don't worry, I think it's

wonderful."

Bob opened his mouth but couldn't make himself say anything.

She knew him. He couldn't deny it. He had a sinking feeling. His

disguise wasn't as impenetrable as he hoped. He'd never be able to

carry it off.

"I can't believe my eyes! I'm completely overwhelmed.

Tell me all about it."

He murmured desperately, "Not here. I'll see you another time."

"Forget it. I'm not letting you go for one second. I want to hear

everything." She hooked her arm through his. "Come on, I was just

going to lunch. We'll go to Mitzi's and get a table all by ourselves."

The place was half a block away, one of those cutesy restaurants

that specialized in things like little watercress sandwiches and

crustless squares of brown bread with cream cheese covered with a

dab of caviar. It wouldn't be crowded. Glumly he let her lead him. At

the table she sparkled when he slipped his coat off.

"Wow. You don't do things halfway, do you? Just look at you,

you're stunning! They look so real."

Stung, Bob said, "They are real."

"Oh, yeah, right. Pause for laugh. Laugh over." She gazed at him

intently through narrowed eyes. "You're not kidding, are you. They're

real? How did that happen?"

"I, um, I went to a doctor for a  . . . treatment."

"Oh God, Bob, that's terrible! It's one thing to dress up--but to

give up your  . . . "

"I didn't! It just changed the way I look."

"He didn't--cut you?"

"No," he blushed. "No subtractions, just additions."

"That's marvelous. That's why your voice is like that,

too. I--"

She broke off while the waitress took their orders.

Bob opened his purse, found a hanky, touched it to his temples

and upper lip. He was sweating with nervousness.

When the waitress left he asked, "H-how did you know?"

She gazed at him steadily, as if making up her mind to be candid.

Her freckles disappeared as pinkness overtook her face.

She said finally, "My husband does too. I mean he wears dresses

around the house. I wouldn't have recognized you, except I was

used to it. When you said hi, I didn't know you at first, but then,

well, it was kind of like a double image, like seeing Jimmy--that's my

husband--on the street."

"Your h-husband wears dresses?"

"Yeah. He really looks good, better than me. He did it every day

when he--well, that's another story. Anyway, I'm used to it. Don't

worry, love. Nobody else could ever tell."

Another man like him. Not gay, married to a woman. He'd like to

meet him someday.

"Don't you mind?"

"What, about Jimmy? No, I think it's nice." Her pale green eyes

twinkled. "You look nice too. So what's the deal? I would never of

believed I'd see you like this. Jimmy would be thrilled."

"Oh  . . . it's too long to go into now. My wife, well,

she kind of encouraged me. It makes her feel, I don't know, better

about things."

"I know what you mean. It gives me a kick to go to bed with

Jimmy when he's that way."

Her frankness made the heat in Bob's cheeks deepen. He took

advantage of the waitress' arrival to change the subject.

"How are things back at the ranch?"

"The tax orifice?" she grinned. "Usual. Slow out of season, but

you know that. Myrna is still a royal pain to everybody in sight."

Myrna Floss was the office manager, a squatty woman with a

masculine demeanor who ran the place on principles of favoritism,

cronyism, and consummate disregard for the feelings of employees.

Nancy took a bite of her cottage cheese. "We lost four out of six

tax preparers this year. Myrna's really counting on you. Wait'll she

sees you. She'll have puppies."

Bob grinned in spite of his self-consciousness. "Are you kidding?

I'm not coming back. Nobody's supposed to know. You're not going

to say anything, are you? Please."

"Never! I told you about my husband, didn't I? Well, then. If you

won't say anything I won't. Myrna's going to be pissed off, though."

She seemed to derive considerable pleasure from the thought. "So

what are you going to do next season?"

In cartoons they show a light bulb going on over somebody's

head when he has an idea. To Bob it was just that way, a sudden

flash of inspiration. Nancy knew about him. If he had her loyalty she

could be a big help.

"I'm heading up a new department at Haskell and Associates." It

was the first time he said it out loud. It sounded important. "Tax

planning and financial management. I just got the job today. Listen,

I'm going to need a secretary. You take dictation and type, don't you?

And you know all the tax language. Why don't you come to work for

me?"

He prayed Haskell would go along with the salary he was

prepared to offer. If he didn't, Bob was willing to pay the difference

out of his own pocket. He'd be able to afford it.

When he told Nancy how much she would be making, her plain

face turned bright.

"And I'd be an executive secretary? Wow, cool. It's about time I

left that crappy tax office. Wait'll I tell Myrna. Say, what

will I tell her? Who'll I be working for? Not Bob Miller."

"Barbara Miller. Bob's sister, I guess. You'll have to cover for me

if a client comes in and thinks he recognizes me."

"Don't worry, I will. Barbara! I love it. I'm so

proud of you! You made up your mind to, what, go all

the way and become a woman--sort of--and just like that you got a

job as the big boss. It couldn't have happened to a better

. . . girl. When do I start?"

Bob smiled happily. "Tomorrow?"

"I'll tell Myrna soon as I get back. I should give her two weeks

notice, but I can't resist telling her I'm going to lunch."

Bob laughed. She was referring to a tax preparer a year ago who

said she was going to lunch and never came back.

Nancy said, "Oh-oh."

"What?"

"You, uh, you're not gonna use the ladies' washroom, are you?"

He stared at her until he saw the twinkle in her eyes, and burst

out laughing.

He was still smiling when he walked into Dresser's department

store to celebrate with a new outfit. His own. He wouldn't have to

borrow Wendy's things anymore.

He charged a couple of tailored knit suits and blouses to

complement them; and then, carried away, half a dozen mix 'n match

frocks, skirts and tops. He took pleasure in selecting dresses with

deep d�colletages--formerly, with falsies in his bra, his absence of

cleavage would give him away; he had to wear prim and proper

high-necked garments. Shoes to go with the dresses were next.

Mildly unnerved by the cost of the spree, he threw caution to the

winds and treated himself to an assortment of lingerie.

To atone for his self-indulgence, he picked up another pair of

pajamas and a toilet kit for Andy, and went on to purchase jeans and

jockey shorts--Andy wore them instead of boxer shorts, which made

Bob smile when he did the laundry; he always thought of them as

"little-boy shorts"--and shirts. The poor boy needed new clothes if he

was going to talk to people about remodeling their homes. Shopping

in the familiar men's department gave him a pang.

Out on the street, laden with packages, he wished he had taken

the car this morning. There must be some way of getting a driver's

license. He wondered if he could get away with simply renewing his

license under his new name, say the original had been issued in

error. No, if it didn't work, the whole thing would blow wide open.

He'd be disgraced, lose his new job; he and Wendy would have to

leave town.

The only cab at the stand was Mr. Cosy's old Checker cab. He

didn't dare ride with him, the town's biggest gossip. Thinking black

thoughts, Bob made his way home on foot.

Andy was still banging away in what he said was going to be the

new den, a private room where Bob could work, instead of

spreading his papers out on the dining-room table.

Shyly he remembered the impulsive surprising kiss this morning.

As much as anything else, its residue had sustained him in his role

today. It had been like a husband kissing his wife good-bye. He

guessed it brought him luck.

He went upstairs to change into one of the new dresses,

thankfully freeing himself of the push-up-push-in bra. He scratched

his back luxuriously where the strap had been.

The dress was yellow checks on a rust background, cheerful fall

colors that flattered his complexion. It clung snugly around the waist

and hips before flaring out in a knee-length full skirt. The top

buttoned down the front, but the highest button was only level with

the middle of his chest, forming a V that exposed rather more

cleavage than necessary. He looked good in it.

He preened a moment in front of the mirror, thinking how

pleased Wendy would be when she saw him, and went downstairs

to make dinner.

<H3 ALIGN=CENTER>Chapter 5</H3>

Andy's day was not one of his best, from the very

moment he jolted awake with a raging hard-on.

What had he been dreaming? He searched his mind. No dream. It

was the memory of Mrs. Miller's revelation. She wasn't a girl, she was

a guy.

His prick was so distended it seemed about to rupture. In fact,

his whole genital area felt swollen and humid.

Nothing seemed to go right.

Look at the way he kissed her good-bye. He didn't know what

came over him. One minute she was standing at the door looking

scared, the next he put his arm around her shoulder and kissed her.

Actually kissed her. On the corner of her lips. Him. Kissed him. It

wouldn't be so bad if she hadn'a told him she was really a guy, but

she had, and so he'd kissed another man, and he had known it, and

so had she. What that made him, he didn't want to think about.

Anyhow, she didn't make a fuss or anything, just looked

surprised. He was glad she left right away so she couldn't see his

face get red.

What the hell, it was only a good-luck kiss, she knew that. He

hoped she'd get that job, it would make her happy.

What did she want to look like a girl for, anyway? He didn't get

it. She had a wife, so she wasn't queer. But here she'd gone to the

doctor to get tits.

The wife--what was her name, Wendy, that was it--wanted her to.

He couldn't understand that either. What kind of a woman would

want her husband to look like a girl? It sounded like a way of putting

him down.

He wondered what Mrs. Miller looked like without clothes. Man,

wouldn't that be a sight. A dame with big knockers and a

tallywhacker. Maybe he could leave his door ajar when she took her

bath at night, and catch a glimpse of her going back to her room. No,

she wore a bathrobe. Maybe she didn't lock the bathroom door, he

could just walk in and act surprised and apologize for not knowing

she was there. The thought fueled his aching erection.

He worked all morning in the spare room he was turning into an

office for her. In the middle of setting up a tricky compound-angle

cut he realized she didn't have to tell him about herself, but she had.

That must have taken guts. Also trust. It was because she thought he

was going to do the same thing--as if he ever would!--and wanted to

talk him out of it, so it showed friendship too.

For a minute he toyed with the idea of confiding his problem to

her, the spells and all. It would be nice to be able to talk about it

with a friend. No, the habit of secrecy instilled in him by his father

and mother was too strong. From the time he was old enough to

walk they had emphasized that he was never, never to risk any kind

of exposure. He'd be a laughing-stock, or worse. Until he reached

puberty they were prepared to sacrifice everything, move away like

his grandmother's parents, but things had worked out all right and

they didn't have to leave town.

He made a botch of things all day, one mistake after the other,

his mind abstracted with thoughts of Mrs. Miller. His balls had begun

to ache. "Blue balls," Ray Tynan called them, when you were making

out with a girl but couldn't get in her pants. Not that Andy had ever

gotten that close to having sex with a girl.

When he painstakingly measured a board, going back two or

three times to be sure--and then cut on the wrong side of the line,

making the board an eighth-inch too short, he quit in exasperation. It

was only four o'clock, but if he kept on he'd just be wasting his time.

Or worse. Probably cut off a finger or something.

As the saw whined to a stop he heard noises in the kitchen. She

was home. He put his tools away and went to see.

She was at the sink washing vegetables, her back to him. He

heard her humming a little tune.

She was cheerful--she must have got the job. Her dress was

different from the one this morning, kind of an autumn-y color. It

hugged her curves, narrow at the waist and following the contours of

her hips like a second skin, until midway down her rear end it flared

out into the skirt proper.

Her feet did a little dance in time to her humming. Her alluring

ass switched, making the skirt sway. No way was that a man's

bottom, there was no leanness there, it broadened generously

instead. He remembered her boobs. He knew they were real--in the

house she wore low-necked dresses with no brassiere, God, they

practically fell out, it was all he could do to keep his eyes off her.

That must have been some treatment she had.

He heard what he was thinking. "She." "Her." He should be

thinking of her as "him." But how could he when she looked that

way?

He stepped quietly up behind her.

Even at that point he wasn't sure what he was going to do. Give

her another kiss maybe. The image of her getting plowed by men

obsessed him. He remembered how excited it had made him in the

shower last night.

He put his arms around her slender waist.

She nearly jumped out of her skin. An instant later she relaxed.

"Eek," she said, a puzzled smile in her voice. "It's a mugger."

Jeez, she smelled good. Underlying a hint of floral perfume was

her own body odor, a fragrance that sent a message directly to his

aching balls. He could be blindfolded and he would know her

anywhere. He nuzzled her hair aside and kissed her at the corner of

her neck and shoulder.

The delicate form in his arms tensed.

"Andy! Stop fooling, I have to get dinner."

Spontaneously he lifted his hands from her waist to hold her tits.

They were soft and firm and yielded excitingly to his squeeze.

If she was really a woman he would never have dared. But she

wasn't. He could do anything he wanted--she couldn't tell on him. It

was her own fault; she shouldn't have fooled him.

She gasped.

"Don't! What do you think you're doing?"

Part of him was appalled by his actions, but the part that was

running things unbuttoned her top so he could fondle her bare

boobs.

He heard her start to pant. A tremor swept through her.

She choked, "Andy, don't. I told you  . . . I'm not a

girl."

"I don't care." His voice came out hoarse. "You're so beautiful I

can't help myself."

Gently he wedged her nipples between the index and middle

fingers of each hand and tugged rhythmically. According to the guys

that was the way to make girls hot. He didn't know what it was

doing to her, but it was definitely working on him. He was hot all

over. His balls steamed; his crotch was wet. He had never been so

horny in his whole life.

She wriggled fiercely, making him release his grip on her nipples

for fear of hurting her, and turned to face him, still enfolded in his

embrace, palms up against his chest.

She quavered, "Be a good boy. Let me go. I have to get dinner."

His heart ached to see her trying to conceal fright, but his prick

had control. He put his mouth on hers.

She squirmed, "Mmf!" and pushed against him, but he held her

with ease.

A despairing sound emerged from her throat.

The tenseness in her body waned.

For a long moment she stayed quiet in his embrace, letting him

kiss her.

Her provocative body aroma increased markedly; she must be

sweating. He thought of a bitch in heat, giving off signals to every

dog for blocks around.

An obtrusive bulge under her skirt made itself known when he

pressed against her.

He was galvanized. She was a guy. Until now he had

merely accepted the truth of her words in his head. It was shocking

to have it confirmed physically.

When Andy finally broke the kiss she stared at him as though

she had never seen him before.

He said, "Well, what'd you expect, if you're gonna look like that?

Anyway, you liked it."

"No I didn't!"

"Then why are you hard?"

"I'm not!"

"Oh yeah? Let's see. Come on, show me."

"No! I don't have to. Anyway, I'm not hard."

"I am, though. Wanna see?"

"No!" She hesitated. She looked at his jeans. After a moment she

said, "Really?"

"Sure." He reached for his belt. "I'll prove it."

"No," she said, but her gaze stayed fixed to his midsection while

he unbuckled his belt and zipped down his fly. Her eyes got big

when he pried his cock out through the fly of the jockey shorts.

It stuck straight out, leaking from the orifice in the tip, which

kept gaping open and closed. The flaring head was a deep rose

color, shiny with tumidity. A corona of pink skin gathered in a collar

behind the head. The shaft was fair, traced with distended blue

veins.

He couldn't believe he was exposing himself to her like this. He

felt dirty, like he did when he and Ray Tynan messed around in the

basement.

Andy sat on one of the kitchen chairs, penis stark upright, and

took her hands to draw her toward him.

"Sit on my lap and we'll talk."

She said, "Oh no. I'm not coming anywhere near that thing," but

she took a wary step closer.

"Come on, what harm will it do?"

Staring at his erection she said, "Well  . . . only to

talk."

She let him pull her down. Just before sitting she flipped out her

skirt so his prick nestled between her warm thighs when she settled

on him. She was soft in his arms and trembling violently.

He said, "So. You didn't like it when I kissed you."

She hung her head, dubiously watching his hand edge into the

open vee of her dress. She shivered when he touched her nipple. It

erected.

She said raggedly, "Of course not. We're both men. How could I

like being kissed by another man?"

"You're more of a woman than a man," he said, bouncing her tit.

"Anyway. I didn't like it."

"Maybe I did it wrong. We should try it again, just to be sure."

"I still won't like it. You'd probably try to put your tongue in my

mouth. Ugh."

"Naw. Here, put your arms around me and relax."

His cock twitched between her legs when her arms went

hesitantly about his neck.

He embraced her again, thinking crazily that she was the most

exciting creature he'd ever met, but it was all wrong, she was a guy.

He couldn't help himself, her closeness, the feel of her in his arms,

was driving him nuts. His tongue went out; her tender lips parted;

the tip of her own tongue touched his. It was his first French kiss,

obscene but delectable, the most intimate thing he ever experienced.

Her thighs squirmed, massaging his wedged penis.

When he ended the kiss she panted, "There, you see? Nothing."

"I guess I still did it wrong. We should try again to see if I can get

it right this time."

"All right, but this is the last time."

Her face shone.

She was stiff at first, but all at once relaxed and applied herself to

the kiss with enthusiasm, holding him tight, mouth opening under

his, tongue meeting tongue, wild, curling and slurping with abandon.

A wriggle of her ass caused her thighs to open briefly, freeing his

prick, and the movement made her body shift until his cock was

touching the crotch of her panties. It was almost like on purpose.

He lost himself in her sweetness until they ran out of air.

She rested her head against his chest, breathing hard.

They were alone and private in the house. Outside a distant

mother's voice called for her child, emphasizing the stillness in the

room which made all the small noises they made seem louder; her

panting breath; a quiet creak of the chair as Andy shifted her weight

on his lap; the rustle of clothing.

He held her close. His right hand left the delights of her soft

breasts, insinuated itself under her skirt, slid up her stockinged leg

until it was on smooth bare flesh.

She let out a small gasp.

He let his hand slip higher to grasp her panties.

She held very still.

Earlier, when he felt the lump against him, he thought he was

reconciled to the idea that she was a man, but the grotesque reality

of the confined erection stretching the nylon under his hand was

appalling--and unbearably, perversely, exciting.

"I thought you weren't hard."

She pushed his hand away. "I'm not."

"Let me hold it for a while, okay? I never touched one before."

"We were only supposed to talk."

"I know. But you wouldn't mind if I just held it while we talk,

would you? Come on, just for a little while."

"Well  . . . since you showed me yours

 . . . I guess it would only be fair. Don't think I'm going

to lose control or anything."

"I know."

When her lips parted to admit his tongue, he fondled the silk of

her panties again, caressing the stiff pipe they contained. He tugged

at the elastic waistband. She squirmed and made protesting sounds,

but her movement accidentally facilitated the removal of the panties.

He slid them down to her knees, which moved absently, causing the

delicate garment to fall to the floor.

Now she was naked under the dress. His erection was in contact;

the head prodded into her soft heavy balls.

Her prick was surprisingly hot to the touch. It felt huge, bigger

than his. He clasped it, pulling back and forth so the skin moved,

first covering the head, then stripping back. Andy didn't know much

about girls, whether she had liked him caressing her tits, for example,

but he did know what made a cock feel good, and did it.

She said suddenly, "Oh, don't. Don't! You'll make me--"

The organ he was gripping jumped and began throbbing. Wet

warm liquid squirted.

She grunted, "Uh. Uh. Uh," and held him fiercely while her hips

writhed.

He continued to pull at it until it softened, head shrinking back

into the concealment of the foreskin. It was wet; her balls were wet;

his hand was wet; everything was wet. God, his own prick was

slippery with her stuff. She must have shot a gallon of come.

She drew a deep shuddering breath.

"That was-- You made me-- You weren't supposed to do that."

"Didn't you like it?"

"Well  . . . " Her voice shook. "I couldn't help it. It's

been such a long time."

"Me too. Longer than you, I never did it."

"Sure you did. Everybody does."

"I don't mean by myself. I mean with somebody else."

"You never did it with somebody else? You're a virgin?"

The word made him blush. He shrugged.

After a minute she said, "I suppose you want me to do it to you."

"No."

"No?"

He could swear there was disappointment in her voice.

He said, "You know what I wish?"

"What?"

"What you told me." He tried to keep from sounding bashful.

"What I told you?"

"About those men that got you."

"Oh."

"I'd like to do that with you."

"Do--? Oh. You want to put it in me."

"Yeah."

There was a long silence.

"Oh, Andy, no," she sighed. "It would be a mistake."

"Why a mistake?"

"Well, for one thing, it hurt!"

"I'd be gentle. I'd stop if it hurt."

"Even so, when they did it, it wasn't my fault. I mean, they just

forced me. It was like, say, being beat up. A person can't help that.

But if I let you, it would be, well, different. Besides, I'm

married. What would Wendy say?"

"You don't have to tell her. I won't."

"But--"

"I did it for you, didn't I? Now it's my turn."

"I'm afraid."

"I won't hurt you. It'll be nice, you'll like it."

"I'm too scared."

"Don't be. Come on, you can't leave me like this. It ain't fair. You

were a guy, you know what it's like."

She hid her face in his chest.

His heart leaped when he heard her muffled voice, "I suppose I'll

have to. If only to show you what a mistake all this is."

He stood up, holding her so she wouldn't fall. Her eyes were cast

modestly down. He turned her to face the kitchen island.

"Bend over the counter."

Wordlessly she did as she was told.

It gave him a sense of power, which was new to him. Up to now

it seemed everybody could tell him what to do--his parents, his

teachers, even her, he was working for her--but now he was in

control. He was dominating another man.

She flinched when he lifted her skirt to gaze at her alluring rear,

and again when he fondled it.

She said abruptly, "I can't believe I'm letting you do this. It's

humiliating."

"No, it's not, it's sexy. You got a beautiful ass. I like the way your

legs are all shaved, too. They look nice in stockings."

"You just want to have your way with me."

"It don't hurt that you're pretty, though."

He stroked inside her thighs up to her wet balls.

She gasped.

"Do you really think I'm pretty?"

"You're more beautiful than any real girl I ever saw."

"You're just saying that so I'll spread my cheeks for you."

"No, I mean it. Really."

She reached behind and pulled her buttocks apart. The crack

glistened with semen that had leaked down her crotch. Her asshole

was a dusky-pink rosebud. It looked tiny.

"Ugh. I'm all slippery. You probably think it's going to make it

easier for you to push that big thing up me. That's why you did it,

isn't it. Well? What are you waiting for? I'm helpless in front of you.

Go ahead, satisfy your disgusting needs. --Oh!" she yelped, when he

poked the head of his cock against her wet asshole.

He shoved with enough force to move her entire body forward,

but nothing happened. It wasn't going to fit.

A terrible sense of frustration came over Andy. He grabbed her

hips to hold her steady and thrust again. He had to get in her. Had

to. All day his cock had been telling him what it needed, and that

was this, and he was going to succeed if it meant tearing her apart.

He pushed.

She cried out, "Ow! It's too big. Don't!"

There was a small sound, a soft *pop*, and his prick

lunged forward an inch into tenderness.

She shrieked.

The head was past the entrance. Her ass spasmed reflexively

around the neck of his cock, squeezing it tightly.

"Ow! Wait! Oh God, you're in--unh!"

He drove his prick farther up her ass, aided by the slick film of

sperm, oblivious to her cries until he was all the way in.

Air was expelled from her lungs in an explosive grunt. She

sobbed, "Please. Wait. Don't move. It's so big and hard and hot. Let

me get used to it."

Now that he was in, possessing her, his patience returned.

Without attempting to draw back, he let himself relax on top of her.

Gently he lifted her silken brown hair and kissed her neck; then

reached under her to pull her dress open and squeeze her tits.

Her asshole was moving around him, gripping and massaging his

shaft. He savored the warm tunnel, feeling the constriction lessen.

Her pelvis writhed sensuously in a circle, tugging deliciously.

She gasped, "Your big thing is in me. You're fucking me. Oh my

God, I never knew it could be like this."

Her shoulders moved.

He asked, "What's the matter?"

"Nothing."

"Are you crying?"

"Yes!"

"Am I still hurting you?"

"No. Yes. A little. That's not why. You won't like me

. . . after."

"Sure I will. Why wouldn't I? I was even in love with you before

you told me."

She sniffled, "You were?"

"Sure. So why would I not like you?"

He pulled back, hearing her quiet moan; and shoved forward

again, making her exhale sharply. Her ass lifted like a cat in heat to

meet his stroke.

"Oh, I'm giving myself to you. I'm so ashamed."

She stiffened and began grunting. He heard a quiet splash on the

floor. It took him a second to realize he had made her come again;

he was surprised and gratified. He still didn't know if he could satisfy

a woman, but he could satisfy a man, all right.

He plunged in and out rhythmically as the noises she was

making subsided. Her asshole was more relaxed now. His prick

slushed with each stroke.

She panted weakly, "You're going to leave your seed in me.

You'll make me--unh!--completely yours."

Her words sent him over the edge. With no warning his balls

seized, he rammed up her, the muscles in his crotch clenched--and

semen erupted like a series of gunshots through the barrel of his

supremely rigid organ.

She squealed, "You're squirting in me! I can feel it!"

Her hips were jerking in rhythm to the spastic pumping of his

cock jets of sperm shot into her pulse after pulse prick clutched by

her anus he CAME and CAME and CAME spurting fiercely

into her receptive body; until finally the jets diminished to drools that

flowed with little pressure and his balls were drained at last. He

shuddered. There were goose bumps in the small of his back.

Awareness of his surroundings came back to him; he heard her

whimpering and babbling.

"  . . . you used me, you came in me, so hard and big

and--UNH! Unh. Unh."

Her ass gripped his prick repeatedly.

He slumped on her, breathing raggedly. His cock softened

reluctantly, massaged by the peristaltic movement of her rectum,

which milked the last drops of sperm from him as it gradually

squeezed him out. When a final contraction forced his penis to

emerge, dangling heavy between her thighs, he lifted himself from

her trembling body and sat heavily in the chair. He never came so

hard, he was sure.

Oh Jeez, he had pronged another man. His face burned.

She remained bent over the counter top, quivering, ass exposed

and leaking. Between her open legs he could see her hanging cock

and balls. She groaned, straightened up, skirt falling into place, and

looked at him defiantly. Flush succeeded pallor on her face. There

were tear stains on her cheeks.

"I hope you're satisfied."

He summoned the energy to give her a smile. "Yeah."

"You just went ahead and did what you wanted."

He smiled again.

Her gaze dropped to his midsection. "You didn't even take down

your underpants."

He shrugged.

"Oh! You are a beast. I'm going up to change. Look

what you did to my new dress."

The front of her skirt had a long streak of wetness on it. But that

wasn't from him, he thought, it was from her.

She turned on her heel and went to the stairs. He noticed she

was walking stiffly, legs held apart.

Left alone to cope with his reactions to what happened, he

sighed, tucked his flaccid penis into his shorts, and zipped his fly.

Andy didn't know what to think about himself. All his life he had

been taught to avoid the slightest suggestion of effeminacy. Yet he

had just had sex with another man. Did that make him a homo?

Anybody else, he would think so. But he wasn't one of those nancy

guys with limp wrists. He remembered jerking off with Ray. You

couldn't call Ray a fag. The guy had knocked up two girls before

graduation. So maybe this was like that--just fooling around, like

guys did sometimes.

It was funny, instead of making him feel faggoty, the experience

left him with a sense of strength and power.

He'd been the one on top. It wasn't like the other guy had

fucked him or anything. A squirmy nervous feeling ran along his

crotch and made his balls shrink up.

He knew he should feel ashamed, but had to admit he really

enjoyed going off inside her. He wondered if getting his ashes

hauled by a real woman would be more satisfying. He doubted it.

Knowing she had a prick and balls and you weren't supposed to

mess with her, and then going ahead and dumping your load in her

had a special excitement. Like a lot of things, Andy decided, it was

the sweeter for being forbidden.

A noise in the pipes told him the bath upstairs was filling. He

wondered if he'd made her feel dirty, and then remembered how wet

she was with her own jism. She was something else. She came once

when he jerked her off, and twice more while he was screwing her.

He never heard of somebody coming three times in a row. She must

have been excited by his performance. It made him feel good.

When she came back down her color was high, and she had

trouble meeting his eyes. She went right to the sink and started

rinsing the abandoned salad vegetables.

She was scrubbed clean, her hair was shining, and she was

wearing another dress he hadn't seen before, a burnt-orange frock

with a square neckline that barely covered her nipples.

Hard-on returning, Andy said, "Anything I can do to help?"

"No. Yes. You can pour me a glass of wine. It's in the fridge. I'll

have dinner on the table in a jiffy. It's already late."

He found the bottle and filled a long-stemmed glass.

"How'd things go today?"

She gave him a measured look. He could see her decide he

wasn't referring to what just happened.

"Wonderful. I got the job."

"I knew you would. You think you're going to like it there?"

"Yes! They put me in charge of a new department. Just the kind

of work I like. I even have a secretary."

"That's great. I told you."

"You did. You know, I didn't say anything before, but I really

appreciate how supportive you've been through all this."

"I didn't do nothing."

"Yes you did, just by being on my side. I didn't ask, how did

your work go?"

"Okay. You mind if I have some of this wine with you? There's a

couple more days work on the den yet, but I have to go do a job for

the tile man. I'll finish it up after."

"The tile man? Oh, in return for the flooring. Listen, I'm going to

have money coming in soon. I can afford to buy the tiles. I don't

want you to have to work for them. It wouldn't be fair."

"No. See, if I do a good job for the tile man, he'll recommend me

to his other customers. It's a good deal for me."

She laughed. "You're always thinking, aren't you? I bet you're

way ahead of me all the time. I'll have to watch my step."

Grinning, Andy set the table.

They ate companionably, never once mentioning what was most

on their minds, until she served coffee.

She looked at him thoughtfully.

"You said before that you loved me until I told you--you know."

He took a sip from his cup. "Yeah."

"Does that mean you didn't love me after I told you?"

"Well, yeah. You're a guy. How could I be in love

with you?"

She considered.

"Men can love each other."

"Yeah. Fags."

"No, I mean, love isn't something that always has to be only

between men and women. If you like and respect somebody--a lot--

that's love, isn't it? Or a father can love his son. Or brothers can love

each other."

"Yeah, well  . . . that's different."

"It is? Okay. Just so I know where I stand."

She smiled brightly, collected the dishes, stacked them in the

sink.

Andy said uncomfortably, "Well, it is different. You know what I

mean. Parents can love their kids, and brothers or sisters can love

each other, but guys don't love other guys unless they're queer. You

know that. What we did this afternoon was, well, kind of like, well,

we both needed it, your wife isn't around, and I got no girl friend, so

we just  . . . But we're not fags, right? Things happen.

You're married to a woman--she is a woman, isn't she?"

"Of course." Her voice was cold.

"See? We can like each other, God knows I like you, I

think you're terrific."

"All right."

"No, I mean, if I loved you, I'd have to be a fag."

"Okay! You told me. You don't love me."

She started washing the dishes.

"See? It would be unnatural. I mean  . . .

love. That's something special, like if you was a real girl.

Maybe I could love you. Maybe I would."

"All right! I know what you mean." She scrubbed

vigorously at a pot. "I understand. We don't mean anything to each

other. It was just one of those things."

"Okay. Good. I just--"

"Andy, I said I understand. Now let me do these

damn' dishes in peace."

He brooded.

"I just-- You mad about something?"

"Of course not. What would I be mad about? I always let people

stick it in me. Why not? I'm just a fag. No love involved."

"Aw, listen--"

"Let's change the subject. Better yet, let's not talk."

The pot clattered noisily into the dish rack.

Andy was beginning to feel in the wrong, but he didn't know

what about. He had only tried to be honest. He remembered his

mother pulling that same kind of stuff on his father, and his father

had always reacted calmly, apologizing when she wanted him to

apologize, soothing her when it seemed right, changing the subject

when that was in order. Yeah, but his mother was his father's wife.

This was just another guy, even if she looked like a girl.

He waited while she finished the dishes, afraid to leave. She

wiped her hands on the dishtowel.

He said, "Look, whatever I said, I apologize."

She stared deliberately at the bulge in his pants and said coldly,

"I'm going to bed early. I have to get up tomorrow."

He put his hand over his lap. He knew his face was crimson.

At the door she turned.

"Don't be too long. I'll wait up for you."

<H3 ALIGN=CENTER>Chapter 6</H3>

Bob heard the shower turn on across the hall, and hastily

undressed to get ready for bed. His stomach lifted dizzyingly.

His world had shattered the minute Andy's lips came down on

his, and a whole new one opened for him.

He stood paralyzed when the boy started feeling him up, first

with shock, then by the astonishing exquisite feeling of somebody

touching his breasts, but he could have contrived to get away--if only

he hadn't turned to face him.

It was the kiss that did him in. It was so tender and romantic and

loving that he found himself yielding.

He didn't decide, it just happened. He discovered his face lifting

and his body melting against the man, an erotic fire kindling in his

loins. His heart pounded. There wasn't enough air.

A man was kissing him! It was the other side of the

coin. He was used to putting his arms around his wife and kissing

her. This was exactly opposite. Little or no actual physical difference,

but the man was holding him, putting his lips on his, and that made

a world of difference.

It wasn't right, it was perverse, no, depraved, to let

Andy kiss him like that and to be so affected by it--but he couldn't

help it.

What came over him? He was waiting impatiently for his wife to

come home so he could make love to her. Pretending to be a girl

was for her pleasure, not to court attention from men.

He did his best to imitate women, to walk and talk and move like

them, an actor submerging himself in his role, trying to be the

character he was pretending to be. But he never quite succeeded

because he continued to see himself as an impostor. He couldn't

make himself feel like a girl.

When Andy released him, a glare of insight illuminated his mind.

Women had relationships with men! They had boyfriends. Boyfriends

who kissed them. They even--his stomach leaped--had sex with

them. As much as anything else it was the key to being female.

So long as he never had an intimate relationship with a man, he

couldn't hope to fit into his new role. He'd been overlooking that

crucial knowledge.

The answer to his predicament, if he wanted it, was standing in

front of him.

Andy knew about him, knew he had a penis, and had kissed him

anyway--and had more in mind than just a kiss. That was made

amply clear by the bulge in the boy's pants.

He stared at him, the warm pressure of Andy's lips lingering on

his own. His nostrils retained the clean sweaty youthful odor of the

boy's body, overlaid with the fresh scent of sawdust. His nipples still

tingled from the touch of Andy's hard hands.

Heart in his mouth, he watched Andy take out that beautiful

prick. Everything seemed to happen in an instant of time--the hot

rigid feel of it between his trembling thighs, the impassioned kisses,

the hand thrilling up his leg, cool callused fingers manipulating his

cock, the violent untimely ejaculation--and finally the consummation:

the painful stretching insertion of the boy's sex organ and the hot jets

of living sperm inside him--and his own ecstatic response.

It was more than he could handle.

Body plundered, soul ravished by excitement and terror, he'd

staggered upstairs in tears. He stripped off his stained dress and sat

on the toilet sobbing. His swollen anus quaked, opening and closing

involuntarily. Andy's semen dripped into the bowl with quiet plops.

He wiped himself and ran a bath and lay in it, breasts bobbling

as they sought to float; and tried to collect himself.

How could he have done it? Oh God, he had actually let another

man put his thing in him. Suppose Wendy found out? He couldn't

stand it. His face burned with shame. His ass still felt the intrusion, as

if Andy's erection was still inside him. He squirmed in the tub.

He had talked himself into it with that rationalization about

"fitting into his role," feeling like a woman. How could

he?

The kiss had aroused him. He'd been so long without sex that his

balls short-circuited his mind and he gave in, knowing he was doing

wrong, terrified but helpless to control himself.

No sooner had he assumed the position than he found himself

penetrated, not by something innocuous like Nurse

Baker's cold thermometer, but by a man's thick organ

 . . . and was robbed of all initiative. For the duration of

the act he existed as little more than a quivering sex object for Andy's

use. He wasn't cooperating with Andy, he was surrendering to him.

Through the pain and shock he became aware that the boy's

hardness was rubbing against a certain spot in front of his rectum

that seemed intimately connected with his genitals. It stimulated him

wildly and caused him to writhe in passion. Without any volition on

his part, he ejaculated again, through a penis gone limp with strain.

Another insight. Women didn't make their own orgasms; they

were made to have them by men.

Bob was deeply frightened by his surrender to the boy; even

more so by the realization he was so excited by it that he already

wanted it to happen again. There was something special about Andy,

something that appealed to the sexual side of his nature, that made

him want to be with him. Resting in the bath, heart pounding, he

knew it could become addictive.

He should stop now. End it.

Just one more time, he told himself. Tonight in bed. Then they'd

talk, and he would explain why they couldn't go on.

Andy had liked his shaven legs. It occurred to him that if he

shaved between his legs there would be no hair to retain

odor. It would make him daintier. He got on his knees, breasts

hanging in the water, and shaved carefully, one hand guiding the

other, checking for any trace of stubble. The smooth bareness of his

skin gave him confidence in his cleanliness.

When he got out of the tub his anus was still puffed and sore.

He rummaged among Wendy's private things until he found the

vaginal jelly she used in the time before she got turned on, and

soothed the abused orifice with it. It was slippery when he moved; a

feminine no-no that made him feel sexy.

He put on his new burnt-orange frock, checking to make sure it

was as seductive as it had looked on the mannequin in the store,

and, afflicted by a sudden shyness, went down to make dinner.

His pique with Andy when the subject of love came up vanished

as soon as he left the kitchen to come upstairs. He knew he had

been foolish, and was glad he had the sense to stop and let the boy

know he could come to bed with him.

Nevertheless, he was having trouble with Andy's refusal to admit

to an emotional commitment. If Bob were willing to give himself to

him, the least the boy could do was reassure him that it meant more

than just a casual roll in the hay.

Nude, he looked at himself in the floor-length mirror, trying to

see himself through Andy's eyes. He blinked. The reflected image

was too bizarre for words--a young woman with a penis and testicles

dangling from the juncture of her thighs. He had always been

complacent about being well-hung, and formerly the strange

juxtaposition of male and female never failed to arouse him, but now

it was only embarrassing. Grotesque, in fact. He didn't know if he

could bring himself to let the boy see him like this.

Well, he didn't have to.

With the thought, his palpitating heart subsided.

All right. Good. Instead of the lace nightie he'd planned to wear,

Bob took a high-collared flannel gown from the bureau, and went to

bed without makeup. If Andy showed up, he'd send him back to his

own room.

The decision calmed him. It was the right choice. There was no

sense in getting any more involved than he had already.

He sat up, put a pillow behind his back, and tucked the

bedclothes around him.

The sound of the shower stopped. A few minutes later there was

a knock at the door.

Butterflies again.

"No, g-go away. I changed my mind."

The door opened.

"Hi."

Andy was wearing the blue pajamas he had bought for him this

afternoon. The thin cotton was stretched in a ridge along the inside

of his thigh. There was a dark stain of moisture at the end.

At the sight he caught his breath. He looked down, face warm.

"Andy, I know I said  . . . I'd wait up for you

 . . . but it would be better for both of us if you slept in

your own room tonight."

He peeped up through his lashes.

The boy's open face showed disappointment. God, he was

handsome. So straight and tall and strong-looking. He was freshly-

shaved, ruddy from the shower. His dark hair was curly.

"You might be better off. Not me."

There was a new self-confidence in his manner.

Bob labored on, "I've been thinking about what happened, it was

a mistake."

"I didn't think so, I thought it was great."

"You did? Well, but  . . . oh, Andy, I never did

anything like that before. I'm scared."

The boy came forward and sat on the edge of the bed. Bob had

to remember to breathe.

Andy asked in a gentle voice, "Why?"

"I--liked it."

"Yeah? So did I."

"No, I mean I liked it too much. It wasn't natural."

"Yeah, I know. That was part of what made it so nice."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Listen, it's kind of chilly out here. Why don't I get under

the covers with you while we talk about it?"

There was nothing wrong with the room temperature. Bob could

hardly get the words out for the thumping of his heart.

"A-all right, just for a little while, but no fooling around."

Andy agreed, "No fooling around."

"Promise. Then you have to go back to your own room."

"I promise."

He got in next to him, sitting so close they were touching. His

warmth glowed through their nightclothes to Bob's skin.

"I'm sorry if I was too rough before. I didn't mean to hurt you. I

got carried away."

"You didn't. Not too much, anyway."

"I'm glad, 'cause I wouldn't hurt you for anything. I really like

you, you know."

"You do? You don't mind that I'm not really a girl?"

Andy stretched comfortably. "I like it."

"You do? Why?"

Bob shivered when the boy's arm dropped casually around his

shoulders.

"I dunno. It's interesting. Sexy. It makes you a surprise, you

know? It really turns me on."

Bob gulped, "You don't think I'm  . . . strange?"

"Naw. Well, only in a nice way. Remember, we got to know each

other pretty good before you told me. I figure you're the same

person. Listen," his arm squeezed Bob's shoulders affectionately,

"with all these covers you must be kind of warm in that heavy

nightgown. If you want, we could get more comfortable."

"Andy."

The boy had the grace to look sheepish.

"I'm only thinking about your comfort."

"You just want to see me naked."

"Boy, are you suspicious. Anyhow, I already did."

"Not all the way."

"Come on, let's."

Bob's erection got so swollen it hurt.

After a moment he said shyly, "All right." He sat up and pulled

the nightgown over his head. "Now you."

Andy's throat moved convulsively as he stared. His face got pale.

Bob covered his breasts with elbows and arms.

The boy yanked his pajama top open without bothering to

unbutton it, and tossed it on the floor. His chest hair was thick.

"You're beautiful," he said hoarsely.

He put his arms around Bob. His prick poked through the fly of

his bottoms and pressed hot against Bob's quivering naked belly.

"You feel good. Skin is nice, isn't it? I mean the way it feels."

"You're doing it again."

"I know."

"You promised you wouldn't."

"I know."

Andy put his mouth on his, hairy chest brushing his bare breasts,

cock leaking into Bob's pubic hair.

Bob dissolved. All the boy had to do was kiss him.

"Oh, what am I going to do with you?"

"I dunno, relax and enjoy it?"

"You beast. That feels good." Andy was caressing his breasts.

"I like your tits. They're beautiful, a real turn-on."

"You could kiss them if you wanted. Oh! Oh God, wait. Stop," he

gasped. "I'm about to--"

The suction left his nipple.

"Just from kissing your tits? You're something else."

"Give me a chance to catch my breath. Let's just lie here for a

moment with our arms around each other."

After a while Andy said, "I thought you were mad downstairs."

Bob stroked the other's chest, twining his fingers in the mat of

hair covering it.

"I was. People who are in love can get mad at each other, but it

doesn't have to affect their relationship. You have to know what's

important."

Andy kept silence.

Bob knuckled him in the ribs. "You do love me, don't you?"

"I don't want to provoke another argument."

"Go ahead, say it."

"No."

"Yes you do. You do love me. I know."

"How do you know?"

"Because you won't get a piece of ass unless you do."

Andy burst into surprised laughter and hugged him close.

The humor was still in his voice as he said, "I guess I better go

along with it, then."

"See? You love me."

"Okay, okay!"

"Say it."

Andy choked, "I--love you."

"I knew it. Kiss me, you fool."

Bob flowed against him. Their stiff cocks bumped each other. He

wished Andy would take off his pajama bottoms.

He luxuriated in the embrace, crushed in the muscular arms of

the boy who--now he could admit it--who had taken his heart. A part

of his mind recoiled in perplexity. It was women who mistook sex

for love, not men. He couldn't help it; the side of him that had been

unleashed by their intimacy demanded it.

In a little while Andy tried to turn him over.

"Wait," Bob whispered. All he wanted in the world was for the

boy to kiss him while they had intercourse.

"Let's do it now."

"I want to, too. But wouldn't you like to do it this way?"

He lay back, opened his legs, and raised his knees.

Andy's bewildered look turned to pure lust. He covered him,

resting his weight on his elbows. His penis poked Bob's nude crotch.

Heart beating so hard it made his breasts jiggle, Bob reached

down to clasp the simmering erection with both hands, to guide it to

the jelly-slick hole.

Andy flinched.

"What's the matter?"

"Nobody ever touched me there. It makes me nervous."

"Be gentle with me," Bob panted. "You're so big and hard."

He centered the prick directly on his orifice. Its pressure was

ineffably thrilling; the nerve endings in the opening were acutely

responsive to the warm urgent prod. It was every bit as exciting as

complete penetration. Maybe better. This was when he still had a

choice, so to speak. He was conscious of deliberately letting another

man take possession of him, put his prick in him. The delicious sense

of surrender heightened the thrill. In the kitchen it had almost been

rape; he hadn't had time to fully savor the awareness of accepting a

man inside him.

He concentrated on relaxing his asshole while the pressure

increased. "I put something down there to make it easier."

"I liked it when it was your own come. Maybe we could do that

again some day."

"Oh-h."

Bob's ass quavered. The head of the boy's cock entered a little

bit at a time, gaining when the muscle relaxed, maintaining its

position when it clenched.

He was dizzy with excitement. The prick pushed deeper up him;

he was now wedged open, truly penetrated. He sobbed, clutched the

man to him and rotated his pelvis sensually.

Andy's organ slid up inside.

Breath pushed from his lungs in a squawk. He lifted his knees

still higher and tilted his hips to make the intrusion deeper. Andy's

balls were heavy against his tailbone.

He never felt so submissive in his life, belly up, legs open,

stuffed full of that throbbing rigidness. He thought if he were raised

a girl he probably wouldn't feel it so strongly. They grew up

expecting to be on the bottom and seek dominance in other ways.

As it was, he had no defenses. But the shame was mixed with joy.

"Oh Andy, it's so good. Yes, take me!"

"You like it, huh?"

"It's wonderful. You're wonderful."

"You are too. You're tight. I can feel your ass holding me. It's like

you had a cunt."

"I'd hold you forever if I could. I'm yours. You can make me put

out for you any time you want."

"Yeah."

Andy began stroking back and forth.

Bob's penis had gone flaccid with the stress, but remained

sensitive to the pressure of the boy's muscle-ridged stomach. It

squirmed between their bodies with a life of its own, giving rise to

exquisite sensations.

As Andy moved in him, Bob became aware of that peculiar

titillation he had experienced in the kitchen. The invading cock was

massaging that certain spot. It was excruciating; it made his hips

move voluptuously in rhythm to Andy's strokes.

Bob whispered, "Please. Kiss my titties again."

In an instant there was wet suction on his nipples. His back

arched in ecstasy. Thrills rocketed to his groin.

A violent SQUEEZE in his genitals forced the emission

of a prolonged gush of semen between their bodies. Rapture seized

him. He shuddered. He held on to Andy for dear life. After an

endless time he became aware that the high-pitched animal-like

noises he heard were emerging from his own throat, and made

himself stop.

He lay under the boy enduring the seething measured thrusts.

His violated asshole was stretched painfully, deliciously. The

entrance burned with friction, but the stimulation of that magic spot

deep inside persisted.

Andy rammed so far up him it made him cry out. The prick,

already enormous, swelled impossibly. It jumped. Bob could almost

hear a squit as the first gout of his ravisher's living sperm,

hot and liquid, was injected into him. The prick jumped again. And

again, and Bob's pelvis writhed around it deliriously, receiving the

intimate fluid. His heart filled with love and terror. Andy had made

him his; life would never be the same.

His own limp sausage issued its thrilling stream once more. The

combination of sensations was too stimulating to bear; the lights in

the room dimmed, and went out.

When he came to, he was moaning. Andy was slumped on him.

He welcomed the weight. The boy panted hoarsely in his ear.

The cock still inside him was only half hard; his asshole worked

on it, squeezing out whatever sperm remained. He wanted to keep

the prick in him, but his anus, spasming uncontrollably, gradually

ejected it.

With a satisfied groan Andy rolled off him, breathing deeply. He

turned out the light and put his arms around him.

Bob nestled secure in the boy's embrace. His swollen asshole

drooled semen wet and warm between his cheeks, and his belly was

sticky with his own sperm, but he felt no compulsion to get up to go

to the bathroom.

Andy said with difficulty, "I think I really do love you."

Bob started crying silently in the dark.

The next morning he awakened early, blissfully aware of the

warmth of the boy's body next to his, remembering the night before,

hoping that Andy would take him again this morning. He began to

worry that he might have changed his mind, that maybe it hadn't

been as fulfilling for Andy as for him. Without waking him, he

padded naked to the bathroom to relieve his bladder and bowels.

Wiping himself didn't seem enough. He should bathe. Or maybe-

-

He found Wendy's douche bag, filled it with solution, and hung

it on the wall. Inserting the curved black nozzle stimulated him

despite the tenderness there: it reminded him of the other thing that

had penetrated the orifice. The rush of douche water brought back

the memory of Andy's ejaculation.

He repeated the process twice more, flushing each time, until the

solution came out clear. He was thoroughly clean inside. It gave him

confidence, but as he slipped back in bed with Andy he continued to

worry that the boy might have undergone a change of feelings

overnight. Bob was in a unique position to know how a man's balls

took control, and how once they were emptied, his emotions could

undergo a backlash.

He was relieved and elated when Andy opened his eyes, kissed

him, and exuberantly pounced on him.

The ensuing weeks passed in a celebration of joy and humid sex.

They couldn't get enough of each other. After work each day Bob

rushed into his lover's arms, and each night slept in bliss beside him.

On weekends he gave up wearing panties.

They were quietly terrified, of course, each in their own way.

Bob, because he had let himself topple over the precipice,

abandoning what masculinity remained to him, letting, no, desiring

to have a man enter him; Andy, because everything in his upbringing

led him to loathe and fear the remotest hint of anything less than

consummate masculinity in himself--and yet here he was, unable to

keep from having sex with another man.

The words "fag," "queer," "pansy," all the names that suggested a

deficiency in manhood, kept echoing in Andy's head, shaming him,

but were powerless to hold him in check. Again and again he was

driven to sex with Bob.

Similarly, Bob was appalled--my God, what would Wendy say if

she found out?--but utterly unable to help himself. At first, each time

he recovered from multiple ejaculations and became aware of just

how totally, blindly, he had given himself to the boy, he would

promise himself never again, but it took only a kindling

look from Andy to cause his penis to jolt into erection, and for him

to melt into a quivering jelly.

He complained about Andy's habit of wearing his pajama

bottoms when they were in bed together.

"It's like taking a bath with your socks on. Don't you want to be

all naked like me?"

"No, it makes me uncomfortable. You don't really mind, do you?"

The boy obviously had his hang-ups.

"Not if you keep making love to me the way you do."

His rationalization about intimacy with a man making him feel

more like a woman proved to be grounded in reality. With Andy he

was submissive and doting, as he imagined women other than

Wendy were with their men. He began carrying himself with grace

and femininity. He stopped being so shy about his bosom, and

found himself standing straight, breasts lifting proudly as if he had a

right to them.

Paradoxically, with half his mind on Andy, his work took an

upswing in both quantity and quality. He didn't have the time or

patience to get bogged down in it, to labor exhaustively over each

detail. He worked fast and effortlessly, keeping old Mr. Bauer and

the two kids in research hopping, and built complex structures

within the tax law to provide his clients with benefits. Occasionally

he'd use an IRS ruling in ways it was never meant to be used, and

knew that somewhere down the line they'd pick up on it, but there

was nothing they could do but change the wording, too late. In the

meantime he saved his clients money.

He did his best to strike a balance between ordering his

subordinates around and being as feminine as he was supposed to

be. Apparently he was successful. He overheard one of the research

assistants say, "I thought she was gonna be a bitch, but she's not.

She's pretty nice. You notice instead of telling us to do something

she always asks sweet as pie? She consults. She says,

'What if we take this approach? Could we find a Treasury Reg that

would let us?' You end up feeling like you're doing her a favor? And

you never think it's enough, you want to do more. I dig out more

information for her than I ever did for old Picky Dicky."

"Yeah," the other responded, "but one reason is, she's so sharp

you'd be ashamed to do a half-assed job."

He showed Sam Lovell how to use tax-deferred money from

Chard Industries' pension fund to benefit both company and

employees. The next day he was summoned to Mrs. Chard's estate

for tea, during which she thanked him for his advice, and told him

he was the best thing to happen to Haskell since he founded his

legal practice. "It was long past time," she said, unconsciously

echoing Mrs. Brower, "that he put a woman in charge down there."

Also present was a Mrs. Argentina, whose raven beauty contrasted

sharply with Mrs. Chard's flaxen elegance. By the end of tea, Mrs.

Argentina had become another client of Haskell and Associates.

Haskell was effusive when he heard, but stopped short of

offering him a bonus.

Bob usually ate a hasty lunch at his desk, enduring Nancy's

disapproval--she kept scolding, "You'll get ulcers if you keep this up"-

-wanting to get on with the job so he could go home to Andy. One

Friday, however, she insisted so firmly that he shrugged, put down

the file he was studying, and accompanied her to Mitzi's for their

little sandwiches.

Nancy said, "There. Isn't this better than that stuffy office?"

"I thought you liked the office."

"I do. It's fun. A lot better than the tax orifice. God, I'm glad to be

away from that place. But you have to take a break once in a while,

you know."

"I suppose."

"I hear you got Marie Argentina's account."

"How'd you know?"

"She told me. It came up when I mentioned to her and Estelle

Chard where I was working."

"You know them?"

"Sure. Jimmy and me are friends with Leslie Woicyk and her

husband--she's Estelle's daughter--so we see Estelle pretty often, and

Marie is often with her."

"My gosh. Can I touch you? Hobnobbing with the fantastically

rich and famous."

Nancy's grin lit up the room. Her close-set pale eyes looked him

up and down.

She said, "This job must be good for you."

"Why's that?"

"You look so happy. You're absolutely radiant. So, I don't know,

demure or something. Fulfilled. Like you have a secret. If

you were somebody else I'd say you were going to have a baby."

Bob laughed. "Not much chance of that."

"Haskell notices too. You should see the way he ogles you when

you're not looking. Little does he know." She tittered. "Anyway, to

me, work is work, and if I do good I get a kick out of it--but nothing

like the charge you're getting! It's spooky."

Bob knew that Nancy had guessed there was more going on than

just the job. She was tactfully inviting him to confide in her. Prying.

He regarded her thoughtfully. Underlying the joy he took from

his perverse relationship with Andy was a sense of foreboding.

Wendy would be coming home soon. What were they going to do

then? He couldn't imagine giving up Andy, but if it came to a choice

between him and her he'd have to choose Wendy. It was one thing

to give himself wantonly, unself-consciously, to his lover when they

were alone; quite another to stand in the broad light of day and

admit to Wendy that he wanted to be used by a man. He couldn't

bear to think that knowledge of his depravity might cause her to lose

respect for him.

Nancy was married to a man who wore dresses. Maybe she'd

understand. He needed a friend to talk to, and for a moment he was

tempted to tell her about Andy.

Bob caught himself. What was he thinking of?

He changed the subject. "How's your husband?"

"Jimmy's fine." She hesitated, smile fading. "I guess I shouldn't

have said anything about him the other day. It wasn't too cool, was

it? I was just so surprised to see you that it just popped out."

"Are you afraid I might tell somebody? I'm one of those people

who live in glass houses, you know. You can be pretty sure I'm not

about to throw any stones," he grinned.

"I know. I just wanted you to know I don't usually

blab like that.. Just in case you were worried. Your secret is safe with

me."

"Thanks. I'm glad you told me about him, anyway. It made me

feel better about things."

"You mean, like, you're not the only one?"

"Yes."

"Don't worry about that. I'm sure it's more common

than we know. I keep telling Jimmy. He's embarrassed about it. I tell

him there are a lot of men who wear dresses, but he hardly ever

does it any more anyway. He's studying accounting, see, he'll have

his degree in June, and he thinks he has to be super-straight. He's

gotten so straight it makes me puke. It's a real downer."

"A downer?"

"Yeah. See, for one thing dressing up really turns him on, and

that's terrific, rewarding for me, if you know what I mean. For

another it turns me on too. I love to see him all beautiful and sexy in

a miniskirt. I try to tell him, but I think he got the idea I might be

looking down on him or something. Now he only does it once in a

while when we entertain--a certain friend--who likes him to be in a

dress."

"Could you have said something to make him feel that way?"

"No! I love it when he dresses. In fact I like it so much I

sometimes wonder if I'm a lesbian."

Bob started to laugh.

"Don't. It's not funny." The corner of her lips twitched, but she

continued seriously, "I really do think I might have some leanings in

that direction. I told you we were friends with Estelle and Marie?

They're that way. And so beautiful. I keep wondering what it would

be like if  . . . " She was lost in reverie for a moment,

abruptly shook her head, saying, "Anyway, I wish Jimmy would dress

up more often. I mean for me, not for--our friend."

"Mrs. Chard and Mrs. Argentina are lesbians?"

"Oh God, I did it again. You're too easy to talk to, you know

that? Forget I said anything."

"It's forgotten. But--really? They're lesbians? I didn't know that."

"Shh! Yes! At least--well, lately I noticed Estelle looking at Mel--

that's her daughter's husband--in a certain way. And him at her. I

wonder if anything's going on. Maybe she's bisexual. Lots of people

are, at least that's what Masters and Johnson say. Jimmy is."

Bisexual. Bob thought it over. That would explain his own mixed

feelings. He never knew that about himself. It was funny though. He

couldn't detect any "bisexuality" in himself about other men, only

Andy. There was something special about the boy that attracted him

strongly, that appealed to some deep instinct.

It was partly the way he smelled. Underlying that clean masculine

aroma was a breath of tantalizingly-familiar odor that never failed to

stir his balls.

Aloud he said, "Really? Jimmy?"

Nancy reddened. "That friend I told you about? He's gay. When

he comes over, he and Jimmy  . . . you know."

"You don't sound too upset."

"I'm not." She looked down at her plate, freckles swamped by a

wave of color. "I like it. They--let me share. Does that shock you?"

"Yes! You join in with them? Shame on you!"

Her eyes darted to his face, measuring him to see if he was

serious. Reassured, she laughed weakly.

"I know it's awful. When Jimmy and I first got married, I would

never of believed we would do anything like that. But I don't know,

after you've been married a while, well, maybe you begin to think

about variety, adventures, like that."

Bob considered a moment, then asked, "Don't you mind about

Jimmy and this other person? I mean, doesn't it make you jealous? Or

. . . make you think less of him?"

"Now you're doing it. Why would I think less of him?

I like it. It's kind of something we can share. Besides it makes him a

better lover. He knows how I feel when he does it to me."

He remembered Wendy saying, "Now you know how it feels."

Nancy said, "Did you and Wendy ever? With somebody else?"

It was Bob's turn to blush. He didn't know if he should say

anything. Still, Nancy had been open and trusting with him. If he

didn't return her confidences she would be hurt.

"Well  . . . a couple of times, I guess, with Wendy's

sister."

"Her sister! All in the family, eh?" she twinkled. "You're not as

ladylike as you look. Where's her sister now?"

"With Wendy in San Cabrón."

"Too bad," she said slyly.

Bob smiled.

Nancy said, "I guess you're anxious for them to get back."

When they did, he'd have to give up Andy. Oh God. Maybe he

could find a way to keep him and Wendy both. Maybe she would go

along with it. Nancy did, with her Jimmy. Maybe, if he introduced her

to Nancy, if Nancy would tell her the situation she had just described,

and he could gauge Wendy's reaction  . . .

No. Bob couldn't admit to her what he'd done, no matter what.

That night, lying warm and loved next to Andy, treasuring a

secret slippery trickle from his throbbing asshole, he murmured,

"Wendy'll be back in a couple of weeks."

"Yeah."

"What'll we do?"

"Have to stop, I guess."

"Suppose we tell her. She might go along with it."

He felt Andy's strong young body tense.

"Tell her! Are you nuts?"

"I just thought--"

"Never mind. Just don't say anything."

They never mentioned it again, but her impending return lent an

element of anxiety to their lovemaking, which would have flared into

desperation if they had known they had less time together than they

thought.

<H3 ALIGN=CENTER>Chapter 7</H3>

WENDY and Judy got off the train and carried their suitcases out to

the street. They chose Mr. Cosy's taxi. He had been around since before

they were born. Seeing him in his elderly Checker cab gave them a real

sense of being home.

He tottered out to put their bags in the trunk. "Hello, Miss Ogden,"

he said with old-world dignity. "Been away, have you?"

"It's Mrs. Miller now, Mr. Cosy."

"My, so it is. It seems like only yesterday I brought your mother

home from the hospital with you two in her arms." He turned to Judy.

"And you'd be Mrs. Walters now. I heard about you marrying that college

fellow."

"Yes, Mr. Cosy."

"Well, you get right in. My, you're brown. Been on vacation?"

"We just got back from San Cabron."

"You don't say. Where are your husbands?"

Wendy rolled her eyes at her sister. "Separate vacations," she said

mischievously.

"Hmf," Mr. Cosy said. "In my day . . ."

The girls smiled at each other as he put the cab in gear and drove up

Mill Street. Judy said, "I suppose I should be annoyed that Leon gets to

spend an extra two weeks in San Cabrón while I have to put the house in

order, but I'm not. Enough's enough. Fantasy Island was nice, but

reality is nice too. Bob'll be surprised to see us, won't he?"

"We're not supposed to get home until next week,"

"You going to tell him about Warren?"

She gasped. "Not in a million years. And don't you dare say a single

word."

"I won't."

Wendy looked at her suspiciously. "I'm not fooling, Sis. No funny

little hints, no long silences, no winks. I'm serious."

Judy laughed at her. "I won't. You know me."

She did. Judy liked to tease, and often gave the impression of being

a blabbermouth, but when it came to secrets she had always been

unusually discreet. Wendy could not remember her ever having spilled the

beans any of the times they got into mischief.

Bob would never forgive her. It was bad enough that she had been

enjoying herself in San Cabrón while he was undergoing who-knew-what

torments alone, but worse, she had been unfaithful. She had spent the

last two of the three vacation months in bed with Warren. How could she

ever look Bob in the face? It was terrible.

Judy had egged her on. She was casual about infidelity, and

apparently expected her sister to be, too.

San Cabrón was another world, full of sand and sea and sun, and there

was nobody they knew there, none of Chardsville's prying eyes, and then

Warren Wilcox, muscular and tall and bronzed, showed up and laid siege

to her virtue. It was too much to resist. She gave in, with Judy's

mischievous collusion, on the fourth night, on the beach under a

brilliant moon, soft breezes caressing their bodies, the sound of surf

matching the throbbing of her heart. From then on days and nights

followed each other in seminal bliss. Warren was as different from Bob

as the sun from the moon. She loved Bob dearly, but Warren had shown her

what it was like to be well and royally tumbled by a lusty male.

She had Bob to thank for it, though he wouldn't be pleased to know

it. He had given her her first orgasm. Sex got so steamy and satisfying

it had relieved her fears, so much so that without knowing it she no

longer had to rely on the man wearing filmy feminine garments to achieve

a climax.

Warren was the beneficiary of her new-found self-confidence. She

discovered she didn't have to be on top any more; she found joy in

opening herself to her partner's penetration, letting him drive her to

completion instead of calculating her own orgasms by clever up-and-down

movements. The intensity and frequency of her fulfillment increased

surprisingly.

Like her, Warren was married. She sensed it wasn't a happy union. He

never said anything against his wife, but between the lines Wendy

developed a picture of Darlene as a sexless shrew, dissatisfied with his

blue-collar masonry trade, and constantly after him to get a job with a

company like Chard Industries so he could wear a suit and tie to the

office. "Can you imagine me behind a desk all day?" he grinned

humorously.

They had an 18-month-old baby girl. She suspected she was the glue

holding their marriage together. He had so many pictures of her and

bragged about her so often it made Wendy wistful.

He was her kind of people, a plain man without fancy words or

manners. He had graduated high school, but no more thought of going to

college than she had.

She couldn't understand Darlene. Wendy would never try to change him.

She didn't think about how she made Bob change.

Coincidentally it turned out Warren was from Clara's Corners, a small

town not half an hour from Chardsville. He started talking about their

seeing each other after they returned. She had to make it crystal clear

that she was married, they could never see each other, he must promise.

It had been wonderful but it was over.

She wondered how Bob was. She had treated him disgracefully, thinking

only of herself. Now that she knew from Warren that she could react

normally, she regretted making Bob go to the doctor. It would be

exciting to see him with breasts, of course, but it hadn't been

necessary after all, and they'd have to live together in the eyes of the

world as two women instead of husband and wife, and now she wasn't sure

that's what she wanted. She'd like to have children someday--and how

would she explain her pregnancy, in the absence of a husband?

Judy was in for a big surprise. Wendy hadn't told her or Leon where

Bob would be while they were in San Cabrón, just alluded to tax work he

had to do.

Her sister was whole-heartedly supportive of Bob's wearing dresses.

Wendy knew she was half in love with her husband anyway; she found Bob

as attractive and safe as she did. Well, they were twins, not identical,

thank heavens, but even fraternal twins were supposed to have the same

likes and dislikes. Wait'll she saw him now! If the treatment had worked

as well as she hoped. She tried to picture Bob naked with breasts, cute

little real ones, not the trifling swellings he had when she left, but

couldn't.

Mr. Cosy turned up Maple Street and stopped in front of the row

house.

"Here we are, Mrs. Miller. Home safe and sound." To Judy, "Can I take

you over to the campus, Mrs. Walters?"

Judy said, "No thanks, Mr. Cosy. Mrs. Miller can run me over later."

"Nice to have you both back." He took the money Wendy offered him.

"I'll get your luggage."

Wendy took a deep breath of the crisp autumn air and looked at the

overcast sky, glad to be back in Chardsville.

Judy squeezed her hand. "I know. It is good to be home, isn't

it? Enough is too much."

The kitchen was dim when they went in. Wendy put down her suitcase

and turned on the lights.

She gaped. "Are we in the right house?"

"Everything's different! Look, the stove's in an island in the

middle. It's marvelous!"

"And tiles on the floor instead of that ratty old linoleum. The

cabinets are brand new, all peaches and cream!"

Running her hand over the Formica surface of the island Judy said,

"So beautiful, and there's plenty of room to eat. I always hated that

old chipped table of yours."

"Bob's such a dear. What a nice surprise. But how did he pay for it?

We've had some heavy expenses lately."

"Not the least your vacation," Judy said drily.

The whine of an electric saw came from upstairs. "The workman's still

here," Wendy whispered.

"Let's go up and see. Maybe I can talk Leon into getting us some

remodeling."

It was a stranger, a tall young man in a blue work shirt and jeans

cutting a piece of wood. The room, a spare bedroom she and Bob had

intended for a den or a sewing room or a nursery if that time ever came,

was a shambles. Boards were piled around and leaning against the walls;

the wallpaper was stripped, leaving orangy-yellow spots of dried glue

and revealing cracks and imperfections in the plaster.

"Hello," she said. He didn't hear her over the aggravating howl of

the saw biting through wood. She shouted, "Hello!"

The young man looked around, and turned off the saw. They waited for

its whine to stop.

His eyes moved uncertainly between them.

Wendy said, "Who are you?"

"Andy Joiner. Who are you?"

"I live here."

"Oh. You must be Miz Miller's sister-in-law. She's still at work, she

wasn't expecting you until next week." He stared at her with a peculiar

intensity, as if he were trying to memorize her appearance.

Mrs. Miller. Sister-in-law. Wendy didn't look to see if Judy had a

grin. "We took an early flight. What are you doing here?"

"I ain't a burglar, if that's what you think. Miz Miller gave me some

remodeling to do."

"You did the kitchen! It's just beautiful, but I don't know how we

can afford it."

"Well, see, she's just paying for the materials. She said I could

have room and board here in return for the work. She lets me sleep in

the guest room."

Wendy looked at her sister. Judy was keeping a straight face. Her

eyes were roving boldly over the young man. Well, he was good-

looking, in a rough-cut way. Kind of like Warren, only less mature. Just

Judy's meat, no older than they were, young enough to control.

She said, "Whatever Mrs. Miller says," and had to stifle a laugh at

calling Bob that in front of Judy. "We'll leave you to your work." She

took her sister's arm and forced her out.

Downstairs they regarded each other solemnly.

Judy said, "I told you we shouldn't come back early."

They burst into laughter.

Wendy hiccuped, "It's the man who came to dinner."

"You should be so lucky. He's a doll. I'm all butterflies just from

looking at him. Scrumptious. Leon never brings presents like that home

for me."

"You're awful! I wonder where Bob found him."

"Mrs. Miller!" Judy squealed. "Bob must be wearing your dresses

again! I can hardly wait to see him."

"Oh dear. I better tell you. I wanted it to be a surprise, but if

that young man is going to be here I don't want you letting the cat out

of the bag when you see Bob."

Evidently alerted by her tone, Judy sat in one of the kitchen chairs.

Wendy said, "Bob didn't come with us to San Cabrón because I got him

to go to a clinic to be treated to have breasts. So don't look too

surprised when you see him."

"Breasts! What, like implants? Augmentation?"

"No, it's a new drug, they'll be natural. If the treatment worked. I

haven't seen him, remember."

"But don't hormones make them so they can't do anything in bed?"

"It's supposed to be different. Some new kind of thing."

"Oh my God." Judy sounded breathless. "Oh, my God! Really? Oh, I can

hardly wait. I bet he's adorable."

"Okay, now you know. Don't blow it in front of what's-his-name."

"I won't, I promise. Wait a minute. Breasts? How can he wear men's

clothes now?"

"He can't. That's the idea."

"Oh God, it's wonderful. How did you ever talk him into it?"

"It wasn't easy, but you know Bob, he does what I tell him."

Judy giggled. "Do you think . . . I could get a look at

him?"

"You mean like in the shower that time? Shame on you." Wendy couldn't

help smiling. "We'll see." Even to herself she sounded like their

mother.

"Shh. I think he's home."

Heels clicked on the concrete steps outside. The door opened. A young

woman stopped on the doorstep when she saw them. Her bright look of

anticipation turned into surprise.

Wendy couldn't believe her eyes. This wasn't her Bob. It was an

attractive girl dressed in a tailored business ensemble she had never

seen, a deceptively-simple navy-blue skirt, cream silk blouse with a

bright ribbon tie that provided a splash of red, and a bolero jacket cut

so it didn't close and gave the outfit a feminine look to offset its

businesslike appearance. Her neatly-brushed brown hair swept in a soft

wave across her forehead and tumbled to her shoulders. When she tossed

her head to look at them, dangling gold-hoop earrings glimmered with the

red of her ribbon.

The girl's eyes were wider, more lambent than Bob's; her generous

lips a bold slash of color.

She had a bosom that was oversized for her slender figure.

Wendy caught her breath. "Bob?" she asked tentatively. Then, "Oh

Bob!" She ran into his arms.

His lips were soft and full against hers, his body lighter and more

yielding in her embrace than she remembered. There was something

unutterably provocative about his smell. Her panties got moist. She had

heard of pheromones and wondered if he were giving them off.

A hard lump prodded her mound of Venus. She teased him with a

sensuous movement of her hips, and was suddenly contrite when she

remembered Warren. Unbidden, in vivid detail, the image of Warren's

erection as she had last seen it came to her. She had fondled it and

taken its hot length in her mouth. She shivered the memory away.

She murmured, "It's so nice to be home. I missed you."

Judy said, "No fair, I get to say hello too." She took Bob's hands.

"Oh Bob, you're fabulous! Just look at you. So beautiful! Wendy

told me all about it. That's not all you, is it? You have a couple of

handkerchiefs or something in there."

Bob's face turned red. "No, it's me, all right."

Wendy stared. "You're kidding."

He shook his head.

Judy threw her arms around him and kissed him on the lips, body

pressed against his, then jumped and took a hasty step back.

"Oh-oh." She started laughing. "I see I better give you two a little

privacy. Can I borrow your car to get home?"

Wendy knew Judy was teasing, but the very thought that she might be

left alone with this, this stranger, this woman with an erection

under her dress, made her suddenly uncomfortable.

"Don't be silly, you're staying with us tonight. You don't want to go

home to that empty house."

Bob said, "Sure, stay. There's plenty for dinner. If Andy put the

roast in when he was supposed to." He put his purse on the counter and

bent gracefully to open the oven door and look in. Sizzling noises were

accompanied by a mouth-watering aroma. "It'll be ready in half an hour.

Where is he, by the way?"

Wendy said, "Upstairs. Wait a minute, he said you let him sleep in

the guest room. Where are we going to put Judy?"

Bob's lashes fluttered; his eyes shifted. "It won't kill him to sleep

on the couch for a night. She can use the guest room. The sheets are

fresh."

"No, let him sleep in his own bed. I'll take the couch." A glimmer

formed in Judy's eye. "Or maybe we could share."

Bob gave her a look. "He can sleep on the couch."

Judy giggled and turned to Wendy. With her fingertips she drew a

square. "Where did you get her? So prim and proper. Barbara, you

are socute! I'm only teasing."

He said weakly, "Well, he's just a kid. He wouldn't understand that

kind of stuff."

Wendy said, "A kid? He looked our age."

"He's eighteen. He lost his parents and was broke and needed work. I

felt sorry for him, so I said he could do odd jobs for room and board

until he got on his feet. I hope you don't mind. He's a nice boy, no

trouble at all. He won't be here much longer anyway, he's already got a

couple of remodeling jobs lined up."

"I don't mind. It's your be-kind-to-our-feathered-friends complex. I

always liked that about you." She said to Judy, "He, sorry, she,

can't pass a crying child on the street without trying to make it all

better."

"Like Mom."

Wendy remembered with a sting how kind and gentle their mother was

with children, and then remembered Bob comforting her in the park after

the car crash. His, well, motherliness, had been the first thing to

attract her.

Bob said, "I'll be right back, I have to change." He smiled shyly at

them. "I'm glad you're home."

When they heard him on the stairs they grinned at each other.

Judy said, "Did you see his bottom?"

"I know!" Wendy shrieked. "Can you believe it?"

"And his voice! It's alto! I'm so jealous I could spit. He's

adorable. You're so lucky."

"I can hardly wait to get a look at him without clothes."

"Oh don't! You'll make me disgrace myself."

"Bob's working, that boy said. I wonder where?"

"Not Bob! Barbara!"

Wendy laughed. "That's right, he really is a Barbara now, isn't he?

She is. It's going to take getting used to."

"Oh, Wendy." Judy had a crooked smile. "Want to trade husbands?"

She hugged her. "I knew you'd like it."

"Like it? I love it! I'm absolutely green."

Her heart went out to her sister. For a second she was tempted to

offer to share Bob with her. The thought wasn't as shocking as it might

have been. After all, there had been that scandalous episode last year

when Wendy had been so dazzled by her new-found sexuality that she had

given in to the impulse to, well, boast was the word, to show her

then-unmarried sister what she was missing. Afterward she had been

horrified, and had reverted to the exclusivity appropriate to a wife.

Now, perhaps not so strangely, she felt less possessive about him.

The past two months with Warren had changed her. She had entered on that

relationship with the idea it would just be a fling, of no meaning or

importance in the real world, the world of Chardsville; but insensibly,

day by day, he became important to her in ways she was only beginning to

fathom. She had to put him out of her mind. It wasn't fair to Bob.

When he returned he was wearing another dress she had never seen, a

thin cotton print in fall colors, cut so the skirt proper began about

midway down the hips, the waist clinging to, and revealing, an

astonishingly curvaceous figure. Whatever happened to his boyish shape?

She remembered the doctor saying, "More than just breasts," but she

hadn't been paying attention, too caught up in her private fantasy to

hear anything else.

Bob had exchanged his pumps for sandals; he was now a couple of

inches shorter than she was in heels.

He said, "Hi! Dinner will be ready in a jiffy." His smile was

tentative. He must be feeling as strange as she was. They'd have to get

to know each other all over again. After three years of marriage! He

continued, "I'll just put on some vegetables to go with the roast and

make a salad."

Wendy said, "I'll help."

"No, you guys must be tired after your trip. Just relax, there's some

rose wine in the fridge. It's okay, I enjoy it."

"You enjoy cooking?"

"Sure."

That was new. Wendy caught Judy's eye. Her sister's look of envy had

deepened.

"I suppose you like cleaning up too."

Bob said shyly, "I don't mind. It makes me feel kind of

. . . good."

How damn' domestic. Wendy was beginning to see that not all the

changes in her husband were physical.

"I hear you have a job."

Bob nodded, pushing a lock of hair away from his eye as he lit the

burner and covered the vegetables. "A lawyer named Haskell was looking

for someone to head up a financial planning division."

"Haskell! But--"

Wendy broke off. Haskell knew Bob was a man, but that wasn't any of

Judy's business. She glanced at her. She was looking at them curiously.

Bob said, "I even have my own secretary. And--" a pleased flush

colored his cheekbones "--the money's pretty good. Instead of taking out

a mortgage," he said cautiously, "we might be able to build that new

house soon."

"That's marvelous!"

"What new house?" Judy was bright-eyed with interest.

She explained, "You remember that lot Bob bought on the south side of

town for unpaid taxes? It was supposed to be an investment, but we got

to thinking about building a house on it some day."

"Maybe that boy could build it."

Bob smiled suddenly. "That's funny, I was thinking about that just

the other day. He's a good workman. And he knows how to save money. This

whole kitchen only cost two hundred and fifty-six dollars for

materials."

"Two fifty-six! That's all?" Judy turned to Wendy, "I told you I

wanted him to do our kitchen!"

Bob started to make the salad. "Would somebody call him? Dinner'll be

ready in a sec."

Judy said, "I'll go!" and tripped upstairs.

Wendy stared at him. "You got a job with Haskell? What did he

say when he saw you?"

"He was surprised."

"I bet he was surprised! How did you ever get up the nerve?"

"We needed the money. Anyway, it worked out okay, he didn't say

anything much about it. He's a pretty nice guy, you know? Besides, I'm

making money for him, a lot more than he thought. I did some tax

planning for a couple of rich clients and it paid off. I guess the word

is getting around."

"That's wonderful. I'm proud of you. Is Haskell the only one who

knows? I mean, the others in the office don't, do they?"

"No!" His eyes shifted furtively. She knew him well enough to be sure

he was concealing something. She'd get it out of him later.

Right now she had to examine her own feelings, which puzzled her. Why

wasn't she as pleased about his job as she pretended?

It came to her. The whole idea behind his treatment at the clinic was

to put her in control, wasn't it?

Well, maybe not all. The warmth between her legs told her she was

looking forward to going to bed with another woman, one who had a penis.

Even after Warren.

Anyway, Bob's enormous success at getting an important job despite

being a "woman" was just a little too much. Far from being under her

thumb, he was more independent of her than ever. She watched him set the

table. He certainly wasn't acting uppity. Look at him, happily

doing household chores.

Judy came back with the boy.

He was scowling.

She wondered if her sister had ruffled his feathers. She knew Judy

had been turned on by Bob's appearance, and might have transferred her

excitement to the only other male. Wendy sighed. Sometimes Judy was

incorrigible.

During dinner Wendy couldn't see why Bob said the young carpenter was

such a nice kid. He was sullen and unfriendly, and so monosyllabic she

suspected he was retarded. She began to hope he wouldn't be around long.

Finally she saw Bob give him a dirty look. The boy winced, got a

crestfallen expression, and turned his attention to Judy, who was doing

her best to draw him out. He thawed when she complimented him on the

kitchen renovation, and when she asked him about his prospects for other

jobs, his smile flashed and he looked perfectly handsome despite the

cragginess of his face. He spoke so enthusiastically about his dream of

starting a contracting business that her misgivings about having him in

the house subsided.

By the time Bob served after-dinner coffee in the living room, Judy

and the young man were getting along famously. She sat next to him and

contrived to let him look down her dress every time she reached for the

sugar, or the cream, or a teaspoon.

Wendy saw Bob's expression and hoped he wouldn't make a fuss.

It had been a long day. She suppressed a yawn, caught his eye, and

made him say good night.

Their room was the same, she noted with satisfaction. She wasn't sure

she liked him going ahead and authorizing all these changes without her.

She told herself to stop being silly. The remodeling was beautiful, and

so inexpensive.

She was conscious of feeling tense alone with him. It was guilt. How

could she go to bed with him, with Warren on her conscience? She toyed

with the idea of confessing. Wrong. It might make her feel better, but

only at the expense of Bob's feelings and would devastate the mutual

trust and respect they enjoyed. Let it be one of those peccadillos best

left unmentioned, that all good marriages had. Still, it bothered her.

That wasn't the only thing bothering her. Bob was so changed. Not

just his bodily configuration. It was as if a light had turned on inside

him, giving him a kind of incandescence, a humid sense of having come to

terms with himself that was at once a pleasure to behold and a

puzzlement. Where had it come from? Had getting the job with Haskell

given him that much inner security?

He sat on the edge of the bed taking off his stockings with more

grace than she would have thought possible. It was faintly irritating.

That wasn't how men were supposed to be. His hair--it was a lot longer

now--fell in a curve across his cheek as he reached under his dress to

undo his garters.

Judy's shriek of laughter came from downstairs. She was having a good

time vamping what's-his-face, Andy.

Bob said, "Your sister seems attracted to that boy."

"She's just flirting. You know Judy."

"Flirting? More like robbing the cradle."

She laughed. "He doesn't seem to mind, though, does he? Maybe he goes

for older women."

"Well, I just hope she's not planning to add him to her list of

conquests."

"What are you, his mother? Don't worry, she doesn't mean anything by

it."

Wendy turned down the bed and took a pair of pajamas from the bureau,

feeling awkward about getting undressed in front of this stranger,

mentally scolding herself for it. More giggles came from downstairs.

She chuckled out loud, then explained, "Did you see the look on that

boy's face when we went upstairs? He must think we're lesbians, two

ladies sharing a bedroom."

Bob gave her a weak smile. He stood up, reached behind to pull down

his zipper, then turned his back modestly before taking off his dress.

From behind he was lissome and shapely in panties and bra. Sudden

moisture drenched her panties. She stripped off her dress and donned the

pajamas.

He bent his arms behind him to unfasten the bra. When it came apart,

Wendy went over and scratched the red stripe.

"Oh-h." His soft groan was heartfelt. "Ooch. Yeah, right there."

In a little while she said, "Turn around so I can see you." She

wondered if he had been telling the truth about not having any padding

in his bra.

He faced her. His hands made small motions at his side, as if they

wanted to cover his bosom, but he held them down. He straightened so the

breasts thrust forward. Damn, she had to admit they were beautiful.

Buoyant and impudent and every bit as large as they had appeared. The

areolas, rosy mounds, were tipped with nipples that gave Wendy the

instant urge to nurse on them.

She burst out, "Did you have to get them so big?" and then

apologized by saying, "They're marvelous! And your waist --it's

so narrow. Or are your hips wider? Both, I think. Just like a girl. It

makes me feel like what I said before, a lesbian."

"Is it all right?"

"It's . . . weird. Kinky. You used to only be Bob in my

nightie, now you're really Barbara. A girl with a big thing. You

do still have that, I hope. You didn't turn it in for a vagina, by any

chance?"

She could see for herself that the nylon of his panties was pushed

out at the join of his legs.

"Listen, the whole thing was your idea, remember? You knew what was

going to happen. What'd you expect?"

"I sure didn't expect to come home and discover you have bigger tits

than me!"

"Is that it? Well for heaven's sake, it's not my fault. I mean, I

didn't go up to the doctor and say 'Hey, make me bigger than her.' It

just happened. I thought you would be happy about it. Besides, they're

not that big. Only a C-cup."

"Only a C-cup." Relenting, "I know, I'm sorry. I guess maybe

I'm a little jealous. I was always envious of Judy because she was a

fraction better developed. Now it seems that even men can have bigger

ones than me. It's frustrating."

"I love your breasts, I always have. Anyway, you know what they say--

the closer the bone, the sweeter the meat."

Wendy burst into a surprised laugh. "Okay then. Let's go to bed, I

want to see how much lesbian I have in me. Come on, Babs, no, I mean,

come on, Boobs, put on your nightie."

"Boobs!" Bob's laughter tinkled, outrageously musical. He took a

filmy garment from a bureau drawer and put it on. When he reached under

it to slip down his panties his erection held it out in front.

She said, "Lie on your back. If you're going to look so sweet and

feminine, I better teach you your duties. Remember how we play like I'm

the man and you're the woman?"

She stripped down her bottoms and clambered over him, seeing again

that gentle luminescence glowing from within, vaguely annoyed by it.

Instead of pulling up his gown and inserting his stiff organ, she

straddled his head with her knees and squatted on his face.

"Okay, Boobs, give me a blow job."

His eyes got wide.

"Go on, that's what women do, isn't it? Give head? Come on, sweetie,

suck me off." What was wrong with her? She never used that kind of

language. But the words kindled excitement in her. God, she wished she

had a prick. She'd love to stick it in another woman.

Submissively his tongue went out and roved through her vulva in the

most sensuous way possible, causing her to tremble luxuriously. She

closed her eyes to savor the slippery massage down there; popped them

open again when the memory of Warren going down on her flashed into her

mind.

He loved her pussy, loved to fondle it, loved to look at it, loved to

taste it. He had what she could only think of as pussy-envy, and licked

her down there on every possible occasion.

Before Warren, like many women Wendy had the notion it was "dirty"

down there, somehow shameful and nasty. It was Warren who taught her she

was beautiful between her legs, that pussies were deliciously exciting,

objects of love, not repugnance.

She kept her gaze on Bob to exorcise the disturbing image, and gave

herself up to sensation.

Yielding to Warren had been a special thrill; but this was a joy too,

compelling her husband to submit to her base desires. Well, it seemed

she liked it both ways after all, to dominate and to be dominated.

As she watched him, a surreal feeling of degeneracy heightened the

stimulation his mouth was giving her. She had used the word "lesbian"

lightly, but it was suddenly impossible to believe the pretty face

working on her didn't belong to another member of her sex. It was framed

in silken locks, eyes wide and innocent, complexion smooth and glowing.

Suppose it really was a girl under her, nose buried in her pubic

hair? At the thought the complex of organs between Wendy's legs gathered

tension. Her vagina leaked, and her clitoris got so erect it was almost

painful.

The girl's soft generous lips pursed around the swollen organ and the

turgid tissues surrounding it, and sucked it in. She pushed her head

back and forth rhythmically, exactly as though she were performing

fellatio. She had a blind look, sick with lust but introspective, like

she was fantasizing something.

Wendy screamed thinly as she spasmed. She grabbed a handful of Bob's

hair with either hand and held the sucking face to her pussy, rotating

her wetness against it. Her labia flared repeatedly.

In the middle of her orgasm her bladder let go. Helpless to control

it, she pissed on him, shocked by her incontinence but deriving a kind

of mean pleasure from it, a pleasure that grew when she saw him press

his mouth over her hole to keep more urine from escaping. His throat

moved. She shuddered in a final throe, gasping with passion, able now to

restrain her urination, but deliberately discharging two last spurts

anyway, imagining she was coming like a man.

His face was wet; his eyes dazed. The sheet under his head was

stained. God, he had drunk her pee.

She should apologize.

Instead she panted, "Lick me. Clean me with your tongue."

He shivered and complied, licking from anus--the touch of his wet

tongue there made her leap--to clitoris, until she lifted herself off

him, heart singing.

She said, "That was wonderful. Did you like it too?"

He nodded shyly.

"Did you pretend you were a girl and I was a man?"

A pleasing blush colored his wet cheeks. "Y-yes."

"Coming in your mouth?"

He looked away. "Yes," he whispered.

"Me too. I loved it. But now I want to fuck you."

The red in his face deepened. He wasn't any more used to hearing her

talk like that than she was.

She lifted his gown to expose his erection. He was bigger than

Warren. By a good margin, she decided, surprised. She hadn't remembered.

"You shaved between your legs! When did you start doing that?"

"I . . . I just thought it would be nice."

"Let's see." She pushed his legs apart. "It's cute! I like it. Sexy."

She got over him and clasped the penis with both hands, feeling its

heat and vibration, and guided it to the flowing opening of her vagina.

Savoring a delicious anticipation of its entry, she let herself descend

just enough to lodge the tip securely, just beginning to stretch her

open.

Her labia squirmed around it.

She settled slowly down, feeling the organ force her vagina. As the

insertion continued, the shaft pulled the mantle of tissue away from her

sensitive clitoris, baring it for stimulation. In the last few inches

before she rested her bottom on his pubes, a dull exciting ache grew

inside her. His cock had reached the end of her canal and was stretching

it lengthwise as well as sideways.

The prick inside her was humming, so hot and hard she knew he

wouldn't last long. He had missed her.

Carefully, keeping him thrust all the way up her, she lay forward on

him and put her legs between his. His captivating body fragrance was

tinged with the smell of her urine.

His knees came up; his slender arms went about her neck. He sighed,

so naturally assuming the woman's position it was astonishing.

His breasts were soft against hers. She lifted her torso, supporting

her weight on her elbows, and tugged down the shoulder straps of his

gown so she could free his tits. She bent her head to suck the nipples

gently, first one, then the other, wondering if he would be as

stimulated by it as she was when Warren mouthed her breasts.

They got stiff to her tongue.

Bob trembled under her.

His fingers became claws on her back as he held her fiercely to him.

His body strained. A cry escaped his throat.

The thick organ jumped inside her. A gush of fluid added to the

wetness of her excited cunt.

Hastily she moved her hips before he could soften, massaging her

clitoris against him, rotating her vulva, pretending she was Warren

fucking her, and brought herself to a ferocious climax and had he come

in her or had she come in him she couldn't tell which of them had a

prick they were fused in mutual passion her whole body was a living

quivering mass of sentiency wracked by repeated seizures her cock

kneaded by writhing labia as she shoved it deep and stiff into the girl

under her . . . and she CAME once more, and collapsed

gasping for breath on the warmth and softness of her lover.

She lay on him for long moments before realizing there had been no

decline in the size or rigidity of his member. He still held her.

Maybe he hadn't ejaculated. Then why were they so wet down there?

She was still excited. Bob was so very much like another woman that

the act had all the elements of perversion required to bring eroticism

to its acutest level.

Tentative, hoping he hadn't come after all, Wendy moved her pelvis

sensuously, drawing his erection halfway out, then pushing back until it

was once again so deep it caused the breath to issue from her lungs in a

passionate exhalation. Her crack pressed against his balls.

Bob's knees lifted still higher to yield her access. Where had that

utter feminine surrendering come from? He trembled under her. His lips

parted. He gave a soft moan of pleasure.

She kissed him, slipping her tongue in his mouth. Now they were

joined at both ends. His mouth had a taste of pee. It excited her.

Wendy held his breasts and began fucking him rhythmically, legs

closed between his, squeezing his unyielding prick in her cunt, drawing

it in and out, pressing her quivering clitoris against him, orgasming

repeatedly, a series of breathless quiet climaxes. His penis distended

impossibly. It leaped in her vagina. It pulsed in her, issuing surges of

hot liquid. He grunted and held her close until the throbbing of his

organ ceased.

She continued her sensuous motion as the cock began to soften, then,

amazed, felt it thicken and get as stiff as before. It boggled her mind,

but with bliss she took advantage of it, continuing her rhythm,

conscious of him matching it, quaking around him, letting her mind fall

back into the earlier fantasy, where she was Warren and Bob was her, and

it wasn't his prick in her, it was hers in him--and she squealed as an

excruciating orgasm seized her, so violent that the lights dimmed and

her mind went strange and all she knew was the shocking phantasmagoria

of sensation and emotions that rocketed back and forth throughout her

body.

When she opened her eyes she was drooling into the corner of Bob's

slender neck, sobbing hoarsely.

His cock was pulsing again.

So full had her vagina become that each spurt forced liquid out

around the stiff penis to drip from her swollen labia onto the heavy

balls pressed against her.

Wendy lay on him exhausted. She had never come so hard before. Her

cunt was beginning to feel sore, but her heart was full of gratitude for

this new half-girl-half-boy who had given her so much pleasure, her

darling husband, no, sister, with whom she shared her bed and her life.

God, he had come two or three times in a row. He must have needed it.

One thing was sure, she thought with chagrin, he had been faithful to

her.

His hips moved.

Instead of declining, his cock remained rampant. It pushed up her,

pulled back, pushed forward again, stimulating her clitoris unbearably.

She yelped and jumped off him. "No more! It's too sensitive down

there."

A gush of sperm flowed from Wendy's cunt as she drew her knees under

her. "It was wonderful, but . . . I just can't anymore right

now, darling."

Bob sat up, breasts jouncing, prick rigid and shiny with juices.

Semen glistened in his pubic hair, and his naked testicles and crotch

were slippery with the stuff. His pretty face had a look of frustration,

but he said, "Okay."

"Will you be able to go to sleep? I hate to leave you like that."

"I'll be okay."

It wasn't fair to him, but all at once she was exhausted. Too much

had happened, there was too much to get used to, too much to come to

terms with. She needed time to sort out her feelings.

She curled up under the covers, leaving Bob to turn out the light and

go to sleep on the wet spot. As her eyes closed, she heard Judy's

muffled giggle from the bedroom across the hall.

<H3 ALIGN=CENTER>Chapter 8</H3>

ANDY was totally unprepared for the terrible rage of jealousy that

stopped his breath when he saw Barbara and Wendy go upstairs. He had

known Barbara's wife would come home someday, and he knew she would go

to bed with her, and that their own intimacy would end, but it had all

happened too suddenly.

Through a red haze he pictured Barbara and Wendy naked in bed,

holding each other, caressing, kissing--and then the final intimacy,

which he couldn't even visualize. He supposed Barbara would put it in

the other woman just like a man, but he couldn't imagine it. He ground

his teeth in frustrated anger.

He jumped when Mrs. Walters patted his knee, and became aware she had

asked him a question.

"What?"

"I said the kitchen is beautiful. Do you think you could do ours?"

"Oh. Yeah, sure."

"When? Before my husband gets home?"

"What?"

"Could you do it before my husband gets back from San Cabrón?"

"When's that?"

"I told you! In two weeks. Andy, aren't you listening to me?"

"I'm sorry. I was thinking about something else."

"Wendy and Barbara sharing a room?"

He stared at her. "Yeah, kind of. How'd you know?"

"I saw your face when they went up. You looked like you were having

kittens. Don't worry, they're not strange. Lots of women share a room.

Especially, you know, Barbara must be lonely after her divorce."

Andy let his eyes rest on her. She looked sincere. Didn't she know

about Barbara? She must, she was Wendy's sister, and Barbara told him

she didn't start wearing dresses until last year. Besides, she must have

known he was a guy when they got married.

Yeah, but she didn't know he knew. Mrs. Walters was protecting

them. Despite his annoyance he liked that. She was pretty nice. Nice-

looking, too. Hair a buckwheat-honey cap of curls, eyes green and

flecked with light brown, and a good figure, not as full on top as

Barbara, but sexy-looking anyway, especially when she leaned toward him

like that, letting her dress fall away, and he could see everything but

the nipples.

She couldn't know what she was doing, being so careless about her

dress and sitting so close beside him on the couch that it made him

uncomfortable. If she were single and younger, he might think she was

trying to get him interested in her.

She said, "You didn't answer."

"Two weeks. Well, I guess so. I could get started Monday. But

remember I haven't seen the place. I don't know how big of a job it is,

or exactly what it is you want me to do."

"We could drive over and look at it tomorrow. Then you could tell

me."

"Okay."

She crossed her legs, skirt pulling up from the knee. Her new

position made her lean against him just enough so their bodies were

touching. He wanted to shift away, it was kind of embarrassing, her

nearness was giving him a hard-on, but if he moved away too suddenly she

might be insulted, like he thought she was repulsive or something.

She said, "Do you have a girl friend, Andy?"

"Not any more." He couldn't keep a note of bitterness out of his

voice.

"It's hard to be alone, isn't it? Especially at night." Her eyelashes

fluttered. "With Leon still in San Cabrón . . . "

"What's he doing there?"

"Cheating on me."

"What!" She had made him laugh.

She grinned. "Really. I have no doubt. Well . . . we have

an arrangement, you see."

"An arrangement? He can cheat on you? And get away with it?"

"And me on him. You know what they say, a woman whose husband is a

thousand miles away isn't married."

Andy laughed again, but he wondered if she really meant it.

She cleared her throat. "What happened between you and your girl

friend? Didn't she, ah, give you what you wanted?"

Her boldness made his cheeks flame. "We just grew apart," he lied.

"But you were doing it with her."

He shifted restlessly. Her talking about things like this was making

him excited. "I guess so."

"And now she's gone. Don't you get horny?"

He couldn't help it, he started giggling like a ten-year-old while

she smiled.

When he managed to contain himself he said, "Sometimes."

"Look at me. Do you think I'm pretty?"

"You're beautiful," he said, surprised.

"Don't you like me?"

"Sure I do."

"Then why aren't you making a pass at me? God knows I've done

everything I can to let you know I wanted you to."

"B-but Mrs. Walters--you're married!"

Her eyes twinkled. "Call me Judy, dammit, and I already told you Leon

and I have an arrangement."

"I thought you were kidding."

"Well, I wasn't. Now are you going to put your arms around me and

kiss me or not?"

Barbara's sister-in-law!

Oh, man if he could make out with her . . . wouldn't

Barbara be pissed off! She'd have a fit. He hesitated just long enough

to savor the anticipation of the look on her face when she found out,

then embraced Mrs. Walters--Judy--and planted a wet kiss on her mouth.

She yielded in his arms, lips parting to invite his tongue.

In an access of enthusiasm he handled her with the same confidence he

did Barbara, hand moving down her back, taking the zipper with it, then

slipping into her dress, pulling it away from her torso to expose those

enticing breasts. He fondled them gently while she squirmed in his

embrace and made small pleasure noises.

When he put his hand under her skirt to slide up the inside of her

thigh, she clamped her legs together on it and broke the kiss.

She panted, "God, when you finally get going you really get going,

don't you? I feel like I was just violated by the Sixth Fleet."

Her top was down to her waist. She took a shaky breath, looking

defenseless, breasts exposed to view, then smiled.

"Whew. You're so impulsive." She put her hand over his, caught

between her thighs. "But exciting. Kiss me again. Here, let me unbutton

your shirt so we can feel each other's skin. Oops. Fur, I mean. Look at

you, so manly. I want to feel your chest fur against me. Oh God, it's

wonderful."

Her breasts were soft, nipples proud against his chest.

He kissed her. She writhed luxuriously in his arms. Her legs moved

apart, freeing his hand to slide gently upward until he was touching

silken panties. They were wet--had she pissed her pants?--and there was

nothing there. After Barbara it felt strange. He felt her crotch,

sensing lips through the silk, and had a tingle between his own legs.

She whispered, "Let's go upstairs."

His heart pounded. She was going to let him fuck her.

Now that it was here, it frightened him. He never did it before. What

would it be like? With Barbara he knew what he was doing, but he never

had a woman woman before. He didn't know if he could satisfy her.

She was married, she must have had a lot of experience. Suppose she was

disappointed. The tumidity of his erection, compressed tightly in his

jeans, lessened.

She stood up holding her top with one hand, and extended the other to

take his. He let her lead him to the head of the stairs. Her back was

bare. As they walked toward the bedroom she put an arm around his waist,

and almost immediately let her hand slip down to clutch his buttock.

He jumped and let the first part of a giggle escape his throat.

"Shh!" she said, making only a token effort to keep her voice down,

"Don't wake them up."

It was almost like she wanted them to know what they were doing. That

was okay with him. Let 'em know. If Barbara could fuck somebody else, so

could he, and he wanted her to know it. Sweet dreams, baby, he thought,

You're not the only one.

His blue pajamas were rumpled on the foot of the bed. Barbara must

have sneaked them out from under the pillow in her room. Heart racing,

not looking at the blonde woman holding her top up with a look of, well,

it almost seemed like apprehension, he took them with him to the

bathroom to change.

When he returned, hard-on greatly diminished by anxiety, she had a

nightgown on and was standing, eyes down, facing away from the bed.

He choked, "Hi."

"Hi." Her lashes fluttered. "W-we're all formal, aren't we? Dressed

for buh." Her throat moved. "Bed."

She didn't look like an "older woman", she looked as shy as a

young girl.

"I guess."

"Andy, I-- I just wanted to say I don't . . . Well, you

know."

"What?"

"I don't usually go to bed with strangers! It's just that, with Leon

away . . . doing what he's doing . . . and you seem

so nice . . . and so handsome . . . You must think

I'm terrible!"

Her face was white.

Andy's uneasiness vanished.

He felt tension in her body as he took her gently in his arms and

held her close. His hard-on returned. It strained against her soft

belly; she didn't pull away.

"I don't think you're terrible at all. I think you're beautiful." He

wanted to tell her he loved her, but he knew the tenderness he felt

wasn't really love, and besides, he wasn't used to mushy talk.

"We don't have to if you don't want to. It's okay," he said, but he

hoped she wouldn't back out.

The tenseness left her. Her arms came sweetly around his neck; her

lips parted to let his tongue enter. She swayed against him, squeezing

his erection between their bodies.

He husked, "Let's lie down."

"Oh yes, I want to."

She pulled away with a little shiver, turned down the bedclothes, and

lay on the snowy sheet with her arms held out in invitation. Heart

pounding, he stretched out beside her. The softness and warmth of her

body reminded him of Barbara; he caressed her with the same affection.

His hand moved from breasts to join of legs, faltered when it didn't

meet the familiar organ. He reached for the hem of her gown and drew it

up, uncertainly at first, but with more confidence when she made no

protest. He glanced down. It was strange to see nothing there, just an

inverted triangle of dark blonde pubic hair. It looked incomplete,

somehow.

She whispered, "Come over me, I can't wait," and opened her legs.

He mounted her. The head of his cock pushed against her crotch. There

was wetness but no access.

She squirmed happily.

Andy was seized by embarrassment. He didn't know where it was. He

poked doubtfully at her a couple of times, and was nervous but relieved

when she reached down, grasped his prick, and guided it demurely to the

right place. He felt an indentation, the beginning of her vagina.

Conditioned by the tightness of Barbara's anus, Andy shoved in

forcefully. His cock pistoned forward unimpeded.

She yelped.

"I'm sorry! Did I hurt you?"

"N-no. It was just a surprise. Mm, you feel so good."

A tunnel of wet warmth surrounded his organ, clenching its entire

length.

She sighed and held him to her as he began moving back and forth in

her. Her knees came up, allowing him deeper penetration. The fly of his

pajamas got damp with her secretions. She was slippery and loose/tight

and natural around him--and there was no sin of perversion to heighten

the thrill of lovemaking.

He pumped back and forth, relishing the gentle grip of her vagina,

and nursed on her stiffened nipples.

Her body tensed until she was rigid in his arms. Her knees lifted,

higher; her thighs held him like a vise. Her heels dug into the small of

his back.

A groan escaped her lips and thinned to a mewl like a cat calling for

service.

He felt the lips of her cunt flare open and shut at the base of his

prick. There was a squeeze.

She spasmed, gasping, holding him tightly, legs locked around him,

arms clutching him with surprising strength, nails digging into his

back.

He couldn't help it, despite all he could do to prevent it, to wait,

to savor this moment, this first time with a woman, his swollen dong

plunged to the hilt in her, his balls shrank tight, muscles in his

crotch squeezed together and contracted violently and a discharge of

sperm shot from his prick into her, throbbing wildly spurting

uncontrollably draining him pulse after pulse in ecstasy, the room

growing darker, and at last brightening again as the paroxysms in his

genitals subsided and he became aware of his rough panting in her ear.

She was writhing under him, pussy gripping his softening organ. Small

spasms continued to seize her in the aftermath of his ejaculation; she

held him close while her legs relaxed and slid from his back. Now

flaccid, his cock fell out of her on a wash of semen when her pelvis

gave a final twitch.

He rolled over next to her, spent.

She turned her head to him. Her eyes shimmered.

Warm breath palpable on his face, she murmured, "Oh, Andy!"

"Me too."

Minutes later he added, "That was great!"

"Are you surprised?" He heard a smile in her voice. "You sound like

you thought I would be a disappointment."

"No! I just . . . didn't know. Was it all right? Did I do

it right?"

"You were wonderful. You made me climax over and over. --Wait a

minute." She sat up. "Andy--this wasn't your first time, was it?"

He thought about Barbara. "Well . . . "

"It was! Oh Andy, I'm so grateful. You've given me something beyond

price. You're such a darling. I feel like crying, I'm so happy."

"You gave me more than I gave you."

"But--your first time! That's so special."

She was embarrassing him. To keep her from saying more he turned his

head and kissed her.

He put his hand on her exposed pussy and thought about how different

she was from Barbara, at least in that one way.

He asked, "How did it feel?"

"Just wonderful. I told you, you made me climax."

"No, I mean how did it feel? In there. Doesn't it--isn't it--

weird?"

"What?"

"To have something in you there."

"Oh. No. Well, yes, in a way. It's special. But it's like you

belonged there. I don't know much about carpentry, but I know what a

mortise and tenon is. It's like that. You're the tenon, I'm the

mortise."

He hugged her. "Does it hurt?"

"What a thing to ask."

"I just wondered." A moment later he continued, "It's strange. I mean

it's not like a mouth or a . . . bottom . . . where

things go in or out all the time. It's a private place that you could go

a whole lifetime without ever having anything in it."

"I hope not!" She laughed softly and ruffled his hair. "You're nice.

You have all kinds of lovely and sensitive things going on in that head

of yours, don't you? Most men don't give a second thought to how a girl

feels down there."

"Did it hurt the first time?"

Her face got an odd expression. It was a minute before she answered,

"My first time did, because I was so young and scared. But it usually

doesn't hurt much, just a dull pain when the maidenhead is torn. After a

day or so when it's all healed, it doesn't hurt at all, just feels

marvelous."

"It's strange," he sighed. "I wonder what it's like."

She put her arms around him and hugged him close. "You're

strange! You really never have been with a girl, have you?"

"No."

"Do you want to see it? I'll show you if you want."

His heart took a bounce. He waited until he could trust his voice not

to shake with eagerness.

"Okay."

As he sat up she squirmed back on the bed until her shoulders were

against the headboard. She tucked the pillows behind her. Her eyes were

fastened on his midsection; he became aware that his prick, moist with

their juices, was still dangling from the fly of his bottoms.

He started to put it away, but she said, "Oh don't. I like to look

too. You have a nice one."

She patted it affectionately. Not so long ago he would've jumped a

mile if someone touched him there, but the past weeks had given him

confidence. He smiled at her.

She pulled the hem of her nightie up above her belly-button like a

little girl proudly displaying herself. Her knees came up; she let her

legs fall open.

It was still spooky not to see a penis and testicles at the join of

her thighs. Two plump lips formed a cleft in her crotch. It looked like

nothing so much as a vertical mouth.

She answered his questioning glance with a cute little nod.

With quivering fingers he gingerly pulled the lips apart. To his

surprise another pair of lips was revealed, flower petals, thin, wet,

rosy in color, so tender it made his heart ache. A little protrusion at

the front was mantled with the same delicate tissue. Before his eyes it

swelled to the size of the first joint of his little finger, pushed

through the skin surrounding it like a penis through its foreskin, red

and shiny with moisture.

He knew what it was! Her clitoris. The guys all said it was just like

a tiny cock, but he hadn't known whether to believe them. It did look

like one, head and all, only there wasn't any hole in it to piss

through. Andy wondered if getting big like that was the same as getting

a hard-on.

Her whisper confirmed it. "You're making me all excited again. I love

for you to examine me like that."

He made his fingers spread her still more. Now he could see a pink

opening. It looked too small to have contained his erection, but it must

have: a thick fluid was leaking from it. His come.

Her aroma filled his nostrils as he leaned closer. It was musky and

had a suggestion of urine, tantalizing and erotic. His cock stiffened.

Judy's hands touched the back of his head.

"Be an angel. I'm so aroused."

It took a long moment for him to realize she meant him to kiss her

there.

Andy wasn't sure if he should get mad. Was she insulting him? He knew

about going down on women, but always in the context of dirty stories

about how the guy lets the girl trick him into getting tied up, and then

she sits on his face.

Did men do it with women, not as a dirty joke but as part of normal

sex? Maybe. She didn't act like she was asking for anything

unreasonable.

He didn't know if he could. She was all wet and sloppy there, not

only with his jism but her own slippery juices. Tentatively he let his

head go forward.

It was a kind of mouth, wasn't it? Lips and all. He had kissed the

other mouth, putting his tongue in it. This one had taken his prick, so

she had kind of done the same thing she wanted him to do, sucked his

cock with her mouth, even if it wasn't the one above. Unbidden, the

image of Barbara's big prick rose before his mind's eye. He thrust it

away hastily, but not before he had a surprising pang of regret for not

having done it before it was too late.

He decided he could kiss this mouth the way he had the one above. He

bent his head and pressed his lips against hers. Her fragrance was

suffocating, so sensual it made him dizzy.

He put his tongue out and let it slip between the lips. The tissues

it touched were delicate, scented with sex, drenched with her genital

effusions. It drove him crazy. He began lapping vigorously as Judy

flinched and jerked and uttered moans of rapture. His prick steamed; his

own crotch had sympathetic titillating twinges.

Through a red haze he heard her groan, "Oh! Oh, come in me again. Can

you? Oh God, you can! It's so big. Oh, yes, take me!"

Judy gave a shriek as she convulsed. It was only the first of many

orgasms before they were able to sleep in each other's arms.

When he awoke, Andy used his morning hard-on to wedge it gently

inside the warm-smelling girl next to him. A sleepy smile appeared on

her lips. Eyes still closed, she moved to accommodate him. Her arms went

agreeably about his neck.

As he pushed back and forth, savoring the wet softness surrounding

his prick, she sighed from time to time in a series of tranquil orgasms

that caused her vagina to squeeze him.

He was proud of himself. Until last night he'd been wondering if he

could please a woman; now he knew he could. He held her close, using her

tenderly, and in his own good time let his sperm squirt into her womb.

He rested a moment on top of her before getting up to go to the bathroom

and shower. When he returned she was fast asleep again.

He dressed quietly and went down to rustle up some breakfast for

himself, confident that Wendy and Judy--and Barbara, if Wendy kept her

up last night--he had a sinking feeling at the thought--would sleep

late.

But Barbara was there before him, seated at the counter with a cup of

coffee and a croissant. She was wearing one of her "uniforms", a

tailored blouse and skirt, and was carefully made up.

His heart twisted. She was gorgeous.

Now that he had been fulfilled, he was prepared to forgive her

betrayal. They were even.

She looked at him coldly.

"I suppose you can't wait for breakfast."

"That's okay, I'll get it."

"Never mind, you'll only make a mess." Her voice had a tremor, as

from suppressed emotion.

He sat down at the opposite end of the counter from the stove as she

tied an apron around her narrow waist, threw a slice of ham into a

skillet, and broke eggs into another.

After a silence, watching the eggs cook, she said, "You must be

starving after such an active night."

"What--"

"Don't try to deny it, I heard you and that girl come upstairs."

"I wasn't--"

"It didn't take you long to forget me, did it? I wonder if you

ever cared for me. I feel like such a fool."

"I--"

"Was it fun? Was she as good as I was?"

"Wait a minute, you and Wen--"

"You just couldn't wait to get in her pants, could you? One look from

those big green eyes and you trip all over yourself getting in bed with

that tramp."

"I don't have to listen to this." He stood up. "Forget about break--"

She slammed the plate of ham and eggs down in front of him.

"Go ahead, stuff your silly face. Maybe when you grow up you'll learn

you don't have to be an animal all the time. You deliberately took that

girl to bed just to hurt me--"

Tears spurted from her eyes.

His heart broke. He moved to put his arm around her shoulders.

She pushed him away. "Don't touch me!" Her lower lip trembled

violently as she said, "I don't want to catch whatever disease you

picked up from that slut."

He stared helplessly as she turned her back and leaned her arms on

the sink counter. Her shoulders shook; she sobbed loudly.

Holy mackerel, she was really crying. But she was a guy, he didn't

get it, she shouldn't be crying. Maybe what they did to her body kind of

changed her inside. God knew she acted feminine enough in other ways.

He waited until her tears diminished.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "But hey, I'm not the only one. You and

Wendy--"

"She's my wife, what do you expect?"

"But--"

"Eat your breakfast, I have to go."

"Where are you going?"

"To the office."

"It's Saturday!"

Her voice held all the warmth and hope of the North Pole. "I have

work to do. You do too, if you can tear yourself away from your floozy

long enough."

He watched her go, then sat down to the ham and eggs. He had to force

them down. His throat had a lump in it.

An hour later he was still sitting there, coffee grown cold in the

cup, while he tried to think of what to do. It was an impossible

situation. He'd have to leave. He didn't have any money, but if he did

Judy's kitchen he'd be able to rent a room somewhere until one of those

job prospects came through. He wondered if he should be charging her,

after last night. Well, it was her husband's money. He could afford to

be generous when he got on his feet. Right now he needed a place to

stay.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs. He didn't know whether to hope it

was Judy or not. He wanted to see the job site, but he didn't know if he

could face her after the scene with Barbara.

The phone rang in the other room. The footsteps hesitated, changed

direction. Wendy's voice said, "Hello."

The least he could do was finish the den. There were only a couple of

days work left. He started to get up, but stopped when he heard the

voice in the other room drop to a murmur.

"You weren't supposed to call me . . . Oh, Warren--"

There was a long silence, then in a normal tone, "She what? That's

awful. The baby too. Oh dear."

Another silence, a gentle "I know, me too," and finally, "Please try

to understand."

A sense of tact warned Andy to let himself quietly out the kitchen

door so Wendy wouldn't know he had overheard her, but on second thought

he stayed where he was. He had no reason to go out of his way to be nice

to this woman who had taken Barbara from him.

She hadn't said anything incriminating, but something in her tone

made him certain he was listening to a conversation between lovers. Was

she cheating on Barbara? His heart gave a pulse. Maybe things weren't

what they seemed. Maybe there was something Barbara didn't know, that he

could take advantage of. He heard her put down the phone.

A moment later she appeared in the doorway.

"Oh! I didn't know anybody was here. Good morning!"

She studied him with an intent quizzical expression, possibly

considering whether he had heard anything, or if he had, whether it

mattered. As far as she was concerned he was just a workman, the next

thing to invisible.

She relaxed when he only responded, "Hi."

A smile touched her eyes. "Sleep well last night?"

"Yeah, okay."

"Any coffee left?"

Andy indicated the half-full coffee-maker with a nod.

"Did Bo--B-Barbara, get off to work all right? It's a shame she has

to work on Saturday."

"Yeah, well, so do I. I better go up and do some work on the den

before taking a look at Mrs. Walters' kitchen."

<H3 ALIGN=CENTER>Chapter 9</H3>

Warren called, "Darlene?"

No answer. The lights were on, but the house had an empty feel.

She was probably at the neighbors. Just as well. He needed a little

time to relax after a long day traveling from San Cabrón.

He shucked off his coat, put down his suitcase, and peeked into the

bedroom to see if Patty was in her crib. No, she was with her mother. He

went into the kitchen for a beer.

A note was taped to the refrigerator door.

Dear Warren,

You asked why I wanted you to go to San Cabróne

alone without me and I didn't tell you. Well I'll tell you now.

Ha Ha !! The jokes on you. I've been with Norman Finster all this

time and I'm going away with him. He is a true gentleman and not a

dirty hands ruffneck like you, he is a proffessional stockbrocker

in an office, He is all I ever dreamed not a common laberer. I told

you if you wouldn't get a job in an office I'd leave you, well I

have. Don't try to find me I never want to see you or you're freak

kid again. Go be poor all your life Im going to be rich. Ha, ha, ha

Yours truly, Darlene.

P.S. The freak is next door with Mrs. Higins.

Stunned, he read it again, and then a third time. He felt like he had

been hit in the gut by a sledgehammer.

The house was still as death. From next door he heard the sound of a

television game show, raucous canned laughter and the unctuous tones of

the host. Mrs. Higgins always had the volume up.

It can't be, he thought. There's a catch.

He read the note yet another time, wincing inside at its mindless

cruelty.

Gradually the weight of the world lifted from his shoulders. He

straightened, stood perceptibly taller.

An unbelieving grin tugged at the corners of his mouth.

He yelled, "Yee--ha!" And then again, "Yee--HAA!"

His feet danced a jig in place.

"Ya-HOO!"

He went back to the bedroom and threw open the closet door. Empty,

but for his work clothes and hangers on the floor. Her bureau drawers

were also bare.

He couldn't believe it.

Free!

Dismay and excitement and joy combined in an expanding bubble in his

chest, and erupted in another shout of exultation.

Patty! The damn' fool had left her with Mrs. Higgins. He had

to get over there right away.

The doorbell sounded.

He opened the door. Mrs. Higgins had the sleeping baby in her arms.

"I thought I heard you, hollerin' to wake the dead. Miz Wilcox left

the child with me, now you're back, you take it."

Warren cradled the fragile bundle. She was so beautiful. Her eyes

were closed, lids almost translucent. Her rosebud mouth pursed in a

dream kiss. He had missed her more than he knew.

Mrs. Higgins held out her hand. "She said you'd pay me."

"Oh. Yeah." What kind of a world was it when a neighbor couldn't

watch a baby for free? Holding Patty carefully in one arm he reached in

his pocket. "How much?"

"She said twenty dollars."

It left him with five dollars in his pocket. He'd have to go to the

bank in the morning.

"Thanks, Mrs. Higgins. You have a nice night now."

"There's something wrong with that child."

"I know, it's all right, I'll take care of it. Thanks again."

He opened the door to urge her out.

She said, "Something wrong!"

"I know, I know. It'll be all right. Watch the step."

As he closed the door he heard her burst out, "She's the devil's

spawn! I'll thank you not to ask me to have her in the house--"

Whatever else she said was lost in the click of the latch. He carried

the baby to her crib and gazed at her with love.

"Something wrong, huh? You're the best most perfect thing in the

world. That lady doesn't know what she's talking about, does she? You

sleep tight and have sweet dreams and maybe we'll get you a new mommy

some day, poor child."

It was time for bed, but he was too excited to sleep, so he finished

a six-pack before turning in. It made him sluggish the next morning as

he bathed and diapered and fed the baby. Caring for her in this way was

nothing new for him; it was a routine. Darlene didn't like "messy"

chores.

The thing about waking up wasn't his hangover. It was waking up

alone. For two months the first thing he was aware of was Wendy's soft

warmth next to him; the first thing he saw upon opening his eyes was

Wendy's beautiful face; the first thing he smelled was the fragrance of

her skin.

She started out being therapy for two years of Darlene's nagging and

put-downs; but it wasn't long before she had become a light that put

Darlene's shortcomings into sharp relief. Wendy was kind, sweet-

tempered, and giving, and so responsive in bed he walked around with a

perpetual hard-on just remembering the night before--all the things

Darlene wasn't. Wendy was beautiful in a natural way, not spoiling her

prettiness with too much makeup and plucking and hairdressers' precious

ideas of style, the way Darlene did. No wonder he had fallen head over

heels in love.

Patty was glad to see him this morning. She cooed and giggled happily

when he tickled her, and kept giving him coy glances as she displayed

her walking and crawling techniques, looking back over her shoulder to

make sure he was watching. She didn't seem to care that her mother was

among the missing.

That wasn't too strange. Darlene wasn't what you could call an

affectionate mother. She left Patty alone half the time, and attended to

her meals with barely-controlled impatience. When he was home he was

more of a "mother" than she was.

He picked up the telephone. He had promised not to call Wendy, but

she had to know about Darlene, didn't she? It was important, in case she

should ever change her mind about getting together. If a man answered,

he'd say he had the wrong number.

Hearing her voice made him weak and lovesick. Maybe she was right

about not seeing each other. It would be too painful not to have her all

day every day.

He had to get to the bank. He thought about waiting until Patty was

asleep--she was about ready for a nap--and sneaking out, but she might

wake up. The thought of her crying out for him and not being around to

comfort her chilled him. He'd have to take her.

He could see all this wasn't going to be easy. With a baby-sitter out

of the question--he hoped that damn' Higgins woman would keep her mouth

shut about Patty--for the first time he thanked God it was wintertime.

Work was slow. Frozen ground and the chance of below-zero days didn't do

much for the masonry business. He had time to be with the baby. What he

would do in the spring he didn't know; he'd cross that bridge when he

came to it.

He dressed her warmly and belted her with care into the car seat in

his pickup. She fell asleep on the way.

The bank teller smiled sympathetically at the sight of the bundle in

his arms, but when she saw his modest check, her expression became

cautious.

"I'll be back in a moment."

Warren watched her punch numbers into the computer terminal in back.

She stared at the screen. Without looking at him, she walked over to old

Mr. Frye, the bank manager. He heard the man give a small sound of

dismay, and the teller returned.

"Mr. Frye would like to see you, Mr. Wilcox."

He knew before he walked into the man's office that Darlene had

cleaned out their checking account. A slow rage built in him.

Mr. Frye said, "Mr. Wilcox, I'm not sure I understand. Your wife

closed your accounts last week. She said you wanted to change banks."

"Accounts! Both accounts? The savings account too?" God, that was his

life savings. He was wiped out. Why had he ever put Darlene's signature

on it?

"I'm afraid so."

Warren sat down in the nearest chair, holding the baby with a care at

odds to the churn of emotions within him.

"What the hell am I going to do?"

"Is there some, ah, domestic difficulty?"

"She left me and the baby while I was out of town."

"I'm sorry."

"Wait a minute, let me think. I have to have money, the mortgage is

due next week, well, you know that--"

"Er, you are two months in arrears. We sent you notices."

"Two months! She didn't even pay the damn' mortgage?"

"Please. You don't want the whole town to hear."

"So now I have to make three payments all at once. How the

hell can I do that? She cleaned me out. And it's winter. There's no

jobs."

"Mr. Wilcox, you're a valued customer of this bank. We'll work with

you, now that we appreciate the situation. Do you think you could begin

to make accelerated payments in the spring?"

Warren gave him a grateful look. "Yeah . . . maybe. I don't

like it. I mean I don't like the idea of not being up to date with my

payments. Besides, there are other expenses. Food for the baby. Let me

think."

A long moment later he said slowly, "Look, Mr. Frye. The house is in

my name only." Bitterness found its way into his voice. "That's probably

the only reason she didn't sell it out from under me. Anyway, I got nine

years in this mortgage, I must have some equity in it, right?"

Mr. Frye nodded.

Warren continued, "And the house is worth more now than when I bought

it--I made a bunch of improvements and the market is higher anyway.

Suppose I refinanced the mortgage for enough extra money to carry me

through? Would that do it?"

The man said, "A home-improvement loan."

"What? I'm not going to be able to make any more improvements for

quite a while."

"You don't have to. That's just the type of loan I'm

suggesting. Interest rates these days are much higher than when you took

out your original mortgage. You would save money by taking out an

additional loan instead of refinancing."

"Yeah? I could do that? Thanks, Mr. Frye. You won't regret it."

"I'm sure of that, Mr. Wilcox. Now. How much do you think you'll

need?"

Warren named an amount that would carry him through the spring

comfortably, and, to be safe, added an amount that would take care of

the loan payments for a year.

Mr. Frye said, "If you'll sign this loan application, you can go

directly to the teller and cash a check for whatever you need. I'll have

the application filled out for you by tomorrow."

"I can get cash right now? That's great. You're okay, you know that,

Mr. Frye? If I can ever do anything for you, stone work, concrete,

whatever, you let me know. Thanks again."

He stood up.

"Er, Mr. Wilcox." The man's expression said he might be suffering

from gas. "It's none of my business, of course, but if you haven't yet

done so, it might be wise for you to consult with an attorney." He

rummaged in his drawer and came up with a business card. "Mr. Berkovitz

is said to be excellent. Costly, perhaps, but he'll save you money--and

trouble," his glance fell on the sleeping baby, "in the long run. His

office is upstairs on the third floor. If you make arrangements with

him, give me a call and we can add his fee to the loan."

Warren blinked several times. "Yeah. I'll do that. Thanks, Mr. Frye."

The man looked embarrassed.

Patty woke up while he was talking with Mr. Berkovitz and squirmed

off his lap. She crawled hastily over the carpet giving them her best

"check me out" look over her shoulder.

"That's all right, let her go," the lawyer said. "There's nothing she

can damage. We're used to small children around here. --Your wife left

her behind?"

"Yeah."

"And the note you said she wrote, you'll have to bring it in so we

can make copies, specifically stated she was abandoning the child."

"She said she never wanted to see her again."

"Good."

"What's good about that?"

"It means there will be no trouble getting the court to award you

custody, and will enable us to receive child support from her."

"I thought only fathers paid child support."

"Most fathers, in this state at least, don't have sole custody. You

are certainly entitled to her help in defraying the cost of raising the

child."

Warren grinned ruefully. "Good luck. I can't see her coming up with

the money."

"Nevertheless. The court order will be there, and if she should ever

win a lottery, or open a bank account, or obtain gainful employment, you

would be able to seize her assets or garnishee her wages."

Patty stood up awkwardly and tugged at Warren's hand.

"Oh-oh. That means she's ready for a diaper change. Are we done for

now?"

"Sure. I'll be in touch with you in a few days, Mr. Wilcox. Leave

everything to me, and don't worry, we'll put this through quickly and

favorably."

<H3 ALIGN=CENTER>Chapter 10</H3>

WENDY inspected her sister with amusement. Judy looked wan, a little

tired, but a complacent smile hovered about her lips. She had taken Andy

home with her almost two weeks ago "to remodel the kitchen, no point in

his staying over here, he can get an earlier start if he sleeps in our

guest room." Apparently they had met with success in more ways than one.

Bob was in a tizzy about it. What a fuss over nothing, Wendy thought.

The boy was almost nineteen, after all. It was time he lost his

virginity--Judy had told all, the morning after that first night home--

and she couldn't think of any better way for him to gain experience than

with her sister. She was pretty, kind, proficient, and would never

intentionally do him any harm.

It was nice to be alone with Bob at last, but there were some

discomfiting aspects. When he was an ordinary tax preparer he had plenty

of time to help around the house--except during a three-month tax

season--and as soon as he began wearing her dresses she made him do the

housework with her as if they were sisters or roommates. Now he left for

work each morning at eight and didn't get back until six. She was a

housewife again.

Housewife for a woman! She couldn't get over how feminine he was. It

was weird. When she saw him in lingerie applying cosmetics with

startling grace; when he tilted his head, lifted his silken hair, and

fastened earrings to his lobes it all seemed perfectly normal--just

another woman sharing the morning routine--but then something would

happen to blow her mind. The other day, for example, he came into the

bathroom while she was brushing her teeth and she watched him stand in

front of the toilet and hike up his skirt to pee. She had a sense of

dizzied confusion, and finally burst out, "Can't you sit down? You're

driving me crazy!"

And then when they were in bed together, she nursing on his breasts

as she lay on top of him, the tireless rigidity of his enormous erection

that she could use endlessly to stimulate her overheated vagina, belied

his femininity in a way that baffled her senses.

Judy said, "Do I have spinach in my teeth?"

"Hm?"

"You're staring at me."

"Oh. Sorry." She turned her eyes to the coffeemaker, which had given

up pissing and grunting into the carafe and was now beaming over its

full pot. "I was just thinking."

"What about?"

"Oh . . ." Wendy got up to pour, deliberately not looking

at her. "I was just wondering what it's like."

"What is?"

"You know, to be the kind of evil seductress who would take a young

boy's virginity."

A second later Judy's laugh rang out.

Wendy said, "No, seriously. What's it like to know you're spoiling

the child for girls his own age? Introducing him to all manner of vile

practices and carnal knowledge. I can't believe you sleep at night."

"I can't, he keeps me awake. Spoiling him! He's spoiling

me! I'll never be able to go to bed with Leon again."

Wendy burst into laughter.

Judy said, "But you know what? I'd trade him for Bob any day. Wanna

trade? Wanna? Especially," she said slyly, "after you told me about him

wearing you out. I was thinking about that the other day." She giggled,

"You're like the girl who unknowingly entertained the god Thor. The next

morning he decided to reward her by telling her who he was. 'I'm Thor,'

he said. She said, 'You're thore! I'm tho thore I can't pith!' "

They shrieked.

"Never mind," Judy gasped and grew serious, "I might not have him to

trade with for very long. I need your help, Sis. Andy just bought a used

van for his tools, and now he's going to live in it."

"A van! I thought he didn't have any money."

"He finished the kitchen. You should see it, it's gorgeous. Anyway, I

had to pay him, didn't I? The thing is, Leon's due back, and I was

thinking if Andy had a place to live, we could, um, see each other once

in a while. But not in a van. Can you imagine? Climbing in back of an

old truck in broad daylight?"

It made Wendy smile. After a moment she said, "He's going to live in

it? What will he do for water? Or a bathroom? It sounds perfectly

awful."

"It is. That's why I mentioned it. You and Bob were nice enough to

let him stay in the guest room. I wondered if you would do it again. I

know it's a lot to ask, but I just can't stand to think of him living in

a car like a homeless person, especially with Christmas around the

corner. I couldn't bear to go around thinking of him in a van."

"I'll speak to Bob. You know him, he'll probably say yes."

"He's a dear," Judy said absently, and sipped her coffee. "You know,

I've been trying to think who Andy reminds me of, and it came to me just

now. Your island friend Warren. A young Warren."

Wendy remembered thinking the same thing. It interested her. She

wondered briefly what it would be like to be with Andy, a kind of

substitute for Warren right in her own house, and so inexperienced!

It was a silly and unworthy thought.

Sleeping around like that was all right for Judy, that's the way she

was; on her it even looked good; but Wendy meant to be faithful to her

marriage vows. Warren had been her sole indiscretion--the memory of how

easily she surrendered to those young rapists in front of Bob flashed

into her mind, but was immediately stifled--and it would never happen

again. It wasn't fair to Bob. He had indulged her every desire, and for

her to be aroused by the mere sound of Warren's voice on the phone was

too disgraceful.

Judy asked, "Did you ever hear from him?"

"Who, Warren? No," she lied, "we agreed we couldn't meet. We're both

married, you know."

Judy gave her a skeptical look. "I'm surprised. You two were so good

together. You know something? I was jealous. There I was, stuck with

Leon all that time while he kept trying to sneak out at night to run

around paying little boys to take it in the mouth."

"Judy!"

"Well, it's true, isn't it? You knew, even if you didn't say

anything. And he didn't fool either of us for a minute with that story

about checking out the island for condos to invest in. I saw the way you

looked when he told us."

"We--ell . . . "

Judy's mouth quirked unhappily. "I know I said once it was okay for

him to go out to lunch as long as he came home for dinner. But if all he

wants to do any more is have boys do it to him, what's there for

me? I mean, what good is it for me to be his wife? It's like the only

reason he married me is for someone to act as his 'cover' so he can do

what he wants without people suspecting."

Wendy didn't know what to say. She knew about Leon's penchant for

little boys. It had come out during her sister's honeymoon. Judy told

her all about it when they got back. At the time Judy hadn't seemed

particularly upset, and Wendy had admired her equanimity, thinking she

was more mature and worldly about such things than she was. Apparently

there was a limit. She patted her sister's hand.

Judy brightened. "Anyway, ha ha. He's not the only one who likes

young boys, is he?"

"You better not let Bob catch you. He thinks he's Andy's mother,"

Wendy laughed.

"He's so sweet. She is. Oh Wendy, you're so lucky."

Wendy patted her hand again, half wishing things could be different,

that Judy could be with Bob, maybe. (Wich would leave her free to be

with Warren.)

"I'll talk to Bob tonight. Why don't you and Andy come over to

dinner?"

After Judy left, Wendy pottered about the kitchen tidying up, trying

not to feel put-upon by having to do all the housework. Judy's mention

of Christmas reminded her it was time to unearth those decorations from

the attic. She'd put it off long enough. Maybe later. If Andy came by

she could get him to hang them. Oh dear, every year the same-o same-o

thing.

When the phone rang she forced animation into her tone. "Hello."

A cheerful voice asked, "Mrs. Miller?"

"Yes."

"It's Nancy. I have those numbers you wanted for the Spivak account."

"Wait." Wendy was flustered. "This isn't--you have the wrong Mrs.

Miller. She's out right now. Can I take a message?"

She had to do something about taking her maiden name back, become

"Miss Ogden" again. This "sister-in-law" business was too confusing.

Besides, with Bob the way he was, her use of his name had become

irrelevant.

There was a brief silence at the other end. "Is this Wendy Miller?"

"Yes."

"Hi! I'm Nancy Dahl. I don't know if you remember me. I worked in the

tax office before I got to be Mrs. Miller's secretary."

Wendy placed her. The red-headed receptionist. A small thin girl with

a plain face who positively radiated health and irrepressible bubbling

good nature. Bob's secretary? But that meant--

"Nancy? Of course I remember you. Did you say you were Mrs. Miller's

secretary?"

"Yes! She asked me to come to work for her the day she got the job at

Haskell's. She's a great boss. I'm so glad to be out of that tax

orifice."

"But--" Wendy didn't get it. If this girl had worked with Bob

. . . But maybe she just didn't recognize him. There were

times when Wendy didn't.

Did she know or didn't she? Cautiously, "H-how long . . . I

mean, well, how long have you known her?"

"How long--? Oh, I see. Duh-h. What a dummy I am. I knew her when she

worked at that other place, but I didn't know her," she gave the

word significance, "until I came here." A titter came over the line. "I

hope that was discreet enough for the telephone."

"Oh dear. Barbara never said a word! You must think we're

terrible."

"No, I think it's neat. My husband, too," she added.

"Your husband knows too?" Did everybody in the world know? Wendy felt

her cheeks flaming.

"No. That is, yes, I did mention it to him, but he would never say

anything. I meant, my Jimmy does, er, like Mrs. Miller."

"He--? Oh my, you're right. We really shouldn't be discussing it on

the phone, should we? But I'd love to talk with you. Could we meet?"

"If you're free for lunch, we could go to Mitzi's on Maple Avenue.

They have those groovy little sandwiches made out of parsley and caviar

that you couldn't get fat if you tried, though you wouldn't know it to

look at all the fatties who come there to eat--you didn't get fat, did

you?--and they sit around cackling so loud that nobody could possibly

overhear us!"

Wendy was still grinning when she walked into the Christmas-decorated

restaurant and saw Nancy at a table in back waving energetically.

She had an attack of timidity as she threaded her way through the

crowded room. This young woman knew she was married to a man in dresses.

What must she think? But she had practically declared that she was too.

It would be interesting to learn what she thought about it. Perhaps they

had other things in common, too. It would be nice to know a kindred

spirit other than Judy.

She sat opposite the red-headed girl. They smiled at each other like

fools, ready to be friends, but each wary about the degree of

confidences they might be prepared to exchange.

"I'm glad you called," Wendy ventured.

"So am I! I've been wanting to talk to you for ages, especially since

. . . I don't know if I should say this."

"Go on, I won't bite."

"Well, Mrs. Miller said . . . I don't know if it's true

. . ." She hesitated and then blurted all at once, "She said

it-was-kind-of-like-it-was-your-idea."

Wendy blushed. "I guess it was."

"Well, see, that's just it. H-how--? I mean, how did you ever get her

to do it? I want my Jimmy to do it too, but I don't know how to make

him."

"I thought you said he did--" She broke off when the waitress came

up.

Nancy nodded vigorously, saying, "He does," before ordering a

cottage cheese salad with strawberries. When the waitress had gone she

repeated, "He does. But not so much anymore, hardly at all, in fact. But

I'd like him to do it every day when he comes home from school. When

he's all gussied up he's beautiful. It's such a--" suddenly pink,

the girl looked down, "--turn-on--to see him like that and know that

underneath . . . "

"I know!" Wendy's burst of recognition showed in her voice. "Isn't it

awful? I get all bothered when I see Bob--Barbara--in a dress."

Nancy's grin was full of delight. It made the room sunny. "She's

beautiful too, isn't she. In a different way from Jimmy, well, we call

him Amy when he's like that, but she looks so nice. I mean nice

like respectable. Amy's more the slutty kind, tight skirts up to here

and long blonde hair. It gives me an instant bath down there."

Wendy laughed hilariously. She was joined after a surprised moment by

Nancy, who gasped finally, "So how do you do it?"

"I don't know, I just, well, I guess I nagged the poor soul to death.

Also," she added sheepishly, "I had a headache on nights when he was in

pajamas, but gave him a specially good time when he wore a nightie and

if he was good during the day."

Nancy giggled, "I'll try it! I don't know, though, he's gotten so

square. He's due to graduate from Chardsville College in the spring, and

he wants to get a job as an accountant. He thinks accountants have to be

so perfect."

"There are lots of lady accountants," Wendy pointed out.

"Yes. Oh! You mean he could go to work as a woman? Like Mrs. Miller!

What a groovy idea! Oh gosh . . . to see him like that every

day." She squirmed in her seat. "If he only would. He used to. I mean he

used to get dressed every day."

"You have to remember there are problems. Bo--Barbara can't get a

driver's license, for example. And there's the risk she might be found

out somehow."

Nancy mulled it over. "Jimmy once said that was part of the fun. The

risk. Does-- I mean, is that a kick for Mrs. Miller?"

"I never asked. Did you know she went to the doctor?"

"She told me! They're real. I wonder if Jimmy--"

"It's permanent, you know."

"She said. It's kind of scary, isn't it? You can't change your mind.

I don't know if Jimmy would go for it. I'd love it if he would. Imagine,

real tits! Well . . . you don't have to imagine, do you?

What's it like?"

"Fabulous! I can't tell you how, er, stimulating it is."

"I can imagine. I wish . . ." She hesitated, and changed

the subject. "Why can't Mrs. Miller get a license?"

"You need a birth certificate."

"Oh." She thought about it. "I know somebody who got a birth

certificate for a--friend. Even got the school records and all changed.

Mrs. Miller knows her too. Estelle Chard. She might . . ."

Wendy stared. "What would Barbara tell her? She's one of her clients,

isn't she?"

"Maybe she wouldn't have to tell her anything, just that she needs

one. I know Estelle likes her."

"She'd probably think she was a foreign spy or something. That's all

we'd need."

"Well, maybe the truth. Estelle knows all about Jimmy and it

doesn't bother her."

"It's a nice idea, Nancy, but can you imagine? Barbara telling Mrs.

Chard she's a man? She'd never."

"I guess you're right. Let me sleep on it. There must be something we

can do. Listen," she said, face brightening, "Jimmy and I are having a

little party for New Year's. Why don't you both come? Jimmy will be all

dressed up, so you and Mrs. Miller can see him."

"I'd love it! Bob, er Barbara, I just can't seem to train my

tongue, could talk to him about what it's like."

"Too much! We'll go off in a corner and have a hen party, the four of

us."

Wendy laughed.

She kept her promise to Judy, speaking with Bob about Andy that

evening while he changed out of his business ensemble into a frock she

didn't recognize.

"What a pretty dress! You used to borrow my clothes, can I borrow

yours some day?" She waited for Bob's answering smile before continuing,

"Judy came over this morning. She says Andy bought an old beat-up truck

and is going to live in it like a bum. Well, I guess the poor boy

doesn't have any other place to stay. I hate to think of him all alone

out there in the cold, though."

It took him a minute to react. "You sound like you want him to stay

with us."

"I know you're furious. Never mind, it's too much to ask."

"I'm not mad. Why do you think I am?"

"I thought . . . because of . . . Judy and him."

"Listen, it's up to you. If you want him to stay, it's okay with me.

Besides, it'll be protection for us. Especially for you while I'm out of

town Friday."

"Where are you going?" Wendy asked, noting the "protection for

us." Bob never used to worry about such things.

"The city. Mr. Haskell wants us to pitch a couple of rich clients. I

probably won't get back until Saturday afternoon."

At first Andy balked. He insisted he didn't need charity. Wendy

sensed there was something more, she didn't know what, but Bob took him

aside after dinner and spoke with him privately. When they returned,

Andy announced he would move his things in the next morning, and

insisted on paying rent as soon as he had completed the next job. Bob

was flushed and looked pleased. Maybe he really hadn't been angry with

Andy after all.

<H3 ALIGN=CENTER>Chapter 11</H3>

BOB tipped the bellhop and took ten minutes to freshen his makeup

before going down to meet Haskell in the hotel lobby. The man was

waiting for him, looking impatient.

Haskell said, "All checked in? Good. It's almost three, let's

hustle."

He took Bob's arm above the elbow and urged him through the revolving

door to the wintry street. "We don't want to be late. These guys could

be almost as important to us as Mrs. Chard. If we can do them, we could

end up doing the whole Sissy Club."

"How many members are there?"

"I dunno. Couple of hundred, I guess."

Bob watched as the doorman whistled a cab up to them. A couple of

hundred. The man had ambition, at least. How did he think Bob was going

to handle two hundred accounts?

A cold gust of wind rocked him, lifting his skirts to mid-thigh

despite the heavy woolen coat. He held them down in a panic. He just

couldn't get used to wearing dresses in public!

The doorman, resplendent in gold epaulets and buttons, handed them

into the cab. Haskell ignored the courtesy, but Bob tendered the man a

timid grateful smile while Haskell gave the driver directions in a self-

important voice.

Bob asked, "Why do they call it the 'Sissy Club?' "

"They're all alumni of Chardsville College. C.C.? Get it? Sissy."

"At least they have a sense of humor."

"It's not the greatest college in the world from an academic

standpoint, but it's not supposed to be. It gives the rich kids what

they need--a smattering of everything, and a chance to make contacts

among their own kind. Pretty snobby bunch, but we'll crack 'em open. So

how do you like your suite?"

"There's even a telephone in the bathroom! I can imagine calling

Wendy--'Hi, guess what I'm doing?' " Bob started giggling.

"Get used to it. If we can get these guys' accounts, the Bartholomew

Plaza won't be good enough for you."

"You weren't serious when you said two hundred accounts."

"Sure I was. If these guys are happy with the work you do, they're

sure to tell all their friends, and their friends will tell theirs. You

got no idea how hard it is for well-to-do people to find good,

trustworthy financial advice."

"I can't do two hundred accounts. Not and do them justice."

"Bob--" Haskell shot a glance at the back of the cabby's head, and

covered by saying, "--ra. Barbara. You're still thinking small. We'll

add people. Researchers. Tax practitioners. Consultants. You can look

over the client's position, point the researchers in the right

direction, and tell a practitioner to put it all together. You'll spend

more time presenting the program than working on it."

Bob opened his mouth to protest, but closed it again. Haskell didn't

seem to have any idea of the concentration it took to work on a client's

account, and the insights that occurred when you were saturated with a

close knowledge of the client's finances and goals, sometimes waking you

up in the middle of the night to scratch sleepily on a bedside note pad.

Spreading the work thin would only mean many missed opportunities, and

multiply the chances of going wrong. Every client was different; you

couldn't treat them as if they were on an assembly line. But this wasn't

the time to speak.

Haskell said, "You better let me do the talking. You look too young

to be real. I'll introduce you as my associate, but they'll probably

think you're more or less a secretary, which is okay, because you're no

good at selling. You tell people the truth, when what they want to hear

is exciting promises."

"What happens if you can't keep those promises?"

"Hey, they get a rush out of it, and when they come down they're too

smart not to know it's the best they can expect. Here we are."

He must have seen a hint of what Bob was thinking because he said,

"Don't worry about it. Just let me handle things."

Haskell thrust some money at the driver as the cab stopped in front

of an imposing brownstone edifice.

He was still "handling things" an hour later, posturing like a used-

car salesman in front of a long mahogany table in one of the club's

conference rooms. Wide-eyed, Bob watched expressions of skepticism

harden on the faces of Bannerman and Renfrew, the prospective clients. A

third man, unintroduced, sat lazily in an overstuffed leather armchair

in a corner of the room, listening with quiet amusement.

When Haskell started talking about avoiding the alternative minimum

tax, Bob couldn't help himself.

"What Mr. Haskell means to say," he broke in, "is that you

want the alternative minimum tax."

Three pairs of cold eyes turned on him.

Bob's eyelashes fluttered involuntarily. He caught the surprised

glance of the man in the corner.

Bannerman said, "Want the AMT. What makes you say that, young lady?"

His tone made it clear Bob didn't know what he was talking about.

Bob perched big round reading glasses on his nose. "According to the

figures you gave us here," He flipped the pages of the report in front

of him, "which aren't comprehensive, of course--I see a number of big

gaps, which I suppose indicate questionable tax shelters and

interlocking directorates--" Here he saw a startled look pass between

the two gentlemen "--What you want is to have the AMT apply in such a

way as to limit your total tax liability. After all, the AMT is only a

flat rate of twenty-one percent on all income, a lot less than your

regular rate. Also, my guess is that you've lost more money in ways to

avoid tax than you would have by paying. It wouldn't take long to find

out, if you would be open with us."

Bannerman looked at Renfrew with hooded eyes, "Estelle did say they

were sharp." To Bob, "Go on."

"Instead of going on, I think we should take a step back. This isn't

about taxes alone. You're both healthy handsome vigorous men, but if I

can say so without offense, getting along in years. You ought to be

thinking about your estates, putting things in order and making them as

sound in reality as they look on paper. It's easy to see you're both

used to, er, cutting corners. Even taking into account those Swiss

numbered accounts, it's time to slow down and do right."

"How did you know about those?"

"I didn't. But you'd be stupid not to hedge some of your bets that

way, and anybody that can put together this kind of monkey business--"

Bob riffled the report again, "--certainly isn't stupid. Now if you want

to stop fooling around, Mr. Haskell and I will get to work on a program

of unloading your abusive tax shelters and straightening out your

financial life. You'll sleep better at night, and make more money. We'll

fine-tune the program as time goes on."

The men stared at him without expression. Bob wondered if he had gone

too far. It was clear that Haskell thought so. He was fidgeting at the

head of the table, disconsolately fingering the charts he had brought.

Bob could see him trying to figure out a way to retrieve the situation.

Renfrew guffawed abruptly and slapped his knee. "She got you there,

Charley!" He turned to the man in the corner, "What do you think,

Harry?"

The man pushed himself out of his chair and stood, lean and stoop-

shouldered, and grinned. "You could take her advice to the bank. If you

two pirates pass this up, you're crazier than your wives say you are."

Laugh lines formed at the corners of Bannerman's little pig eyes.

"This is Harry Johnson. He calls himself our accountant. We thought

we'd have him sit in on the meeting. A little ace in the hole."

Harry Johnson. Of Johnson & Company, one of the most prestigious CPA

firms in the state. In the nation, it was said. He could open successful

branches anywhere, but let it be known he preferred to keep a small

high-income clientele instead of expanding unmanageably. Bob was honored

by his endorsement.

The man stepped over to Bob's side and held out his hand. "I like the

way you think, Miss. I never considered the AMT in that light. Of

course, you'd have to minimize ordinary taxable income."

Bob put his hand in his. "As close to zero as possible," he agreed.

"We'll see what we can do. There are trusts and tax-free gifts."

He huddled with Johnson outlining a plan to form holding

corporations--"in states with no corporate income tax"--to be owned by

limited partnerships of the men's heirs and assigns. The general

partners would continue to control everything, but when they died, the

partnerships would automatically dissolve, leaving the heirs in

possesion of their share of the corporations--no inheritance tax. The

simplicity and legality of the scheme kindled a grin of admiration on

Johnson's face.

By the time the papers were signed and they had dinner with the new

clients in their club, it was close to nine in the evening. He was

exhausted.

Haskell hardly spoke to him during the meal or on the way back to the

hotel. Bob knew they would have blown the accounts if he hadn't butted

in, but there was no way to tell that to Haskell.

Maybe he should have kept his mouth shut. The worst that could have

happened was that they wouldn't have got the accounts, and it wouldn't

have been Bob's fault. There were other clients.

After a strained silent ride in the elevator they separated to enter

their adjoining suites.

Bob said tentatively, "Good night, Dick. I'm glad everything worked

out."

The man muttered, "Yeah," and closed the door behind him.

Bob shrugged. He'd get over it. Now there was tomorrow's meeting with

Schenk, Rossberg to prepare for. Haskell had the idea that a brokerage

might welcome the idea of having a financial consultant to refer its

clients to. Bob couldn't see it. The least the firm would demand would

be that Haskell Associates recommend Schenk, Rossberg's shelf securities

and in-house funds to its clients, and there was no way Bob could commit

himself to do that uncritically.

He was too tired to look at the material. Maybe if he had a shower

first to relax.

The hot shower was pure luxury after a long day. Bob closed his eyes

in bliss and let the water course over him. Nozzles sprayed from the

sides of the stall as well as from above. He bent forward and turned to

let one of the wall sprays go between the cheeks of his ass, and

discovered that the nozzle opposite was drenching his penis. He got

hard. There was something about the anonymous privacy of a hotel that

was arousing. He wished Andy or Wendy were here with him.

Especially Andy. He had forgiven him long since--what could you

expect, if Andy couldn't have him, he had to have somebody, and Judy was

okay, a little trampy maybe, but nice. He had enjoyed the time Wendy had

let him screw her sister, he was kind of in love with Judy anyway, she

was so much like Wendy in some ways. And so different in others. Unlike

Wendy, Judy let him be on top of her, really fucking her. Sometimes with

Wendy it was like she was masturbating, using him like a candle, or

whatever women stuck in themselves. He wondered if he would ever be able

to get her to let him do it to her on top once in a while. If he had to

be underneath, he would prefer it to be with Andy. It was funny, when he

was with Wendy his instinct was to be the active partner, but when he

was with Andy . . . well, he practically swooned in his arms.

The thought made him shiver, and he pushed it away. His prick was

already hard enough. Protogen was not an unmixed blessing.

He had a feeling of satisfaction at having handled Bannerman and

Renfrew so successfully. They had portfolios together worth twenty-four

million. One percent of that was $240,000 a year. If Bob's share was

two-fifths, that would be, let's see, oh my God, $96,000! He must have

misplaced a decimal. No, $96,000 was right. Ninety-six thousand dollars!

Coupled with his share of the fees paid by Chard, Myers, Lovell, and the

Chard pension account, he was now earning well into six figures. His

stomach lifted in excitement, followed immediately by a thrill of fear

when he remembered Haskell's expression. The man had looked angry enough

to fire him.

He'd made a bad mistake today. He cursed himself for his

impulsiveness. He wasn't in business for himself, he was an employee. He

had to get along with the boss. He promised himself to do better as he

got out of the shower. At breakfast tomorrow he'd apologize, and brief

Haskell thoroughly before the Schenk meeting.

He dried himself pink and put his wet hair in curlers. Barefoot, in a

terry-cloth robe, he went into the front room to sit down with the

Schenk, Rossberg file.

A loud knock sounded. He was halfway to the door before he realized

the noise was coming, not from the hall door, but from the one that

separated his and Haskell's suites.

"Just a minute."

He turned the latch and opened the door, feeling uneasy about being

in only a single garment.

Haskell pushed by in bathrobe and pajamas to stand in front of the

couch.

"Sit down over here."

Wordlessly, a tremor of anxiety in his stomach, Bob obeyed.

Haskell said tightly, "You made a fool of me today. In front of those

men."

Bob opened his mouth to protest but Haskell said, "How dare you? Who

do you think you are? You work for me. Understand? When I walked in that

door I was ready to shitcan you on the spot, but at the last second I

decided to give you a chance to explain."

"Dick, I--" It was in his mind to say he wasn't the one who

made a fool of him, but he couldn't afford to lose this job. "I--I'm

sorry. I was wrong, I know. I lost my head."

Bob's soft answer seemed to mollify the man. He stood rocking on his

heels, then said, "Why didn't you tell me about that AMT business? I

could've used it."

"It never came up. You didn't ask."

"You should have thought."

"I--"

"You knew I was going to give the presentation. I should have had all

the facts."

"I didn't know! Until we were in the cab. I mean, I thought

you hired me to run the financial planning end of the business, and you

were going to do the legal stuff. This was financial. I thought I was

going to make the presentation. If I was wrong, I'm sorry."

"Okay, it was financial planning. But pitching the company's services

is my job, not yours. Clients should know they're dealing with the

senior partner, not some little--some employee. Get it?"

"Yes, Dick."

Haskell was silent for a moment. "All right. You say you're sorry.

Prove it."

"How?"

"Prove to me you know I'm boss."

"Anything. I'll never open my mouth to a prospective client again."

"Take it off."

"What?"

"Take off your robe."

"You're kidding."

"I'm serious. You want to keep working for me and earn all those big

bucks that are coming your way, you do what the boss says."

"Wait a minute, Dick. You know . . . I'm not really

. . . "

"You're not really a broad. Yeah. That makes it all the better. I

imagine you'll be just as humiliated as you made me. Take it off."

An outraged "No!" burst from Bob's lips.

"No? Better think again. I'd have to explain to our clients why I had

to let you go. You know what I mean."

Bob thought about it. Six figures a year.

Nauseous, he stood up and turned his back. His fingers trembled as

they untied the terry-cloth belt that held the robe together. He

hesitated, then shrugged the garment off. It fell to the floor.

Haskell said behind him, "Turn around."

"Please."

"Go on, do what I say."

His skin crawled. He remembered stripping for Andy, tantalizing him

with almost-glimpses of his body parts, turning away to complete the

undressing, ass bumping and grinding in imitation of stage strippers,

happy in the knowledge that his lover thought his nude body was

beautiful, and that the combination of penis and breasts excited him.

This was nothing but fear and humiliation.

"Turn around," Haskell repeated.

He faced the man.

Haskell's eyes bugged out. "Holy shit, they're real! Well, I'll be

goddam'. I can't tell if you're a dame with a cock on her, or a guy with

knockers. Man, they look luscious. There's a pair of mouthfuls for you."

A long moment went by as Bob cowered under Haskell's stare. The sound

of a diesel bus starting in the street below came faintly through the

window. Footsteps, muffled by deep carpeting, passed the door.

He squeaked at last, "Okay, you've seen me. I did what you wanted,

you're the boss, all right? Now let me get dressed."

"What's your hurry? We're all alone and private. Walk for me."

"What?"

"Walk across the room and back."

Abysmally conscious of the man's eyes, feeling horribly naked and

exposed, Bob crossed the room and reluctantly returned.

"Do it again, but this time do it right. Like you usually walk, ass

moving. Put one hand on your hip and swing it."

"Dick, please. Don't shame me like this."

"You don't like it, huh? Now you know how I felt this afternoon."

"I promise I'll never do anything like that again. Forgive me."

"Walk."

Bob choked back a sob and crossed the room again, striving for

naturalness. He was chagrined by the way his tits and prick swayed in

unison.

"Again. Shake it but don't break it, baby."

Once more Bob paraded in front of the man. He exaggerated the swing

of his hips, hoping it would satisfy him, that his ordeal would end

soon.

"Yeah, that's the way. C'mere."

Bob flinched when he saw that Haskell's robe was parted and that an

erection was pushing against the cotton of his pajama bottoms.

Without ceremony the man reached out and grabbed his breasts and

handled them roughly.

"Don't! Don't touch me. You're hurting!"

"Come on, you like it."

Bob squealed, "No! Stop!"

He panted and tried to pull away, but Haskell's rough grip held firm.

His nipples bulged with the pressure.

"Please," he whispered hopelessly.

He staggered when Haskell let him go. His breasts tingled. He cupped

them gingerly.

The man said, "Get on your knees."

"Wh--?"

"Get. Down. On your knees. I'm gonna show you how to keep your job."

"What do you mean?"

"You know."

"N-no, please, Dick. I already told you, I'm not that way. I n-never

did that." He remembered privately wondering what it would be like to

suck Andy's prick, wanting to, but too shy to suggest it.

"So what? There's always a first time for everything. It's called

being cherry."

"I can't."

"Sure you can. Come on, what're you pretending to be a woman for if

you're not looking for some cock once in a while?"

"I'm not! W-Wendy wanted me to do it." The suffocating memory of

being in Andy's arms filled his mind.

"You already went this far. Do this one thing more and we can forget

everything that happened today."

Bob felt as though he were going to faint. He swayed on his feet.

Haskell put hands on his bare shoulders and gave a push down.

Ninety-six thousand dollars.

Shaking, he sank to his knees on the plush carpeting.

Tears spurted from his eyes and ran down his face. When Nurse Baker

warned him that he could expect different treatment on the job, he had

pictured having to make coffee for the boss. Now he knew what women

meant by sexual harassment in the workplace.

He looked up imploringly, but Haskell said, "Untie me."

Mortified beyond words, Bob unfastened the other man's pajamas.

Haskell's penis sprang loose. It stuck out straight as a pole from a

thick bush of pubic hair, throbbing with the man's pulse. The head was

unusually bulbous, bizarrely larger than the shaft; the orifice in the

tip dilated like miniature lips opening to show pinkness within. A

glisten of clear liquid emerged and depended stickily, hanging

momentarily before dripping to the floor. Another leak took its place.

The unmistakable nutty aroma of male genitals wafted to Bob's

nostrils. He shivered.

"Please don't make me."

For answer, Haskell pushed his hips toward him until the head of his

cock pressed warm and meaty against Bob's lips. The sticky fluid

trickled from lips to chin, and hung to seep onto his breasts. When Bob

recoiled, Haskell held his ears.

He told himself nobody would know.

With resignation he parted his lips and let his mouth be filled with

surprisingly hot stiff meat. He gagged when the bulbous tip pushed

against the back of his throat, and on the next stroke used his tongue

to cushion the impact, to prevent the organ from going too deep.

He closed his eyes to endure the assault.

I'll pretend it's Andy, he thought, then it won't be so bad. The

image of the boy's beautiful prick appeared before him.

His mouth slowly filled with the slippery fluid. It didn't have much

taste but his stomach churned. He made believe it was Andy's intimate

juice. It made him feel better.

His mind went strange. He was on his knees before his handsome Andy,

at last performing the ultimate submissive service for him. His prick

swelled upright.

He lavished his tongue around the organ and sucked on it. Back and

forth he moved his head, jaws wide open so his teeth wouldn't scrape too

hard, compressing his lips on the upstroke to squeeze out whatever fluid

he could, relaxing them on the downstroke so they would feel soft and

full on the hot member. The slurping noises he made echoed in the silent

room.

Somehow his beloved Wendy was there, too, watching him make love to

Andy, willing to share.

The prick was swelling, forcing his lips farther open. It began to

thrum. It shoved forward urgently.

"Take it, go on take it, you cunt!"

Bob was shocked out of his daydream by the voice, not Andy's voice,

Haskell's detestable voice, but his body had gone too far during his

reverie, and as the man's cock gushed its load of semen, Bob's own prick

spurted ecstatically.

A warm splash against the back of his throat almost made him swallow

while his ejaculation erupted in his genitals, pulse after pulse of

semen shooting through his rigid penis mouth filling with the other's

sperm squirting on the carpet between the man's ankles tasting a rich

salty slippery shameful tang, until at last the surging of his genitals

slackened; and he became aware that the organ in his mouth was

softening. Semen dribbled warm from the corners of his lips.

He sat back on his heels, letting the penis slip out, and waited head

down and mouth full while Haskell pulled up his pajama pants and tied

his robe.

Haskell's voice was uneven. "I knew you'd like it. All the dames say

no at first, but they really mean yes. I--I'll see you in the morning.

Dining room at nine, we'll go over the proposal for Schenk."

When he heard the door between their suites close, Bob started crying

again. He staggered to his feet dazed and locked his side of the door.

He spat in the sink and rinsed his mouth and brushed his teeth, put on a

nightgown, and went to bed, knees against his breasts in a fetal

position.

He had sucked a man's cock.

A stifled moan escaped his swollen lips; he cringed under the sheets

shuddering, eyes squeezed shut.

Cocksucker. The word thumped in his head.

The man came in his mouth.

At the thought his stomach began to roil. He barely had time to cover

his lips and lurch to the bathroom before vomiting into the bowl. When

his retching subsided he brushed his teeth again, hot tears leaking down

his cheeks, and returned to the bedroom to sit trembling on the edge of

the mattress.

Cocksucker.

The man had seen him. Seen his naked body. Had raped him with

his eyes, and touched him, had fondled his breasts

. . . and then made him take his erect leaking member in his

mouth.

Bob shuddered, reliving the presence of that warm meat in his mouth,

the slimy taste of semen as it squirted in. He hadn't fought; he just

gave in and let himself be used as a toilet for the man's seed.

On his knees before him, naked and abased.

The worst thing, the thing that made him squirm agonizingly inside,

was that the man had made him ejaculate. Now he thought Bob had enjoyed

it.

Frustrated rage and despair churned through him. Haskell had violated

his privacy, had seen him; had discharged that intimate juice

into his mouth, and now no doubt was sleeping peacefully knowing

about him, proud of himself for having reduced Bob to a meek, servile

convenience. A cocksucker!

He ground his teeth. No matter how much time would pass, if they

lived to be a hundred, Haskell would always know that Bob had sucked his

cock. Every time he looked at Bob, that knowledge would be in his eyes.

At least he still had his job.

He wondered if other women who kept their jobs by putting out for the

boss had the same profound sense of shame.

"Other women." God, listen to himself.

He was trapped. Trapped in this job, trapped in this body, trapped in

a subservient role. Lying under Andy, lying under Wendy, on his knees

before Haskell.

Go to sleep, he told himself. Things always look worse in the middle

of the night.

He got under the covers, tried to clear his mind, and made himself

fall into a restless, unhappy slumber.

In the morning he spotted Haskell at a damask-covered table in the

glass-ceilinged hotel dining room and forced his legs to carry him over.

A waiter seated him. He put his purse on the table and ordered sullenly.

He couldn't bring himself to look at Haskell. The man didn't appear to

notice. He was expansive and jovial, and made no reference to the night

before.

Haskell asked, "So what do you think we ought to tell these guys?"

"Whatever you want."

"What's the matter with you?"

Bob hesitated, torn between the desire to tell him and his reluctance

to stir things up again.

"Nothing. I just don't think we can do these people much good."

"Why not?"

"Because if they make a deal to send their customers to us, they'll

want us to recommend every dog they own. We can't do that, not and stay

out of the hands of the SEC"

"I see what you mean. You're right, I guess. I thought they'd be a

valuable source of clients. I suppose we'll have to pass."

Bob looked up, surprised. Haskell was taking his advice on the first

go-round--not only that, but agreeing to forego what he had seen as an

instant source of revenues. Maybe he was ashamed of what he'd made him

do, and was apologizing for it.

Tentatively, "We could tell them we'll play it straight, and it'll do

them good in the long run. If the customers see the brokerage is

recommending independent consultants, they'll think Schenk, Rossberg are

straight themselves."

"Play it straight. You serious? Well, yeah . . ." The mind

was racing. "That could work. Yeah. We'll do that. You got a head on

your shoulders, you know. And you sound honest. Why don't you do the

talking?"

Bob realized it was an apology.

"There's nothing technical to talk about. It would be better coming

from you."

"Yeah."

It wasn't easy. Most of the brokerage partners appeared to be short-

sighted men who wanted to take a dollar the minute it appeared, but

finally the senior partner got a thoughtful look on his face and told

them they would think it over. If they decided to go along with it, they

would send them selected customers one at a time at first, and see how

things went.

Despite the contingency of the agreement, Haskell was exuberant.

"They're gonna come around. I can smell it. Trust me. Before a month

is out we'll be hearing from them. They'll try us out at first, ask us

to recommend some cats-and-dogs issue, and when we say no they'll figure

we are straight, and they'll send us somebody. You just make sure

he goes back and raves about us."

For the first time since the night before, Bob laughed. He could

never forgive Haskell for what he'd done, but maybe they could get

along. He would have to toe the line carefully so it didn't happen

again. At least he still had the job.

In three hours they were back in Chardsville. Haskell tooled the

Mercedes along Maple Avenue. The street was almost deserted in the

Saturday-afternoon sun.

"We'll stop off at the office to see what messages there are and file

away the Renfrew and Bannerman contracts. You figure out what they're

worth yet? Those two clients alone are gonna add a hundred kay a year to

your income."

Bob promised himself that he and Wendy would continue their present

life-style and put the extra money away in secure investments. In a

couple of years they'd be able to live off the interest. They'd be

independent.

The office was quiet; the plush carpet sucked up the noises they made

as they entered. Bob looked on his desk for messages, found none,

glanced over the outline for Chard Industries Nancy had typed in his

absence, and then noticed an envelope tucked discreetly under the corner

of his blotter. It turned out to be his first monthly pay check--

yesterday had been payday.

Haskell looked in the door. Bob was conscious of his scrutiny of the

pleased flush that burned his cheeks. With this check alone, Bob

thought, he and Wendy could live for six months, and it didn't include

the additional income from Bannerman. It was definitely time to think

about building that new house. Real estate was the soundest investment

of all.

Later he was to realize that Haskell had given him ample opportunity

to savor the prospect of being rich before saying, "When you get a

moment, Barbara, I'll be in the reception room. We should talk about

last night."

Bob blushed, tucked the check in his purse, and followed the man out.

Haskell was going to apologize. Bob was prepared to forgive him almost

anything. They could get along. Hotels made people funny, and he was in

a position to know that men often went off the wall when their gonads

were involved. The memory of last night's humiliation would be with him

for a long time, but he could overlook it all the way to the bank!

Haskell said, "I didn't tell you how nice you look today. Good-

looking outfit. I could see those brokers thought so too."

Bob looked down at himself. He was wearing the first suit he bought

at Dresser's, navy skirt and bolero jacket with a silk blouse and a

bright ribbon tie. It did look good.

"You make a great-looking broad. I was worried at first that, you

know, you might give yourself away or something, but nobody could ever

tell. I think things are gonna work out just fine. You did good with

Bannerman and Renfrew, standing right up to them like that. From a guy

that kind of talk might have been too rough, but from a girl it was

okay, somehow. I wouldn'a handled it that way, but it worked out all

right, and that's all that counts."

"Yes."

"The same as last night. I guess I came on a little strong, but you

liked it anyway, and that's what counts." Not looking at Bob he added,

"I never had a guy on his knees in front of me before. It was a real

turn-on. So if you were worrying that I might not want to do stuff with

you again, it's okay."

Bob managed to say, "No."

He must have spoken too softly, because Haskell went on, "You know,"

and now he sounded wholly serious, "it must be a psychological thing

with me. It seems like I gotta be in control. I'm either the boss or

not, right? Last night I was all bent out of shape because you acted

like I wasn't in charge. Now that I had a chance to think it over, and I

saw how anxious you were to do what I said, I realized you were only

thinking of the good of my company. Right?"

The best Bob could do was nod his head.

"So okay, that's over. Forgiven and forgotten. We're alone in the

office. Why don't you open this?" He pulled apart Bob's sleeveless

jacket and pushed it off his shoulders.

"No," Bob said weakly. "B-be a good boy, Dick."

The man prevented him from backing away by holding him with his palm

on the small of his back. With the other hand he grasped Bob's tit

through the blouse.

"Man, you're stacked. You're built like a brick shithouse, you know

that?"

Bob squirmed, thinking about punching Haskell in the nose, and then

thinking about the check in his purse and many more like it.

"Come on, you know you want it as much as I do. Get down on your

hands and knees."

Bob started crying, not silently but helplessly aloud, tears burning

down his cheeks. He had no one to protect him. He couldn't even quit if

he wanted to. Haskell knew his secret. If he quit, the man might, surely

would, blab it to the world with God only knew what embellishments. Then

what would become of him and Wendy?

He couldn't see through the shimmer in his eyes, but the quickening

of Haskell's breath told him that his tears only heightened the man's

excitement. The man put his hands on his shoulders, applying a downward

pressure.

Helpless, he thought if he did it once; he could do it again.

Pantyhose stretching, he knelt on the deep carpeting. Blood suffused

his face as he waited. He felt like a whore.

"No, get way down, on your hands and knees."

Haskell stepped around behind him. He heard the man's belt loosen,

and the stridulence of a zipper. In a second Haskell flipped his skirt

up over his ass and pulled his hose and panties down.

Bob began to shake. He closed his eyes squeezing out tears and

gritted his teeth. The man was going to take him like a dog humping a

bitch. If it had been Andy he would have been stimulated beyond all

imagining; with this man it was pure degradation.

He sobbed when a hard rubbery poke centered on his anus; moaned as

the pressure grew.

He was too dry; it wouldn't go in.

Haskell seemed to realize the problem. The pressure on Bob's asshole

ceased abruptly; the man squatted spraddle-legged in front of Bob's

lowered head, turgid penis rampant before his eyes.

"Go ahead," the man's voice was hoarse, "get me good and wet. Then

I'll give you what you crave."

In plain sight of anyone who might walk into the reception room, Bob

was acutely aware of the exposure of his bare ass, and had an internal

shudder when he thought about Haskell's erection penetrating it. The man

would mount him while he made obeisance on hands and knees, bracing

against the in-and-out thrust.

Andy had him bend over the kitchen counter that first time, and on a

couple of occasions joyfully took him by surprise in bed, putting it in

him as he lay face down. That was exciting; this would be obscene,

somehow even worse than letting the man ejaculate in his mouth.

If he made Haskell come this way, he wouldn't have to endure being

violated back there. He was already a cocksucker; once more wouldn't

matter.

Bob kept his leaking eyes lowered so the man wouldn't see the hatred

in them, opened his mouth reluctantly, and took in the inflamed organ.

The penis simmered, exuding the copious, almost-tasteless drip that

he remembered too vividly from the night before.

He moved his head back and forth, mouth full of the bulbous tip. With

slender fingers he clasped the part of the shaft that his mouth was

unable to encompass, and followed the motion of his lips. His other hand

caressed the man's balls.

He knew what he was doing--this time no false image of sucking Andy's

prick obscured the reality of his actions. He was deliberately trying to

make Haskell spill his seed in his mouth. A treasonous warmth in Bob's

groin made his stomach sink: some debased part of himself, mindful of

their position on the carpet in front of Jane Bloom's desk, was becoming

aroused.

His ears picked up the sound of a small groan of pleasure. The hot

prick began a fevered vibration. He redoubled his suction--but the man

abruptly pulled out, came around behind, grabbed his hips to steady him,

and unceremoniously lunged into him.

Bob shrieked.

Haskell drove up him urgently. The man's hands went to the floor on

either side of Bob, elbows a vise on his waist, as a dog holds a bitch

in position.

"Huh! Uh. Uh," Bob gasped.

The prick drew back, the whole length of it, so when it thrust

forward it was like being entered all over again. That ungovernable spot

in front of Bob's intestine that Andy had taught such response betrayed

him: a surge of sensitivity turned into an orgasmic ecstasy. A long

thrilling flow emerged from his limp penis simultaneous with the jerking

and pumping of Haskell's stiff rod and the repeated hot surges of the

man's semen.

The damn' protogen, Bob thought with bitter despair. His body had

betrayed him again. The next thing he knew, he'd have an orgasm at the

sight of the underwear section in a Sears catalog.

He remained on hands and knees after Haskell pulled out, hearing the

man zip his trousers and fasten his belt.

The man's voice said, "You were tight. I guess you were telling the

truth about never doing it. Now you know what you were missing." Bob

flinched at a playful slap on the ass. "See you Monday."

A moment later the front door opened and closed.

Bob burst into another fit of weeping.

Sobbing uncontrollably, he teetered stiffly into the lavatory to sit

on the toilet and wipe himself. He saw where his own ejaculation had wet

the hem of his skirt. Crying hysterically, he soaked a piece of tissue

in the sink by the toilet and scrubbed the spot compulsively, and then

sat still, hugging himself, tears leaking from his eyes.

A long time later, when he thought he could contain himself, he

washed his face and freshened his lipstick. Feeling desperately

vulnerable in a dress, he gathered up his purse and went out to the

street. The last thing he wanted was to call attention to himself in

public, but he couldn't help the intermittent freshets of tears that

poured from his eyes as he clicked down the Saturday-afternoon streets.

Occasional passersby looked at him sympathetically.

<H3 ALIGN=CENTER>Chapter 12</H3>

WENDY waited her turn for the vanity, watching Bob put the finishing

touches on his makeup for the New Year's party at Nancy's.

She worried about him. For the last month he had been remote and

moody. Nothing you could put your finger on, but his smile was rare

these days, and he seemed to be looking inward more. When she hugged him

suddenly she caught occasional glimpses of, well, it almost looked like

fright in his eyes until he realized who she was.

Look at him now. He used to sparkle when he made up, all vibrant and

timid like a little girl practicing with her mommy's cosmetics. Now he

was subdued, undertaking a chore with skill but no joy. She supposed it

was inevitable--making up was no more than a chore--but she was

sorry to see the change.

Not for the first time, she wondered if he was coming to regret his

transformation. She had been so sure she could make him happy. She felt

guilty, not only because it was all her fault, but because she was now

beginning to long for what she had made him give up.

Maybe part of his depression was due to the unremitting presence of

that young man in the house. Even when he was out you had a feeling of

constraint. They couldn't be naked together except in their bedroom, and

even then had to be careful about making noises that might signal what

they were up to.

Or maybe Bob was just working too hard. Too-long hours, too many out-

of-town trips. This evening out might do him good.

He was dressed in the black cocktail frock that was her Christmas

present to him.

He looked the way she wanted him to look: adorable and sexy. Nancy

bragged about how seductive her husband was in skirts; Wendy had to show

her Bob could outdo him.

The new frock was sleeveless, open from collar to navel in an

outrageously daring vee. He couldn't wear a bra with it--the

undergarment would show plainly in the cleft. He didn't need one anyway.

For all their size, his breasts were as new and pert as a teenager's;

gravity hadn't yet had its way with them.

The dress revealed far more creamy skin and cleavage than was

respectable; every time he moved, it seemed that his nipples would show,

but they never did . . . not quite.

The smooth silk of the bodice gave way to taffeta below the waist.

Barely knee-length, the skirt was held out by starched white petticoats

that were cut fractionally longer than the hem so their froth of lace

caught the eye. The stiff black taffeta rustled aloud with each stir of

his body.

He rummaged in the jewelry box and came up with his garnet earrings,

rough stones in cages of gold wire. They would go well with the dress

and scarlet lipstick, all black and white and sparkling red.

He put them through his lobes, arms lifting in such a way that his

breasts rose and his nipples must be exposed any moment, but they

weren't.

He stood up and faced her.

"How do I look?" He shook his head, shining brown hair flaring out to

reveal the dangling earrings.

"You're perfect. I'm jealous, you're prettier than me.".

"That'll be the day." His eyes, lashes made long by artifice, moved

over her figure. "Every time I see you, you're more beautiful."

She preened, taking her place at the dressing table. She did look

good, she knew, dressed in white silk that did wonders for her skin,

which had faded from a dark tan to a golden color. Her curls were piled

on top of her head in an intricate hairdo. Eyes green as emeralds

glimmered with incipient mischief; the effect was a mixture of

respectable matron and gamin.

"I wonder what Nancy's husband will look like. By the way, she said

his name was Amy when he was dressed up."

"Amy, hm? Nice. You're sure he'll be wearing a dress?"

"Nancy said so."

"It makes me nervous having somebody else know about me."

"They're just like us, Barbara. I think it's nice."

She finished outlining her lips, colored them inside the lines, and

highlighted the center of the lower lip with a lighter shade before

blotting them with a folded tissue. She rose to her feet and took a last

look in the mirror.

"All set. We'd better hurry or they'll eat all the goodies before we

get there."

Andy was in the living room watching TV, feet on the coffee table. He

looked up and whistled.

"You guys are bee-yootiful!"

He did a double take. "Holy mackerel, Miz Miller, you're not going

out like that, are you? You're half-undressed!"

Wendy said, "Don't make her self-conscious. It's just a small party

with friends."

"What kind of friends, sex maniacs?" He looked angry as they put on

their coats and left.

In the car, Wendy laughed, "He certainly is protective, isn't he? He

acted just like my father the first time I went out in a miniskirt. At

first I thought he was talking to me. 'Mrs. Miller', you know. Barbara,

I've been thinking. What if I took back my maiden name? It would be less

confusing."

He shrugged. "If you want. You know, it's hard to get used to you

driving all the time. I wish there was some way for me to get a

license."

His lack of reaction confused her. Didn't he care?

"You don't mind?"

"About your maiden name? No, it's okay. You're right, it's confusing.

I was thinking you'd do that anyway when we get in the new house."

That was Bob's Christmas present to her, a "gift certificate," an

architect's rendition of a house to be delivered in the spring or early

summer. It looked too big to be more than a fantasy, but he assured her

that construction would start as soon as the weather moderated. Andy was

in charge of the project; he was already lining up contractors and

workmen.

Any woman would be overjoyed. She pretended to be, but the fact was,

she was a farmer's daughter, and a house like this promised to be too

fancy for her to be comfortable in. Besides, it all seemed so damn'

permanent. A commitment to the future.

She responded to his earlier comment. "Nancy said Mrs. Chard once got

a false birth certificate for someone. She's going to be there. Why

don't you ask her?"

"Are you kidding."

Wendy pulled up in front of a two-story brick apartment building.

"This is the place."

"It's funny, I've known Nancy for years, and I never knew where she

lived. But in only a month you've become buddies."

"I guess we're kindred spirits. We both have husbands who--" she

twinkled at him, "--turn us on."

"I'll be interested to meet him. Her."

She led him down the hall. Their heels clicked on the tile. Bob's

frock swung from side to side and made frou-frou noises.

Furtively she slipped her wedding ring off her finger and put it in

her purse. It felt strange.

Nancy's smile was bright as she opened the door, obliterating the

plainness of her freckled face.

"It's the boss and the boss's--sister-in-law!" she said with a happy

grin. A smell of alcohol on her breath testified to at least one

cocktail. "Hi! Come on in. You're the early birds. Everybody else's

fashionably late, I'm afraid."

She wore a green silk cheongsam, high collared, long skirt slit up to

the thigh. The green clashed with her hair, Wendy thought, but the dress

was surprisingly provocative. She really had very nice legs.

"Let me take your things." She put their coats in the closet. "Your

dress is groovy!" To Wendy, "I told you it would be."

"Nancy was with me when I bought it. I thought it might be a little

too risqu�, but she talked me into it."

Bob said anxiously, "It's not too much, is it?"

"No!" Nancy stared at his bosom with frank admiration. "You look

bad."

She turned to call, "Amy, come and meet our guests!"

A slender blonde in a periwinkle sheath with a short, tight skirt,

emerged from the kitchen carrying a tray of hors d'�uvres.

Nancy said, "Amy, this is Wendy, and this is Barbara."

Flushing prettily, the woman balanced the tray in one hand and held

out the other. Her grip was delicate and her voice was a woman's

contralto if you didn't know. "Hi. I'm so happy to meet you at last."

Bob and Amy took stock of each other.

After a moment they exclaimed simultaneously.

"You're gorg--!"

"You're stun--!"

Nancy laughed. "Listen to them! Men are really more generous than

women, aren't they?"

Wendy looked away from their momentary blushes. It was apparent Nancy

had the same problem she did, slipping into the masculine pronoun

through habit.

Oblivious, Nancy continued, "Two girls would probably say something

catty. It reminds me of the story about how if you were at a dinner

party and you asked the host where he got the steak he'd say, 'Joe's

Market, only two ninety-five a pound. Pretty good, huh?' Ask the

hostess, and she says, 'Why? What's wrong with it?' "

They moved laughing into the living room, a modest room comfortably

furnished like their own with overstuffed furniture. The coffee table

displayed more platters of hors-d'�uvres; on a sideboard were glasses

and ice and assorted liquors. A small artificial Christmas tree on the

sideboard was the only indication of the season. Wendy guessed the Dahls

were like them, preferring to keep Christmas under control. It was

probably different if you had children.

Amy took Bob to the sideboard and poured martinis. She sat with him

on the couch. Wendy couldn't help comparing them. Bob was really more

feminine than Amy. When Amy walked, a hint of stiffness in her body

diminished the sway given to her hips by her high heels; and when she

sat down, smoothing her skirt under her correctly but self-consciously,

she sat a little too hard.

Wendy watched them a while, conscious of Nancy doing the same. She

turned to the other woman. They smiled at each other.

Nancy whispered, "She said they were real, but I didn't believe it

until just now. Like a martini? That's what we're having." She made it a

triple, saying, "It's not fair, I'm way ahead of you, you have to catch

up."

The drink burned down to Wendy's stomach, bringing with it a sudden

release of tension she hadn't known she had. In a little while she

finished it off, shuddered, and held her glass out for a refill.

She didn't know how Bob felt, but it was good to be with friends with

the same secret, to be able to be open with them. A kind of haven in a

dangerous world. She gave Amy a friendly look. She really was

attractive. Wendy could see what Nancy meant by "slutty"--Amy's short

skirt was midway up her thighs. On the other hand Bob, with his bosom

practically bare, wasn't far behind. Look at them staring at each other.

Amy's glance kept resting on his front.

Wendy murmured, "Aren't they darling?"

"Seeing them like that . . . Why don't you and Barbara go

home now? I have something to discuss with Amy."

Wendy giggled. She surprised herself by saying, "I'm soaking."

The red-head gave a shout of mirth. "Me too! Isn't it terrible?"

Bob glanced over at them, smiling at their laughter. Bob smiling!

Meeting Amy was doing him good.

Nancy said, "I knew they'd like each other. Look at them chattering

along like they knew each other for years. --Oh dear. I forgot."

Speaking across the room she said, "Mrs. Miller?"

Bob looked up. "Barbara. We're not in the office."

"Barbara," she agreed. "I forgot I have the itinerary for your trip

on Monday. I'll get it."

She found the page and handed it to Bob. "You and Mr. Haskell are

staying at the Bart. Fanciest suites in the house." She returned to

Wendy and said, "I made friends with the hotel manager over the phone.

Nothing's too good for us, as long as the pope doesn't come to town.

Barbara might as well travel in comfort if she has to travel."

Bob's smile had gone. He folded the sheet and put it in his purse,

and sat for a moment staring into space. Recovering himself with a

barely-perceptible shake of his head, he went to the sideboard.

"Mind if I help myself? Anybody else?"

Amy said, "Me!"

In a few minutes, again deep in conversation with Amy, Bob appeared

to regain his good cheer. Wendy caught enough of their discourse to

understand they were talking about Amy's prospects after graduation. She

had a promise of a job at Chard Industries, but wasn't sure that's what

she wanted.

As Amy gesticulated enthusiastically, her short skirt rode above her

stocking tops.

Nancy said, "Just look at him. He knows what he's doing. He's such an

exhibitionist when he's with people he trusts."

"I'm glad you invited us. It's doing Barbara a world of good. She's

been so down lately."

"At home, too? I thought it might just be in the office. That Haskell

is no charmer, I thought he might be giving her a hard time. She was in

conference with him yesterday, I guess he had her on the carpet because

she came out of his office all pale and shook up. She went into the

ladies' room and didn't come out for half an hour."

Bob was looking at Amy's legs. Wendy saw with amusement that his eyes

had a certain glint. It told her he was hard in his panties. Tsk, tsk.

Penises had no conscience, she guessed. If it looked like a woman and

smelled like a woman, that was all they needed.

She had to admit it was kind of confusing. Her own panties were moist

from the sight of Nancy's husband, all dewy and vulnerable in his

periwinkle sheath, contradicting her knowledge that there was a penis

concealed under it. Briefly she wondered if Nancy got on top like her,

when he was in a nightgown. What would it be like to see someone else

make love?

The doorbell rang.

"More freeloaders," Nancy said, and threw the door open.

A tall, elegant woman in her mid- to late thirties stood on the

threshold. She had short flaxen curls and wore a basic black shirtwaist

that seemed to Wendy the very height of fashion.

Nancy said, "Hi! Glad you could make it, Estelle. Come in! Aren't Mel

and Leslie with you?"

"They'll be by later. Melvin had some police work to do."

Police work! Wendy shot a glance at Bob. He was suddenly alert. She

knew he was not so comfortable in his role that a policeman in their

immediate presence wouldn't be alarming. Amy apparently sensed it too.

She leaned close and whispered something in his ear. It was reassuring;

he relaxed and smiled.

Nancy said, "Estelle Chard, this is Wendy Miller--"

"Ogden. Wendy Ogden. I took back my maiden name after the divorce."

Ignoring Nancy's look of surprise, she said, "It's a pleasure to know

you, Mrs. Chard. Barbara's told me so much about you."

"Please. Call me Estelle. I'm happy to meet you."

Nancy said, "And you know Barbara Miller and my girl-friend Amy."

Bob stood up. "Hello, Mrs. Chard."

"Call me Estelle, and I'll call you Barbara. It's nice to see you

again. My, what an attractive dress." Her pastel-blue eyes danced. "You

almost have it on, don't you?"

Bob's cheeks got rosy.

Mrs. Chard said, "It's really quite becoming. How are you, Amy? You

look lovely this evening. So feminine."

Amy blushed, "You too, Estelle."

Nancy said, "Now that we've got the hello-how-nice routine out of the

way, how about a drink, Estelle?"

"A lovely thought. White wine?"

"In the fridge. Help me, Wendy."

Once in the kitchen Nancy whispered, "She's a tease. She knows about

Jimmy. That's probably what he was telling Barbara. Don't worry about

Mel. He's a sweetheart. He knows about Jimmy too. It's not against the

law, so he doesn't care. In fact, I kind of think it turns him on."

Wendy tittered. "I think it turns Barbara on too. Did you see the way

she was looking at Amy's legs? Disgraceful."

They had to conceal delighted grins as they returned to the living

room.

Mrs. Chard took the glass absently. She put on a bewildered

expression and looked helplessly around the room.

"But where is it?"

Nancy blushed. "Oh, Estelle."

"My dear, I'm dying to see it. Jack says it's among his best works."

"It's embarrassing."

"All his work is like that. Come now, you saw the paintings he did of

me and Marie. It's not fair of you to hide it from us. It's just us

girls here," she added.

Amy turned pink again and shot a look at Bob, but piped up, "Sure,

come on, Nancy, be a sport."

"Oh, all right. It's in the bedroom." She led the way and opened the

door. They crowded in.

A nude portrait hung at the head of a double bed.

The instant she saw the painting Wendy knew she was in the presence

of a masterpiece. It showed Nancy reclining on her side on the very bed

it decorated. Glorious light spilled from the windows onto the naked

form, doubled and redoubled into a bath of radiant splendor by

reflection from rumpled snowy sheets.

Her head was propped on her fist. She looked inward, caught in

solitary thought. One knee was cocked upward, innocently opening her

intimacy to view.

The brush strokes were small and inconspicuous, informing the

painting with a crisp realism that only accentuated its deep emotional

content.

Point for point, feature by feature, the painting was ruthlessly

faithful to reality, an exact likeness of the diminutive woman at

Wendy's side, but in some arcane way that defied articulation she had

been transfigured into the epitome of beauty.

Frizzy red hair, pale green pink-rimmed eyes set too close about a

nose that was too long for her face, freckles massed over its bridge and

spilling recklessly over her cheeks, features which in real life made

the girl plain, in the painting were blended into a harmony of utter

loveliness.

Her lips curved into an almost-smile, not her usual brilliant saucy

grin that could light up rooms, but instead faintly-sad contours of

timid hope that evoked a deep stirring in the viewer.

Her figure was dazzling. The eye was led from exquisite breasts

tipped by succulent nipples, down a sweet sensual curve of belly, to a

garden of auburn hair that adorned the juncture of perfect thighs, down

further to the plump white folds between her legs.

Wendy was thunderstruck. At once ashamed by a sense of intruding and

staggered by a wave of prurience, she felt that she had caught the

unsuspecting woman in a moment of total privacy, that she was able to

spy unseen, at leisure to caress her with her eyes, to pry into her

innermost secrets. A flood of heat swept over her. Her cheeks burned.

She gazed at the painting until she could no longer bear the agitation

of her feelings.

What was it about this painting? There was nothing overtly erotic

about it, yet it perturbed her deeply. Wendy shook her head. She must be

getting tipsy.

She glanced at Nancy. The red-headed girl was looking at the painting

with complacency, a crooked smile on her lips similar to the one

depicted in the painting; only now it wasn't crooked, it was a hint of

tantalizing mysteries within.

Why, the girl was utterly beautiful. This artist had seen it, and

had shown it to the world. She would never be able to look at Nancy in

the same way again.

Mrs. Chard was staring at the painting, flushed and trembling, her

hands clenched at her sides. Wendy saw the moment when her eyes moved to

Nancy herself, filled with a lust so profound you could envision her

stripping the girl on the spot, embracing and caressing her passionately

with shaking hands and body. She felt like looking away; the raw emotion

was embarrassing; she had learned too much about the woman. She saw her

take a deep breath and consciously compose herself until she had once

again regained that consummate poise.

Bob's face was transfigured. He said to Nancy wonderingly, "I never

knew."

That tell-tale glint in his eye had sharpened. Oh-oh, Wendy thought,

and then, Well, why not? She liked Nancy, Nancy liked men in dresses,

and if Bob ever wanted to stray and Nancy wanted to take him on, God

knew she owed it to him not to make a fuss. She'd find an opportunity to

tell Nancy it would be all right. In the back of her mind lurked the

notion that if Bob did have an affair, perhaps she and Warren

. . .

Amy said, "Everybody always seems so surprised. I don't get it. Every

time I remember Nancy, that's the way I remember her."

He was in love with his wife.

Wendy asked, "Who's the artist?"

Mrs. Chard said, "Jack Landon. He lives right here in Chardsville. He

and his wife are close friends of Leslie and Melvin."

Bob said, "I did his taxes! He's supposed to be one of the finest

artists in the world. I just never saw his work." A thought struck him.

"He can't be cheap. How did you afford it?"

"I didn't!" Nancy had her grin. "He called one day and said he

noticed me at Leslie Woicik's wedding reception and would I pose for

him. Then he said if I would sit for two paintings, he'd give me one of

them."

She got pink and continued, "He taught me a lot about myself. I know

I'm homely as a mud fence, but he showed me I wasn't as bad as I

thought."

"Oh, my dear," Mrs. Chard slipped her arm about Nancy's waist and led

her back to the living room. "You're lovely, both inside and out. You

must never think otherwise."

Wendy poured herself and Bob another triple martini and got giddy.

From that point on she was to remember the evening only in bits and

snatches.

There was the moment she took Nancy aside and asked her about posing

for the portrait.

"Weren't you embarrassed?"

"Embarrassed! I could've thrown up. When I saw the first painting and

saw the way he saw me, it was like I'd been raped without even knowing

it! Can you imagine? He's really very good-looking, you know, and then I

had to pose for this one and I was positively leaking. Literally.

Every time he let me take a break I had to sneak a wipe with a Kleenex.

The whole time I was wishing he'd come over and stick it in me! Don't

tell Jimmy."

Wendy laughed intemperately. The martinis were catching up with both

of them.

By the time Mrs. Chard's daughter and son-in-law arrived, the party

was in full swing. Mel turned out to be a tall, sandy-haired young man

who carried himself with thrift and balance; Leslie, a vivacious blonde

with sparkling gray eyes. Wendy gave them both hugs instead of

handshakes, and then stood befuddled until she realized the reason she

held Leslie just a little too long was a feeling of deja vu

induced by a body fragrance that reminded her of Bob.

She liked Mel's eyes. They had too much knowledge of humanity's

foibles for a face so young, but they were kind, and his slow glance

over her made his appreciation plain.

He was daunted at first by being the only man in a room full of

women, but apparently decided to meet the challenge head-on. He embraced

both Amy and Nancy warmly and gathered Mrs. Chard in his arms to kiss

her on the lips. The alacrity with which the older woman yielded,

clinging sweetly to him, told Wendy something shocking, especially after

the revelation in the bedroom. She had heard of people swinging from

both sides of the plate; this must be what it was like. But her own son-

in-law! Her daughter didn't notice, thank God. She was hugging Nancy

amiably.

Mel let Mrs. Chard go and turned to Bob.

A smile tugged at the corner of Wendy's lips. The man was undressing

him with his eyes--though with that dress, he didn't have far to go. For

a second she was afraid he was going to put his arms around Bob too, but

in the end he confined himself to a handshake.

The next arrivals were a distinguished middle-aged man and his still-

youthful wife. He wore a mustache and a pleasant smile and a dark suit;

she was clothed in an air of serenity and an off-the-shoulder gown that

revealed more cleavage than her obvious respectability should have

permitted. Wendy saw Mrs. Chard ogle her humorously, then embrace her

tenderly at length. The man turned out to be Howard Myers, the bank

president for whom Bob had done a tax return. After introducing himself

to Wendy and shaking hands with Bob, he swept Amy into a vigorous hug

and kissed her deeply. She swayed against him; her arms went about his

neck. When at last they broke the kiss there was applause.

Wendy shot a look at Nancy. The redhead was watching her, and she

realized her mouth was hanging open. Nancy grinned in delight. She

winked.

Mel was apparently quite taken with Bob. Leslie and her mother had

identical expressions of wifely indulgence as they watched him deep in

conversation with him. A few drinks later, the temptation of Bob's open

front was too much for him. He crowded Bob into a corner, nuzzled his

ear, and let his hand slip inside the dress to touch his breast.

Wendy and Nancy choked with mirth at Bob's hysterical giggles. By

turns he fended the man off and shrieked with laughter.

It was a revelation. She knew Bob was beautiful, but somehow it never

occurred to her that men would be attracted to him. Of course they

would. He'd have the same problems all beautiful women had. It made her

see him in a new light.

At one point her bladder, never dependable at best, let go during a

bout of merriment. Mrs. Chard appeared suddenly at her side, put her arm

about her waist, and led her into the bathroom. She pulled down her

panties as though she were a little girl, sat her on the toilet, and

watched her finish her pee with glistening eyes. It didn't frighten her.

She had seen Mrs. Chard's look when she saw Nancy's portrait, and

understood, conclusively and certainly, that Mrs. Chard was lesbian, or

at least a switch hitter, but the knowledge wasn't alarming. The woman

was gentle and kind, and when she took some toilet tissue and touched

her thighs, Wendy opened her legs trustingly to let her wipe her.

The woman rinsed the urine-soaked panties in the sink, wrung them in

a towel, and draped them across the shower rod.

"You'll have to wait a while unless you want to go home without

underwear, but they're so lacy they should be dry in half an hour or so.

In the meantime, I prescribe coffee."

It didn't do much good. Wendy got the idea a little brandy added to

the coffee was just what it needed.

At midnight she was surprised by a forceful kiss from Mel, another

from Howard Myers, and yet another from Mrs. Chard, who gave her

pantyless heinie a squeeze. As they sang Auld Lang Syne, Wendy

was enchanted to see Bob squirm in Mel's grasp and Nancy and Amy both

enfolded in Howard's arms.

Except for Howard, she and Bob were the last to go. Mel and Leslie

pled an early-morning engagement; Helen Myers and Mrs. Chard left

together shortly afterward, which caused Wendy's eyebrows to lift. Mrs.

Chard, a small glimmer of amusement in her eyes, kissed her

affectionately on the cheek and said, "Come see me." Howard was going to

stay the night. It took a long while for Nancy's explanation to

percolate through to her, something about Amy's special friend, but it

was okay, Nancy would be there to see that nothing happened that wasn't

supposed to.

By Monday morning she was well enough to get up early and fix

breakfast for Bob before he left with Haskell for the city.

She had spent Sunday in a sick stupor trying to recall the events of

the night before. The first thing she remembered was being back home in

bed with Bob. Overstimulated by the evening, he wanted to make love to

her. On top, as if he were a real man. That seemed to be all he

wanted these days. He knew she didn't like that. Now that he was

bedizened in a woman's body she couldn't stand for him to be the one on

top.

He got his way, though. Too drunk to protect herself, she lay on her

back while he had her.

It must have gone on a long time. In the morning her vagina was

tender and she was all sticky between her legs. Cringing inside, she

remembered feeling his breasts on hers and in alcoholic confusion

thinking Mrs. Chard was with her, or Nancy, or both, and acquiesced

dutifully to them. Then the force of his strokes and her submissive

position got to her, and it was Warren on her and she lifted her knees

and kept trying for climax, mind excited but body unable to respond. It

left her with a melancholy, unfulfilled sensation.

Oh God, Mrs. Chard wiping her!

The memory brought with it a blushing humiliation and . . .

well . . . she identified a surreptitious feeling of

excitement. What would it be like to touch another woman there? She

thrust the thought violently away.

Bob came down wearing a severe tailored suit, its gray relieved only

by a pink blouse and a fashionable brooch pinned to the lapel. She was

still upset with him for taking advantage of her, but he was going on

one of those out-of-town overnight trips and she owed it to him to see

that he had breakfast and a good-bye kiss to keep him warm.

"I should be home tomorrow night," he said as she put her cheek to

his so as not to muss his makeup. "If we have to stay over another day

I'll call."

When Andy came down she made breakfast for him too, and watched him

while he ate.

"See anything of Judy lately?"

"I think she's got problems. She's been drinking a lot."

Wendy knew that. Ever since Leon returned. She supposed they weren't

getting along. She wished there was something she could do, but until

Judy said something it was better to mind her own business.

That afternoon Warren showed up at the door.

It was strange to see him in blue jeans and fleece-lined leather

jacket with a woolly scarf wrapped around his neck, face not dark with

the sun but bright with the cold, but she knew him instantly.

Her heart fluttered wildly in her breast. Her knees got weak. He was

so handsome, so rugged-looking.

Often when you get to know a person in one environment, he proves a

disappointment in another, but Warren looked every bit as wonderful as

she remembered.

Her lips trembled as she exclaimed, "Warren, you promised!"

"Mrs. Miller?" he interrupted. "I'm Warren Wilcox. I understand from

Mrs. Walters that you're building a new house. I'm here to bid on the

foundation."

What was Judy up to now? Honestly, sometimes her sister just couldn't

help stirring things up to see what would happen. This time it wasn't

funny.

She recovered sufficiently to put reproach in her voice. "Warren."

"I know. I couldn't help myself. I feel just awful about this."

His expression showed a conspicuous absence of repentance.

Heart still jittering, Wendy said, "I'm sorry about Darlene."

"Why? I'm not. Good riddance."

"Warren!"

"Yeah, I'm supposed to go around looking pious and feel sorry for

myself and Patty. But I can be honest with you. If I can't be honest

with you, who can I? I ain't a bit sorry. It was a mistake. I sure

wasn't what she wanted and she turned out not to be what I wanted. The

only good thing that came out of it was Patty."

"Where is she now?"

"I dunno. Don't care."

"No, Patty!"

"Out in the truck."

"It's freezing out there! You bring her in this instant."

He returned with a clump of pink blankets. Something unidentifiable

inside made it move. She peeled back several layers until she was

confronted by a pair of laughing blue eyes.

"She's beautiful! How could she have left her?"

His silence made her look up. He said finally, "Patty has a

. . . little handicap, and Darlene, well, she wants everything

to be perfect."

"What kind of a handicap?"

"Nothing. She's fine. She's not stupid, if that's what you're

thinking. Now what about that job?"

"The man to talk to is in the garage workshop. Come on."

She took the child from him and led the way. She cuddled her against

her breast, glad to have something to do. Standing so close to Warren

was making her crazy.

Andy looked up as they entered.

Warren said, "Mr. Miller? I'm Warren Wilcox." He stuck out his hand.

"I come to bid on your foundation."

Andy eyed him with good nature. "I'm not Mr. Miller, I'm the

contractor. Andy Joiner." He shook Warren's hand. "Anyway, Mrs.

Miller is the boss. You'll like her, she's terrific."

Warren looked at her.

Andy said, "Naw, not that Mrs. Miller, the other one. This one's

terrific too," he smiled at her, "but she isn't Mrs. Miller anymore. She

took back her maiden name. Ogden, right? Miss Ogden."

Wendy felt a rush of heat to her face. Warren's eyes said he had

something to discuss with her.

She'd have to think of what to say. Damn that boy. If she didn't have

a husband in sight, how could she make Warren understand she couldn't

get together with him? She concealed her guilty naked finger in the

baby's blankets.

Earlier, she and Judy had seen a resemblance between Andy and Warren.

The resemblance was stronger now, but for the life of her she couldn't

tell why. They really didn't look much alike.

"Are you two related?"

Warren said, "Don't think so. My folks are from Clara's Corners."

Andy said, "I never heard my mom or dad say anything about that part

of the world. You do look familiar, though. I dunno why."

"Yeah, I know what you mean." He gave him a look of appraisal.

"You're the contractor, huh? How big of a house you got in mind?"

"Three to four thousand, plus basement."

Warren gave a low whistle. "You done a lot of these jobs before, I

s'pose." You had to look carefully to see a glint of humor in his eye.

Andy grinned outright. "First time's the charm."

"You got a crew lined up?"

"Workin' on it."

"Maybe I can help you there. A lot of these guys talk a good fight

but aren't much use on the job. You want, I could give you some names."

Wendy couldn't stand it any more. Recurring flights of butterflies

disturbed her tummy. She went back to the house and let the baby crawl

around on the kitchen floor. Her hands trembled while she made a cup of

coffee. Patty looked interested and uttered cooing sounds until Wendy

realized she wanted something too. She gave her a cookie and wistfully

held the golden-curled infant on her lap to help her sip milk from a

glass.

The baby finished the part of the cookie that hadn't crumbled all

over her front, took a final noisy sip from the glass, and pushed it

away. She squirmed around in Wendy's lap, gave her a radiant smile, put

her arms sweetly about her neck, and kissed her wetly and cookily.

Wendy's heart melted totally.

She brushed the crumbs off the child with a napkin, dabbed at her

rosebud lips, and looked at her. "You're adorable." She hugged

her tenderly.

Laughter outside warned her that the men were coming. They seemed to

be hitting it off together. Warren had probably got the job. She didn't

know what to think, whether to be happy that she would see him again, or

alarmed about it.

He gathered up the little girl, thanked her for watching her, and

said good-bye correctly in front of Andy, calling her "Miss Ogden." She

had no doubt he would find an opportunity to talk to her privately about

Bob's absence sooner or later. The later the better.

The whole incident kept her frustrated through the rest of the day.

She had melted at the sight of Warren. Her body and soul had demanded

release, but hadn't found it. She was constantly on edge. Thwarted.

Even Andy noticed. After dinner he asked her about it.

"Oh, nothing," she answered. "I guess the house seems so empty with

Barbara gone. It gets me a little down. I wish she didn't have to work

so hard."

"You got me. To talk to, I mean."

"Yes. I never asked. Did you hire that man?"

"I'd'a been crazy not to. He can't get started until the ground

thaws, but he said he'd come by from time to time with names of guys who

do good work, and materials suppliers and like that. He even thinks he

can swing a construction loan for Miz Miller if she wants it."

"He sounds, ah, useful. You liked him, didn't you?"

"Yeah. It was funny, I never saw him before, but I felt like I knew

him all my life. He asked about you."

"What did he say?"

"Oh, you know, who you were, were you still married, like that. I got

the idea he might be interested in you." Andy's smile illuminated the

kitchen. "I wouldn't blame him. You got beautiful hair, and eyes, and--

everything," he blushed.

He even spoke like Warren.

In that moment Wendy went mad. She knew exactly what she was going to

do, and was utterly powerless to stop herself.

She washed the dishes and stacked them, then took a leisurely hot

bath while Andy watched television down in the living room. When she

heard him come up she dried off, returned to the bedroom, and donned the

laciest, most transparent nightgown she owned.

Wendy opened the bedroom door and called across the hall, "Andy,

would you come here for a moment?"

<H3 ALIGN=CENTER>Chapter 13</H3>

BOB winced when he heard the tap on the door that connected his suite

with Haskell's. But he'd been anticipating it all day.

He padded in bare feet to answer, ashamed of the flutter in his

belly. Gooseflesh prickled against his flimsy nightgown. He opened the

door, noted with a tingle that the man was erect in his pajamas, and

turned wordlessly to lead him into the bedroom, loathing himself for

that anticipatory tingle.

He lay prone, reached back and pulled up his gown to expose his

bottom, and waited, determined to get through this with as much dignity

as possible--which was zero. There was no dignity at all in letting

Haskell stick it up his ass in this humiliating way.

He could depend on the man coming after him on two occasions--not the

only ones, but the ones that were sure-fire. One, if they were out of

town. Two, if Bob had done an outstanding job.

The first was because hotels made Haskell horny; the second, because

Haskell seemed to need to dominate Bob to keep a failing sense of self-

confidence shored up.

Today was a double whammy.

They were staying at the Bartholomew Plaza, and Bob had conducted a

brilliant negotiation with a couple of millionaires, a Texas oil man who

kept calling him "li'l lady", and a local man named Bellows who was

bewildered by the intricate structure of money and property a rich uncle

had left him. By speaking plainly in a way that was constitutionally

impossible to Haskell, and then by being demure and "feminine" at lunch,

Bob managed to get them eating out of his hand. They agreed to enormous

fees to place themselves unreservedly in the hands of Haskell

Associates.

All through lunch he had to work hard at exercising his charm on

them--for the look on Haskell's face was telling him what to expect

tonight.

His skin crawled when Haskell lay on top of him, stiff prick bumping

the inside of his thighs as he positioned himself. Bob made himself lie

still, determined to deny his own unnatural prurience and endure it for

the sake of the money and luxuries he could offer Wendy.

Haskell said, "Yeah, you're hot to trot, aren't you? You must've been

hoping I'd come, you're all slick down there."

Bob had visited the hotel pharmacy to provide himself with a tube of

vaginal jelly like Wendy used in the days before she learned orgasm.

There was an ironic element of appropriateness in it--the jelly was for

women who, for reasons of age or disinclination, didn't look forward to

having sex.

He exhaled shakily when the rigid penis pushed up him, stroking that

spot Andy had taught to be so sensitive. The titillation grew with each

of Haskell's thrusts, and with a kind of remote despair Bob felt his ass

lift to meet the man's rhythmic intrusion. He told himself it was all

the fault of Dr. Goody's protogen, but it was more than that: repetition

had muted the shock of being violated, and the act of submitting to his

employer in a hotel room, acquiescing to the squirt of the man's seed

deep in that private orifice, aroused him.

He buried his face in the pillow, masking a sob as his stiff penis

let go with a poignant spasm of semen and his nipples crinkled against

the bed sheet, and spurted again two minutes later as Haskell's meat

began jumping inside him.

When the man's cock softened he pulled out wetly, spanked him on his

bare behind, and said, "Whew. You're okay, you know that, babe? Best

piece of ass I ever had . . . and I do mean ass."

Bob listened to him put on his pajamas, miserably conscious of the

sperm left inside him and his own compulsive response.

Haskell said, "See you in the morning. We can have breakfast

downstairs before going over to Schenk, Rossberg to see if they want to

send us more clients. Then we'll have the afternoon to ourselves before

driving back, right?"

The afternoon to ourselves. Bob knew what that meant. His heart sank.

Tears leaked from his eyes to be soaked up by the pillow. He waited

until he heard the door between their suites close before getting up to

go to the bathroom.

He woke early the next morning, already knowing what he was going to

do. He dressed and packed swiftly and wrote a note on hotel stationery

to Haskell, explaining he had received an emergency call from Wendy and

had to take the train back home. He stuffed it in an envelope and handed

it to the desk clerk on the way out.

There. Let Haskell take care of Schenk by himself. They were his kind

of people anyway. Then Haskell could take care of himself this

afternoon.

He let himself in the kitchen door, put his purse on the counter. The

automatic coffee maker was on, still full. He poured a cup. The house

was quiet.

He called, "Anybody home?"

There were scurrying noises upstairs. Wendy must have overslept. He

felt a faint smile touch his lips, which faded as he sat to drink the

steaming coffee and returned to his problem with Haskell, like the tip

of a tongue unable to resist probing a sore tooth. Last night had been

the worst yet, not because the act itself was the worst--the shock of

the first times made them worse--but because he had found himself

wanting it. That was true horror. He wondered if drug addicts felt the

same way, the simultaneous revulsion and need. He had to get out of it

somehow.

He was glad to be home. Already the ache in his belly was easing,

leaving him feeling more like himself, more confident of somehow being

able to solve his basically unsolvable problem. He had an unexpected day

off. That was something.

He looked up as Andy bounced into the kitchen tucking his work shirt

in.

The boy stopped when he saw him. "Oh hi, Barbara. You're home early,

huh?"

"An appointment canceled out. Wait, sit down and have a cup of coffee

with me."

"Can't. I got to, uh, go see about some lumber."

"Oh."

"I mean, it's a sale and I'm afraid it'll get sold out if I don't

hurry."

"Okay. Is Wendy home?"

"Uh, I dunno. Yeah, I guess. I think she's still asleep. I got to go,

I'll see you later."

The door closed behind him.

A few minutes later Wendy, dressed in blue jeans and winter jacket,

came through the doorway saying, "Why Barbara, what are you doing home?

You said you weren't coming back until this evening or tomorrow."

"An appointment canceled out. Listen--Andy just went to the

lumberyard. We have the house to ourselves." He wanted to be with

somebody he loved after last night.

She got a flustered look and said, "Oh dear. You should have told me

you were coming back early. I promised Judy I'd help her pick out a new

living-room set. I'll be gone all day."

"Stay a while, why don't you?"

"I want to, but I can't. I'll see you tonight."

"B-but--"

She was gone.

He shrugged ruefully and rinsed his cup in the sink. Well, he could

get some chores done. The laundry. Doing a wash was always good, it

calmed him and gave him time to think.

He went upstairs and changed into a house dress and flats. The bed

had been carelessly made; he tugged at the bedspread to straighten it,

but a wrinkle in the center persisted. Making a small exasperated noise

he stripped the coverlet down.

Oh for heaven's sake no wonder, it was Andy's blue pajama top. He

tossed it onto a chair and made the bed with French corners, which Wendy

never seemed able to manage.

He put his tailored dress on a hanger, conscious of having to reach

to hang it in the closet. He'd gotten so used to high heels that flats

made him feel like a midget.

He tidied up the room, dropping Wendy's discarded underwear on the

chair with the pajama top, and retrieved his own used lingerie from his

suitcase. He took the pile of garments into the bathroom and deposited

them in the laundry hamper.

Andy's pajamas!

With nerveless fingers he picked the pajama top out of the hamper and

looked at it, remembering the scampering sounds when he called out, and

the guilty haste with which Andy and Wendy left the house.

Numbly he went into Andy's room. He found the bottoms under his

pillow. Sure enough, there were stiff patches around the fly. He put

them in the hamper too. Before going down to the washing machine he

checked the boy's closet for more things to wash. His duffel was on the

floor. In it was underwear, so stale it must have been there since he

brought Andy home. Since before he had fallen in love with him. Before

he had given himself to him. A tear burned in the inner corner of his

eye; he wiped it away violently.

Between the dirty shorts was a piece of paper. Bob saw Dr. Goody's

letterhead.

He hesitated. What the hell, Andy had forfeited the right to privacy.

He focused on the page, puzzling out Dr. Goody's all but indecipherable

handwriting.

It wasn't about Andy, it was something left over from his mother.

"Joiner:" he read, "Removal of uterus, fallopian tubes,

ovaries, $1,200, Excision vagina & labia, closure of seam, $2,400."

Poor woman, she must have had cancer. The accident may have been a

mercy, taking her quickly instead of leaving her to die a lingering

death. Andy had known. A ripple of compassion washed over his heart. He

hardened himself. The boy didn't deserve his sympathy.

He dropped the invoice back in the duffel, put the underwear in the

hamper and carried it down to the cellar.

Sorting the laundry into colors and whites, he put the colored

garments in the washer and stared through the window at them flopping

and sudsing, not seeing them, bound up in a circle of grief, betrayal,

and frustrated anger.

Wendy and Andy had slept together. They were having an affair. How

long had it been going on?

They had both cheated on him. It was one thing for Andy to

take up with Judy, he couldn't blame him, he needed sex like any normal

man and if Bob couldn't give it to him, then Judy was harmless enough.

But it was another thing altogether for him to do it with Wendy. And for

her to let him.

The washer went into its spin cycle. He began sorting the batch of

whites. Andy's old shorts had backtracks on them, he saw, rusty-brown

stains right in the crotch.

If they had come to him, told him they wanted to have sex together,

he would have said yes. The idea gave him a dismaying flurry of

excitement. The two people he loved most in the world loving each other.

He liked the idea, he thought sheepishly.

Then why was he so hurt?

They had done it behind his back, that's why. The rats.

He emptied the machine, put the colored clothes in the dryer and

started washing the whites.

A nagging thought was trying to catch his attention. He sat gazing at

the tumbling clothes. Something about a date. Oh, on Dr. Goody's paper.

October? No, that was long after Andy's mother was killed. Maybe October

of the year before.

They had been sneaking around behind his back. When had it started?

Probably last October, he thought acidly.

Damn, what was it about that date?

Bob stood up, conscious of his bare legs beginning to chill in the

coolness of the cellar, and went upstairs to Andy's room. He squatted,

dress pulling down from his knees, and fished the paper out of the

duffel. A box of Kotex pantyliners was in the bag, he noted absently,

and looked at the invoice.

He was right, last October 21. But that was the day he was released

from the clinic, the day he picked up Andy. The boy had said something

about an operation, "an internal problem," he said. What was he doing

with a statement for what sounded like a hysterectomy?

He gave a puzzled glance at the pantyliners. The box was open, only

half full.

He frowned. The stains in Andy's shorts flashed in his mind's eye.

He gasped, threw on a coat, and hastened to the hospital.

By the time he got back, Andy's van was parked in the driveway and

carpentering sounds were coming from the garage. Bob fairly buzzed with

excitement as he looked in and said, "Hi! Come on in the house a minute.

I have something to show you."

He dropped his coat and purse on one of the kitchen chairs and ran

down to the basement to remove Andy's pajamas from the dryer.

Breathless, he met the boy in the living room.

Andy said, "What'd you want me to see?"

"These. What are these?" He held up the pajamas.

"What's wrong with them?"

"What are they?"

Andy smiled. "You know what they are. The peejays you gave me,

remember?"

Bob gave them a puzzled look. "They are?"

"Sure they are."

"I'm not sure I understand. Help me out, here. Is there some special

reason you keep them in Wendy's bed?"

Andy's smile disappeared. He turned white.

Bob said, "Well?" Despite himself he was moved by Andy's look of

anguish.

The boy's mouth opened and closed a couple of times before he said in

a low voice, "I guess I'm busted."

"Yes, of course," Bob said sweetly. "Tell me. How long has it been

going on?"

"H-how--? No, it was just last night. W-we never--it was all my

fault. She was lonesome with you gone and I took advantage of her."

Bob tried to picture Wendy letting herself be taken advantage of.

"I see. Do you love her?"

He watched Andy try to make up his mind how to answer.

"No."

"No? I thought you might be in love with all the girls you take to

bed. After all, you told me you loved me."

Andy's face got scarlet. He looked at the floor. "I do."

"Of course. That's why you go to bed with my wife. And her sister.

And who knows how many others."

Andy said sullenly. "It's true just the same. You're the only one I

love."

Bob waited a pulsebeat, then said, "You owe me. Big."

"I know."

"Then take me upstairs and let me make love to you."

"What?"

"Let's go upstairs. Wendy won't be back for hours."

"Aren't you mad at me?"

"I won't be if you do what I say."

"Really?" Andy's eyes gleamed and a bulge formed in his jeans. "Let's

go."

In the bedroom Bob kicked off his shoes and stood provocatively

close; he was rewarded by a hearty embrace. He put his face up to be

kissed and pressed against him, letting him feel his hard-on. Andy

started to pant.

Bob murmured, "Let's both get all naked, all right?"

He backed away, unbuttoned the front of his dress, shrugged his

shoulders out of it, and let it slip to the floor. He pushed his bikini

panties down and stepped out of them, cock hard and nipples erecting

with excitement.

Andy pulled off his jeans, staring at Bob's nudity. His jockey shorts

bulged outrageously. He advanced toward him.

"No," Bob said, backing away. "I mean all naked. Take off your

underwear."

"Aw, you know that makes me uncomfortable."

"Come on, be a sport." Bob reached for the underpants.

"Stop kidding around." Andy's voice was nervous. "I know I deserve

it, but . . . let's just be together. Okay?"

He put his arm around Bob's waist. Bob shivered and let himself be

led to the tautly-made double bed, and as they sat, leaned against Andy

for a moment..

"Please. Trust me." He put his hand on the bulge.

"I can't, it makes me too jumpy."

Bob hesitated. "Andy, I know."

"Good. Then--" Andy tugged his cock out the fly of his shorts and

hugged him "--lay back and open your legs."

"That's not what I meant. I mean, I know. What you have

there."

He felt him stiffen.

"I don't get it."

"You don't? I mean--you lie back and open your legs."

Andy slowly went ashen.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes you do. Take off your underwear and show me."

"No! Cut it out." His prick wilted.

"You might as well. I know, I tell you. I think it's wonderful."

"You're nuts." He let go of him and picked up his jeans.

"Andy, don't. You owe me."

"Not for that."

"You said you loved me. People who are in love don't have secrets

from each other."

"What secrets?" Andy said defiantly.

Putting it in words made Bob shy. "You have . . . both

kinds of thing down there."

Andy paled again. "Wh-what makes you think so?"

"I saw Dr. Goody's bill when I was collecting clothes for the

laundry. And the Kotex. So I went to the hospital library to check it

out, to see if it was really possible, and it is. So I knew I was right.

Also, you had stains in your shorts like Wendy sometimes has. Oh Andy,

it's so exciting. Show me."

"No."

"I told you about me. I let you see me naked."

"No," Andy said flatly. "I can't."

"Come on."

"No!"

Suddenly conscious of his nudity and a maddening shimmer before his

eyes, Bob picked up his dress and put it on.

He said furiously, "You bastard. You never loved me. I told you

everything, I showed you everything. I gave you everything! Like

a . . . a . . . starry-eyed schoolkid." His voice

broke in a sob. "A fool. I didn't hold anything back, I let you make me

yours. I never kept any secrets from you." He started crying in earnest,

breasts jiggling as he buttoned the dress over them. "But you--you hide

the most wonderful thing in the world from me, you screw with Wendy but

you won't screw with me," he said incoherently, "you beast, you lousy

bastard! I hate you."

He spun around and stamped to the door.

"Wait."

Andy's voice stopped him.

"You were right when you said I owe you. When you first told me about

yourself it made me feel good that you would trust me like that. I

almost told you then, but . . . it's tough, you know. Ever

since I was a little kid my mom and dad warned me not to say anything.

People would think we were freaks."

Bob faced him. "We? Your parents were that way too?"

"Just my dad. His mom. It runs in the family."

"Not your mom?"

"No, it's what they call a dominant characteristic. Both parents

don't have to be that way."

"But your mom knew about your dad."

"Sure she did."

"So he had to have trusted her. He loved her."

"Well, sure."

Bob let a long moment go by. "So how come you didn't trust me?"

"Oh." Andy looked down. "I should've, shouldn't I?"

Bob said finally, "I don't think you're a freak. I think it's

wonderful. If anybody's a freak it's me, because it's not natural. You

were born that way so it's natural and beautiful."

Andy's face crumpled. "That's really what you think?"

"Of course. It runs in the family, so it's natural. For you. And how

could it be anything but beautiful? It's sexy, too. It turns me on just

to think of it."

"I thought you'd be turned off."

"No! Believe me, I think it's terrific. I am curious though.

Can you blame me? I want to see. It'll be a secret we share, it'll make

us closer."

"Do you have to? It's scary."

"I know."

"You wouldn't laugh?"

"Andrew Joiner! Of course not."

"I guess I gotta trust you the way you did me. So here goes."

He stripped down his underpants timidly. His penis was limp.

After a moment he whispered, "You said you wouldn't laugh."

"I'm not."

"You are too."

"Don't be so defensive. I'm just smiling because all this modesty and

I can't see anything anyhow. You could walk around all day like that and

nobody could see anything."

Bob sat next to him on the bed and put his hand on the hooded flaccid

penis, seeing the boy's muscles tense up. "You know something?" he said

soothingly, "this is the first time I've ever seen your balls. They're

beautiful."

Andy uttered a hiccup of nervous laughter.

Bob said, "I'm serious! You only pulled your thing out through the

fly of your pajamas."

They grinned at each other. Andy's tension was diminishing.

"Why were you at Dr. Goody's?"

"To get rid of all that extra stuff. Then I wouldn't have to worry

about somebody finding out. But it was too expensive."

"I'm glad. The way you are is wonderful, you should be proud

of it, not ashamed. What did he say about it?"

"There was no medical reason for doing it, and I might be sorry

later. He didn't want to do it."

"See? How did you happen to go to him?"

"He's our family doctor, like. His father delivered my grandmother,

my father, and me, and when he died the son took over."

"Did your father have the operation? Or your grandmother?" Bob had a

sudden image of his penis and testicles being sliced off, and shifted

uncomfortably.

"He did, I don't know about her. It's not exactly the kind of thing

you talk about with a kid. I used to wonder, though. Medical science

wasn't all that advanced when she was young, so maybe not. My father was

in his thirties before he could afford it, by then hysterectomies were

safe, and plastic surgery was getting big."

"I think it's a shame. Did he regret it?"

"I don't think so. Dr. Goody, this Dr. Goody, said it was another

generation, they were more uptight about things."

"More uptight than you?" Bob grinned and hugged him.

Andy smiled sheepishly. Bob could see the talk was doing him good. He

was much more relaxed. Having his secret discovered must have been a

shock, but he was coming to terms with it.

If Bob had really thought about it, if he hadn't been so upset about

Andy and Wendy cheating on him, or so excited by learning about him, he

might not have said anything at all, or at least picked another time and

place and another, more tactful, approach.

Tough. The boy deserved it. He fucked Bob's wife and withheld the

most wonderful secret in the world from him.

He said, "You weren't afraid of him seeing you."

"Yes I was. Nervous. But he already knew, he gave me physicals when I

was a kid, and I had to find out about the operation myself, now that my

mom and dad were gone."

"Now I know, so you don't have to be afraid of me

seeing."

"It's hard."

"Why is it so hard? I love the whole idea of it."

Andy said slowly, "I don't know, I guess it's because my mom and dad

were so panicky about it. Deep inside I got this idea people will laugh

and point their fingers at me."

"Maybe some people would, but you know me better than that. Sharing

your secret only makes us closer. I mean, don't you feel closer to me

when you look at me in a dress and know what's under it and nobody else

does?"

"I guess so."

Softly, "So can I see? Up close?" He put his arms around him and

kissed him. "Please? Pretty please."

Andy croaked, "Okay."

Bob leaned over and planted a quick daring kiss on the limp prick. He

remembered sucking Haskell and pretending it was Andy. He slipped to his

knees in the quiet sun-bright room, erection lifting his dress.

He pushed against the boy's ridged stomach. "Lie back and relax. Make

believe I'm the doctor examining you. Oh, loosen up. Open your legs and

lift your knees."

Andy hesitated, but let himself back on the mattress, and exposed his

crotch to him.

Bob's heart sprinted. Full distinct lips showed. Andy flinched when

he lifted his balls out of the way, but held still for his inspection.

The scrotum appeared to dissolve into the labia: you couldn't tell where

one began and the other ended. With gentle fingers he pried the hairy

lips apart to reveal an inner pair of labia, pink and tender and damp

with moisture.

Andy flinched again. "Don't, it tickles."

"I have to be able to see, don't I?"

Ridges under the pink tissue showed that the root of Andy's penis

along the crotch was divided. As Bob pulled the labia wider, the inner

lips parted. A pink aperture showed. He nearly fainted with excitement.

Andy did have a cunt!

From the balls back he looked exactly like Wendy, except there was no

clitoris. There was even a mounded orifice in front of the aperture. He

wondered if the boy could pee through it.

He leaned closer to the small vagina. The medical books said it was

often incomplete, only vestigial. He tried to see, but couldn't tell.

The boy was redolent of a delicate musk tinged that spoke directly to

his genitals.

He heard, "Hurry up, you're making me feel all funny and ticklish."

Bob let go of the labia and before Andy could react, kissed them. For

a brief instant his tongue peeped out and slid between them.

He could stand it no longer. He straightened up and threw himself

deliriously on top of Andy and embraced him passionately. He pulled his

dress up and maneuvered so his prick was between Andy's legs.

"Please," he begged. "Let me."

Andy stiffened. He was solid and heavy and hard-muscled, all man. It

was nothing like being on top of Wendy.

"No!" he gasped. "I never did it."

"Neither did I until the first time. Please. You owe it to me. You

did it to me, let me do it to you."

"I only said you could see."

"Come on."

"I'm too embarrassed. I'm a guy, for God's sake."

"You have to make things right between us. You'll like it, you'll

see. Trust me."

"It's too scary."

"I'll be gentle." Bob slid upwards a few inches and poked his cock

against Andy's soft crotch.

"D-don't. That feels funny."

"Just let yourself go. Remember what you once said? You know how it

is, you can't leave me this way?" He let his erection slide down to the

opening.

Andy looked apprehensive, but he didn't try to move away, and Bob

pushed in. He met resistance. With disappointment he thought the vagina

was incomplete after all. A breath later, Wait a minute, he's a virgin!

The pounding of his heart threatened to make him pass out.

He pushed inward.

Andy said, "Ow! Quit, it hurts. It's too big."

"It's only your hymen. It'll be over in a second."

"My hy--?" Andy gritted. "What--?"

"Your cherry!"

Bob thrust forward and felt the barrier give way. His cock lunged in

to the base, meeting a new resistance as it forced the end of the boy's

vagina. Andy was tight around him, tighter than Wendy.

Andy yelped and held him so he couldn't move.

"W-wait! It's too big, you're stretching me."

"It's okay, darling. It's all done, it won't hurt any more."

Bob lifted himself on his elbows and looked fondly down at Andy's

contorted face. He kissed him, slipping his tongue into his mouth as

though he were the man, feeling a rare triumph at being the one on top,

the one with his prick inside the other, at being the dominant partner

at last. The omnipresent shame of the weeks of submitting to Haskell

lifted, leaving his heart singing.

He moved gently, thrusting in short easy strokes, hardly sliding in

the tight vagina, instead pulling it with him. Andy's member regained

its stiffness and was hard against his belly. The boy began to pant.

Bob wanted to make it last, to savor the experience, but an

irresistible surge grew in his balls. He tried to take his mind away

from it. No use.

He gave up and shoved in, clutching Andy to him, and let go,

injecting tremendous spurts of semen in ecstasy, not hearing the boy

whimper, conscious only of his own pillaging dong shoved deep inside,

ejecting his seed in ecstatic bursts, the length of his cock gripped

tightly by tender flesh, each bulge and line of its contours constricted

by sperm-wet tissue as the pressure of his ejaculation squeezed the

liquid between his prick and the walls of the virginal cunt. The

violence of his orgasm made the sunlit room go dark.

He came to sobbing and panting, cheek nestled in the hairs of the

boy's chest, prick now limp but still held firmly by the clutch of the

tight vagina. His balls were drained; there would be no second or third

ejaculation this time. He lay on the heavy body until he sensed its

trembling and rigidity and then lifted himself on his elbows and pulled

slowly out. The cunt was reluctant to release him; its lips followed the

emergence of his flaccid penis.

He rolled off Andy and lay on his back breathing deeply. Never had he

come so hard; never before had he been so excited. His lover Andy had a

cunt! A cunt for him to fuck. No wonder he'd been so attracted to him

right from the beginning. He must have sensed the presence of that

marvelous sheath all unknowingly.

Part of him was appalled. His proper role with Andy was to be the

boy's woman, to put out for him, to let him do whatever he wanted with

him. Yet he had just got on top of him and filled him with his semen. It

boggled his mind.

Andy stirred next to him. Bob reached over with a languorous hand and

placed it on the boy's corrugated stomach.

His eyes flew open when Andy pushed it away and sat up.

The young man's face was clouded. There was a shimmer in his eyes.

They were wide, vulnerable as a child, at odds to his craggy masculine

features. He stood up carefully, prick dangling.

Bob said, "Where are you going?"

Andy didn't look at him. Voice unsteady, he said, "I have to go to

the bathroom." He winced when he bent over to pick up his clothes.

Bob saw there was blood on the inside of his thighs. A trickle of

pink-tinged fluid dripped to the floor from between his legs. He darted

a glance to where the boy had lain. More blood stained the bedspread.

Andy turned and went out stiffly, holding his legs apart. Bob was

reminded of those first times when the boy had used him so thoroughly.

He had a stab of remorse.

Oh God, he had taken over, he had practically forced Andy to do his

bidding. Like those men who assaulted him. He was no better than they

were.

Too late, he wondered if he had irretrievably damaged their

relationship. For all the maturity of his demeanor, Andy was still very

young and hadn't come to terms with his physical duality.

A sick feeling in his stomach, Bob put together all the hints of the

past months and today's astounding discovery, and realized that Andy,

who was from birth part woman, had been denying it to himself all these

years, had striven for perfect masculinity, had shied from any

suggestion that he might be less than a man--and then Bob had gone ahead

and practically raped him. Not by force, but by moral blackmail and

tears. What could Andy be thinking now, his desperate image of himself

shattered?

Bob remembered how submissive he felt when Andy first made love to

him, bending over the kitchen counter obediently spreading his cheeks;

or, afterwards, lying back with upraised knees, open and vulnerable,

accepting the boy's penetration. Wearing the body of a woman, feeling

that his submission had a terrible rightness about it, it was

nevertheless traumatic.

Now he'd done it to Andy, the one person absolutely defenseless

against it, a boy whose imperative was to be totally manly, who must

already have some doubts about himself because of his relationship with

Bob, and who now had been forced willy-nilly into the woman's role,

forced to confront the essentially female part of him, forced to accept

a stiff penis inside that supremely feminine place.

He would make it up to him somehow.

He'd do anything the boy wanted, show him he was still the one in

charge. Bob would be be the adoring mistress, lift his skirts for him at

the first sign of a sexual impulse, until his self-confidence was

restored.

But then--his stomach shivered in excitement. His Andy, his darling

Andy, had a cunt! When the boy felt better about himself, he'd find a

way to get in it again.

Bob sat up, breathless exultation churning in his breast. His penis

had stains of blood on it. He scrubbed it with his panties before

getting to his feet and letting his dress fall. Stripping off the

coverlet and sheets, he made the bed with fresh linen.

Andy wasn't in the bathroom. He took time to shower before going down

to look for him.

Refreshed, he checked the living room and kitchen. The sound of

Andy's big radial saw was coming from the garage. He shrugged into his

coat to talk to him. He wasn't sure what he was going to say, but it

would be loving and submissive.

A cold wind blew up his skirt on the way to the garage, chilling his

bare legs.

At first Andy appeared to be cutting the same line over and over

halfway through a plank of wood, but then he saw it was a series of

lines close together. When he reached the edge of the board, Andy

flipped it over and made more cuts at right angles to the first. Where

the lines crossed a hole appeared. Bob saw he was making a fancy grating

out of wood, and was relieved. The boy hadn't gone over the edge after

all.

He called his name. Andy didn't hear. Stepping close, he shouted,

"Andy! Stop for a minute. Let's talk!"

He made no response. Bob tugged at his sleeve. Without looking at him

Andy jerked his arm away and shook his head.

Oh damn. Shivering and downcast, Bob went back to the kitchen.

The way to a man's heart was through his stomach. He found the beef

brisket he'd been saving for corned-beef-and-cabbage night, cut paper-

thin slices, and with cheese and sauerkraut constructed an elaborate hot

Reuben sandwich, Andy's favorite. He covered it with a napkin, put it on

a tray with a mug of hot chocolate, and carried it out to him.

He stood offering the tray for a minute until it was plain that Andy

was not going to stop working, or even look at him. He put it down on

the workbench and went back to folding the laundry.

It was not until the sun had gone down that he went out to the garage

a final time. The sandwich was untouched. Andy was mitering corners on

trim for what looked like a truckload of gratings, and still wouldn't

acknowledge his presence. Marching over to the safety switch Andy had

rigged, Bob cut off all power to the tools.

Andy looked up angrily.

Quailing inside, Bob said, "Andy, please. We have to talk. I'm sorry

for what I did, all right? Please don't treat me this way." He shook his

head to dislodge the maddening tears that obscured his vision. "I take

that back. I'm not sorry I did it. It was natural and beautiful

like you are. Don't you see?" he pleaded, "If you're--built that way,

you might as well take advantage of it. Give rein to both sides of your

nature. Please, Andy, I'll do anything to make it up to you. I love you

so--" He stopped when he saw the wretchedness in Andy's eyes.

His heart broke. "Oh Andy . . ."

The boy turned his back and irritably shrugged him off when he tried

to make him face him again. Bob stood disconsolate, cold biting his bare

legs, an equal cold in the pit of his stomach.

"Please . . ." he whispered once more before giving up and

returning to the house.

In ensuing days Andy was aloof, responding naturally enough when

spoken to, but his smile was gone. Bob couldn't seem to corner him alone

to speak with him personally, to reassure him, perhaps to hold him, head

cradled against his breast.

He resolved to wait it out. Time eased all things. If he made sure to

be attentive, supportive, as loving as he dared in Wendy's presence,

Andy's feeling for him would return.

He hoped.

<H3 ALIGN=CENTER>Chapter 14</H3>

ANDY stood up nervously. The house was too quiet. The girls were off

on a Friday night visit to Barbara's secretary; he was alone with his

jumpy thoughts.

Although almost a week had passed, he still felt the intrusion of

Barbara's member. The experience left him feeling vulnerable and

subdued. He had been "opened," she had pushed inside him and squirted

him full of her seed.

Thinking about it gave him a squirmy tingle between his legs; he

started pacing the length of the lamp-lit living room as if he could

outrun the memory. The slide of his nether lips against each other as he

strode wouldn't let him forget. He must be sweating down there; his

underwear was soaked.

He wondered if women felt the same strangeness. Maybe not. They grew

up expecting to be fucked. The first time might be special, but

they probably didn't get the same weird feeling he had.

She had been light and delicate on him; he got painfully shy at being

on his back under her; and she had put her warm prick inside that

private secret place, and shoved it up him, making him grunt as it

forced the air from his lungs. It was very big, and harder in there than

he would have thought. After, when he stood up, her stuff leaked all

down his leg. Wiping himself on the toilet only accentuated the

strangeness. The wetness there was like when he was a kid, before he

learned to control which way to piss.

She came in him! The thought fueled the queer sensation

between his legs.

Headlights swept across the window as a car turned in to the

driveway. He could tell by the sound of the engine it wasn't the girls,

and went to the kitchen door to turn on the outside light. After waiting

a few minutes he went out in the snow to see who it was.

Judy sat motionless in the driver's seat, head bowed in shadow behind

steamy windows.

When he came closer he saw her shoulders moving. She looked like she

was crying. She had no coat on.

He opened the car door. "Hey, are you okay? What's the matter?"

She shook her head and muttered brokenly, "I left him."

"Come on inside out of the cold, have a hot cup of coffee. It'll make

you feel better."

"How about a stiff drink instead." She climbed out.

In the kitchen he watched her put ice cubes into a water glass and

fill it to the top with straight gin. Her face was tear-streaked and

there was a swelling under her left eye.

She used both hands to steady her glass and took a long swallow. She

grimaced, swallowed again. The glass was suddenly only half full.

"Hey, take it easy, you'll go flat on your bottom."

She sat at the island still holding the glass with both hands, and

put it down with exaggerated care.

"Where's Wendy?"

"Her and Barbara went visiting. Want me to call her?"

"No. I'm glad she's not here. I don't want her to see me like this."

Andy said, "What happened to your face?"

She touched the swelling gingerly. "He slapped me."

"Leon." A slow rage built up in him. "Wait here." He headed for the

door.

"Don't leave me! Where are you going?"

"To have a little talk with your husband. I'll be back."

"No, don't! It's all right."

"It's not all right with me. That son of a bitch hurt you." Andy

thought he had never been so angry.

"Please don't leave me, I'm so frightened."

"You'll be all right here. He's going to be too busy to look for

you."

"Don't go, please. Stay with me."

"I don't get it. What are you worried about?"

"I'm worried about you. You're going to go racing over there in the

middle of the night like a maniac and beat up Leon and his pansy friend,

and the only thing that will happen is he'll call the police and have

you put you in jail.

"Besides, it really is all right. It was only a slap. It frightened

me because violence always does . . . because of my father. He

used to beat Wendy and me. This time it was a good thing, it made up my

mind to leave Leon for good. Let his pansies keep house for him. I'll

never go back again."

"What pansies?"

"He came home a couple of weeks ago with a young 'friend.' I've been

sleeping in the guest room and putting up with the little twit's smirk

ever since. He keeps looking at me as if to say, 'Ha ha, I took your

place, so there.' And Leon kept trying to humiliate me with him, wanting

to do things in front of me. A few days ago they played with each other

right at the breakfast table! I walked out that time, but this evening

was the last straw.

"He wanted me to take pictures of them. I didn't want to, so he

slapped me. I was terrified, I did what he said, but as soon as their

backs were turned I ran out and drove over here. See? I still have the

pictures."

She fumbled half a dozen Polaroids out of her purse. They embarrassed

Andy, who pictured somebody taking the same kind of photos of him and

Barbara.

Judy finished her glass of gin, shuddered, poured another, half-

melted ice cubes floating, and took a generous swallow. Andy started to

protest but held his tongue. The last thing she wanted was for him to

nag her about her drinking. He guessed she was entitled after a bad

evening, anyway.

"It's funny. If I liked Leon and his friend I would be turned

on out of my mind by what they wanted. I shouldn't tell you this, you'll

think I'm awful, but I would have joined in."

She tittered. Her words were beginning to blur.

"You don't like Leon? What'd you marry him for?"

"He's not the man I married. Something happened one day and it

changed him. We were . . . assaulted. By the college football

team.

"He thought it was his fault. In a way it was. If he hadn't flunked

two of the team members so they couldn't graduate, none of it would have

happened. The whole damn' first string would never have come into our

home to demand passing grades for their buddies. Barbara and Wendy were

visiting.

"He gave in right away when things started to happen, but it was too

late. They got carried away. They didn't hurt us, they just got, well,

too high-spirited.

"They raped me and Wendy and Barbara right in front of him."

She took another drink.

Andy made the connection to Barbara's revelation that she had once

been violated. The whole first string, Judy said. That was eleven guys.

His scalp prickled; the hair on the back of his neck tried to stand up.

For some reason his penis got painfully erect in his pants.

She went on, articulation declining, "Leon they made take off his

clothes and do awful things with them, one after the other, right in

front of us. He got a big erection.

"He didn't look me in the eyes for weeks. I had seen it, you see. It

didn't occur to him that I had been abused too. He began to order me

around--push me around, really--and then he got it into his head to get

young men, kids, to do the same things they made him do. I guess in his

mind he was getting back at them.

"At first I went along with it. I thought it was what he needed to

get over his shell-shock. But it's been over a year. Enough is too much.

I was planning to leave him, then I found out I was pregnant and thought

I had to stay. But tonight was it. No more. I'll never go back to him."

"Whoa! You're pregnant?"

She gazed at him owlishly.

"Eight weeks, the doctor said. It'll be August fifteenth." A fuddled

grin showed. "I can hardly wait." She hugged herself. "So anyway, I need

a place to stay the night. Could we share your room, do you think? No

nightgown," she said with tipsy archness. "Guess I'll have to sleep in

this." She smoothed her yellow house dress over her body and cupped her

breasts seductively.

Andy's hard-on twitched in his jeans, but a sense of caution made him

say, "Well . . . you can sure have my room, but I don't know,

Barbara's kind of straitlaced. I ought to sleep on the couch."

Judy swayed in her chair. "Oop," she said, "The room's moving. What

was I saying? Barbara. Barbara straight raced . . . straight

. . .? Ha! She's a darling, not a bit straight-whatever. I

know something you don't know. 'S a secret."

He knew what she meant. "Then you better not tell."

"I won't. I love being with you, you're so nice. You're a real

friend, you care about me. But I won't tell secrets."

He liked that. "That's good. Let's go upstairs now."

"Okay. One more drink first."

"You had enough," he said gently. "Come on, let's go up."

"Just one more. I was so scared. Need one more."

"A small one, okay?"

She filled half the glass. There were no ice cubes left.

"Gosh, getting tired. So-o tired," she slurred. Her eyes fell closed.

She put the drink down on the edge of the counter, where it threatened

to tip off until Andy rescued it. Her head bent to rest her cheek on the

countertop. She began to snore.

He watched her sadly, thinking about her husband slapping her around

and her decision to leave him, and her pregnancy. After a while he

picked her up in his arms, a dead weight heavier and harder to manage

than if she were awake. Her head nestled into the corner of his neck and

shoulders, golden cap of curls soft against his skin. He carried her

upstairs and put her gently down on the bed.

She was completely out of it.

In the movies the good guy is always too much of a gentleman to take

advantage of the helpless girl. Andy guessed he wasn't much of a movie

good guy.

He pulled off her pumps and put them together neatly under the bed;

then rolled her on her side to unzip her dress and work it down over her

body. She wasn't wearing a bra; he took a moment to nuzzle her breasts

before tugging off her pantyhose and panties to expose her dark-blonde

pussy.

He knew Judy would willingly let him make love to her, but he

pretended she was a stranger and he was raping her like the football

team did.

He checked his watch. Plenty of time. Barbara and Wendy would be at

least two hours yet, maybe more.

He stripped to his shorts and started to pry out his rigid member,

hesitated.

She was passed out, she couldn't see him.

He held his breath and pushed off his underwear. The memory of

Barbara touching him there, looking at him, filled his mind with

excitement. If Judy woke up, she'd see him too. The risk electrified

him.

He got naked on the bed and put his arms around her. He kissed her

alcohol-smelling slack mouth. He worked down to her tits. The nipples

hardened in his lips as his tongue stroked and teased them. She might be

unconscious, but her body was aware of his presence.

His cock was so stiff it vibrated. He got to his knees and lifted her

legs, rosy heels dragging on the sheet. When he let them fall apart, her

cunt opened to his view. He blushed: he was seeing what Barbara did the

day she looked at him.

Bare-assed, he lay on top of the sleeping girl and entered her. He

flinched when she uttered a moan, but her eyes were closed; she was

still unconscious. Reassured, he began pushing in and out of the wet

tunnel, acutely aware of his uncovered crotch and of a kind of mental

overlay to his sensations, like a double exposure, of Barbara doing to

him what he was doing to the girl. A delicious wetness made his own lips

slither against each other as he moved in her.

She sighed, head rolling back and forth. Out of some deep well of

unconsciousness she murmured, "Oh Bob, I love you so much."

He was galvanized. Bob! That was Barbara. Had Barbara fucked her too?

His heart beat more rapidly. It was like with Wendy. He had been out of

his mind with passion at the thought of fucking Barbara's wife, fucking

the woman she had fucked. Oh jeez, he realized, Barbara had fucked all

three of them, Wendy, Judy, and himself. Well, so had he--Wendy, Judy,

and above all, Barbara.

Without warning he ejaculated deep inside the girl.

He stifled a groan and let himself relax on top of her. His prick

softened, swimming in the semen he had discharged. Now that he had come

he was more aware of the sensitivity of his bare crotch, the hopeful

unsettled craving that had come upon him so many times since Barbara had

done it to him.

His flaccid penis slipped out. He shifted so Judy's thigh was between

his legs and rubbed his crotch on her. It felt good. He was slippery on

her skin. With surprise he realized all that wetness was the same as

hers; he had the same juices she did. How could he not have known that

before?

Something was going on down there.

His cock erected once again.

A pleasurable sensation grew in the region below his waist. It wasn't

in the groin, exactly, it was deeper inside. Definitely connected with

his stiff penis, though--squeezed down on her body it fueled the

agitation with each movement. There was a kind of reciprocity between

his prick and the wet complex of tissues between his legs; they combined

to augment the growing sensation.

It peaked.

A sound emerged from his throat. The organs below his belly spasmed

deliriously.

When the paroxysm subsided, Andy's muscles lost their tenseness.

Still twitching between his legs, he slumped on the girl. A delicious

lassitude swept through him.

Dazed, he thought, What was that? I never felt anything like

that before.

I came!

But he hadn't squirted.

Oh my God, I had an orgasm!

Is that what they feel? It was different from a man's ejaculation,

not as sharp and poignant and directed. It was more diffuse, involving

more of his body, more diffuse but more powerful.

He had a warm glow. Barbara said he ought to give rein to both sides

of his nature and he'd passed it off. What would she know? He was a man;

he had no reason to seek anything more; doing anything womanly made him

nervous, anyhow. But this! It was a revelation. Maybe she had something.

He'd have to think about it.

He buried his face in Judy's neck, took one last smell of the heady

fragrance of her body, not as exciting as Barbara's, but friendly and

temperate, and got up. He covered her with the bedclothes, kissed her,

collected his pajamas, and went downstairs filled with a gratified

languor. Each step he took reinforced the tingle of his nether organs.

He made up the couch and fell asleep like a light turning out.

When he woke, the winter sun was already streaming through the living

room windows. He felt rested and relaxed and warm. His penis was

swollen, as it usually was in the morning. He touched it, then let his

hand go lower, to nudge between the lips down there; he slipped the tip

of his finger in carefully. He never did that before. It was strange and

scary, but it felt good. Dreamily he remembered Barbara pushing warm and

thick in there; his stomach thrilled.

He made his finger move in a circle at the entrance. There was no

pain, only a squiggly feeling of pleasure. Judy said it only hurt the

first time. The thought he had next was freighted with a mixture of

anticipation and rejection: if it ever happened again, it probably

wouldn't hurt.

He stopped when he heard Barbara's voice in the kitchen. Wendy said

something back. He took his hand out of his pajamas, stretched, and

padded out to join them.

Barbara looked up with a bright smile. "Good morning, Sunshine! We

saw you on the couch last night and looked in your room. Then we saw the

gin bottle in the kitchen. Judy came over and got wasted, huh?"

She was still in nightgown and bathrobe, and hadn't yet put on makeup

but Andy thought she was beautiful.

He smiled back. She looked pleased and it came to him that he had

been avoiding her lately.

"Yeah, I guess. She was pretty upset. She told me Leon slapped her

and she was leaving him."

"Slapped her!" Wendy exclaimed. "I knew he was no good. That ratface.

So she left him." She looked more pleased than surprised.

"What happened?" Barbara asked.

"I dunno exactly." He didn't know how much of what Judy told him he

should repeat. "He hit her so she would do something he wanted."

"What did he want her to do?"

"We-ell . . . Listen, you better ask her."

Barbara's eyes softened. She said to Wendy, "He's nice, isn't he?

When in doubt, don't say anything." She touched his shoulder.

Wendy said, "Well, I'm going straight upstairs. Oh dear, she's

probably hung over. Never mind, I'll wake her up. She's going to need a

lawyer. Do you suppose Warren's lawyer works on Saturdays?"

When she had gone, Barbara said, "Want some coffee? Breakfast will be

in a little while. We got up late too." She poured a cup and served him.

"Do you think she means it about leaving Leon?"

"Maybe. She sounded pretty serious last night, but sometimes people

change their minds after sleeping on it."

"I hope she does leave him. That man never was good to her."

They drank their coffee in companionable silence. She broke it by

saying softly, "I didn't say anything to Wendy . . . about you

and her. You said it was just the one time, so I suppose it's best if we

just forget it."

He found the courage to ask, "You're not mad about it any more?"

"I never was, really. Only because you didn't tell me yourself."

He was impressed. If it'd been him, if his best friend had fucked

his wife, he'd knock the guy's block off and never speak to his

wife again. He supposed you got more understanding when you got older.

Hey, she was only five or six years older than him. That wasn't much. At

times she acted younger.

She said, "Did she say anything about me when you were together?"

"What about you?"

"Just . . . did she talk about me?"

"No, I don't think we talked hardly at all. Until the next morning

when you got home." He couldn't prevent a grin. "Then she said, 'Get out

quick! She's here!' "

Barbara laughed. "I just wondered. You see, we haven't been

. . . sleeping together for a while. Other than really

sleeping. I wondered if me looking like this turned her off."

Behind her good humor lay a hint of pain. He said, "No, she never

said anything. Why would she be turned off? You're beautiful and, um,

sexy."

He had the thought that what was sexy to him might not be sexy to a

woman.

Her face brightened, "You really think I'm beautiful and sexy?"

"You know I do."

"It's nice to hear it, though."

Wendy led Judy in, supporting her with an arm around her shoulders.

Judy looked wan. She wore a bathrobe; he guessed she was still naked

under it.

Wendy said, "Sit down here, dear. I'll get you a nice cup of black

coffee." She said indignantly, "That man made her watch him having sex

with his boyfriend! And take pictures of them! And she's pregnant."

"Pregnant!" Barbara looked at Judy with interest.

"Eight weeks. Making her take those pictures was the worst mistake of

his life. We're going to give them to the lawyer. That'll teach him to

beat my sister up. We better get dressed right away and have breakfast.

I called Mr. Berkovitz and he said to come at noon. He's way out in

Clara's Corners."

She watched while Judy finished her coffee and gave her a shaky

smile. Barbara stood up, chair scraping the tiles, and leaned over to

give Judy a hug.

"Come on," she said sympathetically, "let's get you dressed. You can

wear my new wraparound. It's apple green, perfect for your eyes."

Wendy said pointedly, "Bring the dress and I'll help her while you

put on your clothes."

Barbara smiled and gave an ambiguous little shrug as if to say, "I

tried." They were all being so cryptic because he wasn't supposed to

know Barbara was a boy. He wished things could be out in the open; there

was too much going on that he didn't know about and that he couldn't ask

about.

Barbara and Wendy hadn't been sleeping together. That was

interesting. He wondered what it meant.

He got his clothes from his room and went to the bathroom to put them

on, leaving the bedroom free for Wendy and Judy.

Surprise, when he got back to the kitchen Barbara was wearing a mini.

It was a straight sheath, coming down only to just above mid-thigh.

Peach in color, it looked more suited to summer than winter. It was snug

about breast and hips. She looked like a mix of tramp and little girl.

He didn't know what to think, but his prick did. It tried to rip through

his blue jeans.

At Wendy's look, Barbara said, "Well, what do you expect? If I have

to lend people my clothes, the only things left are mere scraps."

During breakfast Judy regained her usual spirits. Her hands stopped

trembling. She ate with good appetite and had a second cup of coffee,

this time with milk and sugar.

Andy thought she looked relieved, and it was confirmed a moment later

when she said, "I feel lighter than air. I've been carrying this around

so long. The best thing Leon ever did for me was to hit me last night.

It made up my mind. I was worried about the baby, and I know it'll be

hard, but not harder than living with him."

"Finished? Come on, let's go, we'll just make it. Barbara, are you

coming?"

"I'll stick around and straighten up here and leave the sisters to

take care of the real mess."

Andy saw them to the car and watched them in the chill air until they

turned the corner out of sight. When he went back to the kitchen,

Barbara was finishing up the breakfast dishes. That dress barely covered

her bottom.

He said to her back, "They're gone."

"Good. I hope she sticks it to him. Alimony and all that." She put a

dish in the rack.

"We're all alone in the house together."

She stopped.

A second later she wiped her hands on the dish towel and turned

around.

"Why, Andrew Joiner."

Her expression was demure, but a hint of a shy smile hovered at the

corners of her mouth.

"Just thought I'd mention it."

She gave him a slow look. "Do you want to kiss me?"

He answered by putting his arms around her. Holding her very gently,

he kissed her upturned mouth. Her arms went around his neck. He stroked

down her back, causing her to shiver and press closer to him, breasts

squeezed against his chest. Hardness grew at the join of her legs. The

aroma of her body intoxicated him.

Continuing to embrace her, tongue making free of her sweet mouth, he

let his hands move down to caress her ass. She wriggled. The short skirt

wasn't much protection; as he fondled her it drew up until it was above

her buttocks.

He broke the kiss. "Hey, you don't have anything on."

"I don't? I wonder what happened. Mmm," she said dreamily. "That

feels good."

He kneaded her bare cheeks, then slipped his finger between them and

poked inside her asshole, eliciting a soft shriek from her. The hole was

slippery, he noticed. It told him something.

"Oh Andy, take me upstairs. I want you in me."

Without panties to restrain it, her cock held the short skirt up. The

rosy tip peeked out from under, tantalizing.

They went to Barbara's bedroom, sunlit, cheerful, full of memories of

the nights before Wendy came home and the memorable night he spent with

Wendy here. He had fucked her twice before they went to sleep, and again

in the morning, and now he was going to fuck her husband.

Taking off his jockey shorts excited and frightened him as it had the

night before, only now the girl was awake and knew about him. It was the

height of intimacy. It was nice, he decided. Sharing his secret with her

relieved him of its burden.

She lay on the bed and held her arms out. Her prick was fully

extended, balls shrunk up against its base. Her nipples were erect.

Arousal and desire for him were evident; it made him respond.

When he approached her she pulled her knees up to her breasts,

exposing that delicious pink asshole. She shaved down there; her crotch

was nude. There were no lips, no vagina. Seen like this, the middle part

of her, she was definitely a male. It pleased him. He liked being able

to stick his cock up a man's ass, dominate him. Maybe it was more than

usual because of being violated last week.

She took his prick in slender hands and guided it to her hole. She

moaned, "It's so big and warm. You're going in me. Oh-h!" She gave a

long exhalation. "There. It's in." Her thighs gripped his sides; her

arms held him as he drove up her. She grunted.

"You're all the way in me. Oh, I'm giving myself to you. I'm yours.

You're so big and hard. Oh yes, fuck me, Andy darling."

Her asshole writhed around his shaft. Her hips squirmed deliciously.

He began thrusting, hearing her gasp helplessly each time he completed a

stroke.

He pushed her soft tousled hair aside, took her face in both hands,

and put his tongue in her mouth. She sucked on it deliriously.

She was better than Judy or Wendy, more responsive. Her pleasure

fueled his. Her dick was limp between them, but he knew by now that

didn't mean anything, it was only from bearing the strain of his cock in

that little opening. She got so excited she came anyway. Part of it, she

once said, was that what they were doing was perverse. Well, that was

like him too. The forbiddenness of it got to him.

He wanted to wait, to stretch it out as long as possible, enjoy her

body and the tight grip of her asshole, and the way she held him and

carried on, but a week without her was too long. He ejaculated.

She must be able to feel it, because as soon as his prick started

pumping in her, her cock let go, squirting wet and slippery between

them.

He lay so long on her that he worried about crushing her. He lifted

himself on his elbows and began to pull out. Her hands slipped down to

his ass and held him to her.

"Don't leave me. I want to feel you inside me just a little longer.

It makes us so close I sometimes feel like we're one person. Oh Andy, I

needed that. It's been so long."

Her eyes shone. Her brown hair curled wanton on the pillow. Nipples

still erect, her white breasts invited a kiss. He dipped his head and

tongued them wetly.

"Oh," she said, and arched her back. Her anus massaged his softening

cock. He felt warm and happy with her, conscious of her hands absently

kneading his cheeks, so close to the heart of the organs between his

legs. The terror of discovery was gone, there was only an exciting

intimacy.

She sighed, "Kiss me. Then we'll be together at both ends."

His mouth left her tit and found her lips. They were soft and

generous under his. As they embraced, her ass worked on his cock,

involuntarily expelling it. She made a sound of disappointment and broke

the kiss.

"Darn, I wanted you in me forever." Her arms moved to hold him

sweetly. "Andy? Do I make you happy?"

"What kind of a question is that?"

"It's so nice to be with you, but I wondered if you felt the same

way. Sometimes I get scared. I mean I'm not really a woman. I try to be,

but I never will. I get scared that you'll be disgusted with me, letting

you, no, wanting you, to come inside me that way. Only a few

months ago I'd have been horrified at the idea."

"Yeah? So would I. I'd'a never thought of f--" He tried again, "f--"

"Fucking. It's all right, you can say it." The corners of her

generous lips quirked.

"Yeah, fucking. F-fucking a guy. But with you it feels like we can do

anything together and it's all right. Besides, even when you're naked, I

think of you as a girl, not a guy." He rolled off her on his back. "Just

that you got something special," he said into the air.

She snuggled against him, one thigh crossing his, an arm comfortably

across his chest.

"I'm glad," she said. "When you first went with Judy I was jealous

and scared that you would only want a woman woman. I feel the

same way as you. It's exciting to be with you, doing all these things

we're not supposed to be doing. More exciting than Wendy." A moment

later she said, "I didn't mean to say that. To remind you at a moment

like this. Are you mad at me about sleeping with her?"

"I used to be, but not any more. Last week . . . with Wendy

. . . it made things all right."

"How come?"

"Well, it was like we both did it to her, so we shared her, so we

were really together even though we were with her. Does that make any

sense?"

"Yes. I know just what you mean."

She nestled closer to him. He turned toward her so her knee was

between his legs instead of across them, and allowed his crotch to touch

it.

"Did you mean it when you said--" He tried to keep his voice level,

"--when you said I should do both kinds of things?"

"Both kinds of things?"

"You know. Me doing it to you and you doing it to me."

A moment passed. She said, "The truth?"

"Yeah."

"Then yes. Absolutely. I would. Well, I do, you know, in a

little different way. It's just a joy to let go and have you do it to

me. It's also a joy to do it the other way, I admit. I only wish Wendy

would let me. I have some male instincts left, you know."

She sounded aggrieved.

"You don't do it with Wendy?"

"Hardly ever, and even then it's more like she does it to me. I

always have to be on my back. She puts it in her but she always wants to

be the man. It's fun once in a while," she admitted, "but not all the

time. It's not like it is with you--well, she can't do what you do, can

she?"

He thought it over. After a while he ventured, "You like to be on top

sometimes."

"I can't help it."

"I would let you."

A long moment went by.

He heard excitement in her gasp, "You would?"

"Uh huh."

She raised herself up on one elbow, tits jouncing, and glowed at him.

"Really?"

He nodded shyly. His naked labia were in firm contact with the top of

her knee. He tried to hold still, but the sensation was so delicious his

pelvis made little involuntary motions.

"I thought--last time--"

"Yeah, I know. But I got to thinking about it. Maybe you were right.

If you want, we could try it again."

"If I want!"

Her prick was swelling rapidly, head pushing through the foreskin. In

the time it took her to climb over him it got rigid. The tip was shiny

with strain. It emitted a leak. Jeez, didn't she ever get enough?

"Now?" she said. "Is it all right, now?"

He drew her down on him, knees lifting and legs parting, trying not

to feel that terrible vulnerability at being in this open position, like

a puppy rolling over and exposing its belly in submission.

The touch of her organ down there gave him a skittish feeling.

She kissed him wetly. "I'll be gentle," she whispered, poking at him

more firmly. The rubbery tip of her member slid between his lips until

it found the beginning of his canal. It felt very big; he wondered if he

could take it without pain after all.

She shoved tentatively, widening the opening, and paused. "Does that

hurt?"

The air was short of oxygen. "N-no."

She pushed in a little deeper. It was stretching him, but there was

no pain, only a delicious hungry acceptance, as if his body knew

something he didn't.

When he didn't protest, she kept pushing. Together with the luscious

distention of his--he let himself think the word--his cunt by the

heavy meat, Andy was conscious of his own prick stiffening. There

was some kind of link between his . . . pussy

. . . and his cock, after all. He put his arms around her

Deeper drove the intruding organ, hot and alive in him, dilating his

tight vagina. A dull ache began as it forced the end of the canal; he

raised his knees still higher to accommodate the thrust, looking inward

to savor the slow thrilling movement. At last, just as he was about to

gasp, "Too much," her balls swung soft and heavy against his perineum

and the prick rested.

Breasts a warm cushion against his chest, she murmured, "Are you all

right? Am I hurting you?"

He stammered, "N-no. No, you feel good."

"It doesn't bother your feelings or anything, does it? You don't

think I'm trying to take over?"

"No, keep on doing it."

He thought he had never been so alive to bodily sensation. His heart

beat rapidly; his breath came short. The slender delicate person on top

of him had never seemed so precious. He caressed her back with long

tender strokes.

Her bottom lifted under his hand, drawing her thick meat back. Its

passage was eased by his natural juices. A thrill ran down his spine.

She drew out to the tip, flaring head pulling deliberately through

the entrance. His cunt felt trepidation as the opening narrowed, then

had an electrifying thrill as the penis changed direction and thrust

back in. It was like being entered all over again. He clutched her to

him and his pelvis heaved to meet her long push; he gave himself up to

the gentle rhythm of her movement. A prickle heralded an increase in

sensitivity, which built as the complex of organs between his legs

gathered tension.

With no more warning than that he convulsed in ecstasy.

He had a chance to think, I came already! before another spasm

seized him. A timeless eternity later his muscles relaxed. Head

swimming, he submitted to the huge shaft's repeated strokes. His vagina

quivered.

She panted in his ear.

Her moving cock was nothing but rapture. His cunt was being used

hard, the way it was meant to. The strangeness and excitement of having

her shoved right up him was so good he wondered how he could ever have

been upset by it.

He wished he told her about himself right from the beginning. He

trusted her, they could do anything private together, it was all right.

He wouldn't want anyone else to know--jeez, being fucked and liking it!-

-but she would never tell. At first he didn't want to show even her how

much he enjoyed it, it was embarrassing, but she never held back on him,

so he let himself go, and his pleasure redoubled.

Her strokes got shorter and more urgent. He responded with a writhing

of his hips which increased that tautness within, and just as he felt

the sudden liquid burst of her semen, another blissful paroxysm gripped

him. He heard himself cry out.

She stopped his voice by putting her mouth on his. Her tongue

invaded. Her tongue in his mouth! That's what she did the

last time. Then, it had felt like a put-down; now, it vaulted him into a

new height of orgasm.

He welcomed the insignificant weight of her body relaxing on him. She

was warm and comforting, and he liked the exhaustion with which she lay

on him. It told him she was as fulfilled as he.

Her prick was getting smaller. He could make his cunt contract on it

and squeeze it. When he did, she got a dreamy smile and made it twitch

inside him.

He lay relaxed and happy, detecting the beginnings of a trickle from

his hole. She had filled him with her come; it was like he had a part of

her to keep. Did she feel the same way when he came in her?

She shifted, and her dick slipped out. She rolled over next to him as

close as she could get. They lay in harmony, recuperating.

She lifted herself on one elbow and examined his face intently. "Was

it all right?"

"Y-yes," he sighed. He reached out his arms to put them around her,

acutely conscious of her semen leaking from his privacy.

"You're sure? I know from experience it can make you feel--dominated?

I love that feeling, but you--well, last week . . ."

"I know, I was all bent out of shape, wasn't I?"

"You were terrible."

"It was all new, unexpected like. Besides, you tore me all up."

He heard a breath of laughter. "What did you expect? You were a

virgin." Her hand grasped his limp organ. "Did you come?"

"Yeah. A lot. But not there. It was kind of like inside. You know

something? I think maybe once the piss-and-vinegar side of me is

satisfied I can get off the other way."

"I don't know why, but that makes sense."

"Yeah." He hesitated. "You know, you were right. If I got all that

down there, I might as well enjoy it."

"I'm glad." He felt a squeeze on his prick. It was too soon for him

to get interested, but he liked her touching him. She said, "I loved

doing it with you."

"Me too."

"Andy? How did it feel?"

He knew what she meant. He remembered asking Judy the same thing.

After a moment, looking inside himself, he said, "Great. Really great.

But I don't know the words to tell you, it's so different from anything

I ever did."

"I think I'm really jealous." She sat up. "Gosh, where has the

morning gone? Are you starved? I'll make us some lunch." She kissed him

and got out of bed. Her cock dangled.

He watched her walk naked to the dresser, feeling that special sense

of intimacy at both of them being totally unclothed. He had no secrets

from her.

She took a pair of panties from the dresser and started to step into

them.

"Hey, wait, don't do that."

She paused, panties halfway up her legs. "What?"

"Don't put on your underwear. It's a turn-on for you to be naked

under your dress. I like to look at you and think about it. Like back in

October, remember? Wear the same dress as before, okay?"

"It's so short."

"Yeah."

She laughed. "Okay, but only until Wendy and Judy get home. I didn't

know how short it would be till after I got it on, and I was terrified

they would see."

"So how come you left them off?"

She pulled her panties down and gave him a slow smile. "I was going

to let you see."

Twirling the garment on her finger, she said mischievously, "I will

if you will. Leave off your shorts."

He laughed and promised.

When they finished lunch Barbara cleared the table, dropping a fork

in the process. She gave him a long look and turned her back to pick it

up, bending slowly from the waist. The short skirt lifted to display

that enticing round ass. Even before she straightened he had a hard-on.

"Come and sit on my lap for a moment," he choked. He was acutely

aware of being naked in his jeans.

She cuddled with him, letting him run his hand up her thigh to grasp

a prick that was already swollen and heavy.

She moved her bottom in a circle. "Oh dear, what can it be? Do you

have a flashlight in your pocket?"

"It's a tool."

"Can I see how it works?"

She slid off his lap and knelt in front of him and unfastened his

pants. Her slender cool hands pried his cock out gently. She gazed at it

before looking up at him.

She said shyly, "I always wanted to kiss you down here, but I was

afraid of what you might think. Can I?"

"You already did, remember, last week? You kissed me both places."

"No, I mean really kiss it. Suck it." Her face was red. "Do

you think I'm awful?"

His heart took a leap and started pounding a mile a minute. "Really?

Nobody ever--I never--"

"Neither did I. But I'd like to. After all, I have to take care of my

man, don't I? My master."

Her soft lips kissed the tip. When she drew back, the drip of pre-

come stretched between them, wetting her chin when it broke. Her tongue

peeped out and ran from side to side.

Right then and there in the bright kitchen she took him in her mouth

and sucked wetly. Her tongue wrapped around him; her hands clasped the

base of his cock and followed her mouth.

It blew his mind. It was one thing for him to lick Judy's pussy--she

had taught him to do that as if it were perfectly normal foreplay, and

he was so inexperienced he didn't know any better--but altogether

another thing for Barbara to get on her knees and take his prick into

her mouth. It was the dirtiest thing he ever experienced.

He watched appalled as her moving head lovingly stuffed and unstuffed

her mouth with his organ. Her jaws were open wide, cheeks drawn in; her

red lips compressed and slippery. The noises she made were wet and

lavish. The soft warmth of her tongue slithered deliciously around him.

She looked up through her lashes. Holding his eyes as though inviting

him to watch her, she pulled slowly back until his cock came out,

bubbles of saliva on it, and licked extravagantly around the neck and

head like it was a lollypop. When a dribble emerged from the hole in the

tip she pursed her lips and suckled it.

She fondled his balls, one hand to each, tugging gently at the sack

in alternate caresses and scratching lightly behind with manicured

fingernails.

Her hands left his balls and reached behind her. Bracing herself with

face in his lap, cheek cool against his prick, she unzipped her dress.

She bared one shoulder, then the other, and let the top fall. Leaning

forward, she put his cock between her breasts and compressed them on it

and moved her torso to masturbate him. The soft warm pressure was too

much for him.

She looked up quickly at his gasp and hastily released him, ducking

her head to return to his organ.

The instant she took his prick back in her mouth he felt that urgency

that foretold ejaculation.

"W-wait," he gasped, "I'm going to--"

He tried to pull out but she held him and quickened the movement of

her head. He couldn't hold back. His penis erupted ecstatically,

spurting fiercely in. He'd tried to warn her but she hadn't paid

attention; now her mouth was full of his jism.

It didn't seem to bother her. She continued to massage his prick with

her mouth and tongue. The suction she applied drew out each jet with

unbearable piquancy.

When the pumping stopped and his cock had softened so the foreskin

covered the head, she let it slide out, and held it between thumb and

forefinger. She gazed at him through eyes that were blind with passion.

Her throat moved once, twice; her lips glistened with semen. A drop of

white hung at one corner. She licked her lips from side to side and

swallowed again.

With neat little flutters of her tongue she washed him clean, and sat

back on her heels to look up at him.

"Did you like that?"

The feebleness of his voice surprised him. "Yes."

"So did I. I wanted to do that for a long time, to show you I would

do anything for you. I practiced in my mind how I was going to do it.

You tasted good," she added softly.

"I didn't know if I was supposed to come in your mouth."

"I'm glad you did. You can come in me anywhere."

"But--that stuff . . . you swallowed it."

He had embarrassed her; her cheeks got pink.

She said, "I know, it was naughty. But I loved it, it was your

precious seed. I didn't want to spit it out."

She got to her feet and pulled a kitchen chair next to his. Her prick

held up her skirt, head sticking out from under.

She sat close to him and put one arm around his waist and grasped his

now-limp dick with the other.

"Is this mine?" She shook it.

"Yes," he whispered.

"That's right. Now whose--" she burrowed her hand between his legs

and stuck her finger in his dripping vagina, "--is this?"

He jumped a mile and almost orgasmed on the spot. His prick rocketed

upright.

She said, "Huh? Whose is it?" Her finger rotated in him.

"Yours!" he gasped. "Quit it, you'll make me . . ."

A cool hand encircled his dong; the other diddled its finger.

"Make you what? Make you come? I'll make you come, all right."

Hands working together she urged him up out of his seat.

"Remember when you made me bend over this counter? Now it's your

turn. Let's see if your theory about one side being satisfied so the

other can enjoy itself is true."

When he hesitated she took her hands away from his genitals and put

her arms about his waist. Her voice softened. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean

to be pushy. I just thought it would be fun."

"S-so do I. I w-was just so excited I couldn't move for a minute.

Let's do it."

He pushed his pants down to his knees and bent over the counter,

aroused beyond measure.

He felt her press her lips on one ass cheek, then the other. Now she

was spreading his labia.

"It looks like a pink flower. Oh, I love doing this with you."

He couldn't tell if the droplet that tickled its way down his crack

was from her left-over come or his own excited juices.

The head of her organ pushed into the entrance and forced its

luscious way up him. Her balls swung against his. She drew tantalizingly

back and shoved forward again. She reached under and gripped his cock,

pulled it in tandem with her strokes.

He lost count of how many times he orgasmed before she came.

She drew her limp organ out of him finally and collapsed into a

chair. He stayed where he was, depleted, unable to move. Even the

knowledge that she could see the drools emerging from between the lips

in his crotch had no power to get him up.

"Are you okay?" Her voice was full of concern.

"Yes," he whispered. He lifted his upper body off the counter and

shamefacedly hauled his jeans up and buckled them. "Whew. It got to me.

You're something else."

"You are too. You turn me on."

"You felt so big in there. Well, you are big. It's funny, you're a

girl, but you got a bigger one than me."

"Oh, don't say that."

"Why not?"

"I'm not supposed to have one at all."

"I'm glad you do, though."

"Kiss me."

"Where?"

"On the lips, silly. Oh Andy, hold me. Sometimes I get frightened.

This is all so big and so strange and I--I love you so much."

He embraced her tenderly. She pushed warm and soft against him, arms

twined about his neck. Her mouth had a taste, reminding him of what had

been in there.

Before this morning it would have repelled him; he found himself

licking in her mouth to taste more of it, mildly amazed at himself,

identifying with her, wondering bashfully if she tasted the same.

She broke the kiss with a sigh. "I needed that. Sit down and I'll

bring a cup of coffee. Keep me company while I finish the dishes."

He thought about her earlier question, wanting to share with her, but

the whole experience of having her inside him down there was still too

new for him to get hold of. Maybe after a while he'd be able to tell her

how it felt. Maybe it wasn't too different from what she felt, he

thought in surprise, and tried to picture how it would be for her to

stick it up his ass.

"Hey," he said mischievously. "One good thing. Now that I know how it

feels I can do a better job with Judy and Wendy."

She swivelled around and slapped him gently with wet hands.

"Ratface," she said before turning back to the dishes.

He amused himself by watching her alluring ass in that tight short

skirt, picturing the front of her all naked underneath. As she put the

last dish in the rack he got up and stood behind her and put his arms

around her waist. He let a hand drop to fondle her meat.

"Help help, I'm being molested. Call the police."

She rotated her ass against him. She said practically, "Bring me your

coffee cup, I'll give it a quick rinse, then we can pet together on the

living-room couch."

When he turned back to her with the cup she was looking at him with a

peculiar expression.

He said, "What?"

She put her hand to her mouth, trying to conceal a smile.

Ready to join her amusement, he repeated, "What?"

"Your pants are all wet back there. You're leaking. You better let me

take care of you. Come." She took his hand and led him up to the

bathroom.

"Take off your jeans and put them in the hamper."

From the cabinet under the sink she retrieved a pink rubber bag with

a long hose attached. It had a curved plastic nozzle with holes in its

side. She filled the bag with solution.

"Sit on the toilet while I hang this up. That's right. Now open your

legs for me."

"What are you going to do?"

"Clean you out down there. Give you a douche."

Andy jumped when Barbara reached in the bowl and inserted the curved

nozzle up his vagina.

"It's cold." His prick began to stir.

"Serves you right, you ratface." She clicked the clamp on the hose.

"If you think that's cold . . ."

A rush of icy solution fountained inside him and sprayed down into

the bowl. It was a shock at first but was refreshing, and the intimacy

of her kneeling between his legs, holding that thing in him, made his

cock respond: it got very stiff. Hers was hard too; it showed under the

skirt, which had drawn up because of her position.

She clasped his prick in her free hand. Her fingers were cool. She

looked up with a twinkle in her eye.

"Dear me, he likes it."

"I c-can't help it."

She pulled sensuously at his erection, and bent forward to kiss it,

all the while mischievously diddling the nozzle in him.

When the bag drained, she removed the hose and patted him dry with

toilet paper. All that splashing made him aware of pressure in his

bladder.

"Wait, I have to piss."

"Go ahead."

He was rock hard. "I can't with you doing that."

"Do you ever pee from down here?" Her fingertips stroked tantalizing

along his crack.

"No."

"Can you?"

"When I was a kid, sometimes by accident . . ."

"Then go ahead and pee that way. Please? I want to see."

The idea excited him. He said, "You're such a pain. You always want

to see everything. I don't know if I can remember how."

He concentrated. It meant holding back on this muscle and letting go

with this one. He tried. The muscle quavered and a dribble

emerged before it clamped shut. Yes, that was the way. Now he remembered

how it felt. He also remembered it was a terrific no-no, but with

defiance he relaxed and let go, hearing the sizzle against the bowl, his

labia dripping wet, feeling a joyful sense of sharing with the woman

bending close to stare. He drained his bladder, made a couple of final

spurts.

She said, "It makes a spray instead of a stream. Your lips are in the

way, like if I don't strip back my foreskin, only more so." She wiped

him.

He had no privacy from her, and that was all right. He was enjoying

their intimacy and the freedom of being truly able to unveil everything

to her.

She said, "That was such a turn-on. Oh thank you for letting me see.

It was neat. I wish I could do that. In fact, I wish I was built like

you. Wouldn't that be nice?"

"I'm kind of glad you're not. I like to do it to you back there."

"Is that what this is for? Mmm. Let's go in the bedroom."

"Yeah, let's. But I don't think I'm ready yet--that way. Are you? You

could come in me again."

Her smile was brilliant; it had relief in it. "Oh yes, let's. I

really need it after all this time. Don't be impatient with me. I'm sure

I'll be back to normal soon. It's all that left-over male instinct."

"I hope not, because I like it. It's really great to come more than

once, and to have you inside me. It's like you said, it's as if we're

one person."

"Quick, let's go into the bedroom."

She lay on her back on the bed.

When he hesitated, she said, "Let's try it with you on top. Come over

me and sit on it."

He discovered penetration was much deeper this way. The last two

inches were almost more than he could take, but his pleasure at being in

control of their lovemaking, moving up and down on her, allowed him to

relax and open himself to the point where he could lower his body to the

point of resting on her. She held him around the waist and bent up to

engulf his rigid prick with her tits.

Afterwards she said, "Douching didn't do much good, did it? You're

leaking again. Here, wrap this towel around, don't bother with pants."

Through the remainder of the day they were like children with a new

toy. They couldn't get enough of each other. It was like the days before

Wendy returned from the islands.

In his insatiable way, Bob proved Andy's theory repeatedly. After

Andy's first two ejaculations it looked like Andy's "male" interest in

sex would continue dormant at least for a while.

Now that it had given him such pleasure Andy developed an obsession

with Barbara's organ. He kept picturing it under her skirt, and kept

hauling her down on his lap so he could lift her dress and fondle it.

As the day drew to a close and dusk crept through the living room

windows, he prevented her from getting off his lap to turn on the lamps,

ducked his head to kiss her cock.

"Is this how you do it?" he mumbled bashfully.

Heart racing, he took the head in his mouth and slathered it with his

tongue. Awkwardly he pushed down on it, feeling totally depraved. Now he

was doing that dirty thing.

He had to open very wide and couldn't get more than half of the organ

in without gagging. He used his hand to follow the up-and-down motion of

his head.

He heard, "Oh God that's so exciting, you're going to make me come.

Yes please, let me come in your mouth. I'll love you forever."

Much too soon, long before he expected it--she must be really turned

on--his mouth filled with a rich, tangy, alkaline, slippery fluid. Lost

in baseness, he thought, She swallowed mine; I'll swallow hers. He had

to. The amount jetting in was too much to hold. And after coming six

times today that he knew about, too. She was really something.

At once exhilarated by his newly-discovered perverse sexual appetite

and horribly embarrassed and excited, he raped her. He turned her face

down on the couch, hauled her hips in the air so she was on elbows and

knees, and rammed forcibly up her ass. She shrieked. He reached under

her and roughly grabbed her tits to hold her to him. Her anus clenched

and relaxed and lifted and writhed sensually while he had his way with

her.

When he jammed deep in her and ejaculated she cried out, "Oh yes, you

can do anything you want with me, I'm yours. Squirt in me. I need to

feel your hot come."

As they sat together afterward, limbs entwined, he said, "You didn't

come, did you? I'm sorry, I guess I was too rough."

"I loved it. No, you just wore me out before. I don't think I'll ever

come again. But I loved putting out for you anyway. It made me feel that

I was yours whenever you wanted."

Headlights lit up the windows of the darkened room.

"Oh God," Barbara said, "They're back. Quick, I have to change

dresses and you have to put on some pants," and then giggled when he

said, "Why don't we send them on vacation to San Cabr�n?"

<H3 ALIGN=CENTER>Chapter 15</H3>

WENDY tied her bathrobe closed and went to answer the door, wondering

who it could be so early in the morning. A swirl of chill air met her as

she opened the door.

Warren said, "Miss Ogden?"

She looked at him sharply to see if he was teasing. Miss Ogden

instead of Wendy. His expression was sober, almost diffident.

She glanced away. Things were less awkward between them now that he

had a legitimate reason for showing up, but she still hadn't been able

to explain why they couldn't be together. The dilemma lay between them:

if she were "Miss Ogden," divorced from a mysterious former husband,

then why wasn't she free to do what she wanted to do with all her heart-

-go to bed with him? She couldn't tell him about Bob. Warren was

so straight and uncomplicated, he'd never understand.

He shuffled his feet uncertainly. She stepped back to let him in.

He said, "I moved the 'dozer and backhoe up to the site last night.

We'll start excavating in a couple of hours."

"I know. Andy already went over. Barbara said she was going to stop

by, too. She wants to turn the first shovel the way politicians do.

She's so excited."

"Still pretty chilly out."

"Ye-es. Why, won't she be able to dig?"

"It ain't that. I was just thinking--you gotta have the motor running

in the pickup to make the heater work. If it's parked, well, there's

always a chance of exhaust fumes getting in. Carbon monoxide, you know."

"I suppose."

"See, I wouldn't want to take a chance leaving Patty in the truck."

"Well of course not! What an idea. Why would you leave her in the

truck?"

"If I don't I won't be able to keep an eye on her."

"You're not going to take her to the site! Warren! With all that

noise and dust and on a cold day like this? How cruel!"

"We don't have a baby-sitter, Wendy."

"You don't--? Yes you do!" It was all she could do to keep herself

from adding, "you dope." "You just--is she out in the truck now?" She

stamped her foot. "Warren, you just go out and bring her in this

instant. She can stay with me as long as you want. The poor thing."

Wendy was genuinely outraged. Didn't he know babies had to be

nurtured and protected and loved, not dumped like a sack of rags in a

truck? She watched him duck his head and hasten out to the pickup.

When he returned, she snatched the bundle from him and turned back

the blanket to assure herself that the child was alive and well.

Innocent blue eyes smiled at her.

"Warren, I'm furious. You should have said something long ago. We're

friends, aren't we? If you can't afford a baby-sitter you should have

had enough sense to ask me."

"I did. Just now."

"Too late. Who knows what abuse you've put this darling through

already?" She unwrapped the child, tugged her little dress straight over

her diaper, and cuddled her. "It's all right, sweetheart, Aunt Wendy's

here."

Warren said hesitantly, "See, there's something . . .

Remember I said she had a handicap?"

"She doesn't, she's perfect. She's bright as a new penny, aren't you,

darling? What handicap?"

"You wouldn't say anything, would you?"

A strained note in his voice got through to her. She studied him.

"What is it, Warren? What's wrong?"

"I better show you. She's wet, anyway. I'll change her."

He shifted the carry-all in his grip and took the baby.

"Not on the countertop! It's so hard she'll bump her head. Come into

the living room and put her on the couch."

She spread a towel on the cushion and supervised his gentle placement

of Patty on it. The baby looked up at them and piped, "Wooty."

"Wooty. That means wet. She's telling us she needs changed." He

hesitated. "It ain't that we can't afford a baby-sitter. We just can't

find one we trust. You do like her, don't you?"

"Like her! I love her." She wished she could say, "I love you,

too."

"If people found out about her they'd make a big fuss."

"Now you're scaring me."

"I don't mean to. It's just--well, she's different. I don't mean

abnormal or anything, it's a family thing. It's normal for her.

Here." He lifted her dress and pulled the tab on the paper diaper.

Wendy stared.

"She's a boy! Oh Warren, you could scar him for life treating

him like a girl."

"No she ain't." He took Patty's legs in one work-hardened hand while

she giggled, and pushed them up to expose her bottom.

Two plump folds of skin with a crack between them were revealed, for

all the world like labia.

"See?" The baby squirmed as he pried the lips apart to show

glistening pinkness . . . and an opening.

Wendy sat down on the couch next to Patty, out of breath.

"But--but--"

"Yeah. She has both. But she's a girl. I mean when she grows up

she'll be a girl. Everything about her shouts it. I'm so sure of it I

was gonna have--them--removed. But there's always a chance, so you wait

until after puberty to be sure."

Wendy watched dumbstruck as he took a wipe from the carry-all and

dried not only between the baby's legs but above the tiny penis and

testicles as well.

"She, uh, wets both ways still. Later she'll have more control and do

one or the other."

"H-how do you know so much about it?"

"It's a family thing, I said. We all went through it." He didn't look

at her. His face was red.

"You all--but--"

"When I was fourteen I had an operation, everything taken out, and

then the doctor sewed up me up. It was supposed to be this big secret.

My old man had a doctor he knew who wouldn't say anything, the same one

who operated on my mother. I grew up keeping the secret. I didn't even

tell Darlene. When Patty was born I made out I didn't know why she was

that way. That was stupid. There's nothing wrong with it, it's just

different."

She blinked.

He said, "Did I do wrong telling you? I didn't know what else to do.

You're the only person in the world I trust. I know it's kind of tough

to accept . . . for us it's normal, but the rest of the world

wouldn't think so. I couldn't blame you if you didn't want to have

nothing to do with her. I was hoping . . . "

He looked so forlorn Wendy put her arms around him, trying to ignore

the sudden pounding of her heart at his closeness in the empty, quiet

house.

"Of course you didn't do wrong. It just took me by surprise. It

doesn't change a thing. She's my precious darling."

She hugged the naked baby and put her on her lap. "Let's see what we

have here."

Holding her so she wouldn't wiggle, she examined her closely,

confirming the presence of a wee pink vagina, then touching the

astonishing little penis and testicles.

"You're adorable!"

She bent swiftly and planted a kiss on the organ, and peeped up to

see Warren's shocked expression. Smiling, she pressed her lips firmly

against the infant's tummy and blew, making a horrible noise which

elicited a shriek of giggles.

"Do you have any talcum powder in there?"

"Yeah, here." He fished out a sprinkle-bottle of baby powder. "I

threw out the regular stuff and filled this with cornstarch. It's softer

and doesn't have that perfumy stink."

Wendy smiled, powdered, and finished diapering the baby. "Warren, I'm

so glad you told me about Patty. I'll care for her as if she were my own

child."

"Yeah?" Face bright, he held her shoulders. "You're too much, you

know that? I wish, I wish she could be ours together some day."

"Warren, don't," she said sadly. "I do too. But we can't. There's

something I have to tell you, too."

"About how come you're divorced? I wondered if it was because you

told him about us in the islands."

"I'm not divorced. That's what I have to explain. You see

. . . when I was first married . . . I was afraid of

men. So I chose a man who was, well, not very . . . manly. I

mean, he was small and gentle. I wanted to be the dominant partner, can

you understand that?"

He shook his head. "You're not like that."

"Not any more." She rested her hand on his arm. "Not after I met you.

But I was then. So I did something terrible."

She was silent so long he said, "What?"

"I got him to wear my clothes."

"I don't get it."

"My dresses. My nightgowns when we . . . Well, it made me

feel more comfortable. The more he did it, the better things were

between us. I must have been crazy. I kept pushing him, until

. . ." She blurted, "I got him to go to a doctor to have

breasts so he couldn't go back to men's clothes."

"Breasts? What, like, what do y'call 'em, implants?"

"No, real ones. It's permanent."

"Holy mackerel."

She couldn't look at him. "That's when I met you. He was in the

clinic having that done to please me while you and I were

. . ."

Warren put his arm around her shoulders. "Take it easy. Listen, it

takes two to tango. You can't put it all on yourself. He could've said

no, couldn't he?"

"You don't understand. He did it for me. He loves me. And I--God help

me--I love you. But I can't leave him now, what would he do without me?"

"So where is he now?"

"At the site. It's . . . Barbara." Her feeling of

disloyalty to Bob was blunted by her need to be honest with Warren at

last.

"Barbara? Barbara Miller? You're putting me on."

"No, really. She's--he's--my husband."

"Come on, I can't believe that. She's beautiful."

"She is. But she's also a man."

"But . . ."

"Warren, don't laugh!"

"I'm not," he said laughing. "But--Barbara! You said what would she

do without you. It looks to me like she's doing okay. I mean, she's

working in a fancy office making enough money to build a four-thousand-

square-foot mansion."

Patty cooed and wriggled to get down, just in time to let Wendy bury

her face in the child's neck to hide her smile. She put her on the

carpet to crawl.

"It's not the same thing. It was my fault, and I owe it to him."

"That doesn't make any sense to me."

"Oh, Warren."

"I mean it."

She turned away, watching the child scramble across the carpet.

"You don't sound disgusted about him."

"I'm not!" He showed his surprise. "Why would I?"

"Well . . . he's a man wearing dresses. He has breasts."

"Oh. No, see, it's only what I would'a had to do if things turned out

different. I mean, in puberty. If I'd'a grown tits instead of muscles,"

he grinned. "It's kind of like Patty. She'll be a woman, but with a

. . . thing under her dress. They got the same problem.

Anyway, until she has an operation."

"She doesn't have a clitoris, does she?" she said shyly. "I guess the

other takes its place."

"I dunno. Yeah, it could be. I never thought about it."

She said slowly, "Then if you have her operated on, you'd be taking

away her clitoris. Oh Warren, that would be so sad. Are you sure you

want to do that?"

"But she can't go around with male parts under her dress! How would

she get married?"

Wendy didn't have an answer. She said, "You go ahead, and don't worry

about Patty. She'll be fine. We'll have fun."

"She takes a nap around noon."

"You, ah, won't say anything about Barbara to anyone?"

"You won't say anything about Patty?"

"I would never! Oh." She saw the quiet twinkle in his eye. He was

telling her she had nothing to worry about, any more than he did.

When he had gone she turned to the baby, who was gallantly trying to

climb up the curtains.

"Come on, Patty-cake, let's go have some cookies and milk. You can

show me how a big girl drinks out of a glass."

She played with the child until she began giving a series of yawns

interspersed with sweet smiles. Wendy took her up to the bedroom and put

her in the center of the bed.

She told herself she probably needed a diaper change. It wasn't

curiosity that made her want to peek at her genitals, she was sure. She

pulled the fastenings loose and peeled down the paper diaper, just as

the little penis let go with a stream of clear urine.

Hastily she covered the baby and held the diaper in place. "You

almost got me, you little rascal. Did you do that on purpose?" She

flashed back to the time she had peed on Bob and burst into laughter as

the little girl languidly waved arms and legs and made happy noises.

Cautiously she lifted the diaper again. The penis, soft and moist,

was no longer emitting urine; but a dribble still leaked from between

her legs. When it stopped, she wiped her carefully, confirming the lack

of clitoris, and dusted her with the cornstarch-cum-talcum powder.

Impulsively she bent over and kissed the little worm. She had a twinge

of envy, and remembered wishing she had one. How marvelous that would

be. Why couldn't we all be born with both things? Warren was going to

have it removed; she'd try to talk him out of it.

She put Patty in blankets in the center of the double bed and stuffed

pillows on either side of her, and hoped she would stay put. They'd have

to get a crib this afternoon.

She kissed her, petted her curls, and sang softly about rocking in

the treetops. The baby closed her eyes and went to sleep. Wendy edged

cautiously off the bed and tiptoed to the door.

Patty started crying.

"What's the matter, baby? Don't cry. Aunt Wendy--" She broke off with

a surreptitious tickle of excitement, and amended, "Mommy Wendy

will sing you another song."

The baby's sobs subsided and her eyes closed again, but Wendy had no

more than lifted herself from the bed than the child whimpered with such

lost sadness that Wendy's heart broke.

The poor thing. She was afraid to be alone in a strange house. She'd

get used to it, but in the meanwhile . . .

Wendy kicked off her heels and sat up on the bed and rocked the

little girl on her lap. "There, there, Mommy Wendy will stay right here.

Go to sleep, darling, Mommy Wendy won't go away."

She stroked the child's head and sang another lullaby. By the time

she got to " . . . angels keep thee," Patty was deep in

slumber. She put the child down and lay next to her, holding her in the

crook of her arm. It was nice to lie here with this little bundle of

life warm against her.

She'd have to get up pretty soon, though, there were too many things

to do. She had to get dinner started, which meant she had to go to the

market. She'd take Patty with her and ride her around in the shopping

cart's baby seat like all the mothers.

Mommy Wendy, she drowsed. She wished she could be this

adorable baby's mommy. She wondered what it would be like to have a baby

of her own.

At the thought, the vaguely-formulated apprehension of the last two

months enveloped her and set her wide awake again. She had missed her

period. At first she was sure it was only late. Due, probably, to the

stress of leaving Warren and returning home to find Bob so changed, and

then feeling put down because Barbara, not Bob, but a woman, had

an important job while she, Wendy, was back to being only a housewife.

Then when it never did show up, she attributed it to the birth-control

pills she was taking. Who knew what effect they'd have on a late period?

But it was time again, and it still wasn't here. She had always been

regular as clockwork, so it was alarming.

She cast back in her mind, dredging up the memory of the New Year's

party and her hangover, and the fact that she had forgotten her pill the

day after, and the day after that. Then there had been that blissful

night in Andy's strong clean young arms, partly as a compulsive

substitute for Warren, and partly as a childish revenge for Bob having

taken advantage of her two nights before.

Oh God. Could she really be pregnant? By Andy? She began to

perspire. If she was, and if it happened then, and she couldn't remember

any other time she hadn't been protected, then she was three months

along. How would she explain without a Bob around, only a Barbara.

She stifled her panic. It would be just too bizarre a coincidence. It

just couldn't be. She'd show up any day now, and laugh at herself for

her fears.

That afternoon, Patty perched merrily in the supermarket shopping

cart smiling graciously at the women who stopped to admire her, Wendy

slipped two pregnancy tests and a defiantly-hopeful box of Tampax in

with the groceries. If one test didn't work, the other would. In her

mind "didn't work" translated to "was positive."

It didn't work. The color of the swab held in her urine stream

changed markedly.

These things weren't always accurate. Besides, the instructions

called for the morning's first urination. She'd do it again tomorrow.

She was distracted all evening, noting absently that Bob and Andy

seemed on better terms, friendly and good natured, glad of it but

irrationally annoyed by Andy's innocent good humor. The next morning the

test confirmed the first day's results. Unwilling to give up, Wendy

sought out Dr. Butler, her gynecologist, who gave her the bad news with

a smile and congratulations.

Judy was never that great at solving problems, but somehow talking

them out with her often resulted in a solution. The next morning she sat

with her at the breakfast table after Bob and Andy left.

Judy poured coffee and took some illicit sweet rolls out of the

microwave. "It's so nice of you and Bob to take me in, and for Andy to

give up his bed."

"Don't be silly, we all love having you with us."

Wendy tried a bite of one of the rolls. It was warm and sticky on her

lips. She took a sip of coffee to abate the sweetness.

"I have a problem, Sis."

Judy grinned humorlessly. "You have a problem! I'm five months

along and beginning to show and Leon will know it's not his and won't

that be a can of worms for the lawyers. Take a back seat."

"It's not Leon's baby? You didn't tell me. You've been keeping

secrets out of school."

"I was mortified."

"The father--"

"--is Andy. How could I have been so stupid? He's just a boy,

I somehow didn't think he could make a baby yet, I guess. I didn't even

think about birth control."

Wendy was flabbergasted. "Well . . . do you have to tell

Leon it's not his? I mean you should, but sometimes the less said

the better. How would he know the difference?"

"Sis, Leon and I haven't done it even once since those football

players. He's been too busy with his extracurricular activities. That's

why I wasn't on the Pill," she said bitterly. "Even Leon could figure it

out. It doesn't take a brain surgeon."

"Andy's the father!"

Judy looked embarrassed.

"Does he know?"

"No, and don't tell him. I have enough to worry about."

A bubble of mirth rose in Wendy's chest. The giggle that escaped had

hysteria in it. "That's my problem too. What a pair we are. Don't you

get it? I'm pregnant. With Andy's baby."

"You're putting me on." A smile pulled at Judy's lips.

"No kidding. We ought to start a club. Oh dear, what are we ever

going to do?"

"You slept with Andy? And didn't tell me? Now who's the one keeping

secrets?"

"It was just once, after that New Year's party I told you about.

Warren came over to bid on the job, and he looked so good, and Bob was

out of town, and Andy reminded me of Warren, and . . . it just

happened."

"You--" Judy broke up. It was a minute before she could gasp, "You

made love with Andy just once and he got you pregnant. That's what

happened with me! It was the first time, the night we got home from the

islands. He's something else, isn't he? Talk about beginner's luck!"

Wendy doubled over laughing.

In a little while Judy said, "You didn't tell Bob, did you? Does he

even know you're preggie?"

"No to both." Wendy wiped the tears from her eyes. "Sis, I just don't

know what to do. He would believe it was his, we quite often, well, you

know. But I got to thinking ahead. Bob's a woman. Almost, anyway.

You know."

Judy nodded.

Wendy went on, "Permanently. He can't get back to being a man. So,"

she said slowly, "the baby will be raised in a household with two women

in it. Two mothers, but no father. I don't know if I could take that."

"That's not so bad. Better than one woman and no father."

Grievousness infected her tone.

"You'll remarry," Wendy said confidently.

"It sounded like something more than the baby having two mothers.

Trouble in paradise?"

"Not really. We're getting along fine, more or less. It's just that

sometimes I wish he wasn't quite so feminine."

"You're crazy, he's adorable."

"That's the trouble. He's too adorable. You know that little

redheaded secretary of his, Nancy Dahl? Her husband wears dresses

sometimes. He's really stunning when he makes up. If you didn't know,

you'd never guess, you'd think, 'What an attractive girl.' But if you do

know, there's always something about him that reminds you what he's got

under that dress, and it's exciting! See what I mean? You're

looking at a man in a dress. He's acting a part. It's a real turn-on.

"With Bob, even if you know you can't tell. There's no 'acting' about

it. You have to force yourself to remember. How he got that way I don't

know. The treatment, I guess. Besides," heat rose in her cheeks, "I'm

kind of jealous. He's prettier than me. I don't mean his physical beauty

so much. It's how lively he is, and that cute intent way he hangs on to

your every word. And that sunny smile. Also," she grumbled, "he's got

bigger boobs than me."

"Sis, you don't deserve him. I swear, if you don't watch out I'll try

to take him away from you. Tell me more about this secretary's husband.

Where did you meet him?"

"The first time was at that same New Year's party. Long blond hair,

it's his real hair, and skirt up to here. He was sexy. I got all

bothered down there."

Judy tittered. "I can imagine. Does he dress like that all the time,

like Barbara?"

"No, only at home, and Nancy says not often enough to suit her. He's

going to school to be an accountant. He ties his hair back during the

day and wears pants and a jacket . . ."

Gossiping with her sister freed Wendy's subconscious. She discovered

she had quite unwittingly made a decision.

She waited the rest of the day to be sure of it. She waited until she

could wait no longer.

They were already in their nighties by the time she spoke. Bob was

sitting at the vanity brushing his hair with long even strokes.

"Barbara," she said, "I want a divorce."

<H3 ALIGN=CENTER>Chapter 16</H3>

BOB stared glumly at his desk's shiny surface, thoughts whirling.

Just when everything was so right, everything was going so wrong.

The new house, where he and Wendy would live happily ever after, was

finally under construction. This time the day before yesterday he had

been excited and happy turning the first shovel, pushing it into the

frost-crisp earth with his dainty shoe and lugging the filled shovel to

the side; then watching the backhoe bite great chunks out of the ground,

picturing the completed structure vividly in his mind's eye.

Last night's few level words from Wendy blew the whole thing down

like a house of cards in a puff of breeze.

"I want a divorce."

He thought she was kidding. "You got it."

"What?"

"You haven't worn your ring for three months and you're 'Miss Ogden'

when we go out. How could we be any more divorced?"

"A real divorce, Bob. A legal one."

He stared.

"I-is it something I did?"

His mind raced. Had she found out about him and Andy?

"No, it's not you, it's me. It's . . . well, it's hard to

explain. You're not a man anymore. I don't mean to hurt your feelings,

but you have to admit it's true. A woman needs, well, a man, not another

woman. I can't do it anymore."

"B-but--you wanted me to be this way. You said you liked it!"

Bob heard his voice get hysterical and lowered it. "You said we'd be

just like sisters to the outside world and husband and wife together in

bed. That was all you wanted, you said."

She touched his manicured hand. "I know. Believe me, I do know. It's

not fair. I didn't realize how mixed up things would be. I thought you'd

just be my Bob in a dress, only with breasts. I didn't know how much

you'd change. It's all my fault, I admit it, but I can't help the

way I feel. I'd be miserable and I'd make you miserable too. It's better

to break it off now while we're still friends. Mr. Berkovitz said that's

always the best way. He's Judy's lawyer," she reminded him.

"A divorce? A real divorce?"

"I'm sorry."

"But--you, you're not going to leave, are you?"

"It wouldn't be much of a divorce otherwise, would it?"

Bob's stomach plunged as he digested her words.

"There's something you're not telling me. Is there someone else?"

Her eyes flickered, but she looked at him directly. "No."

"I don't understand. Why would you make a decision like this out of

the blue? Right when things are going so well?"

"There's nothing. I just want out. I can't help it."

"Wendy."

She hesitated. Her face got pink. She looked away. "All right! I'm--

I'm going to have a baby."

It took a long moment for the words to register; longer yet for him

to react.

"Is that it! Wendy, it's wonderful! Did you think I'd be mad?

I'm not. I think it's great!"

"Bob. Barbara," she emphasized his new name, "I am not going

to have this child raised by two mothers. That's final."

"T-two mothers?"

"Yes, two mothers. I want the baby to have a father."

"A father? So there is someone else."

"In the future."

Bob shook his head, peripherally conscious of the way his hair swept

back and forth on his cheeks. He had a heightened awareness of his

breasts, snug in the lace cups of his nightie, the soft spread of his

hips and bottom, the lack of strength in muscles which had once been

hard despite the slenderness of his frame. His body suddenly embarrassed

him.

"Wait a minute, I have something to say about it, don't I? It's my

child too, after all."

"No it's not."

"What do you mean not? It's not mine?"

"No."

"Then who--" Wendy's infidelity leaped into his mind. "Andy! It's

Andy's baby, isn't it."

"Oh, all right, yes, your little friend that you brought into the

house. It's all your fault." She took a breath and said more calmly,

"I'm sorry, dear. It just happened. It was only once. After the New

Year's party I forgot my pills for a couple of days. By the time I

remembered, it was too late. --How did you know it was him?"

He explained about finding the pajamas.

"You've known all this time?" Her eyes softened, and for a second he

thought she might relent, but resolve crept back in.

He looked down. "I thought you were happy with me. You have to give

me some time to get used to it."

"There'll be time. I'm going to see Mr. Berkovitz tomorrow and file,

but it takes time. Don't worry, I know it's all my fault, I won't ask

for alimony or anything, it'll just be a divorce on grounds of

incompatibility. You won't contest it, I know."

"But how will you get along? I mean with the baby and all."

"I'll work. I worked before we were married, I can work again."

He felt like crying. "Look," he said reasonably, "You don't have to

make up your mind all at once. Take some time to think about it. We'll

talk, figure things out."

"Of course. I'm going to file in the morning, though," she warned.

She was so cool and determined, he thought. She'd made up her

mind and he wasn't going to be able to change it.

Nancy interrupted his brooding.

"Mrs. Gunderson is here."

"Who?"

"Mrs. Gunderson, the new client Marie Argentina sent over. Mrs.

Miller, are you all right? You look so pale."

"I didn't get much sleep last night. Domestic problems." He made his

voice crisp. "Come on, let's see her."

Bob introduced himself, only to hear the lady shout exuberantly, "So

you're Barbara Miller! Gladda meet'cha. Kind of young, ain't you? Never

mind, Marie Argentina told me not to waste my time with anybody else,"

she fixed Dick Haskell with a baleful eye. "She said you'd give me a

straight story about my finances, nobody else would."

Gluing a cordial smile to his lips, Bob averted his eyes from

Haskell's scowl and the manifest amusement of Jane Bloom and Nancy, and

ushered Mrs. Gunderson into his office.

She was a big handsome woman of indeterminate age. He liked her no-

nonsense candor and rough sense of humor immediately. She turned out to

own a portfolio of securities from her late husband that was even bigger

than she was. She hailed from Iowa where her husband had made his

fortune in pork bellies, she said, but it was time for her to get out of

the humdrum priggish society she inhabited. She wanted adventure, she

said. Marie, with whom she had formed a special friendship--"Know what I

mean, dearie?"--had persuaded her to move to Chardsville. Bob couldn't

help pointing out that as far as adventure went, Chardsville wasn't

exactly Paris. She grinned at him. "It's enough for me."

An hour later she had agreed to a contract which would add another

$24,000 to Bob's annual income. He escorted her to the door as she

bellowed, "By God, you people ain't cheap, but I believe you and me's

gonna get along like a house afire--if you keep the used-car salesmen

away from my stocks!"

Bob heard a stifled titter from Mrs. Brower, who was peering from the

file room, and saw surreptitious smiles from others of the office staff.

They had evidently been alerted by Jane, or Nancy, or both.

Haskell took the contract from him. "Hmp. Only six million. Better

than nothing, I suppose. Come into my office, Barbara, I want to talk to

you."

Bob's heart sank. This was going to be bad. Haskell had been

humiliated in front of the whole staff.

As he turned reluctantly, the man reached down and grabbed his ass

and squeezed it in plain view of everybody.

Bob froze, unbelieving at first.

What with his problem with Wendy, Bob lost it.

He reacted instinctively. Without thinking he swung around and

slapped him as hard as he could. Haskell tottered back holding his

cheek, a stunned look on his face.

Bob burst into tears.

Teetering on his heels, he ran across the reception room, snatched

his coat from the rack and fled. He was aware of Nancy following him as

he rushed down the street trying to outrun the mortification he felt. He

couldn't see; tears blinded him.

He stopped finally, loud sobs shaking his body, a chill April wind

flapping his coat and trying to lift his skirt.

What was he going to do? It was too much. Too much for him to handle.

First Wendy, and now this. His life was in shambles overnight.

Nancy put her arm through his. "Let's step in here to Mitzi's," he

heard her say. "We'll have a nice cup of tea. It'll make you feel

better, you'll see."

He let her lead him through the restaurant to the ladies' room.

"Here," she said, "wash your face. Your mascara's running."

The cool water made him feel better. He dried his face in the roller

towel and checked his appearance. His lips were pale.

"I forgot my purse. I don't have any lipstick."

"It's okay, you look fine. Come on, let's have that tea."

At the table he took a swig of the scalding smoky-flavored beverage

Nancy ordered. It burned down to his stomach, warming him. He exhaled

shakily.

"It's good. What is it?"

"The Chinese call it Lapsang Soochong. It's a strong tea, good for

the blue willies. You'll be super bad in no time. I couldn't believe my

eyes. How did he dare? I'm glad you slapped him, the pervert."

"Oh Nancy, what am I going to do? I can't afford to lose this job."

"You're not thinking of going back there!"

"I have to. He said he'd tell on me if I quit."

Nancy took a moment to digest his words. "He knows about you?"

"Yes! From before. He made me do things. If I wouldn't, he'd tell."

She sipped her tea, scrutinizing him through green-tinted eyes. She

said carefully, "He made you do things? What things?"

"In his office. And the hotel."

He spilled the whole story in a torrent of released emotion, sparing

himself nothing. Weeping, he told her the shame of kneeling in front of

the man, the anguish of baring his fanny for Haskell's pleasure; and

went on to relate his grief at losing Wendy.

When at last he wound down, he was curiously relieved. He felt

drained, purged of the secret ignominy he'd been carrying so long. He

used a napkin to dry his eyes.

Nancy said, "What we won't do for a job."

"I'm ashamed."

"Don't be too rough on yourself. I know it must have been especially

hard for you, but we women all do it sooner or later. One way or the

other."

"We do?" he sniffled.

She grinned that world-brightening smile. "I'm out of a job now, so I

guess I can tell you. I loved working for you. It was a wonderful job--

it paid great, the work was interesting, and it made me feel important,

and you're a terrific boss. So I would've done almost anything to keep

it. If you'd'a come on to me, I'd of pulled my panties down in a hot

minute. Of course," she added reflectively, "the difference would be

that I'd of liked it with you."

"Nancy!" Bob couldn't help smiling. "You're still working for

me. I'll go back and apologize to Haskell. He can't afford to fire me

anyway. I don't know who he could find to handle my accounts."

Nancy said seriously, "You can't go on taking Haskell's shit. Guys

like him, it'll only get worse. He'll have gotten away with it. Next

thing you know he'll be feeling you up in front of the whole office and

you'll just be standing there letting him. So you just can't go back

there, Mrs. Miller, uh, I mean Barbara."

"Where would I get another job? He would blacklist me, he'll tell

everybody."

"That's hard. Let me think." She sipped her tea contemplatively for a

minute. "All right, I do have some advice for you. Some really good

advice. I know I'm usually a ditz, people don't take me that seriously,

and I'm not as smart as you are, but this time you have to believe me

and do what I tell you. Go to Mrs. Chard. Tell her what you told me.

Tell her about--what Picky Dicky's been blackmailing you with."

"I can't! What would she think?"

"What would she think if it came from Haskell? He'll make a huge

production out of it. Look, you couldn't be any worse off, and something

good might happen. She really likes you and she's not nearly as

conventional as she looks. She can be a good friend. The trouble with

you is you think you're doing something terribly wrong and nobody would

forgive you for it if they knew. You'll be surprised how Estelle will

take it. So go along with me, I got an idea."

Bob was chilled. Reveal his gender to Mrs. Chard! But she'd know

anyway as soon as Haskell opened his mouth. Nancy was right, he couldn't

be any worse off. What difference did it make, he was lost anyhow, and

Nancy knew Mrs. Chard better than he did. He had one thing going for

him. The house was really for Wendy. If she wasn't going to live in it,

if she was going to divorce him, he could let it go, declare bankruptcy,

and move out of state. The thought gave him the courage of despair. He

could confess his sins to one more person on the outside chance it would

do more good than harm.

"All right."

"I'll give her a call to expect us."

Teeth chattering in the brisk air, he followed Nancy to her car and

sat dejected in the passenger seat beside her.

During the drive she said, "Can I ask you something? Did you like it?

Being with a man, I mean. If it wasn't Haskell."

Bob's cheeks heated. Despite the candid disclosures he had already

made, he couldn't bring himself to confess what he really felt. "It was

humiliating," he said faintly.

"I just wondered. You know about Jimmy, he likes it both ways. I

thought, you're so feminine it's amazing you don't have any feelings in

that direction."

"You once said you didn't mind about Jimmy and his friend."

"I don't. I think it's exciting. I like to watch him being, uh, made

love to. It gets me all hot and bothered." She flashed her grin at him.

"Then I jump his bones."

Bob laughed weakly. "You are a ditz."

"Here we are."

She turned through wrought-iron gates into a long curving driveway

surrounded by sere lawns and stark oaks. A white three-story mansion

which would dwarf the new house came into view.

"Do I look all right? Without lipstick and all?"

She flicked a glance at him. "You look like about four years old,

just darling. Don't be so worried. Nothing could ever be as bad as you

think."

The maid answered their ring. Plump and middle-aged, she was

surprisingly sexy in an abbreviated black uniform with a lace apron and

cap in her hair.

"Hi Angie. This is Barbara Miller. Mrs. Chard is expecting us."

"She's in the drawing room, Miss Nancy. Right this way."

Nancy nudged her familiarly. "You look like the cat that licked up

all the cream today. Who is it, that chauffeur down the street? The one

with the buns? Shame on you."

Angie tittered. "Oh, Miss Nancy."

Tall and elegant in a pastel-blue shirtwaist that matched the color

of her eyes, Mrs. Chard waited for them in a spacious high-ceilinged

room decorated with period furniture. Paintings hung from picture

molding on the walls. Bob's gaze flickered when he recognized Mrs. Chard

and Mrs. Argentina in two portraits. They were posed nude together, and

their casual embraces revealed so much of their relationship that he

wondered at Mrs. Chard displaying them. He recognized the artist. It was

the same one who had done Nancy's portrait.

With a welcoming smile Mrs. Chard hugged them each decorously. A

light floral essence made itself known to Bob's nostrils. Despite his

nervousness he wanted to ask her its name.

She said graciously, "So glad you came. Please sit down, won't you?

Angie will bring tea."

"Thanks, Estelle," Nancy said. "but we're about tea-ed out. Got any

sherry?"

Bob admired her lack of self-consciousness. The little redhead seemed

perfectly comfortable in the presence of the dragon lady. Well, she had

no shameful secret to lay bare.

A smile touched Mrs. Chard's lips. "Oh dear, in the middle of the

day? Angie, you heard."

The maid grinned conspiratorially at Nancy and left.

Nancy said, "This is a kind of a sherry occasion."

"You said there was a problem."

"Barbara's decided to open her own office."

Bob started. His jaw dropped.

Mrs. Chard said, "Why that's marvelous! I'm so glad for you. I

thought from the beginning you were wasted in that smarmy little man's

firm."

"She quit this morning. She wants your account."

"Of course she'll have my account. I made sure my contract specified

that she would personally work on it. If she's no longer with the firm

then the contract is in default."

Bob had a sense of hurtling downhill with no brakes. What were they

talking about? His own office? How had that come up?

Angie came in with a tray and served the fortified wine while Bob

tried to regain his composure.

Mrs. Chard raised her glass. "Here's to a happy and successful

venture. But I don't understand. What's the problem you mentioned?"

Nancy looked at him as if to say, "You take it from here."

He felt himself blushing deeply.

"Er, M-Mrs. Chard--"

"Estelle."

"Th-there's something you don't know."

"Yes?"

"I-- Oh hell." He blurted, "I'm not a woman."

Mrs. Chard raised her penciled eyebrows.

"I'm a man."

"But of course you are."

"I-- What?"

"Of course you're a man."

He sought Nancy's eyes. She looked as surprised as he was.

Mrs. Chard was smiling. "My dear Barbara. Do you think I would turn

my finances over to somebody I hadn't investigated thoroughly? I'm so

glad you came to me and that this is now in the open. There needn't be

any pretense between us."

Bob's mouth hung open. "You knew?"

"Of course I knew. Now then, that's out of the way and I'm glad of

it. But my dear, you shouldn't think of yourself that way. When I look

at you I see an attractive young woman. So does everybody else. You're

the only one that thinks otherwise. Be proud of your chosen gender. Now

tell me, what does your--that is, Miss Ogden, think about your decision?

That is, to open a new office."

Nancy said, "Wait a minute, Estelle, there's still a problem. Mr.

Haskell threatened to tell all her clients about Barbara if she quit. He

knows too. He's been sexually abusing her."

"Nancy!" That was too private.

"Estelle should have all the facts."

Mrs. Chard said, "Is this true?"

Bob ducked his head.

Anger replaced the usual cheer in Nancy's voice. "He made her, uh,

fellate him. He would fire her and tell everybody about her if she

didn't. He made her let him have intercourse with her. This morning he

grabbed her ass in front of all of us."

Mrs. Chard looked shocked. "Outrageous! Oh my dear, I'm so sorry."

She patted Bob's hand. "Never mind, we'll fix things. Come with me."

They followed her to a telephone on a polished sideboard. She dialed.

"Mr. Haskell, please. This is Mrs. Chard calling. . . . Mr.

Haskell? I'm standing here with Barbara Miller. She tells me she's

leaving your employ."

She listened.

"You say there was a misunderstanding, but you're willing to let

bygones be bygones and are offering her a raise." Her eyes flashed as

she looked at Bob. "Perhaps you'd like to tell her yourself."

She held the phone out. Her reassuring nod encouraged him.

He inhaled deeply, heart fluttering. "Hello?"

"Barbara, we've been looking all over. Jane must have called your

home a dozen times. What are you doing over there? Listen, it was just a

silly misunderstanding this morning. Come on down to the office, we'll

talk."

Haskell's hateful patronizing voice infuriated him all over again,

overriding his timidity. He took a breath.

"There's nothing to talk about. Nancy and I will come down tomorrow

and collect our things--including our final paychecks."

"Don't be like that, Barbara. If I can be big enough to overlook your

actions, you can too. Let's talk."

"Talk? Where, in your office? Bent over your desk?"

There was a shocked silence.

"Mrs. Chard's not still there, is she?"

"Or on my knees in a hotel room?"

"Now listen, that didn't mean anything. Anyway, you loved it. She's

not there, right?"

"Sure she is. You want to talk to her?"

"For God's sake, you didn't say anything about--?"

"Sexual harassment in the workplace? Sorry, Dick. Your secret is out,

I'm afraid."

"Why you goddam bitch. I warned you. Lemme speak with Mrs. Chard."

"My pleasure." Bob handed the receiver back to Mrs. Chard. "He wants

to talk to you."

"Yes?"

He watched anxiously as Mrs. Chard listened at length.

At last she said, "Mr. Haskell, I do not believe I have ever heard

anything quite so contemptible in my life. That kind of scurrilous

gossip is beyond the pale." She overrode the squawks Bob heard from the

phone. "If I ever, ever, hear, from whatever source, that you

have repeated it to anyone--anyone--I shall make it a point to

exert whatever influence I have to put you out of business. To

begin with, let me remind you that Chardsville First National Bank, of

which I am chairperson and principal shareholder, owns the mortgages on

both your residence and your office building, not to mention the loan on

your new Mercedes and the margin on your stock investments. Do you

understand? You will be reduced to chasing ambulances if you are not

disbarred.

"Next, since Mrs. Miller is no longer with you, you may consider my

contract with you to be terminated. I am withdrawing my accounts

immediately. Please forward all paperwork to Mrs. Miller, she will be

handling them from now on."

Bob started crying.

"I do not doubt, with Mrs. Miller gone, that certain other of your

clients may wish to make a change. That is their decision. It should be

a decision based on self-interest and their perception of Mrs. Miller's

ability, nothing else. Do I make myself clear? If anyone should come to

me with the same tale you have just repeated, you may expect severe

repercussions."

She continued in the same frosty tone, "Yes I heard you, Mr. Haskell.

You told me Mrs. Miller is a transvestite. Now, do we have an

understanding? Yes? Excellent. Good-bye, then, Mr. Haskell."

She placed the receiver on the hook, and wordlessly handed Bob a

lace-bordered handkerchief.

Nancy patted him on the shoulder as he dried his eyes.

"Isn't she a pistol?" she said. "I told you everything would be all

right."

Bob sniffled and blew his nose. He murmured, "I'm very grateful,

Mrs., er, Estelle. I don't know how I can ever repay you."

"Good financial advice is almost impossible to find. Just keep on

doing what you're doing and I'll be amply repaid. Now, if we're done

with business, I'd like to invite you and your--that is, Miss Ogden, to

dinner next Saturday. If you're free. I have certain people I'd like you

to meet." She gave Nancy a friendly look. "You and Amy too, of course."

Nancy said, "You going to have those yummy canap�s?"

Mrs. Chard showed white teeth in a grin. "Of course!"

"Then count us in. Wait, there's one more thing. Barbara needs a

birth certificate to get a driver's license."

"Nancy, that's too much!" Bob protested.

"Hey, it doesn't do any harm to ask."

Mrs. Chard nodded approvingly. "It might take some time. We'll talk

about it on Saturday."

Bob's knees were weak as they took their leave. She had known all the

time! He couldn't get over it. And she had stood up for him to Haskell

and gave him her account. It was too much to take in all at once.

In the car he said, "Could we go over to where they're building the

new house? I have to talk to the man."

"Sure. Bet you'll be glad to have a driver's license. She'll do it,

you'll see. I told you she likes you." She smiled, "She's so sly. Did

you notice she kept saying, 'Your wife, I mean Miss Ogden?' She was

telling us she knew you and Wendy were married."

"Not for long, I'm afraid," he said ruefully, but his relief at being

out of Haskell's clutches, and the prospect of being in business for

himself, had robbed the impending separation of its emotion. In the back

of his mind there lurked the thought that if Wendy was out of the house

he could get together with Andy more often. And if Judy went with her to

Clara's Corners . . . His penis stiffened in his fragile

panties.

To take his mind off it, he did a quick calculation. He would be

getting a hundred percent of client fees, not just two-fifths. If you

didn't count office expenses, each client was now worth two and a half

clients to him. With just Mrs. Chard and Chard Industries and maybe

Marie Argentina, he would be earning more than ever.

"Nancy, you're a genius. Whatever made you think of starting my own

firm?"

"You're too modest, you know that? Like Estelle said, everyone knows

you were wasted down there. You have too much talent to be working for

somebody else."

"I'll be forever grateful."

"Don't mention it. Just protecting my job. I do have a job,

don't I?"

"For as long as you want. And a raise."

"So should I take my panties off now?"

Bob was still giggling as they approached the construction site.

"Look over there, Chard's Lake Park. That'll be our view. You can see

the lake through the trees."

"Cool."

She parked in front and they picked their way across the rough

ground, doing their best to keep heels from plunging too deep. Bob saw

Warren and Wendy standing in close conversation. They were holding

hands.

Nancy saw them too. "She didn't waste much time, did she?"

"Shush."

Wendy and Warren. Well, well.

He appraised Warren anew. He could see what she saw in him. Tall,

good-looking with nice eyes, he had an air of self-possession about him.

No matter what happened he would be equal to it. If what she wanted was

a man for her baby, she had found one.

Smiling cheerfully at Wendy's consternation and averted eyes, Bob

said "Hi! Is Andy around?"

Warren said, "He's around back, Mrs. Miller. Trouble?"

"Just the opposite. We have to make some changes, though. Warren, I

don't think you've met Nancy Dahl. Nancy, Warren Wilcox."

"Hi, Warren. Hi, Wendy. Is this your boyfriend?"

Bob said, "Nancy, be good!"

"They were holding hands."

Wendy gave Nancy a glare. Her eyes softened when she said to Bob, "It

just happened. I told Warren I was going to be free, and he proposed.

Can we talk about it later?"

Nancy was right, she hadn't wasted any time. Bob concealed his dismay

as best he could, forced another smile, and said, "Proposed! How

wonderful! You'll have to tell me all about it. But--" he fluttered his

eyes up at Warren before continuing, "I have some news too. I quit my

job."

Wendy said, "You didn't! Why on earth--?"

"I'm going into business for myself. I already have a rich client and

a secretary." Nancy grinned and curtsied. He said, "You'll see, it's

going to be fabulous. I'll tell you about it at home. Warren, would you

be a dear and tell Andy we have to make some changes in the house?"

"I'll get him."

When Andy arrived he explained about the new firm and asked if he

could delay construction on the main house to build a separate office in

the same style, connected to the house by a roofed walkway for bad

weather. "Just two rooms--no, three," he said, picturing a library for

research or a room to work in, so a fancy desk could be kept clear of

papers. No. No fancy desk. He'd have a small conference table with some

comfortable chairs instead, so it wouldn't be God on one side of a

stadium-sized desk and the humble client on the other, just two people

mutually working out a problem. "And a lavatory. And--no, that's

enough." He was getting carried away. "How soon could it be?"

Andy grinned at him and said he and Warren and the crew could

probably get it ready in three or four weeks. "No problem. Warren

finished pouring the main foundation, but we can get a new one poured by

tomorrow evening. After that it's a piece of cake. We can use the lumber

we have on hand."

"You're wonderful. I'll see you all at home."

Before starting the car Nancy shook her head at him. Admiration was

in her voice when she mimicked him, "Oh Warren, be a dear and get Andy.

Oh Andy you're so wonderful. Honestly Barbara, how do you get away with

it?" She laughed. "And who is that Andy? Yummy. Sometimes I'm

sorry I married so young."

That night he talked seriously with Wendy about Warren. She denied

any hanky-panky with him, but admitted to a strong attraction and said

she felt she knew enough about him by now, and had accepted his

proposal.

He loved Wendy, but he was in love with Andy. Maybe it wasn't

too bad a trade after all, though there was no future in it.

<H3 ALIGN=CENTER>Chapter 17</H3>

ANDY padded upstairs early so he could shower before the others woke.

For once he wanted to take his time. One bathroom wasn't really enough

for four people. The funny thing was, the new house would have a

bathroom for almost every bedroom, and plenty of hot water, but by the

time it was finished, there would probably be only him and Barbara.

Wendy would be living with Warren, and since Judy was related to Barbara

only by marriage, a marriage that was just about over, she wasn't really

Barbara's responsibility. Chances were Judy would go to Clara's Corners

with Wendy to have her baby there.

Jeez, Wendy was knocked up too. He bet Warren was responsible.

Barbara told him she didn't do it with Wendy any more, and Warren had

confided over a beer that he met Wendy in the islands last summer. And

there was that phone call.

It would be nice to be alone with Barbara. He remembered the days

before Wendy came back from the islands. They would be able to do

whatever they wanted, any time, like then, and sleep together all night.

She would be his again. Or him hers. Soaping himself down there reminded

him how much pleasure he had come to take from being fucked. He almost

didn't blush about it anymore.

He luxuriated in a long shower, knowing the water heater would have

time to recharge before the girls needed it. He dried himself, wrapped a

towel around his waist, and began to shave in lukewarm water.

She'd certainly been in a fidget about her office. He finished it in

record time, though, and she and that red-headed girl had been spring-

loaded to get out of the dining room and over to the construction site.

He dropped in a couple of times to see if he could get together with

Barbara for a quickie, but the girl was always there.

Now that he'd experienced Barbara's cock in him, anyway now that he

was less shy about it, he was always thinking about it. It still felt

perverse, that was one of the things that made it so exciting. Only he

and Barbara could know what was going on.

He finished shaving and rinsed his razor. His stomach began to churn.

The perfume of the shaving cream, a lavender scent he usually liked, was

too strong. Saliva poured from under his tongue. He kept swallowing, but

it made the roiling in his stomach worse.

He was going to be sick. What did he eat last night? Barbara's roast

beef and potatoes, nothing that the others didn't.

A spasm sent him to his knees in front of the toilet. He spewed

desperately into the bowl.

There was a rap on the door.

"Just a minute," he gasped, and vomited again.

The door opened.

"I can't wait," Wendy's voice said. "I--oh! You too. I'll--"

She broke off and he heard her throw up in the sink. He gagged and

emptied the rest of the contents of his stomach.

There must have been something wrong with dinner. He waited until he

was sure his stomach was settling, flushed the toilet, and stood shakily

to hold Wendy's forehead as she retched. His mouth tasted awful.

Wendy finished puking and ran water to rinse out the sink.

"Thanks. Morning sickness," she explained weakly. "They say it can

last a couple of months. I'm not looking forward to it. Why were you

sick? Aren't you feeling well? There's a flu going around, maybe you

shouldn't go to work today. Stay in bed and I'll bring you some dry

toast and juice."

"No, I feel okay now. It just hit me all of a sudden like."

"You don't get sick for no reason."

"I thought it might be something I ate. Whatever, it's gone now."

"Served you right."

He laughed. "Why?"

"To be sick too. You did this to me."

"Made you throw up? I thought you said it was morning sickness."

"It is. You caused it. It's your baby."

"M-my--?"

"I thought you should know."

"How--?" He gaped.

"You know how."

"I was going to say h-how do you know it was me?" He started to add,

"You've been making love with Barbara," but in the nick of time

remembered he wasn't supposed to know about her.

"Because the only time I didn't have protection was that night."

"Oh jeez."

"It's all right, Andy. I told Warren and he still wants to marry me,

so there's no problem. You're off the hook."

"Warren knows?"

"He was perfectly darling about it. He says you can be its uncle! I

just wanted to tell you so you wouldn't be surprised if there's a

resemblance between you and little Andy or Andiette."

"You're going to name it after me!?"

"No, dear, I'm just teasing. Oh Andy, I'm so happy. I was frightened

at first. I wasn't sure I wanted a baby, especially out of wedlock, but

then I got that wonderful feeling of a life growing inside me, and now I

want it more than anything. Warren too."

"Does Barbara know?"

"She was the first."

"That it's mine?"

"That too." She turned the tap. "I have to brush my teeth, my mouth

is so icky."

Jeez. Barbara hadn't said anything to him about it.

He watched while she brushed. His baby! It was weird to think

of himself as a father. He had a sneaky feeling of pride, but he was

embarrassed and scared too. He must have a responsibility to the kid,

but she said he didn't, Warren would take care of them. About all he

could do was what Warren said, be an uncle, like, come around and play

with it sometimes, bring it toys, maybe. He wondered if Warren was mad

at him about it, getting in Wendy's pants and knocking her up.

Suppose the kid turned out like him! The thought froze him. How would

he explain? Maybe he wouldn't have to. It might not be like him. Did

"dominant characteristic" guarantee it? Or if it did have two kinds of

parts, maybe he could say he didn't know anything about it, it just

happened.

He worked hard all day with his crew, finishing the rough framing and

closing the house in with plywood. In a couple of days they'd be able to

work inside in comfort, warmed by kerosene space heaters, and next month

they could put siding on and finish the rest of the outside trim. It

looked like the house would be on schedule, or even a little ahead of

time.

Warren was friendly as always and didn't say anything about the baby.

He was relieved, but wondered if he should bring it up himself. Maybe if

he could catch Warren alone when they weren't busy.

When he got home Barbara was bubbling with excitement about the

chance of picking up new clients. She was certainly up these days, being

in business for herself really made her happy. He went along with her,

listening appreciatively as she told how somebody named Bannerman was

going to put a notice about her on his club bulletin board. She wound

down finally and said "Thanks for listening, you're so supportive," and

pecked him on the cheek right in front of Wendy. He got hard in his

pants, and had to masturbate in bed before he could get to sleep, one

hand working his dong, two fingers of the other inside himself.

The next morning he was sick again.

Wendy said, "I told you there was a flu going around. You have to

take care of yourself." She patted him on the head as if he was a kid,

then grinned, "Gee, you'd think you had morning sickness too."

Late in the day, in the middle of supervising the placement of the

last sheet of plywood, he remembered her words. His mind took a bounce

to the times with Barbara, rebounded to his monthly "spells," lurched to

the realization that he hadn't had a spell for a long time. He tried to

remember the last one and couldn't.

A few minutes later he thought, No. Couldn't be, he was a guy.

He rejected the whole horrible idea.

"What's the matter, boss, you okay?"

"Huh?"

"You're white as a sheet."

"Yeah, I'm okay. Maybe I got a touch of the flu. Spike on that last

one and we'll all go home. I'll pay the extra hour."

It just couldn't be. But what if it was? Oh jeez. Nah, he was

being ridiculous. He was a guy, not a girl. Guys didn't have kids. He

had an upset stomach a couple of days in a row, so what? That didn't

mean anything. He smiled sourly. Look at him working himself up over

nothing at all.

He could see the girls wondering why he was so silent over dinner and

tried to keep up his end. Barbara fizzed over about somebody new coming

to work for her after June, Amy Dahl, her secretary's sister-in-law.

Wendy looked surprised. He did his best to join in, he was happy for

her, but he really didn't feel like talking. He was mad at himself for

letting that dumb idea get to him.

After being sick again the next morning he drove down to Dr. Goody's

clinic.

His worst fear was confirmed.

"There's no doubt about it," the doctor said. "You are pregnant.

You'll be a mother in five months. Or father." Behind the milk-bottle

lenses of his glasses his eyes twinkled. "You should deliver, let's see,

the beginning of October."

"Doc, it can't be. I'm a guy."

Dr. Goody gave him a level look. "Yes. But you have both genders'

organs. Surely you knew the female organs were fertile. Your menstrual

periods."

"They were just a pain in the neck. I didn't think--nobody ever told

me."

"I don't know if you know how intriguing this is for a medical

doctor. My late father delivered numerous cases of androgyny--you and

your father, for example, but this is a first. Until now the mothers

have all been female, or at least of the, ah, female persuasion, if you

see what I mean. Now, I'll want you to come in for regular prenatal

checkups. We don't want the least little thing to go wrong."

"Doctor, I can't have a baby."

"What? Of course you can. You're perfectly healthy and the f�tus is

doing fine. We'll almost certainly have to do a Caesarean section,

because your pelvis is too narrow for a normal delivery--but let me

worry about that."

"What would people say?"

"People? What people? Oh, I see. Yes. All right, we can fix that.

When you begin to show you can stay here at the clinic. You'll have

perfect privacy. How does that sound?"

"I don't want to have a baby! Can't you do something?"

Dr. Goody's stare was owl-like.

"Do something. You mean an abortion. I'm sorry, Mr. Joiner. Even if

you were not well into the second trimester, that living creature in

your womb has as much right to live as you do. If for some reason you

can't take care of it, you can give it up for adoption. My boy, I want

you to think very carefully about this. Take some time. This has come as

a shock, I can see that. Give yourself a chance to get over it and

examine all your options. Will you promise me that?"

Andy's disappointment showed in his voice. "Well . . .

we'll see."

"Good. I'd like to see you again in three weeks. In the meantime get

plenty of exercise, eight hours sleep, and eat a well-balanced diet. I'm

going to prescribe a special vitamin supplement."

Seething with frustration Andy drove back to Chardsville.

Barbara was his best friend, but he almost didn't tell her. He was

furious. She had done this to him.

In the next few weeks he threw himself into his work, trying to

forget what was going on inside him, pushing his crew, accelerating the

construction work. He watched his waistline carefully. Nothing seemed to

be happening at first, and he began to wonder if it had all been some

kind of false alarm. But one day he noticed that he was using a new hole

in his belt when he fastened it, instead of the one that had crease

marks of the buckle on it. From that time, day by day he saw his waist

thicken. It spurred him to ever greater efforts to complete the house as

quickly as possible. He took to staying on the site after the crew went

home, pounding nails and sawing wood until it was too dark to see. He

slept poorly at night and anxiety roused him early each morning.

He avoided being alone with Barbara even when they had the

opportunity. Her dismay was apparent; once she asked him timidly if he

was angry with her. He didn't know how to tell her the consequence of

the obscene acts she had visited on him, or even how revulsed he was at

the mere thought of accepting her down there.

He had to get rid of the baby. He came to accept the fact of it

inside him, but giving birth to it, in fact having it grow one more day,

swelling his belly, was intolerable.

Maybe Barbara knew someone. Like it or not, she was the only one he

could talk to about it--and anyway, it was her fault, she had a

responsibility to help him.

Now that he had decided to talk to her he couldn't seem to get her

alone. After a week he went over to her offices during the day and asked

if he could speak with her privately. Her secretary looked at him

curiously, but Barbara ignored her and took him into her private office.

It was furnished sparingly, the principal item of furniture being a

small conference table, capable of seating only six. "It's on purpose,"

she had explained. "Instead of God sitting on one side of a stadium-

sized desk and the supplicant on the other, like in Haskell's office, a

table like this makes us just two people mutually working out a

problem."

Well, he was here to work out a problem, all right. He sat in one of

the comfortable leather chairs.

"You sure we're private here? Nobody can hear us."

"Why, you think the room might be bugged? I'm not that important, I

don't think. What is it, Andy? You look so serious."

He plunged in. "We got a problem. You remember when I told you about

the spells I used to have?"

"Spells? Oh, yes, when I asked you about the backtracks in your

shorts. Your menstrual periods."

"Yeah, well, I haven't had a spell for a long time."

"That's good, isn't it? You hated them."

"Ever since we began doing it--that other way."

"That other--?"

She looked confused. He let the message sink in.

At last her eyes flickered. She stared.

"You're not saying-- You mean--? You--?" She caught her breath.

He nodded. "That's the problem."

"But--but that's impossible! You're . . ." Her voice

trailed off. She blinked.

"That's what I thought too. Dr. Goody said I should have known if I

had p--" he made himself say it, "--p-periods, that I was f-fertile."

"Oh God," she whispered, "what are we going to do?"

"We have to get rid of it. That's why I wanted to talk to you, to see

if you knew somebody. Who we could trust."

"Get rid of it! Have an abortion? Oh God."

She looked stunned. Her eyes dropped to his waist, snapped away,

wavered back.

She said, "H-how long--? I mean how far along is it?"

"The doctor said four months, but that was three or four weeks ago."

"Five months! Andy, you can't have an abortion now. It would be too

dangerous. They say three months is the limit. Anyway the baby is

already formed. It's a real living creature."

"Get serious. I'm a guy, I can't have a baby. Please, I'm in trouble

here. Think of something."

"I'm trying!"

He could see the wheels turning.

She said, "Can't you have it? You could stay in the house where

nobody could see. I could adopt it. After all, it's mine."

"Yeah, nobody could see except Wendy and Judy. And Wendy would tell

Warren, and Judy would tell Christ only knows who. Anyway, I been

through all that. Dr. Goody said I could stay at the clinic. That's no

good. I want to get rid of it. Maybe some doctor in Mexico or something.

You know about all that stuff. Figure something out."

"Why would I know anything about it? I never went around getting

abortions for people. Besides, that's my child you're planning on

killing."

"You should'a thought of that before you screwed me. You could'a used

a rubber, at least."

"So now it's all my fault. Oh Andy, give me some time to think. This

is like, like a bomb exploding. I have to have some time to get used to

the idea. Let's talk later. I'll think of something, I promise."

But she failed him.

As the days went by her resistance to the very idea of abortion

stiffened. She refused to look for a doctor who would induce a premature

labor--that, said Dr. Goody, was the only way left to abort the child,

in view of the time frame--and she kept after him to have the baby and

let her adopt it.

They were at an impasse until the summer evening when the house was

finished.

<H3 ALIGN=CENTER>Chapter 18</H3>

WENDY clinked champagne glasses with the others in a toast to the

completion of the new house, and tried hard to match their high spirits.

Her sadness persisted.

The remorse she felt about leaving Bob was not going to alter her

decision to become Warren's wife, but it was real nonetheless. She loved

Bob; only the fact of her pregnancy could have induced her to abandon

him. Abandon him she would, though. There was a baby to think about. But

the prospect hurt her as much as it must hurt him. A tear burned in her

eye. To conceal it she ducked her head and took a sip of the fizzy wine.

Only a few days now. The kitchen appliances were installed, and the

furniture, drapes, and rugs she and Judy had ordered would be delivered

tomorrow. Where had the time gone?

Bob was already half moved in. The office, connected to the main

house by a covered walkway, was finished two months ago. He and Nancy

had been working there ever since.

She was staggered when he told her he quit his job and was going into

business for himself. Haskell Associates had been ideal--high pay and

regular hours and an important position in the firm. She couldn't

imagine what got into him.

It turned out he was right to quit. Estelle Chard had given him all

her business; so had Marie Argentina and four or five other Haskell

clients, and he was getting rich. She wondered about the morality of

leaving a firm and taking its clients with him. She guessed it was okay;

Bob wouldn't do anything unethical.

Success was good for him. Look at him, absolutely sparkling in a new

chemise that showed his figure to advantage. She saw Warren's sidelong

examination of his bosom and had a momentary pang of jealousy. But

Warren knew Bob's true gender; he was only looking; that's what men did.

Another reason for Bob's high spirits was his acquisition of the

long-awaited birth certificate. Estelle called his office this morning

to let him know the job was done. Nancy insisted on driving him

immediately to the town clerk's office to get a certified copy. When he

examined it, he said, it was his real birth certificate; somebody had

broken into the records and indetectably altered the name and sex of the

baby. Everything else was the same, footprints and all. He went straight

down to the motor vehicle bureau and applied for a license. He'd take

his test next week. He'd be impossible.

Andy was a bit sober and distracted this evening. He hadn't been his

usual bouncy self lately. Maybe he, too, was feeling this was the end of

something. With the money Bob would pay him for the construction he

could find a place of his own.

Big-bellied in her seventh month of pregnancy, Judy held her glass

out to Warren for a refill. Wendy could see she was already tipsy,

laughing without restraint at something he said. She wished she wouldn't

drink so much; it couldn't be good for the baby. Judy had quit for a

while after she filed for divorce, but as her pregnancy advanced the

pressures seemed to build up and she started again. Wendy could

understand the stress, a single mother and all that.

It was Andy's child--he had made them both pregnant. The corner of

her mouth gave a quirk. What a triumph for a nineteen-year-old! She

supposed he felt as macho as could be. Well, he was macho. Not in

a bad way, like men who thought a woman's place was in the bedroom and

kitchen, but just plain manly. Bossing a construction crew around had

made him grow up quickly.

She emptied her glass, bubbles tickling her nose, and wandered over

to the window to the back yard. The maple tree's leaves rustled in the

night, and the air was fragrant with spring. She would miss this house.

It had been her pride and joy, though she knew Bob had always seen it as

a stepping stone.

"Everybody listen. I have an announcement."

She turned at Bob's clear tones. Flushed and pretty, he glowed with

whatever surprise he had in mind.

He said, "Not an announcement, exactly. More like a business

proposition. Andy and Warren, you work pretty well together, don't you?"

"Sure."

"So why not keep on? Here's what I have in mind. The financial

management business is going well, so I'm going to have some extra

capital even with the expense of the house. What if we form a

partnership for a construction business? Not just Warren, masonry

person, and Andy, carpentry person, but a full-service house-

construction company that can bid on big profitable jobs. I might even

have a customer already. One of my clients--you met Mrs. Gunderson, she

came to see the house--wants to build a home in Chardsville. I'd put up

the money and you'd do the contracting. I can do the books."

Andy looked at Warren. "What do you think?"

He got that cute dumb-looking "thinking it over carefully" expression

of his, and finally said slowly, "It's a temptation. But I'd have to say

no. It's too much of a free ride. If I had the money to buy in, that

would be different. No, it's a nice idea, Barbara, and thanks, but I

can't see my way clear just yet."

Bob's face fell. "Wait a minute." he said, "You'd be doing all the

work. That's the point."

"Yeah, well, see, that's what I'd be doing anyway. I mean if you got

money you can always hire somebody to do the job. If you don't, then you

work for somebody who does. See? If you had a construction company you

could hire me and Andy."

"But I don't know anything about construction."

"So you hire somebody. You don't make 'em a partner."

"He's right," Andy said. "Let's take a rain check. If I can get my

own business up and running, maybe I'll be able to put aside enough to

go in with you. Besides, I got some problems right now that I gotta work

out."

"I want to talk with you about that later," Bob said. "All right, how

about this?"

Wendy thought he looked utterly winsome and earnest, and he wasn't

giving an inch. No wonder he did so well with clients.

"I owe Andy for building the house, he can settle up with Warren, but

there will be plenty left over. I know. I wrote out his final checks for

the workmen and suppliers last night, and did a quick profit-and-loss

statement. Andy's got enough money right now if he doesn't have to spend

it on living expenses.

"Warren, you have a house in Clara's Corners. If you mortgage it to

the hilt, or better yet if you sell it, you'll have the necessary

capital."

"Wait a minute, I can't sell the house. We still have to live

somewhere." He flicked a glance at Wendy.

"That's the beauty of it. We can all live in the new house!

It's much too big for just one or two people anyway."

Warren laughed. "Barbara, that's a free ride too."

"Not if you look at it that we've all been so close we're almost a

family."

He stepped close to him and sweetly held each side of his shirt

collar as if he were going to shake him or kiss him. Warren edged back

uncomfortably. He knew about Bob, but Bob didn't know he knew. Looking

up at him, helpless female to big strong man, Bob said, "Come on, Warry,

families live together."

Warren contained himself, then burst out laughing. "Hey, take it easy

on me. What do you think, Andy? She's making a weird kind of sense. We

have been kind of like a family. You been living here and so's Patty

most of the time. Also, you did all that extra work like milling the

door and window moldings instead of getting cheap store-bought stuff and

wouldn't take pay for it, just the materials, remember?"

"Yeah, and you did all that extra outside stuff, driveway,

landscaping, the flagstone patio. But I don't know . . ."

Bob said, "Good, then it's settled. Warren and Wendy can have one of

the master bedrooms and Andy and Judy can have their own rooms. We'll

split up the chores."

Warren and Wendy. Bob was putting his public seal of approval on

their marriage.

She had reservations. There was plenty of room, but it would be

awkward, living with her new husband in the same house with her ex.

Still, they were all grown-ups, and Bob and Warren were so easy-going it

might work out.

She hated Warren's house, anyway. It was Darlene's. And that awful

Mrs. Higgins next door did nothing but spy and pry. When Warren glanced

inquiringly at her she made a little nod of agreement.

Warren said, "I kind of like the idea of a big family. What do they

call it, an extended family? Fathers, mothers, aunts, uncles, cousins,

like that."

Wendy smiled. Her baby and Patty--and Judy's baby--would have lots of

people to take care of them.

Judy was staring behind her. The other three followed her eyes.

Wendy turned.

Patty stood in the doorway peach-naked, a sleepy fist rubbing her

eyes. Her little penis dangled in full view.

Wendy jumped up.

The child saw her, smiled radiantly, and held out her arms.

Wendy rushed over and snatched her up, holding her close to conceal

the shameless organ.

She gave Warren a despairing look and glared at them.

"Well, what are you staring at? Haven't you ever seen a little girl

without a diaper?"

"She has a--"

"Never mind!" she said fiercely. "That's the way she was born. It's

perfectly normal and she's going to grow up to be a beautiful woman. Oh

Warren, I'm so sorry." She couldn't see for the shimmer of tears in her

eyes. "I forgot to put up the sides of the crib."

"Hey, take it easy. If we're gonna be a family," he looked at Bob and

Andy, "I guess we shouldn't have secrets from each other. These guys are

okay, they're not going to say anything."

He eyed Judy uncertainly.

She was clearly befuddled, but shook her head no.

Bob and Andy looked at each other with surprising composure.

Andy said cautiously, "What, does she have both kinds of things?"

"Yeah. I'm pretty sure she's gonna end up being a girl, though."

"No kidding? A girl? Except for--?" Then, an undertone of excitement

in his voice, "So who does she take after, her mother . . . ?"

Hanging in the air was, ". . . or you?"

Wendy said, "It's none of your business. You leave Warren alone."

Warren said evenly, "Oh, hell. It's nothing to be ashamed about. No,

it's from my side of the family. We keep it quiet because people would

get all bent out of shape."

"Yeah," Andy said with conviction.

"It's called androgyny," Bob said.

Warren looked surprised. "That's right. You know about that?"

Bob held Wendy's eyes. "We all have secrets, I suppose, some bigger

than others."

It made her ashamed. He had the biggest secret of all, and she had

spilled it to Warren. When Bob held his slender arms out for the baby,

she hesitated only for an instant before letting him take her.

He cuddled her against his ample bosom. "There's my sweetheart."

Tugging gently at her thing until she giggled and squirmed, he cooed,

"Is that why Aunt Wendy never wanted me to change your diaper? Huh?

Aren't grown-ups dumb? What do you think?"

There it was again, that unabashed motherliness that had captured her

heart so long ago. She should have known better than to worry that he

might ever be less than kind to a helpless creature.

Andy said to Warren. "Your side of the family, huh? So you're like

that too." He had a peculiar intent expression.

Warren looked away. "Used to be."

Bob peeped at Wendy through his lashes. "You knew about this?"

"Of course I knew. How could I change her without knowing?"

Andy persisted, "Used to be. What, did you have an operation?"

Warren gave him an intent look. "What made you think of that?"

"Just seemed reasonable."

"Yeah?" Warren sounded skeptical.

Fist in the small of her back, Judy waddled over. "I want to see. Oh,

look, she's just darling! Gosh, I'm jealous. I wish I had

one. What fun!"

"Judy, you are a total first-class nut. Careful," Bob said as the

baby's expression changed. "Don't pull on it so hard, you'll hurt her.

Oh!" Judy flinched as a stream of urine splashed into her face.

"Wooty," Patty said.

Bob started laughing. "Serves you right. Oh, ick," he said when a

spreading darkness discolored his new dress, "she's peeing the other way

too." His laughter pealed helplessly. "Come on, help me with her diaper.

We can clean up."

Wendy started to go with them but changed her mind. They both knew

perfectly well how to change a diaper, and she wanted to be on hand if

Andy got out of line with Warren. He had certainly been very insistent.

Andy was silent. Hands clasped behind him he shuffled to the window

and stared out into the night.

She caught Warren's eye. He gave her a wink and a shrug of his

shoulder. The confession of his and his daughter's differentness

didn't seem to bother him. She smiled. He was a dear.

Andy turned to her. He cleared his throat.

"You knew about all this? About Warren? He told you."

She moved to Warren's side. "We're going to be married. Yes."

"What'd you think?"

"Nothing! There's nothing wrong with it, I said."

"I know." He averted his eyes. "This is really tough." He looked as

if he were making up his mind about what to say. "See, I'm like that

too." His quick glance at Warren was less than direct. "Maybe we're

related, I don't know. We probably are, somewhere back there. Because

I'm the same way as you except--I didn't have an operation. Couldn't

afford it." His face got red. "In fact I--I got a problem because of

that. I don't know how it happened, well, I do, but I wasn't expecting

it. I mean, I'm a guy, for God sakes. I thought you could maybe

help me out with a name or something. I mean, you prob'ly have a doctor

or someone you could give me a lead to. See--I got caught. I gotta get

rid of it."

Wendy stared at him, trying to understand. He was like Warren used to

be? Like Patty? But he was so tall and masculine. To accept the anomaly

of a penis and minuscule testicles on her baby girl wasn't hard. They

were small, harmless, no more than an eccentricity, really. But Andy!

She had been to bed with the solid-muscled young man. He had given

her a baby.

Yet now he had as much as declared that, like Patty, he had a vagina.

How could she not have known? He hadn't taken off his pajama bottoms,

that's why. She wondered if Judy knew. He had lived with her for a

couple of weeks before Leon returned from San Cabr�n, and who knew what

might be going on between them still, despite her pregnancy and despite

the fact he was supposed to be sleeping on the couch. But she hadn't

said anything. Maybe she didn't know.

Warren smiled, "You're gonna have a baby, huh? I thought you

were getting a pretty good potbelly for a young guy."

"Cut it out, that's not funny. Do you know a doctor you can trust or

don't you?"

"My gosh, lemme think." He held Wendy to him. "Why do you have to get

rid of it?"

"Well, because!" Andy was surprised. "I'm a guy, I can't have a baby.

Besides, what would I do with it?"

"What anybody else does--have it, and raise it. I'm not going to ask

who's the father, I think I know, but I'm sure he would help."

"That's not it. I'm a guy!" He sounded beside himself.

It began to catch up to her. Baby. The boy said he was pregnant.

Impossible. Once or twice she had let herself imagine Patty grown up, a

fertile woman but with a penis, little more than the kind of titillating

fantasy she pretended when she was on top of Bob. For this boy, this

man, to have a uterus and a baby growing in it was beyond

acceptance.

I think I know who the father is, Warren said. Who? One of the

workmen? Trying to picture Andy having sexual relations with a man was

outside the scope of her imagination. Yet . . . if all this

was true, if he was like Patty, and if he was pregnant, then he must

have.

A tiny tentative inkling that Bob might know about Andy, and that

they might have gotten together, trickled into her mind. With a rush it

became a certainty.

Oh dear God, it was Bob. It had to be. She boggled. Her world spun.

Everything turned upside down. She could accept Bob in skirts and with

breasts because she had made him do it. She could even accept the

femininity of his appearance and demeanor; she had grown used to it. She

could not accept the thought of him going to bed with another man.

Yet--if you only saw them as others did, a pretty young woman and a

handsome youth, having sex together would all seem perfectly normal. But

that was backwards.

Her husband, her almost-ex husband, had made love to a--not a

woman, you could never think of Andy as a woman, whether he had a

vagina or not--to another man.

Warren said, "Slow down, let me get hold of this. Hot damn! You're

the first I ever met except for my mother. I wonder if we are

related somewhere back there. But you know, maybe there are some things

you haven't thought of. I had a hysterectomy when I was fourteen, they

took out everything. It wasn't my idea, it was my father's. He got it in

his head I would be able to lead a normal life. You know, go out for

sports and take showers with the guys and make out with the girls, like

that.

"I'm older now and I've learned some things since then. Like what's

important and what's not.

"Trying to blend in with everybody else isn't. Bringing new life into

the world is.

"I envy you. You didn't get the operation, you're going to have a

baby. That's the greatest thing you'll ever do. You should'a seen how I

envied Darlene when little Patty was growing inside her. She made a big

production out of it, always complaining, but I figured she was

entitled, it was nothing compared to the great thing she was doing.

"I could kick myself for not standing up to my old man and letting

him have me spayed. Don't make the same mistake I did."

"But--"

"Think about it, Andy. You got a chance to do something terrific,

better than building a house. Don't blow it."

Andy shook his head stubbornly. "I can't. Everyone would see me.

They'd know. Besides, what would I do with a baby? How could I take care

of it?"

"I would." Bob came in with Patty in his arms. He was blushing

furiously. "I'd take care of it."

Warren said, "You heard?"

Judy headed for the champagne.

Wendy watched fascinated as Bob went to Andy and looked up at him.

"That's what I wanted to speak to you about. Could we . . . go

upstairs for a little while?" His red lips trembled. "To talk?"

The baby waved her arm feebly, almost asleep. Wendy took her from Bob

and sat on the couch, still watching.

"Please?" He put his hand on Andy's forearm, for all the world like a

gently pleading woman.

Andy shrugged and followed him to the stairs.

Wendy waited until she heard the bedroom door close to say, "Did I

hear right? Andy's going to--? It's too fantastic."

Judy said, "I don't get it.."

She was obviously at a loss.

Warren explained patiently, "Andy and me, we're what they call

androgynes. Hermaphrodites. We were born with both kinds of parts. Men's

and women's," he spelled out when he saw she was still confused.

"Morphadites!" she exclaimed.

"Yeah. But you gotta understand it's not something bad. It's just--

different, like Patty. You don't think she's so bad, do you?"

"She's darling! But--I mean, she's a little girl!"

"Yeah, I'm sure you're right. But we won't really know until she

grows up. There's always a chance she might develop into a guy."

"That's terrible."

"Why so terrible? Andy and I did."

She shook her head, bewildered. "You were little girls?"

Warren laughed. "No! That's what I'm saying. We could go either way.

See, before puberty you should think of the kid as being just a child,

you don't know what it is yet. Mostly we're raised in boy's clothes

because the, uh, male parts are more noticeable. Then if the kid turns

out to be a girl, the family might have to move away and start over with

a daughter instead of a son. The only reason Patty's in dresses is I'm

pretty sure how she'll be."

"Oh."

"Anyhow, even though Andy looks like a guy, he can still have

a baby. That's what's happening. He's going to have a baby, if he

doesn't go crazy and get rid of it. Get it?"

"Oh." Her brow wrinkled in thought. "Get rid of it? Have an abortion?

That would be a sin."

Wendy thought so too. She knew there were many good reasons for

having an abortion, but for the most part believed that killing an

unborn child was wrong. Not that she could blame somebody whose

pregnancy was the result of rape.

Andy and Bob came back down. Andy's arm was around Bob's waist. Their

faces shone.

Warren took one look at them and said, "Well, it looks like she

talked you into it. You're going to keep the baby, huh?"

Andy said shyly, "Yes. Barbara says I can stay at Dr. Goody's

clinic." He stopped.

Bob nudged him. "Tell them."

A rich scarlet that matched Bob's blush overspread his cheeks. "We're

going to get married."

"Married!" Wendy exclaimed. Her Bob was going to marry another man.

No, he was Barbara now, and she had said it herself: a woman

needs a man. For an inflamed moment she pictured them in bed together,

Bob lifting his nightie to push inside the other man. Did he touch

Andy's penis? Oh God, what she wouldn't give to see. Then she thought,

It's the answer. She didn't have to worry about leaving him, unable to

form a relationship with either man or woman. Until now she had been

halfway hoping he and Judy would get together, but even then it would

just be two women living together.

Bob said, "Really married. With my handy-dandy birth certificate we

can be married by any justice of the peace." He gave Andy a mischievous

look. "Are you sure you want to go through with it? You'll have to put

up with me a long time."

Andy smiled weakly.

Wendy said, "Why Barbara, that's wonderful! I'm so happy for

you both."

"It's great!" Warren said. "Congratulations. Hey, dump the champagne,

where's the beer? Let's have a real celebration."

Bob said timidly, "Andy thinks you know about me. Do you?"

"Oh Barbara, I'm sorry," Wendy interjected. "I told him. it just came

out one day."

"No, it's okay, I'm glad. It's all in the family, isn't it? Anyway,"

he said, a twinkle peeping through his lashes, "What's one more?

Everybody seems to know--Mrs. Chard, Nancy, Amy, Wendy and Judy

. . . I might as well give up."

His lively glance fell on Judy. "What's the matter?"

Tears were running down her cheeks.

He put his arm around her shoulders. "Don't. Don't cry. Please

don't."

"I'm s-so happy for you. But his baby will have both of you

and Wendy's will have her and Warren, but mine will only have me. I'll

be a s-single parent," she wailed.

"Sh, sh. We were talking about that. We figured out the timing. It's

Andy's baby, isn't it? He's not going to abandon you. He'll be the

father and we'll be the mothers. We'll all be together in the new house,

and the baby won't want for any love or attention" he said soothingly.

"Oh-h." Her tear-stained face brightened. She sniffled in Bob's arms,

"I w-was feeling so alone."

Wendy said, "Alone! You'll never be alone, Sis. Barbara's right,

you'll have all of us." She patted Judy's swollen belly. Her own eyes

were blurred with unshed tears.

Warren lifted a humorous eyebrow at Andy. "Women get very emotional,"

he grinned.

Andy returned his smile, but the color on his face deepened. He said

awkwardly, "So about me and Barbara, about us getting married. You

really think it's all right?"

"It's terrific. Hey," he said with perceptive sympathy, "we can go

either way, you know. If you'd've grown breasts when you were a kid

you'd expect it. So what's the difference?"

Wendy said, "It's perfect. It's the perfect solution. But--" Her

laughter rang. "Do you realize how strange it all is? Andy's

going to bear the child, but Barbara, who's the father, is going

to be the mother! And the mother is going to be the father! I

can't stand it, I've got to sit down, I'm going to pee my panties."

Warren got a comical look. "Put that way--" he chuckled, then

guffawed until tears came to his eyes.

Their laughter was infectious. Bob and Judy started giggling, and a

moment later Andy laughed hilariously.

They roared until their sides hurt; and it only took a "The mother is

the father, and the father is the mother," to break them

up all over again.

To be continued. Constructive <a href="mailto:LXJE46A@prodigy.com">comments</a> welcome; flames assigned to

the incinerator.

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