So I hadn’t managed to humiliate him. In his own mind he’d screwed
a girl, my best friend, and now he was trying to use the fact that
the girl was my husband to get to me. He’d succeeded and he’d
failed, and so had I. All in all, in this last competition to fuck
each other I’d gained nothing.
But at least my sweet girl is no longer a virgin, I was thinking.
He now knows what it’s like to have a man’s dick slipping in and
out of his body, and he knows what it’s like to clamp down on a
hot, thick prick and writhe in one glorious orgasm after another
while that prick is pulsing sweet sperm into him. Score one for
Scottie, anyhow!
I went upstairs, and was surprised to see that Scottie was lying
across our bed crying his heart out. That I had not expected. I
rushed over and lay down alongside him, frightened to know what
could be wrong. For a while I remained quite still, my body trying
to embrace his, hugging him. Eventually he turned to face me, and
then clutched me as if he were drowning! We lay there quietly some
time more, until his breathing was almost normal.
“I do love you so much,” I said, kissing him softly. He clung to
me, no longer my self-assured husband or venturesome best
girlfriend, more like a frightened young girl, and he tried to
breathe without sobbing. “Wasn’t it wonderful, sweetheart? I did
want it to be wonderful for you!”
“I’m not a man any more,” he finally cried out, gasping.
Was that it? “There, there dear, I know that,” I tried to reassure
him. “I know. Hush now. We all lose our cherries sooner or
later, baby. Yours was just a little later, that’s all. But it’s
gone now, thank heaven. We can decide some other time what it is
you are now.”
There was a long pause. “No, that isn’t it!” he said finally. “I
mean, I already know what I am. I’m what you wanted me to be.
Your husband and your girlfriend! Little by little I’ve gotten to
like what you wanted me to be. In fact I love it now, the way I
feel when I know I’m pretty, and the way other people treat me when
they think I’m pretty!”
“You are very pretty, sweetheart,” I reassured him, hugging him and
thinking meanwhile that I had certainly overdone something. I’d
let a genie out of the bottle that might never return to it. Would
his love of looking pretty die down eventually, the way my passion
for Craig had died down and was already a memory, right on
schedule? Does any woman’s desire to look pretty ever die down?
“You’ll always be pretty to me! The prettiest man in the whole
world!”
“I’m not a man,” he repeated. “I can’t be a man!”
“Why not, baby?”
“Because I loved it! What kind of man loves getting fucked by
someone like Craig? I must be a woman!”
Now it was coming clearer. Craig’s fucking had seduced me last
June into a summer of wanting more, and now it had seduced Scottie
out of his own sex and into the other sex! Or out of his
heterosexuality? All summer long I couldn’t get enough of Craig’s
cock. Was that how Scottie felt now? After only one screwing?
“It was incredible, that penis, and the way he used it! It’s way
better than your dildo, Mandy! It’s so soft yet so rigid, and so
warm! And the way his hips swiveled it in and out of me? Now I
understand why women love to have sex with men! And that’s what
terrifies me!”
This would take further thinking. First I’d gotten my man to love
looking feminine, whether or not reversibly I couldn’t say, but now
it turns out I’ve made him cock-crazy. Doreen was right — I
shouldn’t have been depriving him. Now I’ll need to find other
men’s cocks for him to keep him happy, and I do want my man to be
happy. My sweet man. My sweet girl! I had gone too far, no
question!
I continued to embrace him, my husband, my partner, my lover, my
girlfriend. We found ourselves comforted.
Then as we were falling asleep in each other’s arms, lying between
the fresh sheets Scottie had laid out for his wife and her lover,
as I’d requested, he muttered something else to me in his softest,
most girlish voice.
“Mandy, there’s more.”
“What is it, my sweet Scottie? What?”
“After he fucked me, before you walked in and surprised us?”
“Yes, honey.”
“I had an impulse. It was very strange. I wanted to suck his
cock. Like with that man in the parking lot? I wanted to hold him
in my mouth and taste him. And swallow him, swallow whatever came
out of him. He let me hold it in my hand first, and it was so
different from mine, even mine when it could still get hard, even
though it’s about the same size. It was different I think because
it belonged to someone who wanted to use it to give me pleasure.
I wanted to thank him, to let him know I was grateful. So when he
told me to get down on my knees, I thought that’s what he was going
to ask me to do, to suck on it, and my heart leapt up with joy! Of
course what he did next was even better. Way better! He fucked
me! And I loved that even more!”
A pang shot through me. Yes, I’d gone way too far. It was time to
ramp down my affair with Craig and end it, and recover my marriage
if I could, and try to recover what was left of my husband. It was
already mid-August, and the novelty of my affair had faded anyhow.
Another couple of sessions and that would end it.
“Now now, darling,” I soothed him. “I love it too. Go to sleep
now, and we’ll see how you feel in the morning.”
When he was safely asleep, I quietly got up and took his remaining
tranquilizer-hormone pills out of the medicine cabinet and put them
in a purse at the back of my closet. He’d had enough of those. We
were now on our own.
In the morning he’d come down from his erotic trance. It isn’t an
extraordinary thing for a girl to feel enraptured by the first dick
ever to enter her, and Scottie was no exception. By morning things
looked a little more sensible. He was more like himself. I took
down my robe and he slipped into a dainty coverup, and we sat down
together at breakfast, and he tried to explain himself.
“It isn’t that I don’t want to be a man any more. It’s that I love
being a woman. I love the fussing, making myself look beautiful,
and feeling beautiful and knowing it. All the different kinds of
clothes, and how they feel when I first put them on. How my bras
hug me and how my titties feel when they’re lifted and enclosed and
shaped by them. And when you touch them, even when I touch them,
it’s paradise. Heaven!”
He paused and took a deep breath, then went on.
“Mandy, I love them, I can’t thank you enough for giving them to
me. More than anything else, my breasts make me feel like a
natural woman. They complete me, in a way. I can’t imagine life
without them. They’re me. And I want the world to know it. I’ll
never want to hide them in men’s clothes.”
I looked closely at his chest. He was right. His breasts protruded
far out from his chest, and his puffy nipples extended them even
further. They didn’t want to be hidden. “You couldn’t anyhow,” I
said. “They’re far too big for that, even if you didn’t need a
bra, and you certainly do need one. But you’re right, women’s
clothes do allow for breasts, even celebrate them!”
He saw me checking him over and grinned. “My ass is pretty cute
too,” he added. Then he continued, “There are lots of down sides
to living as a woman, but even when I’m feeling down about it there
are always the lovely, lovely ways other women accept me as one of
their own and want to cheer me up. Women are so very wonderful!
You were right a couple of months back when you told me that I
didn’t understand what it was like, being a woman. But I do now,
and I’m terribly tempted to stay this way. And thanks to you I now
understand what it’s like to be a woman who’s been with a man!
You’re so very good to me, Mandy!”
I had to ask it without further delay. “Sweetheart, do you think
you’ll want to stay married to me? I mean, will you want to find
a man to live with instead of me?” I dreaded the possible answer.
I didn’t want to lose my beautiful Scottie. Yet, I’d brought it on
myself.
“Sweetheart, when I married you I told you I’d forsake all others,
and you told me the same thing, and neither of us specified which
sex we’d forsake, so it must mean both. Yes, I’d love to be fucked
by other men like Craig. But I’ll get over it, the same way I got
over wanting to make love with other women after we got married.”
He paused. “But lately I haven’t been able to make love even to
you. And you don’t seem to have minded!”
I tried to look nonchalant, so I sipped my coffee before I replied.
“I think we can return your prick to active duty now, honey.
That’s a small side effect of those pills I’ve been giving you so
you wouldn’t mind living your life these past months. One of the
side effects.” I decided not to mention his nipples — better to
leave well-enough alone. “Obviously you no longer need pills to
help you accept life as a woman.”
He smiled his old smile. “No, I don’t suppose so.”
He hesitated, then went on. “Mandy, just sitting and chatting with
you each morning while we each put on our faces for the day and
help choose each other’s outfits, that’s the kind of thing I don’t
want to give up. I don’t want to, but I could, if I returned to
being a man. I’m fine as a man. But even as a man, could I be a
woman with you now and then anyhow? Dress and primp and then
sort of go out together, just the two of us? Find some men and
have a fling with them just for the night, nothing lasting,
enjoy being women with men and then be ourselves again? The
kind of thing Mort and Cheryl do? That wouldn’t violate our
marriage vows, not if we did it together. Not if each time we
took a night out it was a gift we gave each other. Would it?”
He was so sweet! That’s what I should have done when that grand
passion for Craig first overwhelmed me! Asked him for permission!
Told him about it! Invited him to join me! Maybe asked Craig to
bring him a friend as well as one for Cheryl?
No, I’m daydreaming, I realized. I couldn’t really have fixed him
up with Craig’s friends back then. He was still a man back then.
What a terrible shame. How can I tell him that I’ve been secretly
fucking Craig! He’d feel I’ve been dishonest, because I have been
dishonest. Craig will always have to be my secret. Still, now
he’s a woman who wants to share a life with me as a woman!
Tears came into my eyes.
“I think that would be just lovely,” I said, trying to control the
tremor in my voice and failing. “That’s such a beautiful idea, if
you were to remain a woman, that now and then we’d go out and find
ourselves some men and get ourselves fucked by them!”
Scottie reached over and took both my hands in his. “I love you,
Mandy. I’ll finish the summer the way I promised. And I want to
finish my book about it. Would it be too much to ask you to write
up your version, so I can incorporate it?”
No way did I want him to know my version, about my private reasons
for forcing him into femininity, about my obsession with fucking
Craig and trying to fuck Craig over, and my obsession with fucking
up my husband so I’d feel less guilty about what I’d already done
to him.
So all I said was, “Honey, I’ve been reading your journal entries.
I assume you want me to read them, because you left them open on
your desk, and sometimes you left them all over the house.”
He looked at me mildly. “You’ve forgotten, Mandy. I keep
different kinds of journals when I’m on a project. What you read
was only a day book where I enter where I’ve been and what I’ve
done with people I mostly don’t know. Nothing much private. But
I’ve kept other journals that track where I’m at and what I’m
working through, describe the tunnels I’ve been digging with no
light at the end but sometimes a twist and a gleam. My book is
writing itself out of those journals. It reads more like a private
diary than a chronology of events, so I’m letting it come out that
way. It’s about what the whole summer has been, not just what
being a woman is like, though that’s the central focus of course.
You’ll see. Just wait.”
So I waited. Not for long.