{VickieTern} NEW TG:New Hairdo 1/3 femdom F/m m/M F/M

Though people in this story mean well, or claim they mean well,

they do things you may think ought not to be done. So please

protect the underaged from reading about them. If you are underaged,

please protect yourself.

New Hairdo

by Vickie Tern

I know I looked especially nice as the Maitre d' seated us. I was

wearing my black sleeveless shift with silver-threaded tracery, the

one that glides past just a suggestion of my hips and flows to a

flirty hem just above my knees. Simple silver jewelry, including

the drop earrings April gave me for my last birthday. Elegant,

restrained, perfect. I felt the quiet pride any girl feels who's

confident she looks her best.

On top of it all my brand new hairstyle. You know what they say,

change your hairdo and change your life. Well, I liked my life,

but even so, April had asked Joanne to cut it a lot shorter, so

Joanne had shaped it radically in back and then fluffed it up into

a cute flip. She'd promised me it would be a lot easier to care

for than my old big-haired, down-to-the-shoulders layered cut. I'd

never again need to set my hair with rollers when I want people to

notice me, she'd said. Just blow-dry and go, and when you think of

it, comb it with your fingers. It was the kind of cut women favor

after their second or third baby, when their families demand all

their time and they can't fuss, women who nevertheless want to look

devastatingly feminine. And she'd given me bangs. I'd never

before worn bangs, but they made my face smaller, more pixieish.

Joanne told me my new look was fabulous. I wasn't so sure at

first, turning my head from side to side in her salon mirror. It

didn't seem to be me at all, but someone more pert and capable,

cute but with her own mind, an independent woman with her own

goals.

It was all rather sudden. April had called my office only a few

hours earlier and told me Joanne had just found an opening in her

schedule, and I should leave work early and stop by her salon to

get the sassy new hairstyling she'd wanted for me. "Then go home

and make yourself beautiful, sweetie," she'd told me, "so I can

admire the whole new you. When I get home I'll change too and

we'll have an intimate little candlelight supper at Le Cirque. So

change to something dressy. I've made the reservations already.

I'm dying to see how you'll look. Also, I have something wonderful

to tell you."

I'd had to push a lot of appointments into next week to get to

Joanne's in time for my appointment and then get home and get

ready. I was thinking that whatever April had on her mind, it

better be worth it. In fact I was still figuring out how to handle

next week's schedule when April arrived home, called for an

immediate display of the new me, told me I was gorgeous, and then

told me to grab my purse, we had to leave for the restaurant right

away.

It was still early, the last traces of sunset visible behind the

bank tower when I gave the car to the valet parking attendant and

smiled at him to encourage him to be careful with it. He smiled

back. I still hadn't gotten used to the notion that young men are

eager to please any woman who looks well turned out. They're so

impressionable. And the night was still young. I wondered what

April had in mind for us afterward. She'd been getting me

accustomed to flirting with men lately, taking me to bars with

small combos playing dance music, showing me how to accept

invitations from men and then laugh and accept their flattery while

I danced in their arms, April watching us from our booth and

sipping her one drink. She wanted me to feel comfortable with

them, she said, though she herself always refused invitations when

asked. She just didn't feel sociable, she'd say. But we'd giggle

delightedly enough afterward, when I'd tell her what seductive line

this man or that man had tried on me, and she gave me even more

pointers about fending them off and yet still seeming attractive to

them. It was harmless entertainment for both of us. She called it

my "finishing school."

I forgot about work when we entered Le Cirque's exquisite little

waiting area, off the rather grand lobby of the our best hotel An

hour's pampering at the beauty salon is supposed to be restorative,

I know, but my mind had been so busy with rescheduling that I

hadn't even bothered to watch as Joanne sculpted my new style, nor

had I listened to her chatter about it, "coy but not too innocent,

you'll see" I think she said. Nor had I heard anything at all

about who'd gotten divorced or seduced since my last visit. I

glanced again at April while we waited for the Maitre d' to find

her name on his list. She was looking straight ahead with a

strange look on her face, solemn yet exultant, like a cat preparing

to pay a condolence call on a canary.

Her mind was partly elsewhere, but she tried to seem attentive now

and then. "That's a new design for your eye make-up too, isn't it,

honey?" she asked. "That wide-eyed, little girl look? It does

look fetching with your new hairdo. Contrasty. Joanne's idea?"

"No, mine," I told her. "I thought with my new hair style I should

change everything else too. Become altogether a new woman." I

flourished both hands with a little wrist flip, to signal a display

completed and waiting for applause.

"Yes, I suppose," April replied. I wasn't sure she'd heard me.

Then, "Yes, that's what I had in mind for you too, dear."

We were seated at an intimate little corner table, knees tucked

under snowy tablecloths, napkins decorously draped on our laps,

leaning toward each other, fingernails and silverware gleaming, our

dinners ordered and our second cocktails just arrived, when April

finally dropped her bomb.

"Comfy?" she asked?

"Yes, of course, honey. Why do you ask?"

"Because I'd like you to be. I'm about to say something to you you

won't like, but I have to say it, and I don't want you to feel any

needless discomfort."

She used words like "discomfort" to her patients when she knew the

surgical procedures she was about to perform were painful. The

word helped to minimize their suffering in her own mind.

"Out with it!" That's what I'd say to clients when they waffled

about something they didn't quite want to tell me. It sounds

abrupt, but it shocks them into talking and saves time. I suppose

April's professional language prompted me to reply in kind. She

once told me that no woman would ever be that inconsiderate. A

woman would always let a person say whatever needs saying in

whatever time he or she -- usually she -- needs to say it. It's

only men who are more direct. Dressed the way I was, looking the

way I knew I looked, I knew immediately that the statement was rude

and regretted it. April meant to be kind.

"I'm sorry, April," I apologized, patting my lips with my napkin,

thinking vaguely that I should have had Joanne re-do my nails for

tonight, to use color rather than the clear polish I wore weekdays

at the office. My mind still wasn't fully concentrated.

"Don't be, for once. What I have to say is also harsh."

"Must you say it, then?"

"Yes."

I waited.

"Les, this will come as a shock to you. I know you've done

everything you could to please me. Gone along with my every whim.

So please understand that this isn't your fault. It isn't

anybody's fault, I suppose. It's just the way it is."

"The way what is?"

I began to feel uneasy. She'd called me "Les." When I'm dressed

and made up to look nice she always calls me "Leslie" or "darling

girl," so I'll feel relaxed and reassured. But this was "Les."

The name people called me at the office. My business identity. My

male name. She hadn't used "Les" in a long time, several years,

not since I'd agreed to live at home with her as a woman, not a

man. To be a woman everywhere except my office.

"Les, I'm divorcing you. I've already started the proceedings.

You'll get your formal notice in another day or two."

"What!!"

She sat silent now. It was said. She watched my eyes, done up in

that brand new baby-stare look. She knew how to look through them

and read my real feelings. She also knew my "What!!" was filler,

a stall for time while I felt for a suitable response. Of course

I'd heard her.

She also knew I knew that whenever she reached a point of decision,

further argument was useless. That decisiveness was what made her

a superb surgeon, one of her colleagues had once told me. She'd

first consider every contingency, then decide what to do, and then

do it and never look back!

"Why? Why, April?" My heart sank down deep into my gut. My

tummy, I corrected myself. I could scarcely breathe!

"Why, Leslie? Why? My dear, just look at you!"

I was bewildered. "Look at what?" I asked. She glanced around,

and I realized I'd better lower my voice. That that was why she'd

chosen this place, this time, to tell me. "Look at what, April?"

I repeated, in a softer, more appropriate tone. "I'm beautiful.

You said so yourself just now, with my new hairdo and all. And I

am, I can feel it! I'm what you've wanted me to be!" She didn't

respond. "April honey," I added, as if to attract her attention.

I realized I was beginning to plead, and that pleading was

pointless.

"That's true, Leslie. And that's the problem. You're no longer a

man!" She spoke as if to a child, explaining the obvious. "I

married a man, and you're now something else. So it's time we went

our separate ways."

"I'm what you made me!" A desperate cry, also a little indignant.

"You remember? Arguing and urging and pleading for me to consent

to this almost as soon as we were married? For how long, over a

year it was, until I agreed to the first step, I still remember it,

lacy panties and clear lipstick, that was all you wanted, that I

wear them until they were second nature! Then a bra, just to feel

what that was like. Then hormones to help fill it out. Always,

with each new step you were so happy, how could I deny you the

next? And for the past two years living with you as a woman full

time, exactly what you wanted all along, in a neighborhood where

none of our neighbors think I'm anything else! So I'm a man now

only at the office. Otherwise I'm what you've always wanted!

You've said so hundreds of times!"

"Well, yes, Les, sweet Leslie, but you're wrong about one thing.

You're no longer a man even at your office. No more than when

you're in bed with me. You haven't been for at least a year. Your

secretaries all know about you. They're only waiting for you to

say it, to tell them you're now a woman, not a man, so they can

congratulate you and welcome you as one of their own kind, one of

the girls, even if you are their boss."

That was crushing news! "But how could they know?" I asked her,

subdued. "I've been so careful! You told them?"

"You know I'd never do that! It wasn't necessary to do that!

There's no mystery -- just look at yourself! Your jaw and your

nose trimmed by surgery to look diminutive, dainty! Your eyebrows

raised, and your lips puffed just a bit. Even without make-up you

look adorable. No hair anywhere apart from what was heaped up on

your head until today. Your chest thrust way out -- you can't hide

breasts as large as yours, you know. When your men's shirts pulled

and strained I had to put you into women's shirts cut for a woman's

figure. Did you think no one would notice those Peter Pan collars,

and darts, and gores, let alone the flaps that button the wrong

way? Or the lacy tracery of your bras and slips under the shirt

material?"

She leaned forward. "Especially your hairdo, that bouffant look

you wore until today, the one you fancied when we first decided to

go out in public? No, I'll be honest, I fancied it for you then.

That was a dead giveaway. Do men put their hair up in large

rollers every morning, then come in with it combed and curled and

spritzed up to form an alluring halo framing their faces?

Unmistakeable, honey!"

"And the way you move now? Not that you swish, nothing so vulgar.

But so neatly! So daintily! Always so ladylike! The way you

drape your wrists when you're comfortable, or wave them in the air

when you think you're you're being persuasive, forgetting

altogether that your hands and nails now look more slender and

attractive than any man's hands and nails ever could!"

"Then you yourself decided that a touch of eyeliner at work would

make your eyes seem more dramatic, remember, and you had to pencil

in your eyebrows when you tweezed away too many hairs! And above

all, when you decided you'd wear seed pearls or large danglers in

your earlobes instead of small hoops, the kind men with pierced

ears wear? In both earlobes? I didn't want to say anything when

you lost perspective and began doing those things, but you did want

to, and by then there was no mistaking what you'd become anyhow.

Whatever did you think people would think?"

She sat back again, her expression incredulous as she saw that it

was all news to me!

"I just wanted to look nice," I said lamely. Then, "April, has

anyone ever mentioned any of this to you?"

"Of course. Your secretary was concerned. She told me everyone at

the office was concerned, because they all care about you. You're

a very nice man. Or you once were, she said, but now you're more

a very nice lady. I told her not to worry, that you'd explain

yourself to everyone in your own good time."

This was distressing. Also a little bit liberating. It was

sometimes stressful, trying to maintain a normal appearance at the

office. To no avail apparently.

"Do you think my clients know?" I asked, worried?

"Of course, honey. Your secretary told me the new ones all assume

you're a woman. A little butch, with your voice, but they figure

the woman you live with likes it. That I like it."

There was nothing more to say about that. April sighed and

returned to her core revelation.

"I'm really sorry, Leslie sweetheart. I truly am. But the fact

is, I no longer want to be married to a woman. I did want to, but

not any more. So I'm leaving you. Tonight, as a matter of fact.

When we're finished here, we'll leave here separately. You'll go

home, and I've made other arrangements."

This was utterly stunning! April had been my life for five years!

Longer! We were always together, every spare moment, nearly.

Especially as I became her "dearest girlfriend." We shared so many

more interests than most married couples. Shopping, styles,

getting our nails done, theater, gossiping about people at work,

everything! And now, soon, nothing?

I sat there with my wrists still draped. I wondered what I might

conceivably say to change her mind, but I was sinking deeper and

deeper into depression. I knew there was nothing to say. But at

least I could try to understand it. What had gone so terribly

wrong?

At that moment the waiter brought our appetizers. Crab salad for

April -- she loved sea food. Just a small chicory salad for me, no

dressing. As always I was concerned to maintain a girlish figure.

I'd fought to get down to a size twelve from my original eighteen,

and as I got more svelte April had given away my old clothing, to

box me in so there'd be no letting down or turning back.

Thw waiter looked at me. I must have looked just terrible, because

he asked, concerned, "Is something wrong, ma'am? Can I help you in

some way?"

That broke my spiral downward. I forced a smile and looked up at

him. "No, dear, thank you, I'll be just fine! It's nice of you to

ask, though." He left, reluctantly.

"See?" April commented, a little amused by the exchange. "Spoken

like a true woman. Gentle and considerate. You'll do just fine

without me, honey."

"I'm the way I am!" I said. My voice tightened, a little angry,

though I tried to keep it low. "I'm what you wanted! The way you

made me! In all these years, yours! Absolutely faithful to you!"

"I know, dear. You're what I wanted. You indulged me, and worked

very hard to achieve it, and gave up so much, and I'll always be

grateful. You'll always be my dream girl!"

"But if I'm now what you wanted, why don't you want me?" Near

despair, but still in my hushed, ladylike voice.

"That's a good question," April replied. She tasted her crab

salad, then set the fork down and again looked gently but very

firmly at me. "It's difficult to explain. Understand, sweetheart,

I still do want you the way you are, as a friend. A good friend.

My dearest friend. You're a far more fascinating woman than you

were a man. And I think you're much happier now too. More serene

and relaxed, even more playful." She smiled. "Certainly

prettier." She smiled at me this time, inviting my assent. "And

you know you love making yourself pretty! So I really don't have

any regrets, leaving you now, and I don't think you should either."

She settled back and looked serious again. "You see, honey, I've

changed my mind about what I want from a marriage. That's the

nearest explanation I can come up with. You were a wonderful man

for agreeing to become my even more wonderful best girlfriend

instead of merely my husband. You've been wonderful about all of

it. But lately I've been thinking that there's something missing

from my life. Male companionship. Being with a guy, living with

the decisiveness, even the feistiness of a guy. Anticipating his

moves, primping before a date so he'll find me attractive, special.

Flirting with him, so there's no doubt in his mind at all that I

also find him attractive, that I may have something in mind later

for the two of us."

She smiled to herself, and took another bite of crab. "And then

there's that part too. What happens later. Feeling his strength

embrace me even while it pushes deep into me. I miss that too!

More and more, lately!"

"April, we discussed that! Years ago now! When you started my

hormones, those heavy doses you told me would grow titties in no

time, but probably weaken my erections, and they did, and it did!

When I couldn't penetrate you any more you remember you told me not

to give it another thought, you preferred sex the way women have

sex together. And you made such passionate love to my new body,

kissing my nipples and rolling my breasts around in your hands. I

was in heaven, but so were you! I remember how delighted you were

that I'd responded so 'generously' you called it, that I'd gone to

a C-cup inside of a year, and it was all me!"

She nibbled at her crab, and said nothing.

"How many times did you tell me you much preferred me kissing and

licking you down there, so very sweetly you said, while your

orgasms rose slowly, and exquisite feelings rose with them, and

then finally overwhelmed you! You loved it that I couldn't invade

you, that there was no threat of thrusting to ruin the mood. You

said that so often!"

I paused. April said nothing. She just looked at me

sympathetically, and took another forkful and chewed it slowly.

Obviously she knew I had to vent, and she was allowing me to vent.

All I was doing was venting. There was nothing she intended to do.

There was nothing to be done.

I noticed that her lips were closed, as always when she chewed,

except when she opened them to take in a teeny bite with a flash of

teeny white teeth. I saw that her lips were made up perfectly, and

with a stray thought I hoped mine were too. Lately I'd wanted to

look more and more like April, and she'd encouraged it. Suave,

poised, a woman with a mind of her own. Since I could no longer

look like me, except at the office, I'd thought. But no,

apparently not even there.

"I learned how to make love to you those other ways," I went on,

knowing that I was only reciting history, not arguing with any hope

of persuading her. "Your ways. You said my face between your legs

was heaven, that my tongue was magic when it was inside you. That

you could never get enough of me down there. That's why I still

sleep that way most of the time, with my head between your legs!

I love feeling the strength of your thighs on my shoulders, and

breathing close to the smell of your pussy."

"That's true," was all she said. "And I still can't get enough of

your tongue. But it's no longer enough, Leslie. I know that this

isn't fair to you, that you've done everything I've asked you to

do, that you don't deserve this, and so on. I began by saying

that, didn't I? Right from the outset? So now I won't repeat

myself, and it's no use your repeating it. The loving we've shared

has been beautiful, memorable, sublime. But it's no longer enough.

I now want a real man who can take care of a real woman's needs."

She hesitated, then came out with it. "You're neither. You're

neither a man nor a woman. Not any more. Not yet."

I sat quietly. The waiter came again and glanced at me while

taking away our appetizer plates. I hadn't touched my salad.

"April," I said gravely.

"Yes, Leslie," she replied.

Was her tone now a touch mocking? She'd known all along that I had

to arrive at my next question. She stalled it, maybe for her own

amusement.

"Or 'Les', if you prefer," she went on. "But you're not much of a

'Les' any more, are you. Even back then, you were less of a 'Les"

than you thought you were." She smiled at her accidental pun, then

smiled to console me. "I think you kind of like what I've done to

you. You didn't at first, I grant you. But now? Don't you?

Don't tell me you don't!"

I ignored that question. It disturbed me, because she wasn't

wrong. But I had to know. I tried to be indirect, at first.

"April," I said. "How do you know you'd rather be with a real man

than with another woman." I paused. "A woman like me, I mean."

She looked seriously at me again, indulgent but no way apologetic.

Her banter had failed to distract. So she began the preliminaries

of an answer.

"I don't want to hurt you any more than is necessary, Leslie.

You're my dearest girlfriend, and I love you. We've shared so many

desires and secrets. I've wanted to share this with you for so

long. It's the kind of thing real girlfriends share all the time.

But I just couldn't. Not because it's wrong. Not because I

thought you wouldn't understand, or that you might take it the

wrong way. My best girlfriend would be happy for me, I knew that.

But my husband would not be happy, not at all. Not Les! He'd be

terribly jealous, and he'd feel so inadequate, he'd feel like such

a failure. And then I'd feel sorry for him, poor man, I just know

it. What little there is left of him, I mean. And where's the

point of that?"

"Tell me," I said. I took a deep breath. She was stalling. Then

on impulse I took up my purse, and opened it, and took out my

compact and lipstick, and looked at my reflection. My face was

smooth, nearly inexpressive. No need to touch up anything, not

even my lipstick. Perfect. I replaced all that female

paraphernalia and snapped my purse shut and smiled

conspiratorially. "I'm your best girlfriend, honey. You can tell

me!"

It worked! After a moment April leaned back relaxed and asked me

playfully, "How does a woman know she'd rather make love with a man

than with another woman? You answer that for me, Leslie love!"

"We learn by doing," I said rather vaguely. I didn't want to put

words into her mouth.

"Exactly!" April said. She propped her elbows on the table, and

her chin on her hands, and she looked at me mischievously. Her

eyes were dancing. Maybe also gleaming. "Leslie honey, it's been

wonderful! Really marvelous! You'll be so happy for me when I

tell you! I'm so glad I can tell someone, finally!"

Just then the waiter brought us our main courses. Curry for her,

and a small roulade for me. My figure, you know. I sat very

still, hoping her new mood wouldn't be dispelled.

It wasn't. I took a small bite, and as she did the same, I forced

another smile. "Tell me, honey," I said. "How you met, what he's

like, what you two do, how you feel about it, everything." I

leaned forward as if eager for her to dish the dirt. I noticed

irrelevantly that her hairdo was a lot like mine. My new one.

Curlier, because her hair was naturally curly. But I knew I could

get the same effect with a tighter perm. "This is so exciting," I

tried to add. But only a squeak came out.

April hesitated only a moment, then spoke. "His name is Scott. He

came to the hospital about a year ago, and we began talking almost

immediately about revising our surgical procedures with children --

he's a pediatrician. His idea was, gather them all together in a

big room and throw them a big party, then the next day do as many

as possible all at once. So they could be miserable together and

then gradually get well together. And keep each other cheerful

when their parents couldn't visit them. It was such an imaginative

plan, so considerate, so very sweet. But that's how he is."

I cocked one eye at her. My arched eyebrow went way up.

"No, I don't suppose you want to know that sort of thing. Well, we

got on beautifully from day one. We'd smile at each other at staff

meetings, and we began to have lunch together. After a while he

started telling me things. Personal things. We began to feel a

certain ... attraction. But we never touched each other. Other

people thought we had a thing going and made jokes about it, but we

didn't. Not then."

"Is he married?" I asked. For some reason I wanted to remind her

of our solemn estate, not to be entered or left lightly.

She looked pensive. "He had been. His wife died shortly after

giving birth, if you can imagine such a thing in this day and age.

A combination of things, including AIDS. Their baby was stillborn

and she died two days later. He was devastated."

"I can imagine," I said, to break into her silence.

"No you can't. He'd cared for her devotedly. No man more

attentive or tender. He'd known that her pregnancy could be

dangerous, so he'd tried to deny himself the "consolations of her

body" he called it, except for a very few times when she'd begged

him for it, seduced him shamelessly, really. Then those times he

took every conceivable precaution. It was just as well, since she

was HIV positive and she hadn't told him."

"Well, she got pregnant anyhow, and refused to abort. 'This is a

love child,' she told him. 'And you're its legal father, so I want

to bear it and to see you raise it.'"

"So?" I asked. I'd heard of worse marriages, if more fortunate

ones.

"You don't understand, sweetie, any more than he did then. A 'love

child' is a child out of wedlock. Someone else was the father.

After her death he found out there was no knowing who. It'd hard to

believe it, in fact the whole story sounds incredible, but

it seems that his wife had been unfaithful for years, sexually

insatiable. And he was so trusting, he hadn't a clue. All

day long while he was at work there had been a parade of lovers

passing through their apartment and into her bed. Gobs of their

semen overflowed her snatch, and she never bothered even

to blot, their maid said afterward. She took no precautions at all.

Then when the afternoon household help came on duty, her first task

was to run a bath so Scott's wife could soak off the sweat and cum

and saliva, and douche herself while the maid mopped

up the mess and changed the soaked bed and got the

sticky linens out of the apartment so Scott would never know.

Scott's wife could take on a half dozen men daily, he found out.

And did. Long before her pregnancy, and all through it."

"Anyhow, between the mother's marginal physical condition and all

those dickheads knocking on her door that baby never stood a

chance! When his wife found out the baby was dead she told Scott

it was no big deal, it wasn't his anyhow. That she'd never loved

him. That she'd married him only because she'd tried everything

else, and he was as boring as everything else. Then she died.

That's why he felt so devastated. His whole life had been a lie.

He left town and moved to this city to get away from everything

that reminded him of her."

I looked sympathetic, but said nothing. Then, "You said you never

touched each other. How long before you did?"

April grinned at me. "You want me to cut to the hot part, don't

you, sweetie. Well, all right! It was incredible, how it came

about! Unbelieveable! Let me tell you! About a month

after he'd settled in, when we were seeing each other daily, he

told me about his wife -- 'if she ever was one,' he said. And he

asked me to perform a vasectomy on him. If anyone he cared about

ever got pregnant again, he wanted to know for certain that the

child couldn't be his. He didn't want children. His patients

would be his children. He'd be a better pediatrician for it."

I'd heard enough about this Scott's nobility. "So?" I said. "The

touching?"

"It's a simple procedure, I arranged to do it in my office. I put

him in a gown, and set him up on a gynecological examining table I

keep there, and I fastened his wrists so he couldn't interfere or

thrash about, and I strapped his legs into the stirrups and spread

them wide apart. That gave me plenty of access. He looked so

cute, spread out like that! So helpless! Just like a woman!"

She smiled at me, and then looked away.

"But down there he didn't look at all like a woman. Not with that

equipment! Leslie, honey, you've never seen anything like it!

I'll bet not even when you were dating all kinds of boys back in

college!"

She was so entranced she'd forgotten who I really was! As her best

girlfriend, I nodded, trying not to break the spell.

"So I injected him with a local, and cleaned him up, and when I

thought he couldn't feel anything, I took up the scalpel and

prepared to cut in, to resect his vas deferens. But I teased him

first. Tied up the way he was, it seemed like fun. I said,

"You know, with a flick of my wrist I could emasculate you right now,

the way I did my husband."

"His voice came from the other side of the sheet we use to isolate

our work area, 'You have a husband? I thought you lived with a

woman. A lawyer, good-looking if a little butch is what I've

heard.'"

"'Yes,'" I told him. I didn't want to keep any secrets from this

man. And I wanted him to believe my teasing might not be teasing!

"He's a very good-looking woman now," I said, "You could say

pretty. But he wasn't when I began with him!" The same feeling

came over me I get when I'm playing with you. I felt so powerful!

"Would you like to join him? Join my little harem? You might end

up as pretty as he is!" I waved my scalpel high up, where he could

see it. I imagine no man ever felt more helpless than he did at

that moment.

His response was unexpected, Leslie. I'd never have imagined it!

"'April,'" he said. "'If you must, I want you to. I hope

you'll leave everything there. I guess this is as good a time as

any to say it. I have very special feelings for you. I want to

join myself to you. I want to become part of you. I want to make

you happy the way only a man can make a woman happy. I'll need

what's down there to do that. I love you. But because I love you,

I want your happiness above all! So you do whatever will make you

happy!'"

"Can you imagine? I couldn't believe my ears! That was so sweet!

He was willing to give up everything for me. Even more than you've

given up, Leslie. at least so far! I could accept him as a man or

unman him, whichever I chose. Greater love hath no man!

Right then and there I couldn't help myself. I felt so grateful!

A gift like that? I leaned forward and I kissed the very balls

he'd offered to me. Softly. I thought that with the anesthetic

he'd never know. But his cock swelled up immediately -- he hadn't

gone numb yet. So I came around the other side of the barrier and

I looked him straight in the eye. That rugged, handsome face. He

had a broken nose from his college boxing days, but that only made

him more handsome. Tears, I was crying, they flowed down my cheeks

and they fell on him as I leaned forward and kissed him on the

mouth. He kissed me back. He must have tasted my tears. I opened

my mouth, and he thrust in his tongue. It isn't as long as your

tongue, Leslie, but it tasted so very sweet!"

She'd finished with her main course. I'd finished mine earlier.

Now she set her silverware aside and seemed to be day-dreaming, as

if seeing it all again.

"I told him that no one had ever trusted me so completely before,

not even my husband. That I had to love him for that! And that I

wanted to kiss him some more, while we waited for the anesthetic to

kick in. He interrupted me. 'May I kiss your breasts, April?'

What a proposal! My smock and my bra just flew off, and there were

my breasts with their nipples protruding, rock hard. I decided not

to release his hands, though I desperately wanted to. You know

what it's like, Leslie, when you're aroused and want to feel your

breasts caressed and cupped and held passionately. I gave him just

a few minutes apiece of each breast dangling over his face, my

nipples hanging into his mouth. His lips closed on the ends of

each breast, and his tongue tickled and caressed the tips, and

shocks of pure bliss shot through me deep into my vagina."

"I don't remember when I climbed up onto him and inserted him into

me. I know we were both soaking wet when I came to myself and

found I was astride him and he was inside me and I was banging and

riding and writhing and twisting on top of him for all I was worth,

and my pussy was squeezing itself into one spasm after another.

Glorious! Chain orgasms, I'd heard of them! I've had them so

often with him since then! Most often when he's on top of me, that

gorgeous thing of his banging into me as ferociously and brutally

as he can slam it and pound it at me! God, I do love hard

fucking!"

Her voice had risen, and I looked around. She noticed, and ducked

her head. "Oops!" she said.

The waiter came and removed out plates and went away. He then came

back with dessert menus. April handed them back to him. "Maybe

later," she said. "Maybe not at all. Wait, and we'll let you

know. Is that all right?"

"The waiter mumbled 'Of course, madam,' or something like that. I

don't know why, but at that moment I turned toward him and gave him

a great big smile, perhaps of gratitude for his tolerance that we

could stay a while longer. Perhaps it was something else. To

reassure myself that I still was sexually attractive myself, as a

woman if not as a man? To overcome my jealousy of Scott, of that

cock hammering my wife's pussy as mine never would again? I

touched my hair a few times, fluffed it up a bit in back, and

looked the poor man in the eyes just a bit longer than I needed to.

He was startled at first, but he returned a grin as he turned away.

April noticed, but said nothing.

"I never did perform that vasectomy. When we were both fucked out

and my thighs were stiff from riding and bouncing on him, I just

climbed off the table and picked up the scalpel again, and grinned

wickedly, and said to him, 'So you trust me, do you?' 'Yes,' he

said, and he closed his eyes. So peacably! 'I do. I love you.

What you want is what I want.' Leslie, I had his balls in the palm

of my hand, and a knife in the other hand. But what I said to him

was, 'Scott, I want your baby! I want lots of them. And lots of

doing what we've just done! A lifetime of it!' It surprised me!

Amazed me! Him too!"

"But from that moment I've known that one day you and I would be

sitting here talking like this, Leslie honey. That I'd need to

tell you I was divorcing you to marry Scott. Because Scott opened

his eyes and he looked at me and he said in the most earnest and

intense voice I have ever heard, 'April, that's what I want! All

of it!'"

"So of course I set down the scalpel. And then with his cock erect

but absolutely numb, I gave him the best blow job I have ever given

anyone, while he watched. He couldn't feel a thing, but he knew I

had to, and he watched me do it with such understanding and

gratitude and devotion and fondness. We spent the rest of that

afternoon cuddled in each others' arms, kissing, spooning, loving

each other. My heart felt so very full. It still does."

"When was this?" I asked, a little bitterly.

April didn't reply. She just looked at me. I remembered my proper

role.

"That's so exciting, April!" I said. "I'm so happy for you both!

But for how long have you two been ... making each other happy?

And is it ... very often? You can tell me!"

She resumed chatting with her girlfriend.

"That was maybe a year ago. We've gotten together whenever we

could since then. Never often enough, never more often than four,

maybe six times a week! Our schedules are pretty tight, so it's

not easy to free up the time and place. We're quite an item around

the hospital. Hardly anyone hasn't opened a door and found us

humping each other standing, sitting, lying down, crouching, you

name it. Or me blowing him. We do little things for each other.

We love it. We love each other. There's no getting around it,

Leslie. That's why we want to get married."

"But you've loved me this past year too," I reminded her. "For our

kind of sex. You've come home eager, and crooked your finger at me

and said 'Come upstairs to bed with me quick, honey, I need you

badly.' And when I'd get upstairs you were already lying on our

bed with your skirt and panties off and your slip pulled up and

your legs spread wide, and you'd say, 'For God's sake, Leslie,

please! Your tongue! I need your tongue!' And you were already

dripping wet, really soaked down there sometimes, by the time I

could get my lips rounded and clamped over your slit to begin to

suck you and spoon those sweet juices out with my tongue. Some

days you were really filled to the brim, secretions pooled in every

crevice. I loved it, that you'd get so aroused just from

anticipating me!"

April was silent. Daydreaming again?

She looked at my face. "Yes, sweetheart. Sometimes Scott and I

didn't have time for more than one fuck before we'd be interrupted.

Phone calls, patients, something. And then I'd feel so frustrated,

unfinished! Now and then we'd both fly out of town for

professional meetings, and then we could spend three or four days

plastered together. That was always nice, my body always as full

of him as my heart! But at the hospital he'd get called away

sometimes before we could satisfy each other several times. I'm

really grateful to you that then you helped him out. I do hope you

enjoyed his flavor. I think he's delicious!"

She paused, and glanced again at my face, and saw the expression

there. "Oh, good heavens, honey! Did you think all that pearly

stuff in me was me? Good heavens, no! Some of it. Your tongue

still excites me! But not all of it! Not even most of it! You've

sucked and swallowed more of Scott's cum than I have during the

past year, Leslie. Much more!"

She suddenly stopped. She'd said too much? "That's what girls do,

honey," she said a little defensively. "And I do want you to

experience everything girls do!"

She sat a moment, then sat back. Then looked at me. The spell had

worn off. I was again her husband, not her girlfriend, now that

she'd told me as much as she meant to tell me. Maybe I was Scott's

jealous rival?

"We have to talk more, Les," she said.

"Yes, I suppose so," I replied. "Separation agreements, property

settlements, and so forth. But not now, April, please."

I was near tears. That bleak feeling was descending on me again.

Outside it was pitch black. Soon she'd leave me and I'd have to

walk out into it alone.

"Yes, now," April replied. "We need to talk. But not about those

things. Not exactly."

I just sat there. What else was there to say? I felt helpless.

I'd done everything she wanted. Sacrificed everything, nearly.

And now I was losing her! Could I begin my own life again? As

what? To cover my misery I took out my compact and lipstick and

began touching up my mouth yet again. I'm sure I was starting to

cry. I could barely see myself in the mirror. A teeny, forlorn

sound came out of me despite myself.

"Leslie," April said suddenly in the sprightliest possible voice.

I looked up. Her head was cocked vivaciously, and she seemed

buoyant, grinning. She wanted to cheer me up. "Let me ask you the

same question you asked me. How do you know you wouldn't rather

make it with a man than a woman? Have you ever tried?"

I appreciated her effort to jest.

"Of course not. You know that." I couldn't look at her.

"No, you've never even had a dildo inside you, have you. Even

though that's what women often use with other women. You never

knew that? It never occurred to you?

"

"No."

"Nor to me. I must be pretty straight, I suppose. I never did

feel like penetrating you, it was so nice just doing what we did.

And because I've been getting fucked so frequently by Scott, and he

stays hard so long and recovers so quickly, I've never needed for

you to use a dildo on me. But recently I've been wondering how

you'll get by, when I've gone off to live with Scott."

"I'll get by," was all I said. "I'll survive. Don't let me slow

you down!" I tried to be sardonic, but she wasn't buying it.

"I'm sure you'll survive," she said. Then, "You know, there's this

woman at work, Fran, she's another surgeon, abdominal mostly, she

said that she's cleared all kind of things out of men's bowels that

women have pushed into them and then couldn't get out. Or other

men have pushed in. Golf balls, soda bottles, light bulbs even,

you name it. Lots of wives have done it to their husbands. So one

day Fran decided to try something like that on her own husband.

But safely, with a dildo."

"Well, she said it was overwhelming! Really empowering! She loved

being the dominant partner! She loved violating his ass with her

own thrusting torpedo, at will or whim, whatever her pelvis felt

like doing, all the while he lay there helplessly and grunted and

just took it. She liked being the man. Being in charge. He hated

it at first, she said. But in a way he must have loved it too,

because his cock was a wooden pole the whole time. And when she

orgasmed just from the raw animality of pounding into him, he came

too! 'It was different' was what he said when she asked him how it

felt. 'I'll bet!' she replied. 'I heard you moaning for more!' She

found that when she was wearing the cock and he knew he had to take

it into his body, he'd submit to other ...ahh... indignities as

well. Even against his will. And be grateful afterward."

"Well, I told Scott about Fran and her husband, but that's where it

ended. Scott would never let me bugger him, not in a million

years. He has the tightest asshole in Christendom. I can't even

get a finger in! A real anal compulsive, anal retentive

personality. An uptight asshole, you'd probably say, if you were

a man. But he does have the tightest buns, too! I love them!

Yours got so plump when your hormones rounded them out that they're

even a little flabby now. I've been meaning to get you some

exercises to help you shape them up a bit more. 'Buns of Steel,'

you've seen the videotape."

"Anyhow, Fran asked me if I'd ever used a dildo on my girlfriend

Leslie. When I told her 'No,' she just looked at me and said,

'What are live-in girlfriends for, April? Good heavens? The woman

has a cunt, and you don't fuck her? She must be feeling terribly

deprived!'"

'"Yes,' I answered her. 'She may well be feeling deprived. I'll

have to ask her.' I couldn't very well tell her that my girlfriend

doesn't have a cunt, and that may be the reason why she's feeling

deprived."

"What?" I asked? "What was that, April?" Her last statement

hadn't at all gone where I'd expected it to go. I hadn't felt at

all deprived, not until tonight! I began to pull out of my

depression, to listen more closely.

"Leslie, tell me. Wouldn't you like to feel for yourself what it's

like, what I've just been describing about my affair with Scott, or

what Fran's husband feels these days? How it feels to be on the

receiving end. To give while receiving? To be really and truly

fucked?"

The obvious remark occurred to me, but I said nothing.

"I've been selfish, I suppose. All take and no give. But I do

want you to experience the ultimate pleasure a woman can have. I

owe it to you. You need to know why it is that these parking

attendants and waiters dance around you hoping for a glance and a

smile. Why those men pick you up at those clubs we go to, and

whirl you around the floor. They hope, they dream, vaguely, that

somehow you'll let them sink themselves into you, so they can feel

the pleasures a pussy provides. Could provide, if you had one.

And they hope for an opportunity to give you pleasure too!"

"April, cut to the chase! Are you telling me to take up with

dildos, or with men, or to let you equip me with a vagina?"

"Honey, I really and truly feel guilty about all this. I love you.

You know that. I don't want to just walk away and leave you

neither here nor there. I want my girlfriend to enjoy being what

she is. I certainly don't want you to resent that I turned you

into a woman, nearly, and that now I'm divorcing you for a real

man, the greatest fuck I've ever had, the love of my life!"

She hadn't answered me. She noticed that I'd noticed, and then she

went on.

"Honey, I guess yes, that's what I'm telling you. I don't want to

press you or anything, but give it some thought. You can only go

so far with dildos, or with satisfying your men with your anus, if

that's what you think I was thinking. The best sex between men and

women is what happens when a man's cock is inside a woman's vagina.

With no vagina, you can't experience that. Right now all of your

erogenous nerve endings are still in that useless penis of yours,

most of them down toward the base. I want you to think about

turning the whole assembly inside out. About having a sensitive

clit and a vagina that throbs with joy when a real prick strokes in

and out of it! Feeling heaven between your legs!"

"And there's something else. You know that Scott knows about us.

He isn't jealous of us, exactly. He isn't jealous of my relations

with women. I don't think he understands them. But we've talked

about you. He likes the idea of my spending time with someone

affectionate who shares my interests. A woman. With an intimate

girlfriend. He'd feel reassured to know there's someone I can be

with when he's not available."

"And I want him to have that reassurance. I'm now married to a man

who's nearly disappeared, and I'm divorcing what's left of him, but

that doesn't mean I can't still share things with my dearest

girlfriend. We won't live together the way we do now, of course.

You'll have your own place, the house we're in now, and you'll lead

your own life. Have other friends. Get to know the neighborhood

wives. See other men maybe. But we can still see each other.

There's no reason not to! You can still be my dearest friend. We

can still giggle together about everything!"

She paused. "Isn't that so?"

I nodded. It was so. I almost sobbed at the pity of it. A

friendship was all that remained of our marriage! But at least

that much! Maybe more!

"That's if you're a woman. If you're no way a man. You have to be

a woman. Scott has to be satisfied that you're a woman."

Understood, I suppose. She'd sort of said that. Then she leaned

forward to say more. "Leslie, Scott and I want you to be my Maid

of Honor at our wedding."

My mouth fell open.

"More than that, I want to do this for my Maid of Honor! I want my

bridal gift to you to be a pussy. I want to share everything with

you, the way girlfriends should. Nearly everything! Please think

some more about it."

"Think too about how much fun we can have picking out our gowns and

everything! I'd be so happy! Arranging different couples at

different tables. Maybe mixing up the husbands and wives, to see

what happens?" She threw me a wicked glance. "Honey, I don't want

you left all alone, after everything we've shared. And think about

after the wedding! There'll be lots of Scott's friends there, and

some of them are between wives, and some of them are roamers, and

I should think looking the way you do you'd have the pick of the

lot. I know you would. There are some wonderful experiences out

there for you, waiting to happen! If you can accommodate them!"

"April, you keep saying it. But I don't want to be intimate with

men. I really don't." I was appalled by the way she kept

returning to that notion!

"Honey," she said. "You think so now. But looking the way you do,

feeling the way you feel about yourself, it's only a matter of

time. Take it from me. I know that when you first try a dildo

you'll love it. It's like Fran's husband said, it's different. He

wasn't the least bit feminine when she started with him, but now

when she comes toward him he can't open up to her fast enough.

Then sooner or later you'll find that men are a lot more satisfying

than dildos. You already love the way they fall all over you for

a smile. Don't deny it. Well, you don't know it yet, but in bed

men can be very warm and loving, and when they're horny they have

moves and desires that can take your breath away. You'll see."

"Leslie sweetie, you're the woman I've taught you to be. That's

the next step! I have no doubt at all that soon your mouth and

your anus will be baptized with real sperm, sooner than you think,

and you'll be thinking about getting a pussy. I may not be moving

from man to man any more, the way I did before I met Scott, but

you'll be. You'll be checking out lots of the merchandise. The

way you behaved with that waiter? You must know that!"

I paid no attention to her reference to the waiter. "You've been

moving from man to man? For how long now?" I was shocked yet

again!

She looked at me narrowly. "Oh, Leslie, I've been thinking you

were my girlfriend, and I forgot you still think you're my husband

too. Of course! Practically since we were married! With lots of

men. Right away I missed the way some of my old boyfriends felt,

different from you, so I started in again with one, then with

another. I missed my old girlfriends too, the things we used to do

together, but they'd all moved away. That's why I wanted you to

fill in, to be my new girlfriend. And that's what you've been!"

She sighed, reminiscing. "Why do you think I found it so easy to

do without your cock? Why do you think I didn't care when you lost

your erections? On the other hand you know how I absolutely adored

those darling little titties of your when they first began to come

in, especially when your nipples got so erogenous that all I had to

do was touch them and you'd squeal, and then you'd do anything I

asked you to do. It all got a lot easier then!" She was lost in

reverie for a moment.

"When we moved to this neighborhood I quit with other men for a

while. We were women living together, and I tried hard to be

faithful to my partner. But then when you had your facial surgery,

you were laid up for weeks, bandaged? Remember? How you couldn't

go down on me? Well, I felt horny one night and went out and

picked up a stud at a bar, and we fucked all night. And I've done

that now and then ever since. Until Scott. I'm faithful to Scott.

I always will be, I think. He's all the man I need!"

"You made me ... what I am just because you wanted a live-in

lesbian partner to play with along with your men?"

"Honey," she said patiently, a little wearily I thought. "I wanted

a girlfiend, yes. Someone who shared my interests. And I wanted

the sex too, of course. But the main reason why I made you a woman

is fairly obvious now, isn't it? Soon after we were married I

thought I could get better fucked elsewhere. A lot better fucked.

And that turned out to be true."

That settled me back down.

"You really are my best girlfiend, now. But you were never much of

a man."

She reached out and took my hands and clasped them in hers. "Aww,

now I've hurt his feelings. But you shouldn't have those feelings

any more, baby! You're what you wanted to be! You've practically

agreed with me again tonight that you like things this way. That

you love what you are. Your new hairdo, for openers. And don't

you love the feelings that rise up in you when I'm suckling and

licking those plump breasts? The way those feelings melt and merge

into your whole body?"

"And the other things, not just sex! Don't you love choosing what

outfits you'll wear, and what accessories, so you'll look just

right for any occasion? You're very good at it, you know, and you

enjoy it, I know! Isn't there special satisfaction in knowing

you're as nice looking as you can be? And don't you love giving

full vent to your deepest, dearest, most heartfelt emotions, the

way any woman can, instead of suppressing them the way men feel

they must? You're a woman in your heart now, Leslie, nearly.

That's why I feel so close to you! That's the closeness to you

I've wanted from the beginning! It's special! Very different from

the way I feel about Scott."

"Suppose I go back," I said resentfully. "And have my breasts

removed, and get testosterone shots, ramp up my natural production,

be more of a man again. More the way I was."

She looked at me a little reproachfully. "Honey, let me say it in

the plainest of plain words. You can't. It won't happen. Your

testicles have shut down. They're almost gone -- why do you think

they tuck so easily these days? And your penis is now what, the

size of your little finger -- you've seen it. Could you be a man

now? If you could, you'd hate it. But you can't. There's no

going back."

"That's why I'm urging you, sweetheart, go the other way! Really,

you're only one step short of the goal. Have a vagina installed

and be done with it. One of your very own, to dispose however you

wish." She looked intently at me. "To use the way I've used mine.

The way any woman can, and no husband can ever really tell. You'll

be so much happier! Complete yourself, honey!"

Oddly, at that moment she sounded like my wife, the woman I

married, concerned and caring!

"All right, I'll think about it," I said. "But I don't think I'm

ready for it. I'm willing to be your Maid of Honor, but I can't

promise you anything else."

I disengaged my hands from hers and looked down. It was time to

part. I felt sad. Sorrowful, in fact. "I guess I should go home

now, April. When do you think we can see each other again?"

"Honey, no, not yet. There's just a little bit more we need to

talk about."

"What?"

"Two things, really, First of all Scott. I told you he has no

objection to our keeping up our friendship, as long as it's a

friendship between two girls. Well, his agreement to all this --

our continuing to see each other, your being my Maid of Honor,

everything -- is conditional. He knows you'd never agree to a

vagina right off. But he wants proof positive, absolute assurance,

that you're now my girlfriend and no way my husband."

"He knows you're no rival physically. He can tell that the way I

react when that fat cock of his shoves into me. I shriek, and my

moaning comes to crescendo almost immediately. It's obvious to him

I get nothing like that at home. But he needs to know you harbor

no bad feelings toward him. That there's no jealous husband left

in you. That you don't feel competitive in some way. That you

wish him well. That you're truly my girlfriend wishing us both

well. So we've thought of a test."

"What? For me to place your wedding band around his cock and guide

it into your pussy with my own hand? Is that it?"

Oh no, that won't be necessary Leslie. Just to do something for

him no ex-husband would ever do for the rival who's replaced him.

Though a girlfriend might."

What's that?"

"Now hear me out, Leslie!"

"All right. What? What do I need to do?"

"Not a lot. A gesture, really. A blow job. Just for you to give

him a blow job. To swallow his sperm from the source instead of

from my pussy. It really isn't much more than you've already done.

It's what girls do. To show him unequivocally that you want him to

be happy, by making him feel good. To show you bear him no animus.

To show me that you desire his happiness too. To prove it to me!"

She grinned maliciously. "Then again, I do think you'd enjoy it,

sucking his cock. Once you get past the idea of it. I do."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing! "While you watch?" I asked

sarcastically?

"Oh, no, that wouldn't be decent. You two need privacy for

something like that. But he does need to know who you are and who

you aren't. A girlfriend, not a man at all! He doesn't think any

man would be willing to wrap his mouth around his wife's lover's

penis. Of course Fran's husband does it, she tells me, with

several of her lovers. But he's a special case, and it took her a

while to get him there."

She paused, looking across the restaurant, back toward the lobby.

I followed her eyes. There was a rugged looking, rather handsome

man in the entrance hall now talking to the Maitre D', who pointed

at our table. He started toward us, but April suddenly held up a

palm to him. He stopped short, nodded, and then sat down at the

bar, looking over at us now and then.

"That's my man, sweetie! Don't you just love him? Feel a teenie

bit tempted to flirt with him? I want you two to meet. We both

want to get this matter settled now, tonight. But first, there's

one more thing. Please listen, it's serious."

"What?" I asked her. "He wants to fuck me up the ass, too? To

assure himself there are no jealous feelings hidden up there

either?"

"No, he doesn't want to. In fact he made a face when I suggested

it. But he's willing, because I want him to. And I want you to

let him. That's my test. That's what I need to know my girlfriend

knows. The joy of fucking while being fucked, of submitting to a

man while he pleasures you. The man in you won't want to do it, of

course, but I think the woman in you will love it! You'll need to

know how it feels if only to make a fully informed decision about

turning in your prick for a functioning vagina."

I was silent. I couldn't look her in the eye.

"It's such a weenie, you know!"

She wasn't taunting me. Just stating a fact.

"Just look him over, my gorgeous man over there! Isn't he a

dreamboat? If as a woman you can allow him into both of your

openings, if that's at all possible, then we have no problem,

Leslie. Because you'll have proved that you have no problem. So

I want you to go with him. Now. Is that clear?"

I was silent.

"Is it?" She looked grim, and picked up her purse. "Is there a

problem? Leslie? Is this how we say goodbye to each other?"

"No, April. Please!" I sounded as anguished as I felt.

"I mean now, upstairs, in this hotel. We've reserved a room for

the two of you to use."

I said nothing. She looked for a long time into my eyes, while I

struggled to find something to say. Then she just said, "Good!"

and raised a forefinger, and gestured to the man seated at the bar.

He stood up and moved to join us.

"I think I'll pass up dessert, honey. I'll stop by the hospital to

check on a few things, and meet you both in the Jockey's Bar off

the hotel lobby in about an hour. Let's say two. That should be

time enough."

She rose and headed for the Ladies' Room. Her man grinned to her

in passing. Then as he approached me, he smiled gently. I looked

up at him, wide-eyed, and I nervously touched my hair. I tried to

smile back, but couldn't. "So you're Leslie," he said. "I've heard

so many good things about you!" He held out his hand.

***************

The longest two hours of my life later, I stepped out of the

elevator into the hotel lobby and waddled toward the Jockey's Bar.

I stopped first at the Ladies' to pick up a tampon, so my favorite

black, silver threaded shift wouldn't get as soaked and stained as

my panties despite the Kleenex I'd stuffed into them. And I fixed

my make-up. Sure enough, my mussed hair fell into place when I

combed it with my fingers a few times.

I hurt. My jaw a little, and my rear end a lot, but my pride most

of all. Now, as April would have said, I'd graduated from

finishing school.

That man had fucked my mouth twice in quick succession. The first

time I'd rounded my mouth and cloaked my teeth with my lips --

"Don't bite!" he'd cautioned me in a strained gutteral at one point

-- and I'd closed my eyes and I'd sucked on his pole until I felt

his pelvis rear up and pump cum into the back of my throat. I

tried to feel dainty doing this, to feel like April's girlfriend,

but all I felt was a little soiled.

Then during the second blow job I found my mind was wandering, it

had begun to seem so routine, so ordinary. So accustomed. Not

thinking much about it, I slid my lips up and down him while his

large hands pressed tenderly at the sides of my head, holding my

new hairdo tight against my ears while he headfucked me. My tongue

slipped past the irregular ridges of his veins, and the rubbery

edge of his cockhead. I scarcely noticed when he came this time --

I'd gotten accustomed to the salty taste and slick feel -- and I

quaffed it down almost absent-mindedly. And resisted feeling

grateful that he'd finished, that it was done with. In fact as

he'd approached his climax it had crossed my mind that if I were to

slow down and hold him off just a little bit longer, I could get

him to do ... what? Something April might not find forgiveable,

when she heard about it. But instead, as he speeded up, I picked

up the pace myself, and when the time came swallowed his squirtings

effortlessly

I suppose now I'm qualified, a full-fledged woman, I thought to

myself. So Scott now can't object to my seeing April. He looked

satisfied enough with me as he helped me up off my knees and asked

me now to lie face down on the bed with my rear end raised high on

pillows.

As he explained, he was low on juice, so I should expect that he'd

be working his short but incredibly thick cock in and out of my

asshole for quite a while. He suggested I enjoy it, he knew I

would, but to be sure to let him know if anything hurt. In fact it

was nearly an hour before he finally shot his sperm into me a third

time.

He'd been lavish, slathering on the jelly, but no turd as thick as

that swollen penis had ever passed through my anus before, so his

lovemaking hurt at first, going in both directions. But it did

feel a little like lovemaking, especially when he reached around me

and grasped each of my breasts and delicately tweaked my nipples in

rhythm with his thrusting. A strange stirring in my groin grew

stronger, and I began to wriggle down on him repeatedly in search

of an enticing feeling that almost-but-not-quite eluded me. That

pleased him. I could tell. Each time I snuggled my cushiony rear

into him, he responded with greater ardor. This felt so ...

feminine, wiggling and teasing his cock with my pussy. Desireable,

vulnerable, yielding, yet aloof and somehow in control, calling the

shots. I don't like to confess it, but when he came pounding into

my ass and I could feel his cum impregnating my bowels I felt sheer

joy. My prostate gave way and I squirted my own clear juice into

the sheets. I remembered how April had exulted that she loved hard

fucking, and I understood. I really was a full-fledged woman!

There was no doubt about it! My mind wandered again, but this time

to thoughts about how men's hips moved when I danced with them,

those times when I'd gone out with April.

"You won't have any trouble fitting anyone else into your ass from

now on, little lady," my lover told me as he pulled his slackening

cock out finally. "That hole and those muscles back there are now

stretched out and relaxed for good. Just what the doctor ordered."

"You mean Dr. April?" I asked him coyly. "Or you, Dr. Scott." I

was feeling flirtatious! Smiling! It was a kind of triumph! It

was over and I'd serviced my first man, I'd lost my virginity at

both ends, and despite the supposed humiliation it had felt good!

Better than that, once I'd gotten into it!

"Is April her first name? Your wife, ma'am? That's who I mean.

I don't know any Dr. Scott."

"What?!!"

I was still pressing pads of Kleenex into my distended and leaking

rear end, but I had to turn to look at him closely.

"You aren't Dr. Scott?!"

My voice sounded high yet relaxed, not at all the way I felt! I

even stretched myself in a feline kind of way.

He flashed me the same broad, gentle, grin with which he'd met me

in the restaurant. "Babydoll, no way! I'm Ken. I should have

introduced myself, but I thought you knew. I'm from Stallions, the

escort service. I hope you found my cock pleasureable in your

mouth, and the fucking satisfactory, ma'am. 'We are always eager

to please' is our company motto." You sure did sound pleased

toward the end, the way you squealed each time I rammed into you!

It must have hurt you, your first time and all, but when we got to

that part you didn't sound in pain at all!"

"I suppose not," I replied. Maybe I had enjoyed it, a little.

More than a little? What had April done to me? And why? Where

was Scott? Why didn't I feel resentful?

Ken threw on his clothes and waved goodbye to me while I was still

trying to blot myself, wondering where he got all that cum after

I'd swallowed so much already. His nose wasn't broken, I realized.

I should have noticed that. It was a rather nice nose.

I located my heels way under the bed, and found my panties draped

on the champagne bottle we'd emptied quickly when we first arrived

in the room, and then I got dressed too. All the while wondering

why my wife of five years who was my girlfriend of four years and

my ex as of a few hours ago, why she'd set me up this way, with a

stud, not with her fiance. How would this reassure Scott that I

wasn't still his rival?

I still had no answers when I wobbled into the Bar, resolving never

to wear really high heels the next time I get my asshole reamed,

and sat down gingerly at a table.

No sooner was I seated, carefully, than a waiter brought over an

envelope with "Leslie" written in April's physician's hand on it,

barely legible.

"Miss, are you 'Leslie'? A woman left this with me to give to you

when you came in."

I sighed, and opened it.

Dear Leslie,

I'm writing this note ahead of time, because I know you so well,

and I know how things will go tomorrow when we have our little talk

in the restaurant, and I know how you're feeling right now as you

sit on one haunch in the hotel bar and read it. You're a dear, but

you're so predictable!

But now you're all Leslie, not Les, and now Leslie is her own

woman! You're no longer my husband turned into my girlfriend and

dependent on my whims and wishes. Like me, I think, you're now

capable of leading your own life unafraid, even with a sense of

anticipation, not with the helplessness that made you so miserable

when I left you just a short time ago.

It's been true in your case, what men are always saying about one

woman or another, that all she needs is a good stiff dick to

straighten her out. You've been ready for a stiff dick ever since

you lost your own. The problem was to get you to accept it.

Well, now you have. I'm happy for you. You're now so much closer

to the end of your journey. After all I've asked you to do, and

all you've done for me and for yourself, I couldn't leave you still

hesitating about taking that last step. But now you will. Because

you have no where else to go now!

I have some terrible confessions to make. I tricked you.

First, I know that everything you've done since our marriage,

you've done for me. That you couldn't conceive of life without me.

That you had to believe that even after I left you you'd continue

to be what you've been to me, my dearest girlfriend. So I told you

that's what you'd be.

But we won't be seeing each other any more. By the time you read

this, I'll have left town to take up a post in a hospital a long

way from here. I've known for months that when we ended our

marriage it would be better for us to make a clean break. And

*crack* -- that's what we've done!

Another thing. I told you that for us to continue our

relationship, you had to have sex with Scott. And you believed me.

Well, you should have known better. Any future husband of mine

will want no part of any kind of sex with any man. Or with any

other woman either. He'll have to be mine and no one else's.

Faithful, the way you've been. Until now, that is.

I knew you had to have sex with a man to strengthen your new

feelings about yourself as a woman. I knew that sex with a man

would mortify your manhood into disappearing altogether. So I had

to arrange it. But why didn't it occur to you that of course I

wouldn't ever share a new husband, even with you, no more than I

was ever willing to share you? I'll answer for you. Because the

woman in you wanted so badly to bed down with a man . To enjoy what

I was enjoying. Maybe also, to get even with me by taking my man

for a ride of your own? The man in you was appalled by the idea,

I'm sure, but the woman in you knew! Honey, you seduced yourself!

That's why, when I realized that you were useless as a man, that

your future was as a woman, I decided to end our marriage and let

you move on. For your sake. It was a sad, hard decision for me,

a sacrifice, but it was for the best!

And I knew that the man in you would never cooperate. Not old Les!

Think of the humiliation! You had to be finessed into it. And you

were. And now you know why. You do love it, don't you? Just a

little? The freedom to be yourself? The freedom to enjoy this

altogether new kind of sex?

There's one more little deception too. I've told you all about my

affair with Scott. But there is no Scott! No one Scott, anyhow.

I'm seeing a man now, all right, but I don't think you need to know

anything about him, except that he isn't a doctor, and he's never

been married and won't be, and how we met and what we've done

together for how long is our affair, not yours. Maybe you've

tasted him when you've gone down on me and maybe you haven't.

Maybe you've tasted others, sweetheart! But that doesn't matter to

you any more, dear, does it? Because you're now a woman with your

own past, aren't you? We've both enjoyed extramarital sex now,

haven't we? I just got started earlier than you, is all.

But you'll catch up I'm sure. Because I'm not abandoning you,

honey. I haven't left you alone. I know you'll still want a close

girlfriend of your own, an adviser, a good influence to help you

over other little hurdles as you live life as fully as a girl can.

Someone to guide you into some new paths. When you've read this

letter, just put it back into the envelope and lay the envelope on

the table and wait. See what happens.

I'll send someone to pick up a few essentials I've left at the

house. Everything else is yours. Even my clothes, sweetie, enjoy

them! I mean to begin my new life with a whole new wardrobe, and

I'd invite you to come shopping with me if you were any closer --

I'll miss your advice, you have such good taste! But I'll be too

far away, and I suspect you'll be far too busy anyhow, getting to

know your new girlfriend and some of her friends!

Enjoy your life, sweetheart. Don't do anything I wouldn't do, if

you find there is such a thing! I'm sorry you won't be my Maid of

Honor after all. But you aren't a maid any more anyhow. Of course

I hope you and lots of others will soon be enjoying a new space

between your legs the way my current man and I enjoy mine. Who

knows, you may even develop some maidenly modesty in the use of it!

Even I may some day!

Love,

April

I realized that April had now completed what she'd begun with me

way back, when she'd first found that her new husband bored her. As

a challenge, an entertainment maybe, she'd set about making me into

a woman despite myself, and making me want to be one, before she

dumped me as she knew she would. She'd now done just that and sent

me on my way. I didn't know if I wanted any more girlfriends like

her.

I decided not really. But probably I would take her up about

getting a new pussy. My asshole hurt!

As directed, I put the letter back in the envelope and set the

envelope on the table. Within a minute, a waiter appeared carrying

a drink for me and set it down next to the envelope.

"From the lady at that corner table."

He nodded in that direction, and my eyes followed. A tall,

well-turned-out woman in a very expensive beaded cocktail dress

rose up and began walking toward me with a willowy movement of her

hips. I thought, that's very attractive, I should try that -- but

not tonight, not the way my rear-end feels. When she arrived at my

table she paused, and her smile dazzled me. Her face was

beautiful, jewel-like, she was so impeccably made up. I felt

privileged that this stunning woman had sent me a drink. And I

felt a little intimidated by her, too, as she stood over me!

"You're Leslie?"

I nodded.

"Yes. Do you know anyone named Les?"

"No," I said. "I did once, but he's gone."

"Good! April thought that would surely be the case. A pity in a

way, because I know so many delicious games I could play with Les.

The kind I play with my own husband, and with some of his lovers,

and with some of the other people I let use him now and then."

"Oh?"

"Yes. April asked me to look in on you, to see that your life

doesn't grow dull. She tells me you've just lost your best

girlfriend, that you might want another. Someone to share all

kinds of new experiences with.

"That's possible."

"Well, I could certainly do with some help myself. Wives come to

me all the time with men who don't know how to satisfy their needs,

some of them their own husbands. To train them. You've been

through it. You know how a clever girl can make a man submit to

learn anything. Wouldn't you enjoy helping me with these? In your

spare time, I mean. I suspect we'd get along beautifully."

She leaned over me. "I'm Fran. April may have mentioned me.

Mainly I do surgery on people's lower parts. She tells me you're

a candidate. Well, I always ask the wives if that kind of surgery

is something their husbands want, or something they want their

husbands to have regardless. When I asked April, she said that you

really craved castration and a cunt but you didn't yet know it. So

we'll just have to help you find out, won't we?"

More tests, I thought to myself. More entrance exams. But I

didn't say anything.

"I love your hair, Leslie! I'm told a cut like that doesn't muss.

We'll see. Often, I expect!"

And she bent down and kissed me full on the lips, resting one hand

lightly on my breast. I opened my mouth, and her tongue entered

into me. Delicious! I breathed deep and closed my eyes. And as

I gave myself to her, I wondered what her husband might be like.

END

(c)1999 by Vickie Tern