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She spoke precisely, with authority, and though she no longer sounded vindictive her voice could still etch glass. She'd made up her mind, and when Cynthia's mind is made up there's nothing more to say. Now I had to make up my mind.

"That's how it is, Keith! My sweet disloyal husband! Your decision! You want this marriage to continue, we can get past this ... this thing you've done to me. To us. But you'll have to agree to one or the other. No more argument, no more floppy-eared, doggy-eyed pleading that you're so very sorry and it won't happen again and it was only sex and meant nothing, and so on. No alternative proposals, no stalling. Either we go to the Club for dinner and you sit there and eat your dessert while I dance with different men and then go off with them for sex while everyone sees and knows and you just sit there. Or else we go to the Club and I eat my dessert while you go off with different men and give them each your choicest blow job, knowing I know the whole time what you're doing. That's what's on your plate, honey! You pick which one."

I just stood there staring at my wife while she sat at her makeup table concentrating on the outline of her lips, staring back at me in her mirror with her huge, freshly shadowed, freshly mascara'd eyes. Dressing for her Ladies' Book Club meeting later today -- odd how women dress for each other, but I suppose only women can appreciate what goes into dressing for each other. She'd given me a crazy set of options. But did she mean it? Had her brain run amok? Had my ... my lapses with Sheila -- let's face it, my impassioned fucking of Sheila at every opportunity -- driven her out of her mind?

If only she'd never found out! But she had. How? Maybe some old boyfriend of Sheila's had avenged himself on me by sending Cynthia those graphic, unambiguous pictures of our out-of-town intimacies. Cynthia showed them to me and I tried confessing everything to her, hoping for forgiveness and absolution. Then our relations turned frigid. Until this morning.

"I won't be humiliated this way!" Cynthia went on with a certain tense urgency. "So at the very least, I have got to humiliate you to get even. I can't stand it! How could you! Everyone knew about you and your ... secretary but me! For months, everyone pitying me, or amused by my ignorance. By my innocence!"

Sheila was only one of the secretaries in my office, but I didn't think correcting her would do any good. I started to say yet again how sorry I was, but she cut me off. Not interested. "Well, now it's your turn, Keith! Choose the first way and everyone will know you're the one being humiliated, and they'll know you deserve it, and they'll mock you or pity you as a pussy whipped wimp cuckold, whichever, I couldn't care less. The other way, only you and I will know you're being humiliated, reduced to servicing men with your mouth. So your precious reputation can remain intact. But you'll know and I'll know you've been less than a man, that you're being a woman with other men. And I'll find that knowledge deeply satisfying!"

I had no idea how to respond. She was still so angry, yet at the same time seemingly so rational!

"So which is it, dear? Plan A or plan B? If Plan A, then let's say a month from now we go to the Club and I make sure the crowd sees me dancing really close with some of the better-known studs and seducers, different guys, and then sees me kiss one of them and then disappear with him, and they'll see you sitting there alone for a long while, then going home alone. That's A. What I do with these guys after we disappear is my business -- you don't get to ask and you'll never know. Maybe I'll do some serious revenge fucking with them, maybe nothing at all. But either way I'll get what I want, what I need, I'll embarrass and humiliate you in front of everybody we know, persuade everyone that you lack the guts to defend your own, you're impotent, less than a man. Let's say I do that four Saturday evenings in a row, one for each of those so-called 'business' trips you took with your Sheila and then spent fucking her ass off. Then we're even, quits, and we won't either of us mention any of this ever again. Maybe you'll live it down. Maybe you won't have the guts and will simply disappear from town and everyone who knows you. So much the better for me. Deal?"

God! Could I handle it? Not knowing whether she's been unfaithful but knowing everyone thinks so? Could I endure the ridicule, the derision? What would all our friends and their friends think? I suppose I could survive it for a month, wait for the disgrace to die away eventually.

But it wouldn't. There'd be more of same, it would go on and on into the future. Cynthia was a beautiful woman, and she knew it and enjoyed presenting herself that way, well-dressed and made up, sparkling. If those same men thought or knew for sure that she was available, there'd be no end to it. I couldn't ever go to the Club again. All sorts of guys would be out to make time with her, hitting on her, leaning over her at our dinner table or at the bar even when I'm right there. Especially when I'm there, they'd be amused by my wimp presence, and no way inhibited by it because they'd know I didn't matter. If I put up a fuss it would only get worse -- they'd punch me out for interfering, or more likely they'd just call her on her private cell phone for dates I'd never know anything about. They'd set up to see her as if 'on business,' and then they'd 'see' her much more intimately, if she felt like it. From then on. And I would never know. For the rest of my life, whenever Cynthia wasn't immediately in my sight I could easily assume that some other guy had her bare tits and pussy in his sight. Occasionally I'd be right.

That was the intended result. She wanted me to feel torn, anguished. "For just a month, for four Saturdays in a row, and then you'll be faithful to me again?" I asked wistfully.

"As far as you'd know. As far as you'll ever know." She smiled maliciously. "Maybe as faithful as I'll really be during that month, anyhow." She grinned at me! "Marriages are founded on trust, remember? I trusted you. You'll just have to trust me.

"Why a month from now" I asked miserably. "Why not start now and get it over with?"

"Because I'll want to prepare the field. For Plan A, I'll need to be sure well before the first of the four Saturdays that everyone knows I'm available and that you're a pussy, no problem, no way an enraged husband, you're not going to do anything about anything. A month is time enough for me to get the word out that your cock has gone feeble and has quit on me, so I'm looking for others that won't quit ever. That should also serve to discourage any women in your future too, those hard-up older women Maureen talks about, women who might want to console you, the kind who're always looking for any man at all. The rumor that you're impotent would also discourage any gay men from trying their luck with you, though I wouldn't mind some of them making moves on you. Embarrassing for you, but fun for me to see!"

She watched my face register different reactions as she spoke, while her own face stayed amused and a little smug, utterly unsympathetic. Then she sighed, sitting there at her make-up table in our bedroom. And turned on the little revolving stool that was now her throne, since she was still speaking with such supreme authority. She knew I didn't want her to leave me, not ever. That I now regretted every moment I'd had with Sheila. Every fuck. Now that she knew about them. But she wanted her pound of flesh, and apparently she wanted it moving between her legs. Or wanted me and everyone else to think so.

I was disconsolate. "Speaking of gay men, how is Plan B supposed to work? The gays at the Club all know each other and know I'm not. Who'd believe I've suddenly converted and want to do one of them? Four of them, for that matter?"

A gleam entered her eye, and the corners of her lovely, impeccably scarlet mouth curled slightly.

"That's why if you choose Plan B we'd need the whole month to prepare you. I think we can get you ready in a month. You won't get to suck on gay men, no, that's too easy. I'll want the same guys who'd be hitting on me to hit on you instead, straight guys. So we'll use the month to turn you into a very attractive woman." She looked at me closely. "We can do it, I know we can. You're thin, svelte is what I'd say, and with the right clothes and the right treatment you could look willowy, even curvy. You have good bones and regular features, your face is small, even delicate -- it'll look just darling when it's made up." Now she grinned broadly. "And you have longish hair and a large mouth well fit to take in whatever comes."

She paused to enjoy her own satisfaction at that last crack, then continued. "More than one of my friends has commented in passing that a face and body like yours is wasted on a man. And they've often envied me that you're interested in lots of things they're interested in and their husbands aren't. So I know we can make you into a credible, even a stunning woman! Then those same four consecutive Saturdays we'll go to the Club for dinner and dancing, same as Plan A. Only 'we' won't go to the Club -- you'll be out of town everyone'll think. I'll be going instead with my visiting sister-in law Kate, your supposed sister -- she'll bear some resemblance to you Keith, so that's who she'll have to be. Your sister Kate the Slut -- I'll spread word of her reputation during the month we're preparing you. Then before the first Saturday ends, and each of the next three Saturdays, Kate the Slut will select some guy, one of the Club studs who'll surely be asking you to dance and make out with him, and you'll take him upstairs to one of the Club's hospitality rooms and you'll give him a blow job. At least a blow job - - if you want to give him your ass too that's up to you. Then when you come back down I'll check your breath for certain signs that you've done it, that my devoted husband has done his womanly duty and sucked a man's cock and swallowed down his cum. No washing your mouth out -- if no cummy breath then no credit for your efforts. So you'll have to get used to keeping the taste in your mouth -- maybe you'll get to like it." She smiled maliciously. "Each week another cock will cum in your mouth, four altogether. If I'm not satisfied, if I don't smell some guy's ejaculation each time, I'll immediately revert to plan A and you won't see me until the next day. If then."

She paused. "So, sweetheart, what's it to be? Plan A, I'm a whore, or plan B, you're the whore."

I was silent. Plan A? I didn't want her getting to know any of the local studs intimately. I knew that once they heard she was available, ex-footballers like Frank Quigley or Jerry Moss would be on her instantly and they'd never quit, and I was sure that once she got a taste of men like those, that would be the end of our marriage. Then if I initiated a divorce on those grounds -- or any other -- given the prenup her father had insisted I sign before he'd approve of us as a couple and lend me startup money, it would be the end of my investment firm. I'd be cuckolded for life and maybe broke too. If we didn't divorce, who knows whose k**s I'd be raising as if mine when we decided it was time to have k**s?

Yet, Plan B, give four different guys blow jobs? Even disguised as my supposed sister 'Kate'? My reputation and my wife's virtue would be preserved, I suppose, because no one would know that either of us was implicated. What reputation I have left now, given gossip about me and Sheila. But I'd know I'd done it! That I'd kneeled down and taken some guy's prick in my hand and mouth and sucked on it and swallowed his cum. Worse, Cynthia would know it, and would know moreover that I'd done it as a woman. For the rest of our marriage, however long it managed to last, in her eyes I'd always be an emasculated sissy cock sucker. A male lover of men without even the integrity to call myself Gay. A whore.

Maybe that prospect would persuade her to abandon this crazy scheme, to look the other way and forgive and forget? "If I sucked all those cocks," I said to her solemnly, "you'd lose all respect for me. There'd be no basis for continuing our marriage."

"Oh, I've sucked cocks," she said with a sudden sprightliness. "Even yours. Maybe we could stay married and double-date?" Her sarcasm hurt.

Then her voice turned more sympathetic, though her expression remained amused, "Honey, think of it this way. No one would lose respect, because no one would know. Only the two of us. And you wouldn't need to lose respect for yourself, because in an odd way Plan B is the more gentlemanly choice. More courteous, more chivalric. Yes, you'd be utterly unmanned as far as I'm concerned, from the moment you chose to dress like a girl, pretend you're a girl, and then repeatedly service some Club stud's prick like a girl. But I'd also have to admire you for it! You'd be saving me from enduring a fate worse than death all month, my lost virtue each time I get laid by whatever different good-looking guy I happen to choose at cost to my reputation. You'll save me from seeming a slut to everyone! True, you'd be doing it to save yourself from a cuckold's fate, but it would be for me as well as yourself. You'd be rescuing and safeguarding my good name! And for that I'd be grateful! You'd be the ultimate courtly lover, the perfect man making a supreme sacrifice of himself for his woman, taking it entirely on himself to preserve his lady's virtue by sucking cocks for her instead of letting her whore herself out to whatever cock finds her desirable."

I sat silent. What a choice!

"Either way, four times and then it's done and we can resume our marriage. We can live down the aftermath I'm sure. I'll have gotten even with you and maybe even found reason to admire your self-sacrifice. And either way you'll go through enough of an ordeal to assure me there won't be any more Sheilas, or any other women."

For sure, I'd had no idea that my wife Cynthia was this diabolical.

But there she was, sitting there staring at me through those perfect eyes, waiting for my decision. I began to think hard. Plan A would create situations and problems I could never live down. Plan B would last only the month and then I'd be done with it. And if I could bring it off, if I could successfully seem to be my own sister Kate, my personal reputation would survive unsullied. In the process though I'd have to suck some guys' cocks, four of them anyhow. Run my lips up and down four cocks and then swallow their jism while looking seductive. Yuck?

Cynthia now looked at me thoughtfully. "Come to think of it, my dear unfaithful hubby, plan B has yet another advantage. You'd be living for two months as an actual woman. True, you'd have to learn how to sink gracefully to your knees and reach for a guy's cock and take it into your mouth and eat it like a lollypop, looking up at him helplessly and gratefully the whole time, the way we girls do. Yes, you'd certainly learn that! But much more, you'll be learning what it's like to really be a woman. How to look, talk, move, dress, and behave the way women do. How to seem attractive to men and to yourself, how to act flirtatious and enjoy it. How we think, how we feel, and why. You'll need to study us and imitate us and locate and develop whatever your own innate femininity. You'll have to become one of us as best you can. By the end of the two months you'll know a lot more about my sex, how we think and feel about lots of things, our inclinations and desires, our marriages, and how we feel when we learn that our husbands have been fucking other women. You might even get to know something about how I feel right now, as a woman once in love with a man who'd once sworn he'd be faithful and then betrayed her."

I was silent. Especially disturbed by her phrase 'once in love.' Not now in love? I wanted her back! Point taken.

"Those insights into feminine feelings will do our future marriage no harm. True, if you're willing to suck someone else's cock, sacrifice your supposed manhood in your own eyes and mine, I'd feel a certain contempt for you afterward. But knowing you did it for me, to keep me as your wife, that you were sacrificing yourself for me, for us, I'd feel a certain admiration too! Maybe even love! Much more than if you decided to let me fuck other guys, maybe, decided that you could endure the contempt of everyone knowing you're a cuckold who does nothing about it. To endure your own self-loathing and risk mine in order to preserve our marriage is much more noble than bearing up under ridicule. It would be heroic, in a way, if you decided to suck on four cocks for me."

She seemed to be staring at me earnestly now. Hopefully too? "What you did to me was devastating, Keith," she added. "It hurt me. So you have to pay a price. One way or the other. Which will it be? Time to choose, honey!" This last almost sounded affectionate!

"Can I take some time to think about it?" I asked, trying to delay this crazy decision until ... until what? She changes her mind? I could see that she was smitten herself by the choice she'd given me, absolutely persuaded it was the right thing to do. Become a cuckold known to everyone or a sissy cock sucker known to both of us. In her mind I deserved either or both!

She stood. Her hair was now neat, beautifully coiffed, and her face fully made up, perfect, ready for the day, ready for anything. Her mind was made up too. "Choose, Keith! If I walk out now I'll go straight to my father's attorney, and that'll be the end of our marriage. I can do it, too, I'm just furious enough at you! Plan A or B either way punishes you but saves our marriage. So what'll it be?"

What could I say? Was there a choice, really? "I guess plan B does us less damage," I muttered.

"You'll be my very own darling cock sucker, is that it? Say it!"

She didn't have to rub it in. Or maybe she did. "Yes," I replied. She waited. "I have to," I added. She waited even longer. "I'll be your very own darling cock sucker," I said finally.

She exhaled quietly. In relief? "Good," she said. "Then we'll begin now. Call your office and tell them you're taking two month's leave -- this is the slow season, they can deal with things without you I'm sure. Then strip yourself naked! I want no hair on your whole body!"

"Why?" I asked, now a little annoyed. "To suck cocks? I know I'll have to shave real close when the time comes, but now, to leave no hair on my whole body?"

She grinned maliciously. "Keith sweetheart, to suck a man's cock, you first have to attract him. Attracting a man is much easier if you're feeling girly because you know you are girly. For the next two months you will live and think and feel like a pretty girl." She paused, and then her grin turned delighted. "Don't worry, honey, you'll learn to love it! I certainly do!"

Did I have a choice? I'd made my choice. She stood there waiting, grinning broadly for the first time since she'd seen those pictures of me hunched over Sheila's ecstatic body. I'd be glad when the two months were over, I decided, but until then I was Cynthia's to do with as she wished. I turned and headed for the bathroom.

ii.

A month later I was something resembling a cute, sprightly young girl, fun to be with, sometimes bubbly, who'd been living as a woman the whole time. Not even 'as if' a woman. I'd been on a few trial dates and kissed a few men and gotten my latex boobs felt up a few times, even kissed through my blouse and bra by one rather passionate young man. I was returning from a date right now, and had let myself back into the house and gone straight upstairs. Not too late, only one a.m. But I knew Cynthia would be awake and would want to know everything immediately, how it'd gone. How much more I'd learned about seducing men.

'Hi. Kate," she said. She was sitting at her vanity readying herself for bed, not pausing as she brushed her hair, fifty strokes every evening as always every evening. I did that with mine too now. "Have I told you before that I love your new hair color and cut? That honey blonde gamine look sets off your face so beautifully. You owe Maureen for suggesting it last week." Then she turned to the topic highest on her mind. " Well," she said. "You look positively glowing!" She leaned forward conspiratorially, with a wicked smile, hoping to hear something naughty. "So how was it?"

She was being a best girlfriend welcoming me back from my date, but even so looking at me closely. As she did every time I returned from being a woman on my own, whether I'd been shopping by myself or keeping a beauty appointment. "I see your lipstick is mussed. Craig was it this time? Did he ask you out again?"

"Yes," I replied, sighing. "I had a good time. And yes, he did. But I turned him down. In a few more days now I'm going to have to start paying my debt to you, and enough is enough I suspect. I think I can manage men now."

Cynthia looked vaguely concerned. "Did you take my advice and feel for his cock? You don't want the first one in your mouth to be the first one in your hand too."

As if I didn't spend most nights squeezing and pulling on my own cock -- Cynthia had cut me off from sex with her absolutely 'until we feel married again' as she'd said. I could lick and suck her cunt, she allowed that because it seemed to her subservient -- she enjoyed seeing me lower myself in order to pleasure her. And she loved what my tongue did to her! But no sex! "Girls don't have penises," she informed me the first time I pressed mine against her through my nightie. Then she got mean. "Though even when you were a boy, I can't say you had much more than some girls have." I had to remind myself that she'd never complained, and neither had Sheila.

Did I feel for Craig's cock? "He got off in his pants," I told her. "I stroked him through his pants. I told him I was a little shy about holding a naked penis on a first date. That's why he asked me out again almost immediately."

Cynthia smiled to herself and said nothing for a moment. Just kept stroking her hair with her hair brush. Then still staring at her own image in her mirror, she asked "So, last night did Brian get lucky? That was his second date with you wasn't it? You gave him a proper hand job last night, didn't you? Skin on skin?"

I had. But I said nothing. I unzipped my dress and pulled it off over my head, and then, wearing only my bra, panties, and thi-hi stockings, I sat at my own vanity opposite hers, turned, opened a jar of cold cream, and began preparing my face for bed. Lots of makeup to remove! And I was tired.

Even through his pants Craig's cock had felt huge, bigger than any of the others, way bigger than mine or Brian's, it was hard to imagine taking such a thing in my mouth. But I'd gripped it and worked it. By now I'd gotten accustomed enough to handling other guys' cocks to be reasonably sure I wouldn't outright retch when one became a mouthful and then filled my throat like the soft rubber dildo Cynthia got me to practice with. As one such cock would within the next few days, I was pretty sure. Cynthia remained as determined as ever, and we had a Saturday dinner reservation at the Club for two days from now, and I now knew how to attract guys.

We did still sleep together. She'd insisted on my kissing and sucking her pussy and her clit every evening until she orgasmed 'to show you still love me,' though I was permitted to touch her with my hands only as she might direct, and only rarely. Afterward, as we settled in to sleep, she'd caress my chest tentatively through my nylon nightie, a fingertip on each nipple and a palm pressed against each soft bulge underneath. So I'd know I had breasts.

I'd begun to love it! I'd almost immediately melt and push myself toward her. Those nipples had never been insensitive, but now they'd gotten incredibly erogenous -- once I'd actually had an orgasm as she fondled my 'breasts' as she called them! If I seemed especially responsive, she'd finish by sucking each gently, and then I'd really go into orbit! Every evening, tonight no exception!

Tonight she smiled. "Sensitive, are they? Your nipples are distinctly longer and fatter now, more than mine, though the breasts beneath are only beginning to be noticeable. Still, as I told you a month ago when you were getting your first manicure and I gave you your first pill, when a man finally tries to warm you up enough to go down on him you'll be glad you have them. If only so you'll feel more authentic, more like a girl pleasuring her man. So you won't feel at all like some submissive Gay man surrendering to another man. Am I right?"

I nodded. The feeling that radiated out of those nipples into my groin and through my body was extraordinary -- a yearning, tense, satisfying surge toward even greater glowing bliss, not unlike an orgasm, but lasting on and on. I wanted more of her caresses and said so. 'No, we don't want to spoil you,' she commented, rubbing each breast and flicking each nipple just once more. "Though you might want to remain a girl after all this is over, and grow them to full size. They'd be beautiful I'm sure -- even now they're lovely, cute I'd call them. I'm delighted that you now know how women feel about their boobs. But your little peter wouldn't like the competition -- it'd hide for shame and refuse to come out ever, that's what happens to penises when guys soak them in hormones in order to grow full-sized breasts. Then if you couldn't get erections, I'd need to take up Plan A after all to seek my own satisfaction. And you might not like that." She smiled. "Or maybe by then you wouldn't mind, because you'd be attracting your own circles of guys and enjoying your own Plan A?"

She was teasing. So I didn't tell her that I loved what was happening to my chest. That sometimes when she was sleeping, and other odd times during the day, I'd diddle my titties and enjoy the delicious pleasure of my own caresses. My morning woody might not be quite as rigid as before all this began, though it was still functioning, but I loved my upper body so it was all in all a net gain.

I even enjoyed the power of my own attractiveness, the way men glanced then looked at me as I drove in traffic or walked through malls. Cynthia decreed the first morning after I'd chosen Plan B that I had to look female adequately at once, 'so we can go shopping for everything you need and you can develop our mannerisms and get used to being one of us from Day One, today!' So she'd taken me to her favorite salon -- "Sheer Beauty" -- for conversion, for a complete makeover, and she'd told her beautician Maureen exactly what she wanted. "He'll be living as if a woman for the next couple of months," she said. "I want him beautiful, respectable but with a hint of daring. Edgy. You know, desirable and maybe available, but without seeming slutty."

Maureen's shop was a center for all sorts of women's gossip -- when any of the women in our circle wanted to spread or confirm a rumor, there was where they went. Maureen herself knew many things, gave good advice, and was trusted with the most intimate of her many clients' secrets. Some she shared with others, as women will when chatting where others can't overhear. She'd attended our wedding, had been Cynthia's personal advisor for years for more things than I cared to know about, and was never surprised by any of Cynthia's requests. She looked me over carefully.

"Not a problem," she announced. "She's marvelous material to work with. I've wondered why you never thought of this before, given her possibilities. That nose and chin, and those cheekbones! Whatever you're up to, I'm sure you'll both be very satisfied." She gave Cynthia an especially meaningful look, and Cynthia replied merely, "Whatever you think. She's all yours."

From then on both women discussed me as if I were a mannequin. Maureen waxed and plucked and painted and toned and curled me to perfection, and taught me how to maintain that level of perfection at all times except when in bed . "In bed with the right guy, a girl doesn't mind getting mussed," Maureen informed me as she lengthened and painted my nails.

An idea occurred to her. "You know, a short course of hormones would greatly help her complexion," she mused to Cynthia as she studied her arrays of toners and foundations.. "If you don't mind the side effects."

"Like what?" Cynthia asked.

They looked at each other behind my back, and in the mirror I saw an exchange of understanding as Maureen said vaguely, "Oh, you know, her attitude, they might make what you're doing easier for her. There'd be some changes in her body shape too -- she'd grow more generous up top and she'd round out down below. Though not her pecker -- that might not change shape at all after a while."

"She'd get even more attractive to men?" Cynthia asked immediately, before I could inquire what Maureen meant. "And less to women?"

"Most women," Maureen replied as she dabbed at me. "Some women do enjoy other women, you know." The two women looked meaningfully at each other -- apparently they shared some sort of attitude toward women of that kind.

But I knew what Cynthia was thinking when she said "Then let's do it!" More attractive to men would be advantageous, and less attractive to most women also advantageous, especially to women named Sheila. So I could hardly object.

"The effects will last longer than two months?" I had to ask.

"Longer than what we're doing to you today," Maureen replied evasively. "They might. But you'll find there are advantages."

I glanced at Cynthia and saw she'd made up her mind. So Maureen sent out for the pills at once, and when a cute assistant brought them to her, she handed them wordlessly to Cynthia. "You should have the honor," she said deferentially.

Cynthia said "Open up, birdy," and fed me my first. Her eyes gleamed.

"She may feel a little nauseous at first," Maureen commented. "These are magic potions, heavy duty. But it's probably for the best in the long run."

"I'm sure," Cynthia said, with a certainty that encouraged no further thought. I wondered what 'long run' might mean.

I noticed no changes the first week or so, though a month later I knew Maureen had been right. I felt much less masculine. All embarrassment at presenting feminine disappeared. I loved my softer looks and nascent titties and rounder butt.

Even that first afternoon, as I left the salon looking quite presentable -- quite 'lovely' Cynthia had pronounced me -- I decided I wanted to 'look nice' in other ways too. "Let's shop," I declared, picking up the old purse of Cynthia's I was using that first day.

"To get it over with?" Cynthia had asked.

"No, to do this thing right," I'd replied, trying to suppress any apparent eagerness -- I didn't want to encourage her to go too far. "You said it earlier -- the more I seem to be a woman, the less likely it is I'll feel embarrassed as a man, so the more easily I'll be able to ... do what I said I'd do." I couldn't quite say 'get four men to wag their cocks in my face and then push them into my mouth.'

My first glance into the salon mirror told me that it made sense for me to feel completely feminine. 'In for a penny, in for a pound,' I told myself, and 'If a job is worth doing, it's worth doing well.' That first pill certainly helped that state of mind!

Cynthia was amused by my ready acquiescence. "We won't buy you much right away," she said. "A starter set. A few house dresses and cocktail dresses, sportswear of course, and other things to match. Undies to help you feel pretty, you know, things you'll need immediately. Things to help you feel sexy. Then once you're rid of your masculine moves, your loping and swaggering, we'll start showing you around the neighborhood and at the Club. Get together with other women and maybe arrange for you to get together with a few men too, so you can practice flirting and being coy. By the end of this month we want you altogether accustomed to being female, and we'll want you to know something about seducing guys. I've always found it a useful skill." She looked self-satisfied when she said it that, and it made me uneasy. Should I suspect something? I decided she was only goading or mocking me, or recalling our early days together.

I suppose she thought she was doing me a favor. Well, OK, nothing for it, she was. I found almost at once in our very first store that I was avid to learn which styles were 'me' and to begin wearing them. Even Cynthia was surprised by the zeal I brought to 'discovering my feminine side,' as she'd put it. She felt greatly encouraged, she said.

When I went back for touch ups the following week and told Maureen, she commented that those particular pills often had that sort of effect on men. They made them feel more cooperative, less threatened by their own innate femininity.

I asked what she meant. "If you're supposed to be changing your sex, it helps to change your gender too, as best you can. I work with transgendered people sometimes, and have read a lot about them. Despite the way hormones change our bodies when we're growing up, and despite everything we're told, no one is ever entirely masculine or feminine, not in what we feel we are. We're all a little bit bigendered, maybe a lot, though there's lots of pressure on us not to show it. If you aren't altogether manly or womanly you're made to feel ashamed."

"You've thought about this," I commented. She was now pencilling in my incredibly thin eyebrows.

"I'm in the business," she replied. "I make women look and feel desirable, feminine. Women love feeling that way, and men seek it out in them. If a man feels any of it in himself, he may well seek it out in himself, though most men suppress that feeling most of the time. But seeking out the feminine can be a joy for both men and women. Men who find it in women are delighted. Men who find it in themselves are both delighted and ashamed. There's a very thin line between the two. Cynthia used to cross it now and then when we first got to know each other." She stopped and didn't elaborate further. Tales out of school?

"In what way?"

"Oh, you know. Young people like to experiment. When boys seem too gross, girls turn to other girls. What we admire in ourselves we admire in others. Cynthia liked girls for some things before she met you. And boys for other things."

I nodded. I knew that Cynthia had experimented with other girls in college before she found she preferred men for the main purpose -- she'd told me once that what attracted her most when she met me was that I had a cock but wasn't outrageously masculine. She'd married me, she'd said, as the best of both worlds, though I wasn't by any means the best of either of those worlds. I only partly understood her. I had no desire whatever for men and she knew it, that's why she was punishing me by forcing me to deal with it. At the same time, I'd never been macho, deeply invested in my own masculinity. Now I was finding that cultivating the feminine in me could be both easy and pleasurable. What's desired is desirable, wherever it's found. That seems to be what Maureen meant.

I relayed that insight to her and she nodded. "But don't forget," she added. "Women also love men. Opposites attract in order to complete each other." She gave me a glancing smile. "The more feminine these pills make you feel, the more they may encourage you to seek your opposite. We all do. Most of us. Mostly. "

She smiled to herself as she took down a bottle of nail polish, and then advised me solemnly, "Just try to be all you can be, Kate." Good standard advice for all occasions. But my femininity was committed to pleasure men with my mouth the same way I loved to pleasure women, or Cynthia anyhow. I had no choice.

Maureen interrupted that thought with a question. "Isn't that what's going on between you two now? Is it possible that she's bringing out your inner girl so she can love in you what she loves in herself? So you can enjoy what she enjoys? And you're going along with it because you love her? If so I think that's kind of sweet!"

I decided to say it. Don't we all share confidences with our hairdressers? "No, she's punishing me."

Maureen's expression didn't change. Then she asked as she kept working, "Oh, because of the Sheila thing?"

I was surprised. "You knew about that?"

"Everyone knew, honey! This is a small town in some ways. I do Sheila's hair when her regular cutter can't, and she loves to talk. She said you were quite good at what you did, all things considered."

I didn't ask what those things were -- the information couldn't possibly help sustain my male ego.

"So how is being a woman punishment?" she then asked.

"I'll have to do things with other men," I replied. "Soon!"

"Oh, you poor dear!" she replied with mock sympathy. Then, "Well, go with the flow! You may surprise yourself!" Then before I knew it Maureen had finished with me and turned to other customers.

A week later I was attending my first party as my sister 'Kate.' At Cynthia's friend Tracy's -- a gathering of some of the people they worked with and a few neighbors. I was still a little wobbly walking on my new strappy heels, so I mostly sat. And I was fearful that my ultra short, rather tight dress would shift up to reveal my ambiguous crotch, so I kept pulling it down self-consciously.

"That's a cute move," a tall, pale blond guy said to me while taking my glass to refill it without even asking me. "I love that dress. "

"I do too," I said. I felt flattered! My first conversation with a guy trying to make time with me! But I couldn't think of anything else to say.

"It shows off all sorts of attractive things, so what it conceals does seem all the more enticing! I'm Bob."

Quite a line! "Oh?" was all I thought to say. Then, "I'm Kate." And I was off and running in the flirtation sweepstakes.

What the dress concealed wasn't much. I knew I had nicely curved legs, always had them, that became apparent that first day of shopping when Maureen and her 'Sheer Beauty' crew had done their work and I'd tried on my first pantyhose. That day all the pants and leggings we bought for me were tight, and all of the skirts and dresses perilously short. Cynthia had padded me out before I'd slipped into this dress, so I knew something about what Bob meant by 'what it conceals.' "Be bold," Cynthia'd said as she filled out my bra to a more than modest size. "'What God has forgotten, we stuff with cotton!'" Only it was shaped foam.

He asked me to dance -- fortunately Cynthia had taught me the elementals -- and he pressed himself against me while we swayed together. For two slow dances I practiced enjoying a man's close embrace, and practiced girlish conversational gambits. Mostly I asked him questions about what he does and what he likes, and said "Oh?" with a well-plucked, raised eyebrow whenever he said anything that might seem surprising. My mind wandered after a while -- I'd known lots of guys like him, bores -- so I was surprised when he led me back to Cynthia saying, "Wonderful! Friday then. I'll stop by at seven and we'll go directly there. It's a nice supper club, not too formal, you'll love it!" He then disappeared.

Had we been talking about restaurants, and I'd zoned out? Whatever, I had a date! Terrifying!

Cynthia merely smiled. "You do seem to have a talent, Kate," she said to me. "That was Bob Polder -- Tracy tells me he's quite a catch -- at least none of the women in her office who've gone out with him, single or married women, it doesn't seem to matter, have ever complained about him afterward. He's cute, I envy you! Don't worry, it's a first date and no one knows yet that you're supposed to be a slut. So you're a respectable girl, and he won't be expecting too much. A nice good night kiss, certainly, maybe a little more. "

She seemed exultant! I almost resented it.

So I determined to disappoint her by over performing. When Bob brought me home and we were sitting in his car chatting, I kissed him as if passionately and then stroked his cock through his pants until he squirted! Drenching his underwear! It was amusing, he seemed so willing yet so embarrassed! Oddly, I felt proud -- it was my first hand job of sorts, though when he tried to reciprocate by pushing his fingers into my non-existent pussy I'd had to distract him by letting him bury his face between my foam breasts while I stroked his hair. A little affection can go a long way with guys, I found that night. It satisfies their egos to think they've raised up a girl's affectionate feelings toward them. Or lusty feelings. To think so, anyway.

I confided all this to Cynthia, and was disappointed when she only nodded encouragingly instead of disapproving. A few more parties and gatherings with ladies who lunch and a few other dates soon followed, week after week, and soon enough my month long career as a new girl and cock sucker-in-training came to an end. I could look forward to another month of it, but this time with four episodes of intimacy with male cocks added.

I didn't mind the part requiring femininity. To my great surprise I found that acting out being a girl, feeling delicate and allowing myself flighty whimsies, choosing outfits and dressing to decorate myself and impress men on dates or other women in mall stores, always looking my prettiest, attending to my face with my vast arrays of makeup, using floral scents, and performing all the other feminine things women perform, in short, tending to myself, was far more satisfying to me than coping with men. I'd previously preferred the company of men -- men can be shrewd and practical and challenging in their competitive instincts, and they share my concerns, whether about sports or politics. Now I found myself a little bored by the male ego, and male habits and needs, their awkward or un-self-consciously boastful conversations about themselves, and so on. Women on the other hand usually made delightful conversations about trivia and each other, always sensitive to implied human feelings and consequences, always far more sociable. They always complimented each other about something, anything, whenever they met, knowing that it would make the other person feel good. I began doing the same, and found they all liked me all the more for it! As a man, I'd been too self-concerned.

Some afternoons by myself I'd go through my accumulated wardrobe trying on different items on whim, enjoying the different kinds of woman I felt like while wearing each. Sometimes glamorous or sporty, sometimes cute or severe, sometimes all business and other times playfully slutty. I explored ways to put together tasteful combinations of things. Being a woman was a wonderfully elaborate game men would never understand, I found. I developed instant rapport with the other women at the parties I attended. In fact I had to pause now and then from giggling and chatting with those other women in order to talk to the men who'd brought them. Men offered the challenge I'd have to confront, how to deal with them as a woman, and I needed the practice. But women were far nicer to be with. As a woman I felt far more comfortable.

But now the payoff had arrived. My month of active humiliation was about to begin. I had to go public now as if cock hungry.

I didn't want to signal it to Cynthia, because she wanted me to endure a month of punishment equivalent to the misery I'd caused her with my infidelity. But since my humiliation was unavoidable, I'd been trying to look forward to it. Not unsuccessfully! 'You've been a girl, time to be a woman,' I'd tell myself in teen girl speak. Was it a matter of 'When **** is inevitable, relax and enjoy it'? Or 'Go ahead, do it and get it over with'? Did I feel anticipation or disgust at the prospect of sucking a guy's cock? Both, but more disgust with myself, because it would be insincere, I'd have to seem to like it when I didn't. Kissing a guy's face and lips and kissing his cock didn't seem that much different. But neither was now the stomach-turning prospect of a month ago. Oral was just one more thing girls did to please their men. So?

Cynthia looked at me meaningfully that first Saturday morning, but said nothing. She knew I knew what lay ahead. My first engagement of the day was with Maureen -- and she went all-out with me. "I hear you give great head! Looking forward to it?" she asked me with a delighted grin as she perfected my eyes. I just looked at her silently, then straight ahead. She leaned forward and put her mouth near my ear. "Well, as I've said, go with the flow," she said. "I've seen a few of these kinds of situations. I think you'll learn some valuable things!"

I didn't dare ask her about what, or what 'kinds of situations' she'd seen, so I just muttered something to the effect that I'd be glad when it was over and I could return to a normal married life. She seemed surprised, and looked at me for a moment..

Cynthia was excited when she arrived home from work and saw that I'd already begun making preparations. "Your strapless gown!" she exulted as we dressed together for our first dinner at the club and my first cock, that first Saturday. "Perfect! Now that your arms and shoulders have thinned out, and your skin is so clear and pale, and that pushup bra gives you a little cleft, the effect is striking. Has anyone kissed your neck yet during those dates you've been on?"

In fact, Will had a week or so ago. He'd parked, and we'd 'necked' -- literally. His stiff beard felt peculiar as he bent over me and nibbled on my lips, then worked his way down to the pit of my throat and the crook of my neck. I'd wanted him to -- other girls at a gathering just a few days earlier had testified that it gave them the shivers to be kissed down there, though still others -- Cynthia among them -- had declared with a glance toward me that "down there" at the base of a neck wasn't far enough down there. Debby, now divorced but formerly the wife of a VP in Cynthia's firm, asked me what I thought about being kissed between the legs, and wriggled from some memory of her own when I replied that a mouth on a pussy could bring ultimate bliss to both mouth and pussy. I'd intended that to compliment Cynthia, to remind her of my nightly service to her crotch and the orgasms it brought her, but she didn't pick up on it. "A prick inside a pussy is better than a mouth on a pussy," Cynthia declared categorically in response. I realized I could take that as an indirect compliment or as a dismissal -- I'd licked her nightly as requested but we hadn't screwed for a month, and she must certainly be feeling the lack as much as I did. But I decided finally to let it go and say nothing.

We finished making ourselves up and dressing, side by side, looked at ourselves and each other and complimented each other for what we saw, and headed for the Club. So I'd feel pampered this special night, Cynthia said, she'd drive. And did. And did each of the next three Saturdays as well. Only on the last Saturday did this create a problem for me.

iii.

Most of the second month seemed an afterthought -- I was well-prepared, it began, I did what I had to do, and it ended. But what ended and what then began was not quite what either of us anticipated.

What should have been my ultimate humiliation, my catastrophic disgrace in my own eyes and my wife's vengeful intentions, turned out to be ... not much at all. Mostly more of same, except that each of the designated Saturdays a guy I hardly knew came on to me, I minced about and teased him some, then got boldly flirtatious and looked him straight in the eye. He got the idea and became eager, we found a private room upstairs, I knelt and opened his fly as if uncovering valuable treasure, took his cock into my mouth, slipped my lips up and down, and brought him off. No big deal. The first one moaned and spurted into my mouth almost immediately, and I smiled up at him while swallowing his goop down, seemingly grateful for the privilege, actually grateful that it was over so soon. The other three had longer cocks and enough selfcontrol to prolong their need for my services -- when it became apparent that my lips and mouth couldn't contain their length I had to take them down my throat, and my neck muscles grew weary before it ended. The first three times, I came back to Cynthia with the taste and smell of sperm permeating my breath, she smiled and congratulated me, we sat together for a brief time, and then went home together. She drove.

Once home and getting ready for bed, she'd ask for details and marvel with me over the success of each of my moves, as if we were schoolgirls talking about our dates and reviewing together our wicked behavior with each. I shared my impressions as fully as I could. Though the cocks were different lengths and thicknesses, the feel of their smooth, bumpy surfaces and ridged head sliding in and out of my mouth and throat seemed much the same. So did my seductive preliminaries -- dance and flirt with them and seem to welcome each conceivable intimate move, breathe heavily, make an immoral proposal they instantly took up, and as soon as we were in one of the rooms on the second floor, open them up and swallow them down. The first three sat or stood stunned, just as they were, unable to believe their luck. As each stiffened, swelled, and spurted, I swallowed, making appropriate appreciative noises. Then I fell on their cocks and licked up the residue as if too long deprived and desperate for more.

The third guy actually did get desperate for an encore. Even after emptying his balls -- or so I imagined -- he wanted more. He hardened up unexpectedly as I cleaned him with my tongue, and he then began pressing me to the floor, preparing to work his thing into my nonexistent cunt. Wordlessly I persuaded him to wait, reached into my purse for the hand lotion I kept there, leaned over the back of an overstuffed chair and pushed my ass way out, slathered lotion all over his rampant cock as it came toward me, and guided it into my ass. He then fucked my hole interminably, on and on, but eventually he came again. I didn't ask Cynthia to sniff me down there to confirm it had happened, but I thought of it.

Cynthia was delighted that at last I'd been fucked! She asked me all sorts of questions -- how did it feel (peculiar), did I take all of him in (yes). did it excite me to my own climax (no), how long was it in fact that he fucked me (maybe twenty minutes, maybe more, it seemed forever), could I feel his sperm's heat when he fired it off into my guts (no, only a prick's spasm). Did I now feel like a woman, a true woman, now that I'd at last shared that experience with women everywhere in the world, now that I'd taken a penis into my body and brought it to climax? I told Cynthia it had probably strengthened my sense of solidarity with women who prefer getting fucked to fucking others, those who like the feel of a cock inside them but not those who want men to line up so they can fuck each in turn. She did exult that at last I'd lost my virginity. "Now you're one of us!" she cried out several times.

I repeated that though this third guy had fucked me and I'd humped back at him, it was only to speed the process until he came again. That I felt stretched out, used.

She kissed me gently on the mouth and assured me that the next time would be better. "You'll learn to love men the way I do," she said somewhat cryptically. "But since men don't have erogenous areas in their ass holes, you'll need to move so your lover's prick rubs against your prostate. That's all!" She regretted that she hadn't dildotrained my ass to know how it can feel at its best. "When you cum with a cock or a dildo deep inside your butt," she assured me, "you'll feel what I feel in mine when I come on a lover! Your ass muscles clench down spasmodically and squeeze it and you enter another dimension from which you never ever altogether return." Cynthia urged me to seek out that sublime experience for myself. "You'll love it!" she assured me. "Shall I arrange for your next to be a man who can give you the experience I've just described? I do want to share the feeling with you!"

A strange question! I'd never gotten access to her ass -- had she done anal with someone else back before we were married? That was always possible. But why should such a man still be around and available? Why did she call him 'a lover' impersonally, when the odds were it was only me? Had she been playing these two months by the rules we'd set up? The rules I'd assumed we'd set up? But by the time I'd processed her suggestion and could question her further, she was asleep. I decided that she knew of men who enjoy anal by the usual women's g****vines -- I'd learned a lot about fetishes and perversions from recent conversations with women at parties and, of course, Maureen. So this night, though I hadn't yet kissed and licked her clit and vagina to several orgasms as usual, sucked her to sleep, I soon slept myself.

In the morning Cynthia made up for it. As I woke I saw her staring at me with a wicked gleam in her eye. "You didn't do me last night, girlfriend," she said. "Can we do some muff diving now?" We could and did. As I pushed my stiff tongue in and out of her pussy, I realized that she'd comfortably called me "girlfriend" for the first time without irony. I suppose she did now think of me that way. I'd been living with her as if her girlfriend for seven weeks, closer to eight, and I'd just gotten laid as if a girl and then told her about it. Could she ever again think of me again as her husband? I couldn't answer that myself, but as I considered it, a new question drifted across my mind. Did I really want her to?

I've got to say it, the last of my men was everything I'd have hoped for if I were a real woman. Terrific! I began to understand why women seek out men and most want to marry them.

During the whole of the next week Cynthia suggested I should prepare for my last by planning to go all out, masturbating two or three times a day with a dildo buried in my cunt -- that was what she called it. I found that indeed the clenching and unclenching of my inner sphincter muscles did made for sublime orgasms. And as I pushed and poked it until I thought it was rubbing on my prostate, I did begin to feel rather strange sensations, and my penis did begin to leak a milky fluid. I decided I owed it to myself to try a real man in my 'cunt' again this last time, since there'd be no further opportunity. Had Cynthia exaggerated how it felt?

The moment we settled in to dinner at the Club, along came a handsome bruiser Cynthia introduced to me as the most eligible young man in the whole place. A Ray McPherson, who'd stopped by to ask Cynthia about some small business matter -- his firm was contracted to hers. Maybe also to put his moves on her, since she hadn't been seen at the Club with her husband for ... what was it now, two months? She didn't miss him? Was there anything he could do for her? When he placed one hand familiarly on her arm, she reminded him of my presence and introduced us -- I was my sister -- and then suggested that he dance with me while she phoned for an answer to the matter he'd raised. At the same time she signalled to me to go all out with this hunk, that he was a prize!

So I did. He was my first real conquest, if you can call it that. Only an hour and a few dances later we were upstairs, he was lounging in an overstuffed chair, and I was kneeling in front of him, devoting my throat to the largest cock I have ever seen while my huge eyes looked up at him with what I hoped was pathetic gratitude. He sat back comfortably with his eyes closed, and I bobbed up and down until my throat and neck muscles began to weary, then suddenly his groin thrust up at me and his hot salty syrup filled my innards, and he relaxed, content.

I wasn't going to let him off that easy. If this cock can't get me off through my ass, I decided, nothing can! After this I'll be a man again with no more easy, approved opportunities to find out what it's like to be fucked. "Can you go again, honey?" I asked him. "I'm on the worst day of my period now, but I've been wondering what a marvelous tool like yours would feel like deep inside my bottom. I bet heaven!"

He smiled and suggested I wrap my manicured fingers around that tube and jerk it gently while licking its huge purple crown up top. I did, and a few minutes later it was stiff enough to enter my -- I'll confess it -- my this-time-dildo-stretched anus. This time I threw several pillows on the floor and crouched over them, and he entered me doggy style from behind.

He entered me slowly, a little at a time, as if each inch was a new phase of a grand procession. I had never felt anything like it before, this huge salami being forced into me. The peculiar feeling from my prostate began immediately and spread to my thighs and midriff, then intensified, and I realized that my bound-down, hidden penis was leaking uncontrollably. I pressed back at him and rocked my rear end on that monumental staff, and he slid and slipped and plunged and withdrew for what seemed forever and yet seemed only a moment, then again, and again, until I felt him stiffen, felt my own mid-section stiffen, then felt my guts warmed by his ejaculate as I began spurting myself. And I entered paradise. I could not imagine a heaven more heavenly!

Our climaxes held and held and held. I must have milked him repeatedly with my ass muscle spasms, because it seemed forever before he collapsed on me and I collapsed breathless onto the pillows beneath me. God in heaven! No wonder women love being women, I was thinking, and go to all that trouble to make themselves attractive! This hunk was the reason! Men like him! If there were any others!

I confess it/ As we rearranged our clothes and neatened up to go back downstairs to the dining room, I hugged and kissed him several times. Out of gratitude but also real affection-- he'd made me feel like the most superbly pleasured woman ever. It was worth the two months of trouble and supposed humiliation I'd survived! Only as we rounded a pillar and came within sight of Cynthia's and my table did I let go of his muscular waist and begin walking independently like a proper lady. Gingerly, because my pussy -- my ass hole -- now felt like a wide-open, empty cave that was somehow also swollen shut, distended yet stuffed. Ray gave me a chaste kiss and disappeared. "You have my number" I called after him spontaneously, and he looked back at me, smiled, and nodded. I then proceeded toward the table where Cynthia waited to test the evidence, my cummy breath, and release me at last from my promise to her.

Only she wasn't there.

Had we taken too long, Ray and me? I checked my dainty wristwatch and saw that all in all we'd been gone no longer than any of the previous times I'd returned from these trysts. Was she on the dance floor, or in the powder room? I determined within a few minutes that the answer was no. I recalled where our car was parked, and went outside briefly to see if it was still there. It wasn't. The Club manager confirmed that while I was conferring with Mr. McPherson, she'd left. With someone? He smiled and regretted that he couldn't say, whatever that meant. I was a little annoyed. While I was getting the fuck of my life, enjoying the culmination of what should have been a humiliating month but thankfully wasn't, not at all, she'd abandoned me! Had she sensed that her elaborate revenge on me had somehow backfired, and gone home miffed?

I took a taxi home and saw our car in the driveway just as another car was pulling out. Not a good omen. Heading straight upstairs, I found her sitting up in bed, a book propped on her belly, waiting for my return.

Before I could say anything at all she smiled broadly, warmly, delightedly, and said, "Well, girlfriend, you're back! Congratulations! Four men, four cocks sucked, you've met my last demand on you, and I'm completely satisfied! Tonight all of our efforts have paid off, and you've paid off your debt to me. I have no more demands I'll ever make on you, darling!"

I was surprised. "'Ever' is a long time," I said warily. Then managed to ask, "So we're even?"

"Oh yes. But you know, you may have come out way ahead! You have the most hot-flushed, well-fucked look I have ever seen on any woman. You've got to tell me everything! Other women who get as close to Ray as you've been tell me they just have to spend the night with him, they can't let it end, they don't care about anything else, they'll deal with their husbands afterward. I assumed you feel that way now. I predicted it, that's why I came home. Why wait?"

I wanted to ask her about that car I'd seen leaving, who was he? Or she? But Cynthia continued, "Weren't you even tempted to stay with him? My darling girlfriend didn't want one last good night kiss and then another, and then a full night of blissful love making? I don't understand! Well, you'll have plenty of opportunity to see him again. Our firm has commissioned him to supervise an engineering project in Denmark, so after next week he'll be gone for a month. But after that he'll be around all the time!"

I wasn't sure whether she was mocking me lightly or exulting with me about this last obligatory ... liaison. But suddenly I didn't care. I felt suddenly liberated! Free. Because I was free! Because I'd fulfilled my obligation to her, but for another reason as well! An idea had been nagging at me for the past few weeks, taking root and growing, and it suddenly presented itself to me in full bloom! I no longer needed to worry about Cynthia's wounded feelings after my betrayal of her with Sheila. Nor about the way she'd retaliated. Nor about the consequences for the future of our marriage. Nor about getting together again as husband and wife.

She'd said it herself! She'd called me 'Girlfriend' and 'Girlie' as well as her 'darling girlfriend'! And though my two months in purgatory had ended she'd included me with 'other women' in her expectations for me. And she expected me to see Ray again a month or so from now In her mind I was now what I appeared to be. What I'd become. She'd already defined our new relationship! I was a woman. Her girlfriend. I'd live with her as such. My choices now were simple: take it or leave it!

Maybe she meant this to be further emasculation to punish me, though it didn't seem so. Maybe it was how she was teasing me about my remarkable accomplishment, my acquired femininity, to compliment me and console herself for any injury she'd inflicted on my pride and my manhood? Maybe it was a friendly gesture to ease her own guilty feelings about the indignities she'd put me through? I was now her darling girlfriend? No longer her husband? For good?

Should I accept this new relationship? Did I prefer it?

"You look wonderful, honey! Exhausted but glowing! He's quite a man! Are you in love?" She was still enjoying it, what she'd done to me, what I'd become. I decided here and now to end it, to try to shock her with my own brand new insight.

"Not exactly, not in love, Cynthia. Though he's a nice enough guy." I paused. Then staring straight at her, my voice steady and serious, I said, "Cynthia, I have something I have to tell you."

She sensed the difference in my own tone of voice and put down her book. "What?" She almost looked concerned.

"I like it, I like the way the way I am. I want to keep living as a woman." As I heard my voice say it, I knew it was true. "I do!" I added.

I don't know whether she quite anticipated that. Maybe she had, and she'd been waiting for me to say it? I couldn't say. Nor did I feel concerned to know.

"He really did make a woman of you, then," she said, as if half-joking. As if to herself. As if impressed by the evidence now before her of what a huge cock can accomplish. Then looked up at me. "One of us did, for sure!"

"I'm serious!"