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Friends by Vickie Tern i. It seemed to be the darkest day of my life, though now there's no doubt I'm better off for it. Janice, she's my wife, she thinks so, and her friend Melissa thinks so, and they both tell me so often enough. Even my friend Ray thinks so, Melissa's husband, though he always says whatever Melissa tells him, so who knows what he really thinks? I guess it's true. We're all better off now, I'm sure of it. But it didn't seem so last November. You know November. The trees bare and shivering, and it's gloomy even before you quit work, and it's night by the time you get home. Your neighbor's unraked leaves blow across your lawn. Ahead are months of icy sidewalks on bad days and wet slush on good ones. People hunker down, and everything looks bleak. And some of them decide it's time to change their lives. This particular day I was a little late getting home from the office. An hour or so late. As usual -- I've got work, I do it. I didn't bother to phone Janice I'd be late -- she'd only get mad and hang up on me, and then I'd never get my work done. When we're OK I hardly ever think about her. But Janice is my life, and when we quarrel I can't think straight until we've made up. She knows I go crazy, and sometimes she pushes me to see how far. This time, when I got home all I found was a plate in the micro, my dinner, and a note taped to the micro. No Janice. I thought I already knew what the note said, same as all the others, she was furious, she wouldn't put up with my thoughtlessness and insensitivity any longer, and so on. The usual. So I waited to read it till I sat down to my reheated dinner. Then I read it. And then I couldn't eat. Not even swallow. Because it wasn't the same as the others. Here's what it said: My dearest Bob, or not my dearest any more, This is the saddest letter I have ever had to write, but is also the happiest. We've had a good marriage, despite your sometimes taking me for granted. But I won't mention that again. I love you, so I really don't know how to say this. That's why I'm writing it. When you read it I'll already be gone. I'm leaving you, because I've found someone I love more than I love you. Much more. I can't begin to tell to you how much more. So wonderful! So gentle, considerate, and caring about things that really matter most to me. Always aware of my feelings, and attentive to my needs and desires. And an incredibly devoted lover -- I'm getting wet right now just thinking about some of the things we do together. Lots of them things you've never wanted to do, and some of them things you just can't do. You're simply not able. I'm sorry, but that's how it is. I intend to live with her, and I hope I can make her as happy as she's made me. I know this seems sudden, but I've been thinking about it for a long time now, and there's no other way. You'll get over it, dear. You'll find someone wonderful to love too, sooner than you think, someone who'll make you feel as marvelous as I do right now. I'm sure you will. I'll help if I can. Still with lots of affection, Janice I sat there stunned. I reread the letter until the words made no sense. But they'd made no sense in the first place! Janice had run off. My wife had run off. With another ... with a woman? She was doing ... things, with a woman?! Another woman had seduced her to be a lesbian? She preferred being a lesbian to being married to me? We had a good marriage, the two of us! At least I'd thought so. And she'd just said so! I guess somehow I must have overlooked something. I sat there a long time, and it got darker and darker outside. Now it was night. What could I do? I realized I was about to cry. Get hold of yourself, I told me. You need help, I said to myself. Go talk to Ray and Melissa about this. They'll know how I can get her back! Ray and Melissa are our closest friends, and our closest neighbors, right next door to us. Married seven years the same as us, no kids yet the same as us. Inseparable, the same as us. Until today. A sob lurched out of me. So I crossed through our back yard into theirs, and knocked on their back door. Ray answered. He was in the kitchen making something that smelled delicious, and he didn't even pause to take off his apron, one of Melissa's I guess from the frills all over it. He just took one look at my face, and he led me to a chair in their living room, and he sat me down, and he poured me a stiff one. And then one for himself. I handed him the letter and emptied my glass. He ran his eyes down it and handed it back. I just sat there squeezing my hands, unable to look at anything. Then he got up and poured me another drink and sat down again. I'd confided in Ray before, though mainly about business. Guys don't usually talk about personal things. But his wife and mine were always talking, on the phone, in and out of each other's houses, planning shopping trips and checking out gallery openings, and arranging lunches, and gossiping about everyone. So I hoped maybe Melissa knew something even if Ray didn't. She had to know something! Something to help me make sense of this craziness! Something to help me get her back! I almost started crying again. "Bob," Ray said slowly. He avoided looking at me. "I wish I could help you. But women are a mystery to me too. I don't even pretend to know how they're really thinking or feeling. Melissa would be the first to tell you that. Married seven years and I still don't understand why she does things the way she does them. Her way. And insists on her way. I learned long ago, don't question, just do what she says and wait for it to work out. That's how she wants it. And you know, she's amazing. No matter how impossible it looks to me, it always does work out. I just looked at Ray mournfully. What could I say? "There's her car pulling into the driveway now. Just sit tight. I'm sure she'll think of something. Want another drink?" I nodded, and he got me another double. I heard Melissa's car door slam, and a moment later her key was scratching at the latch. Ray leaped to his feet and threw the door open. "I'm sorry, love," he said. "I was busy with Bob, here. He has a problem." She came in, both arms loaded high with packages, and glanced in my direction. "I see," she said. Her gray eyes were barely visible. She looked at me more closely as she set down some packages. Dress shop bags, department store boxes, mostly. Ray does the household shopping, and Melissa buys pretty much whatever she pleases. Ray once told me he isn't crazy about wandering up and down supermarket aisles dodging women who look barely thrown together and are quarreling with their kids. But he does it. His time's been flexible since his company put their production engineers on hold for re-tooling and then closed the plant. He still gets severance pay, and when that runs out he'll get unemployment. So he's in no hurry to find something else. Meanwhile Melissa works long hours, and is much busier than he ever was. She's a lawyer. So he takes care of the house. It makes sense, if you think about it. But he did look odd in that frilly apron -- Ray is all man, tall, handsome face, big shoulders, lean waistline, muscles, works out sometimes, you know. Maybe that's why he didn't even think about the apron. "Hello, Robert!" Melissa always calls me "Robert" -- it's part of her formality with everyone. Sometimes I call her "Lizzie" in return, to give as good as I get. But not this time. Just a subdued, "Hi, Melissa.". Still, even in my deep misery I couldn't help but notice she looked stunning, a real knockout. Severely cut gray suit nipped way in at the waist, and a white silk blouse with a teeny bright red bow tie, high gray-clad legs under a tight mini skirt, and propped up by high, high heels. Slash of red across her mouth, and her eyes in deep shadow, almost black. Her 'power outfit' she once called it, sexy and formidable. She had a lot of them, and she always looked stunning. She was a gorgeous woman. I could never figure why she married Ray, a big good-looking guy I guess, but not at all assertive, at least not when she was around. But they were a close couple. I guess because she liked being in complete charge. He always seemed to me completely under her thumb. As Ray once told me, she loved him because he always did whatever she told him to do. "She looks after my needs, and she knows I'll always help her with hers." An odd basis for a marriage, it had always seemed to me. But now, I realized, I should talk! "How nice to see you here," Melissa went on. "It's been a while, hasn't it? Had dinner yet? Ray, have you asked Robert to stay for dinner?" "Melissa, Bob's got a problem he thinks maybe you can help him with. I can't. I don't think he's too hungry right now." Melissa glanced at me over her shoulder again as she set down the rest of her packages and her purse, and this time her bright eyes stared into mine for a second, searching for something, her red mouth impassive. "Obviously I know he has a problem, Ray, and obviously I know what it is. I didn't tell you to check with Janice and ask her too, did I? You should be more attentive. Robert, stay and we'll talk. Ray, if it's ready, please bring dinner to the table and we'll sit down." Apparently Ray did all the cooking as well as the shopping since he was laid off. He went into the kitchen to get whatever he'd prepared. and I went into the dining room with his wife. She settled herself at the head of the table and gestured for me to sit to her right, where Ray usually sat, the privileged position. Ray brought in an extra place setting for himself and a tureen of hot soup, some kind of spicy chowder, and sat down to her left, opposite me. He poured wine for the three of us. "Now then," she said. "Let's see it." She held out her hand. I was baffled. "The letter, the letter, of course! My but you look unhappy, Robert!" "How did you know?" I asked her. Tears started from my eyes, and I started to choke up yet again. I handed her Janice's note. She glanced at it and almost immediately handed it back to me. "Here," she said. "You'll probably want to keep this as a souvenir. And let me ask the questions, please, if you want my help. I don't usually answer questions like 'How did you know?' It wastes time. But this once I will. Janice saw me today and told me she'd left you, and why. I advised her to take an apartment now, and move in with someone else only gradually. She's done just that. So your news isn't as new as you think. Nor is your situation quite as drastic as this note implies. Not yet." I swallowed, and just looked at her. What was it Ray had just said? That she was amazing? "The soup is excellent," she told Ray. "That touch of celantro is just perfect, just as I told you it would be." Ray nodded, pleased. "Now. Your wife has left you for another woman. So what's the problem? Feeling deprived? Humiliated?" "Some. It's as if I weren't man enough for her." "No," Melissa said dryly. Her spoon paused just short of her mouth, and she stared penetratingly at me, so as to miss nothing in my reaction. "You seem to have missed the point altogether. It's just the opposite. It's as if you weren't woman enough for her." I stared back at her, my mouth a little agape, and said nothing. Ray poured me some more wine, and I drank it. She was right. So probably my situation was hopeless. She set down her spoon. "Let me ask you one more time. What's the problem? Exactly what is it you want?" "I want her back!" I said, and my voice broke. "I want to live with my wife again! I want things to be the way they were!" Melissa resumed eating again, casually, now nearly indifferent to the passion in my voice. "Well, obviously, you aren't going to have that ever again. If things were the way they were, she'd leave you again, wouldn't she? And consider. She's left you. So even if she came back you'd always wonder if she was planning to leave you again. That's obvious! What's also obvious is, you felt too secure with her, and now, no matter what, you'll never feel secure enough with her. That's how things are. No, if you're ever to get her back in any real sense, it will be because things are different. Not at all the way they were. Because you're different." "What do you mean?" "Your soup is getting cold, Robert. Finish what's in front of you, and then while Ray brings the next course I'll tell you what I mean." She said it slowly, as if I were a child. I ate in silence. When I finished I set down my spoon, and Ray cleared the plate away. I waited. "The operational phrase in Janice's letter is obvious. You are too unlike her new lover, 'simply not able' to do the things they do together. Your wife has left you for another woman, and describes the kind of woman. You are not that kind of woman. Not even a woman at all." I waited. Melissa finished her soup, and turned toward me again. Ray cleared away her plate. "If you want her back, you are going to have to nurture in yourself all those so-called feminine impulses and desires men always suppress. If you have any. A desire to find fulfillment for yourself by pleasing others. By being more gentle, considerate, sensitive, weren't those her words? You will need to be more of a woman. That's what she wants." "Now, one simple question. Is that what you want?" Ray brought in a platter, pasta covered with scallops, portobello mushrooms and slivers of vegetables in a thick herbal sauce. It smelled wonderful, delicate and spicy, strong yet somehow refined. He must have been at it all afternoon. "How creative! A kind of seafood primavera!" Melissa said. "Very good, Ray! You've earned a treat, and I'll see that you get it, this very evening, in fact even before we leave the table!" Melissa served me, then gestured toward the salad Ray next brought in, and I took some while she served the pasta to Ray and finally herself. I noticed there were several kinds of lettuce, with a hint of an aromatic vinaigrette, and that Ray had torn each crisp lettuce leaf into small pieces by hand, not sliced them. "It's taken Ray time to learn to do everything exactly the way I like it." Melissa said. "But now I'm proud of him. Some women in his cooking class were first class chefs,, but he took top honors even so. A matter of motivation." Ray smiled gratefully at her, and his eyes narrowed like a puppy being stroked and preened. "What do you mean, is that what I want?" I returned to the question she'd put to me. I was beginning to sound stupid even to me. "Still asking questions when you already know the answers? I asked you, do you want to become more the kind of woman Janice wants? Now you ask me, what do I mean by that? Robert, you tell me what you think I mean." I reached out to find something to say. Melissa certainly knew something. She and Janice were well tuned to each other. "Well, I never cook, in our house, like Ray here." "I don't either. Never! Ray is the cook here. But I'm not any the less a woman, I think you'll agree. And I don't recall Janice's letter mentioning that her new lover is a cook. You're not eating, again." "I go to the office and I come home. I watch television. Oh, I see what you mean, I think. I don't much talk to her, share things with her, tell her how I feel about things. Especially how I feel about her. And about things that interest her. Share her enthusiasms. Get excited with her about people we know." I had twirled pasta onto my fork carelessly, and some sauce dripped onto my chin. "Wipe yourself," she said. "That's right. Yes. There are feelings and opinions women usually want to share while men usually don't. You aren't woman enough even to have noticed. Did Janice ever ask you to share your feelings with her?" "All the time," I said. "And did you?" "I guess not." "What else didn't you do?" "Well, it gets kind of personal, I'd rather not say." "Then I'll say. She's told me. Your sex life with Janice is dullness itself. You screw for your own relief, not to express or create and share pleasurable feelings with her, and you never improvise new variations. She asks for a little kissing and hugging and cuddling now and then, but you're too tired to bother. Am I wrong? She'd like oral sex now and then, to feel in the most intimately physical way that you care for her pleasure regardless of your own, and she's offered you that same kind of pleasure. But you think that giving or getting head is distasteful. Sort of dirty. Am I wrong? Now Janice has gone to enjoy those pleasures with someone who'll provide them, pleasures that really matter to her. You don't. Not any more. Am I wrong?" This was all terribly embarrassing. Janice had obviously told Melissa everything. Over how many days or months? I set my knife and fork down and leaned forward. "Melissa, what can I do? I want her back. I'll do whatever it takes to get her back." "Oh? Are you willing to do whatever I ask you to do to get her back? No matter how bizarre it may seem to you? The way Ray does?" "Like what?" I asked, a little wary. "More questions. Robert, I can assure you, you and Janice can share your lives again. Not as before, but together. On her terms. This can be done. I don't doubt it for a moment." She set down her cutlery, folded her arms, leaned back, and concentrated her gaze on me. "But you have much to learn. For this to happen will require that you completely reconceive who and what you are, and become someone else. You'll need to give unquestioning obedience to my least suggestion for months, perhaps three, perhaps more. You'll need to take a long vacation from your office and concentrate altogether on this project. Or work at home, or quit work altogether. At the end of that time, I will bring you and Janice together again, and help you to re-negotiate a new relationship I'm quite sure you'll both find satisfactory. Even better than you've had. I can promise you that. I have no doubt of it. But it requires unquestioning obedience." "Now then. You can agree to my terms now or not at all. If you hesitate now, you're not worth my time, and I doubt you'll see your wife ever again." I just stared at her! What was she proposing? "I see you're finished eating. No, Ray, wait with the dessert. I'll ask one more time only, Robert, and then you'll have to take your problem somewhere else. Will you submit to learn from me how to be your wife's kind of woman?" A leap of faith was required. I still didn't understand her. But Ray had said she knew how to accomplish miracles. "Yes, Melissa, I will." "You will," she said. Her voice was now lightly sardonic, and she was still eying me steadily. "Perhaps and perhaps not. It won't be that easy. No, Ray, don't get up just yet, not even to clear the table. I want you here." Ray had started to stand and reach for our dishes. He now sat back down, looking at his wife expectantly, silent, waiting, a bit wary. He knew she was full of surprises. "All right, Robert. We'll see. Let's test whether you mean what you've just said, that you'll do whatever I ask of you, immediately and unconditionally." She looked at me steadily. "Robert, I want you to get under the table and give Ray a blow job, right now, before he brings us whatever he's prepared for dessert!" Did I hear her correctly? I had! I knew it! I looked at her and half rose, more shocked than when I had read Janice's letter. Outraged. I was speechless! I knew this time I'd heard her correctly. Give Ray a blow job?! Was I a faggot? "Good!" she said. "No indignant outcry this time, stalling for time and hoping for a reprieve. You did hear me! You may be capable of learning after all! I won't repeat myself. I assume you're standing up in order to crawl under the table as I've suggested." "Notice how this little test respects your natural modesty, though you'll lose it before long if you continue with me. For now, no one will see what you're doing under the table, not even Ray. I'll know because I'll know you wish to obey me without question, and I'll know whether you're doing it well by watching Ray's face. Your private feelings will remain your own, whatever they may be. Until you come to feel that sucking cock whenever I request it brings you such pleasure that you want others to share in it by letting them see." "Notice also, Robert, that I'm asking you to do no more than any woman does for a man when asked. When Janice hears about it, I'm sure she'll be impressed, especially that you're practicing same-sex oral sex, just as she does. Are you woman enough? We're waiting, Robert." "Melissa, I need to go to the bathroom first." Ray was speaking. Trying to get me off the hook, I suspect. I noticed that he spoke quietly, as if merely to excuse himself from the table for a moment, to stall things until I could recover myself and get used to the idea, or could decide Janice wasn't worth it, or until Melissa could change her mind. But I noticed he didn't move. He just looked at her as he spoke. She didn't even glance at him, but continued to gaze at me. "All the better," she said. "There will be no male-bonded conspiracies against my intentions here, my pet. What I have in mind for Robert will take months even if Robert does everything I ask him immediately and precisely, the way you always do. You two will be together almost constantly, and he'll need to do whatever I ask of him, day or night. This isn't even a beginning." "Right now I've merely asked your friend to perform without question or delay a common feminine sexual act, something every high school girl learns to do early in her adolescence in order to safeguard her virtue from worse. I don't doubt Janice did it to boys when she was in high school. Any girl who didn't, didn't date boys worth dating. You'll want to help him in this, Ray. Isn't that so?" Ray nodded. "And didn't I promise you a treat before dinner ended?" He nodded again. Was that a gleam in his eye? "Now, since you say you have to go to the bathroom, Ray, let me suggest that when Robert wraps his lips around your -- what is it you men like to call it, your 'love-joint'? -- let me suggest that you first relieve yourself directly into his mouth. I'm sure Robert will accommodate you. If he won't, he won't, and this little test of his dedication to his wife's return will have ended." She turned her attention back to me. "Robert, you'll swallow everything Ray's cock offers you, gratefully, and you'll seem to enjoy it. In time you really will enjoy it, the way Ray really enjoys cooking these days. But if you don't want to provide your friend here the relief he needs, the physical pleasure most women provide most men, the loving mouth Janice was once willing to provide you in exchange for yours, the mouth and tongue she now provides her new lover, then you're not worth bothering with. Are you willing? Don't answer me. Just do it or don't!" She sat back and looked as if she was losing interest in this whole affair. No more speeches. I was still half-risen, half-crouched. I swallowed hard, bent, and without quite knowing how I decided it, I slipped under the table. It was snug down there. The table formed a low ceiling and the carpet the floor, with the tablecloth draped around like the walls of a Pasha's tent, and the light from the dining room diffused. Close up were sights not ordinarily seen. Melissa's knees close by, her legs curved gracefully down and crossed at the ankles, her high-heeled pumps firm on the carpet. Her skirt half way up her thighs, and those thighs like columns, and her legs clad in smoky nylon, smooth, perfect, authoritative, female. There I was on my knees in front of her, as if worshipful. As I looked she opened her knees, ever so slightly. No doubt in the upper-world she was amusedly watching for Ray's facial expressions to change. I looked ahead of me and there were Ray's knees and pants legs. His hands were nowhere in sight, maybe to keep things uncomplicated for me. I crept over to him, swallowed, and rested my chin on his knees. He didn't budge. Well, what was I here for? I unzipped his fly, reached in and took out his penis, and held it between the thumbs and fingers of both hands. Slack and soft and smooth, about the same size as mine, also circumsized. The first time in my life I had ever held a penis other than my own. From my unique angle his purple cock head looked like a miniature Grecian war helmet. I tried to think that's what it was, a helmet, though its smooth pink-skinned shank intruded on my fantasy. It was slowly elongating and thickening. He leaned back to give me more room. I tried to think of myself as a high school girl on a date, crouched on the floor in the back seat of a car. That helped a little. Very little. I needed more practice being a high school girl, plainly. But there was nothing for it. Blotting out any further thoughts I leaned forward and pushed the top of my head into Ray's belly, then lowered my open mouth onto his member. Then I pressed my lips tightly around it, closed my eyes, and waited for whatever would happen. It was still soft, like a warm, fat snake. After a moment I felt a tangy liquid begin to enter my mouth, then more, and I started swallowing it as fast as I could. On the exhale I could tell that however fresh, it was piss. Though Ray was obviously trying to help by drizzling into my mouth as slowly as possible, a little fluid escaped the corners of my mouth and dribbled down my chin onto his pants. He'd never tell Melissa how sloppy I'd been while obeying her, I knew, but I worried nevertheless. I leaned closer and wriggled my face more tightly into his crotch to make a better seal, and began sucking ever so slightly. I drank and drank, and he pissed and pissed as slowly as he dared, until finally I had drained him. While he was taking his leak I could breath only through my nose, my mouth was so completely filled with his soft, smooth cock and his salty urine. When he finished, and there was no more to swallow, I could still smell his piss when I breathed out through my nose. The aroma just wouldn't go away. Ray sat there, and my face stayed buried in his pubic hair, his prick still in my mouth. I wondered what his face conveyed to Melissa. Then I began his blow job. I ran my lips all the way down to the base of his cock and puckered them while licking the fat, soft sausage that still filled my mouth full. Slowly it grew larger and harder, but I noticed that it stayed as smooth as velvet or wet satin. As it stretched out it began to provide me something to run my lips up and down, and I moved my head and mouth onto him and then pulled back, then down again. I kept tonguing and licking and sliding my lips up and down and trying to press them together around the base, but it got more difficult as his cock got harder and longer. My mouth stretched as wide as it could open with my teeth covered by my lips, and my jaw began to ache. But I kept going. Then at last his hips began to thrust up at me -- finally Ray was excited enough to want to face-fuck me. I tried to raise my head well over his cock to take it into my throat, because that soft helmet kept bumping into the back of my mouth. It slid part way down, but there just wasn't enough head room for me to change the angle and swallow all of his meat. So I sucked and licked and tongued him, and even tried blowing him up like a balloon, once or twice. He got larger, and humped at me even more vigorously. Then suddenly he raised his hips high off his chair and pressed tight into my face, and his hands came from nowhere to push my head into his lap. Here it comes, I thought. For a moment he held himself high up, crammed into my mouth, tense, utterly unmoving, and my head was also immovable. Then that huge meat in my mouth began to pulse, spurting and squirting out something a little salty, like his piss, but this time slick and creamy, and a little sweet too. It didn't taste at all bad! Four, five, six, seven times he squirted into my mouth, then paused, then a few more times. My mouth filled up and I swallowed, and it filled again. I swallowed all of it. By the time he finished and had fallen back onto his seat I was rolling my tongue round and around the body of his cock and then its head, licking it clean. When I'd squeezed the last few drops into the little slit on top of his cock head, and then licked them up, I kissed the tip of his prick and then tucked it back in his pants. Then I patted his bulge affectionately, and zipped him up. I don't know why. I suppose I was feeling rather intimate at that moment. Maybe I wanted to assure him it hadn't really been as unpleasant as he might have feared. Or that I was grateful for my first experience as a bona fide cock sucker. Or that I was feeling pleased to have brought him off, even feeling a little smug. Or that I liked feeling sweetly feminine, his worshipful date sucking on his manly cock. It was our little secret, in the dark, no one watching. Am I a faggot, I?asked myself? My next cock would be no problem at all. No, not a faggot. A girl. How did Melissa know? I crawled out from under and sat down again in my chair. I smoothed back my hair with both hands, and looked over at Melissa. The taste of Ray's semen had completely replaced the taste of his piss, I realized, now that I was breathing air not previously filtered through his dank pubic hair. I licked my lips and waited, worried that I might seem to be smirking. "Well, Robert," she said, now highly amused. "Obviously you do have talents you've repressed. The woman in you is far more venturesome than the man. I must help you to liberate her. You did something down there at the very end of your session that surprised and pleased Ray even in the afterglow of his orgasm. I won't ask what, because every loving couple should have their own intimate little secrets. This one is yours." Ray smiled at me affectionately. I felt a little uncomfortable, but I tried to smile back. His cum was slick on my lips. I tried to look at him the way a high school girl might look at her date. Well built, really very handsome in a way. I enjoyed pleasing him. He was still my old poker buddy. But now, well, something else too. "Yes, I'll train you. Who knows, maybe you'll become a superb lover, and Janice will beg for you to take her on again. Maybe you'll find you're altogether a woman, a heterosexual woman who loves men and can't ever get enough cock into her to satisfy her. We don't know yet, do we?" I sensed she was mocking me. I wished she wouldn't. She'd just seen how far I'd go to get Janice back. "Bobbie." That's your name when you're being girlie-girlie. And that's from now on. I don't expect ever to see 'Robert' again. 'Bob' we'll keep on hold. Maybe Janice will want to use that name if you end up more a 'Bob' than a 'Bobbie'. Bobbie dear, you've just had your dessert. You can go home now." "Before you go to sleep tonight, I want you to shave off all of your body hair, every last hair below the tops of your ears, and then to sleep in one of Janice's prettiest nightgowns. To be a woman, you will need to feel like one and look like one. Always. I'm sure you can find a sexy nightgown in her drawers. In fact, I'm sure she's left most of her clothes behind. They're all yours now, those that fit you, for the time being. I think you're close to her size. From now on you'll wear only women's clothes, until you've really become the woman Janice seems to want. Tonight you've earned the right." I hadn't even thought to see if Janice emptied her closets when she left me. But Melissa was too clever to misjudge something like that. "Come back tomorrow at six-thirty am, ready to live your first full day as a woman. I'll do your nails the first time, bright red, so from tomorrow morning on you won't feel the least bit tempted to leave the house looking male. Come fully dressed and made up, bra, panties, lipstick, hairdo or wig, everything. You'll have lots of housework to do tomorrow, so pick out an ordinary house dress, or a plain skirt and blouse, nothing high drag, and some sensible shoes, no heels just yet. Janice will be charmed I'm sure when she hears that you're trying to win her back by wearing her clothes." "Probably you'll make a mess of your face until we can get you some adequate training in the use of cosmetics. Don't worry, you have a promising face, and I can see you'll end up looking just lovely. But I do want you to fix your own face from the beginning. I want you to find for yourself your own kind of woman, to create your own look, so you can begin to discover what kind of woman you are. While you're doing it, just think that you're making yourself as feminine and attractive as you can for your man. For Ray. You're going to learn to be gentle, considerate, sensitive, caring, and devoted to him. And sexy." "He'll help. For part of each day I'll want you two to just cuddle together, and be sweet, and feel tender, and share thoughts about how you feel together. If you're pretty enough, and nice enough, I'm sure Ray will want to kiss you, and kissing will lead to other things, and then you'll feel just wonderful, and that'll be your reward. Won't you, Ray?" He nodded, entranced. How terrific was that blow job I'd given him? Whatever, Melissa certainly sounded like she knew what she was doing. I could only hope so. "Now, I leave the house promptly at eight-thirty. I'll want you to learn everything you need to know about housekeeping from your intimate friend here, starting tomorrow, beginning with how to fix a wife's breakfast and present it to her in bed. That happens at seven. Ray knows lots of tricks Janice will want you to know once you start housekeeping for her, if she ever lets you. I'll come home early tomorrow afternoon, and I'll try to keep my daily calendar open for a while, to give you whatever other attention you need. Ray can help you feel like a woman, I'm sure, but he knows very little about being one." "That's all for now, dear sweet Bobbie. Oh, one more thing. Always wear a dash of perfume. Choose one and stay with it. A personal signature is very feminine. And like red nail polish, it'll help keep you committed to what you wish to become. A lovable woman. That's all, dear." I stood up. I noticed that Ray wasn't looking me in the eye. Did he now think of me as a faggot his wife had designated to be his girlfriend, and now he was embarrassed he'd once been buddies with me? With a cock sucker? That last kiss on the tip of his prick might have been a bit much. Whatever possessed me?! "Oh yes!" Melissa added. "Bobbie darling, probably you didn't know it, but your friend Ray is bi-sexual. He's had the hots for you for a long time now. I'm glad that the two of you have finally gotten it together, and that now you're his femme. When he's playing out his own femininity he gets pretty swishy, even for me. But your job will be to make sure he always feels like a real man." "Remember, no hanky-panky when I'm not here. Kissing and hugging and cuddling, of course. You're now Ray's girl, and the two of you should feel affectionate and loving toward each other. That's part of learning how Janice wants you to feel. In fact, the more affectionate you feel the better. But no fucking up the ass except when I say so, not by either of you." " "Bobbie dear, Ray's cock will provide your after-dinner dessert every night until further notice. That's if you've been a good girl all day. His cum will be your reward, and sometimes his pee -- that'll be between you two. I know you won't either of you disappoint me. Bobbie, I promise you, when I'm finished with you Janice will be proud you're her girl friend." With that she smiled at Ray, and Ray beamed back at her, obviously admiring, devoted, and grateful. I suddenly realized he had special reason to feel grateful. Melissa had just provided her husband his own personal toilet slave and cock sucker for the foreseeable future, guaranteed affectionate. His prick was going to become as familiar to me as an after-dinner cigar. Satisfying him sexually, learning to provide him with whatever a man wants from a woman, was going to become my purpose in life. Should I feel grateful? Was I being taken? But how else could I ever hope to get my wife back? Did I have any choice? I went back across our back yard to my own house, filled with more hope than suspicion, pleased that Melissa had agreed to tutor me, impressed by her judgment, and a little awed by what lay ahead. I did indeed have a lot to learn. ii. A month later, I'd learned most of it and was practicing, and after another month I was accustomed to it all and found I preferred some of it to my former ways. I even loved some of it. I found after some anguished embarrassment that I loved wearing women's clothes. I looked forward to picking out a different outfit to wear each morning, appropriate to whatever we were planning that day, and then picking out matching accessories. In no time I had a sure eye for mixing, matching, and coordinating. Men's clothes seemed so monotonous in comparison! And the clothes always felt sensuous, hugging, clinging, draping, floating over me like feathers, some nubby and some silky smooth. Being a girl could be lots of fun! When I forgot, Ray always reminded me. I always slept at home. "This is my house and Ray's," Melissa said, "Though you're free to invite Ray to visit with you and to spend the night, any time. That's any grown girl's prerogative with her boy friend. As I've told you, I want you to cuddle and feel intimate with each other as a matter of course. Enjoy each other's bodies. Love your enjoyment of each other. But as I've told Ray, I don't want him tempted by your soft tush until you're ready to make mature choices. So remember, Ray takes your virginity only when I say so and with your consent, and you get into Ray's pants only for blow jobs. From now on think of your own prick as a clit, fit for fondling, not for insertion into anything." Whether Ray was in bed with me or not, early each morning I rose, showered, depillated if necessary, perfumed myself lightly, and dressed myself in Janice's underwear and clothes, or else my own. Then as the sun rose I crossed the back lawn to Melissa's house, to fix her breakfast and Ray's. I hoped none of the other neighbors noticed. But if they did, I decided, they probably thought I was Janice. First thing, I brought Melissa her morning coffee and newspaper, on a tray topped by a bright-colored single-stemmed flower. After the first few days I woke Ray too with a tray loaded with bacon and eggs, and toast, and waffles or pancakes, and coffee, also topped with a single bright flower. Or I returned to our house to awaken Ray that way. Within a few weeks we were sleeping together at our house as a matter of course, spooned in with each other. At first his arms around me felt imprisoning, but within a week they felt protective. Hairless myself, I liked tangling my fingers in the hair on his chest. Melissa told me always to awaken him with a kiss. I felt silly the first few times, but I did it, and after a while it seemed natural, even kind of nice. When he was still asleep or first waking up, his lips were soft, and gently responsive. "I'm the head of this household," she told me. "But Ray is the man of the house. Be glad he's there for you to practice on, so you can learn more about a woman's concerns." I looked forward to a time when I could awaken Melissa the same way, to practice eventually awakening Janice the same way. One day when it seemed respectful, and not at all an intrusive question, I asked Melissa in a soft voice if I might kiss her awake too. Just for practice on a girl. She glanced up as she unfolded her newspaper. "When the time is right," she said, almost automatically. Then she looked at me a bit more warmly and started to sip her coffee. "You're feeling more affectionate in the morning, aren't you. More girlish. That's nice. Suppose from now on you awaken Ray with a kiss on his cock, whenever you find he's sleeping in a position that allows you access. Then if you're both in the mood, you have my permission to let nature take its course." With that she concentrated her gaze on the paper, and I was dismissed. My makeup gradually improved, and it began to be fun, doing as instructed on each lesson of the videocassettes Melissa brought home while using the different items of makeup she brought home. Now when I looked at a woman's magazine, it was for ideas how to improve my eye make-up, or hair style, or coordinated matching of blouses and skirts, or finally, of evening gowns and eye-shadows, if ever I would be permitted to attend a formal wearing a formal. Janice had several I tried on sometimes, and a white sequinned one was simply exquisite. I longed for an occasion when I could wear it. In very little time I understood why generations of women have complained that they have nothing to wear, even though their closets are bulging. The requirements for women's costumes are daunting. Nothing may be worn tastelessly or twice, certainly not for the same kind of occasion, and everything must blend. A woman nicely turned out is a work of art. I learned to become an artist. It seems silly now, but I felt paralyzed at first when Melissa wanted me to leave the house dressed feminine. I just couldn't. Despite her assurances and my mirror's, I was convinced everyone would know at a glance that I was male, and a peculiarly perverse and degenerate male. I couldn't be persuaded otherwise. So Melissa cleverly designed a way for me to learn I was passable beyond doubt. As she left for her office one morning, she called over her shoulder, "Bobbie, I'll be sending some legal papers home later today. Be sure to sign for them when they arrive. It's important." If Melissa said it was important, I had to do it. As she certainly knew I would, I spent the morning in a fever of anxiety. Could I hide behind the door when the messenger came, and just pass my hand around it to receive Melissa's papers? Would I look to him like a woman, or like a man wearing women's things? What kind of voice should I use. Should I smile at him or look aloof? Should I curtsy? The silliest ideas passed through my head. What if he made a pass at me? I decided that I had to be so convincing a woman there'd be no doubt of it, so I took a whole hour on my face, and then fixing and re-fixing my hair. I practiced on a closet door, opening it, leaning slinky against the opening, and saying in a sultry voice, "You have something for me?" When the front door chimed I had just about decided I was too formally dressed for the morning, in a dark silk, high styled suit. But now there was no time to change again! With my heart in my throat I opened the door and stood to one side. There stood not a male messenger but a nicely dressed girl in her late teens. "Hi," she said. "I'm Andrea. I work in Melissa's office. She told me to have you sign for these." She handed me a fat package of papers, then unfolded a receipt and handed it to me with a pen. I leaned the paper on the package and signed. "Thanks," she said as she took it back. "Love your perfume. And that suit's scrumptious! Going to a wedding, or special luncheon, or something?" I nodded. I wasn't sure I could say anything. "Thought so. Well..." she looked at my scrawled signature. "Well, Barbara, you're gonna hate my telling you this, but you have a run in your pantyhose -- I'm afraid you're going to have to change them." I looked down, but didn't dare bend down to see. Without even thinking, I said, "Oh, dear!" in a natural-sounding, high-pitched voice. "Thank you!" I was so nervous I couldn't not use a high-pitched voice. Then I remembered politeness. "Thank you, Andrea." "No problem, Ma'am. See you again!" And she was off. I closed the door, and within a few minutes my heart had slowed to where I could breathe again. Then I smiled, and I smiled all that afternoon. My first encounter with anyone other than Melissa or Ray, and it never occurred to her I wasn't a woman just like her! I could do this thing! Janice might be willing to give me a second chance after all! It then occurred to me that Andrea might have been a setup in some way, instructed to address me as a lady no matter what my appearance. Melissa was capable of such tricks. But a few days later, the same thing again, only this time unintended and without prior warning. And this time, a uniformed Fed-Ex messenger. I felt comfortable, though I was only wearing a high-necked blouse and skirt-not-quite-to-the-knee, and very little makeup, with my hair pinned up. It was one of those days when I was practicing walking in heels. I knew I had nice legs. I smiled as I signed the messenger's delivery pad, and he smiled back, holding my gaze longer than necessary, signalling an interest in an invitation for something more. I felt this somehow, and lowered my eyes, and said, "Thank you," and smiled again, and slowly closed the door. At the last moment, he smiled back, and said, "Thank *you*, Ma'am," and tucked his pencil in his cap, and turned away. When Melissa got home and I gave her the package, she looked at it, genuinely surprised. "This should have come to the office, not here," she said. Then she looked at me sideways. "Are you all right? Were there any problems?" "None," I replied. And I told her about the messenger's extended attempt at eye contact. "Yes," she said. "Men do that all the time. He must have found you attractive. Well, just remember that you're a married woman. And that you're spoken for." "That's easy," I replied. "Ray is the most attractive man I've ever known!" It just slipped out! Melissa smiled broadly. "Yes, isn't he." And mercifully, she left the implications alone. She just said, "You'll soon be ready for a trip to the beauty parlor, and to shop a few boutiques, Bobbie. You are certainly getting there." An occasion came sooner than either of us realized it would. A few weeks after my training began, Melissa had a period, and mentioned that she was having cramps. She asked Ray to come rub her shoulders and back, and Ray took his arm from around my shoulders, went over to where she sat, and obliged. She did look tired. "When you're finished with her, Ray, I'll be waiting," I said, maybe sounding a little catty. She stared at me and said nothing. They were married, after all. The next day she came home with a package, and after she had disappeared into the bathroom for twenty minutes she called me to join her. When I arrived she said, "Bobbie, sit on the edge of the tub and just listen for a moment. I want this lesson to be unforgettable." I sat there and looked up at her. Ray was Melissa's cook, but that day he was teaching me to be Janice's, and I had a roast in the oven, and wanted to get down to baste it, and there were still vegetables to prepare. "You aren't sympathetic enough that women have periods and feel bloated and cramped, so from now on you'll share mine. Maybe later, Janice's. This is an high colonic enema and a specially valved plug. The plug will restrict discharge of whatever I put into you, so if you feel cramped, you can't eliminate it until permitted. Not even to pass gas, poor dear, until this valve is turned. Now, I'm going to fill your lower intestine with fluid, the way a woman's uterus bloats monthly when it sheds its lining, and you'll retain most of it except at certain intervals tonight and tomorrow, when I'll allow release of some of it. The fluid is a vaginal douche, a mild laxative, some female hormones to create special mood swings as they're absorbed, and some mild soapsuds. Oh yes, and red dye, so your napkins and tampons will remind you what time of the month it is, and accidents will be as embarrassing for you as for any other woman. Bend over." I hoisted my skirt and dropped my panties, and Melissa inserted the nozzle. Ten minutes later I was cramped and swollen, and had to go the worst way. "Back to the kitchen, darling," she said. " And finish preparing our dinner. But slip this pad into your panties first, in case there's an accident. Every two hours you can have 30 seconds to discharge your menstrual fluids. Other than that, you'll retain them, or absorb them, or leak them. Next month, the same thing. Or if Janice should take you back and want you to share her monthlies with her, the same thing. Maybe with some shots to give you PMS as well. So don't think of this induced menstrual period as temporary training, or as a punishment. Think of it as a fact of your life monthly from now until your menopause." I could barely straighten up. Two hours later I was near tears when she released the valve and gave me my thirty seconds to relieve the pressure. And two hours later still, the same. Two hours after that I was in bed with Ray, sobbing. "I hurt," I cried out to him. "I don't deserve this." Ray was hugging me and trying to console me when Melissa came into our room. "Well, the hormones seem to have melted all that male stoicism," she said. "That's nice, Bobbie dear. I suspect more of them might speed your progress in other ways too. Now you can have a bit more relief, and I'll remove the plug, and you can switch to a tampon. Remember to change it in the morning. You'll have a few more small cramps during the day, leftovers. Then tomorrow evening we'll do it all again. Aren't you glad that Ray's here to console you? Even though men don't really understand, do they? Well, Ray does, because I gave him this treatment a few years ago, just once, and Ray is a dear, so once was enough." Four days later the ordeal was over. Once or twice I cried from the sheer discomfort, when the cramps wouldn't let up even briefly. Once I had to excuse myself from dinner and go to the guest room to lie down. Once "to cheer me up" Melissa said, she took me to a beauty parlor just after filling me with fluid, and had them give me a permanent, curls my hair had grown long enough to sustain, and I had to act as if I were at peace with the world when in fact I was in agony. I was so concerned not to double over and become a spectacle that I hardly paid attention to where I was, a beauty salon for the first time, and what they were doing to me. I recall sitting in a chair while my hair was being wound up tight, and different plastic bottles were squirting on me, and I was sitting under a dryer hood with my clothes completely covered, so women passing by scarcely bothered to glance at me -- I seemed so much just one of them. I tried to read a copy of Vogue from a table alongside, to distract me from waves of discomfort that swept over me periodically. But I could pay little attention. I remember they did my nails, and it was then that my ear lobes were pierced. All while I was too distracted to feel frightened by these commitments to femininity. Afterward Melissa questioned me how I had felt, and she seemed pleased when I answered, "Like any other woman who goes to the beauty parlor while she's having her period, I suppose. Terrible!" It was only a day or two later that I realized what I had said. Any "other" woman. My identity was changing. Also, my nipples became sore from the hormones in my menstrual fluid. As my period ended, Melissa handed me some large pills. "Here," she said. "You'll take these daily from now on, like any other woman without her own ovaries." It all seems perfectly easy now, so it's hard to remember that at the time each teeny step toward femininity seemed a dangerous leap over an enormous gulf. I was frequently terrified as Melissa raised the ante and required more of me. One time, maybe because she had just doubled my hormone intake, I burst out into tears and then couldn't stop crying. No real reason. I just felt overwhelmed suddenly. We were getting ready to go out to dinner, the three of us, and I'd chosen a rather tight, flippy mini to wear, I thought in good taste, and Melissa had sent me back for a calf-length dress. "We're not dining in a whorehouse tonight, dear," she commented. "You really need to control your sluttish tendencies." I realized she wasn't wrong. I liked feeling provocative. But I came apart. I suppose I'd been trying too hard, going as girly as possible, so no one would dream that I was a man in women's clothes. But when I started sobbing, for once Melissa didn't turn aloof. Instead she hugged me, and kissed me gently, and when I had calmed down a little she quietly reminded me that half the human race had already walked where I feared to tread, and that it was nothing, really. Perhaps I felt anxious about seeming to be a girl because in some way deep in my psyche, I desired it? "Let go being a man," she coaxed me. "Ray does that so much better than you do. Be the woman he'd love you to be, the woman your wife desires! Just a woman in the normal, everyday course of things, because that's what you are and it therefore requires no further thought." Another time toward the end of my training I was buying panties to replace those that were sometimes stained beyond recovery whenever Ray and I ... well, never mind. I was wearing a nice skirt of course, not even pants, and I know my hair and face were persuasive. But I suppose I forgot to move carefully, to walk with my thighs close together and my shoulders held back, or I forgot to keep my wrists loose, or perhaps some other movement betrayed me, because the saleslady asked with a strange smirk, "Shall I wrap these, sir?" Earlier I would have felt embarrassment wash over me and drown me utterly, and I would have fled from the store confused and ashamed, then and there. Instead I felt indignation. "Well, I'm certainly not going to wear them all now, young woman," I snapped at her in my best high dowager voice, and she completed the transaction rapidly, with her own shoulders sunk down in shame. When I told Melissa about this encounter, she pointed out that its importance wasn't that I had been "read" because of a moment's lapse, but that I instinctively felt insulted to be thought a man. I smiled at that. So I was! With each step from that first morning, I found, there was no going back. Melissa saw to that. Over the next few months she insisted that I accept body hair removal, painted nails, pierced ears, a feminine hair style, then later beard electrolysis, hormone treatments, and voice training. And she insisted I wear only women's clothing, always wear make-up, and when I appeared on the streets to appear only as a woman, always to seem like one. To persuade myself that I have always been a woman at heart, a woman who mistakenly thought herself a man. My willingness became the way Melissa measured the strength of my commitment to convince my wife to return to me. She reminded me of this whenever I balked. During the third month of this feminizing discipline I became increasingly impatient to show Janice what a dear girlfriend I'd become, how loving we could be when she returned. I practiced on Ray all the time. iii. I was glad when my first period ended and I could put away my napkins and tampons for another few weeks. At least mine were predictable, not likely to begin embarrassingly when I was out shopping or at a business meeting, where I'd need to excuse myself, or worry whether I'd stained my skirt or slacks before I'd noticed. But one evening two weeks later Melissa came home with a special gleam in her eye. "I think tonight we'll try to make you pregnant," she said. "What!?" I replied, stifling a note of inquiry even as I uttered the word, Melissa did not respond well to questions. "That should be interesting!" I finished lamely, with hollow enthusiasm. What could she have in mind? "I don't mean you'll get pregnant," Melissa said. "But about now is when you would be ovulating. I think we should try. You need to know how a woman feels when she contains a man, and then can feel his seed deep inside her, and can imagine how at that moment his seed may be bonding with a part of her own body to form a new life." "Melissa, I don't have a vagina. Or the rest of it." She looked at me with contempt. "Are you such a virgin you can't even imagine what I'm talking about, Bobbie? I thought you had a feminine imagination! Don't you want to know how women feel about everything women do? Don't you want to understand being a woman?" I realized what she was proposing, and heard the implied threat, swallowed hard, and said "Yes, Melissa, I do. I want to experience everything." This was going to complete my journey into faggotry for sure. True, it would provide some sense how Janice felt when I fucked her, so some day I could fuck her with greater consideration, the way a woman would I suppose. The way some woman was doing her with a dildo, maybe at this very moment. I swallowed again. "Melissa, I don't want to be a virgin any more," I added. "Good!" she said. "You'll find a pretty nightgown on the bed in the guest room upstairs. I selected it for you a few days ago, when I realized you're just about ready. Change, make yourself pretty with whatever makeup is in your purse, and wait for me. I'll be a few minutes. Oh yes, you'll find a large box of prepared douches in the bathroom. Give yourself two now, so your insides will be sweet and fresh. Then you may want to douche again later, perhaps. Perhaps not." I did as she asked. Then I sat on the bed, waiting. This was some kind of watershed moment, I was thinking, but I have to go through it to get to the other side. When Melissa came in, I was shocked. Her hair was bound back severely, as it sometimes was days when she meant to intimidate opposing attorneys, but for the first time she wasn't impeccably dressed. In fact she was wearing a black chemise that covered her breasts and ended at her navel, and below that, nothing. Well, not quite nothing. She was naked from the waist down, but strapped to her mound, in the appropriate position if she had been a man, was an enormous erect penis. It looked to be maybe nine or ten inches long, and it would have frightened me except that it wasn't that thick. Maybe only an inch. *Only* an inch, I said to myself, when nothing thicker than the enema nozzle or once, Melissa's probing finger, had ever been in there. "Here you are, Bobbie dear. This will change you from a girl into a woman. Let it know how it feels in your mouth." She stepped close, and sitting on the edge of the bed, I bent slightly and licked the tip. It was a soft rubber or plastic, but rigid enough. Habit took over, and though it was much thinner and longer than Ray's cock I quickly fell into the same rhythm, licking and sucking and running my lips up and down it, even deep-throating it once of twice. Melissa took my head between her two hands and guided my movement up and down her cock a few times. It was soon slick with saliva. "Now, sweetie, on your back, spread wide, and pull your knees up as high as they'll go." I did that. I felt terribly vulnerable. My asshole utterly exposed, about to be invaded. "Now close your eyes, and keep them closed until I tell you otherwise. Grasp the bars at the head of the bed, and don't let go until I tell you." I reached over my head behind me, found them, and held on. It felt good, having something to brace myself with. "There. You're ready. Now, Bobbie, tell me what you want." "I want you to fuck me, Melissa. Put your prick into me." "My, how romantic! Ask me again. Beg me. Persuade me you're eager for me, overwhelmed with desire!" "Please, Melissa," I said. "I'm ready! I want you! Please, please, make love to me! Now, please!" As I said it, I was thinking first, let's get this over with. Then I was thinking, let's make a beginning, so I can see what it's like. How Janice feels when I fuck her. Then I was thinking, I wonder if it will feel as good as Janice sometimes seems to feel when I take my time with her. Maybe I'll learn to love it? Before I could think further, Melissa touched her cock's head to my puckered anus, thrust it in an inch and stretched me nearly painfully, and paused. I took a deep breath, and held it, feeling a peculiar sensation, a little like passing a turd. The feeling changed from full to snug to comfortable. Then in a single spasmodic thrust of her hips she buried it into me. I felt her loins squeezing tight against my thighs, then she began to slide it out again. Then in, all the way in, but slowly, the nine or ten inches this time making a gradual progress into my ass and deep into my guts. Almost majestic. Then out again." "Do you love me for doing this to you?" "Yes, Melissa." I thought I sounded too dutiful. "Oh, yes, oh, yes!" By the second "yes," I was thinking, this is strangely pleasant! Rather wonderful, in a way. Feeling so full of her. Of her dildo, anyway. When she was fully into me yet again, I said, "Yes, I love it!" By then I did! She did me slowly, in and out, for another few minutes, now and then lubricating herself with something I could feel but not see. Then she stopped and withdrew all the way. "Just a moment," she said. "I want to change to something thicker. You'll appreciate it more. Eyes tight shut." I gripped the bars and waited. Then slowly something warm and fat pushed against my anus and then slid in. Warmer and fatter and smoother. What was she using now? It stretched me to the utmost. But it was all the way in me much sooner, and then just held there while her hip bones pressed against my thighs. "Wrap your legs around your lover," she said. "Dig your heels into the small of his back." I did. The prick snuggled into me more tightly, then pulled almost out, then pushed in, and I began to seek it when it wasn't filling me up. I began to lunge down toward it so it could re-enter me sooner. I tightened my legs around his back, and pushed myself at it. His back. Why did I say that? I realized that the