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Though people in this story mean well, or claim they mean well, they do things you would not wish to see done in your own home at your own dinner table. Neither would I. So please protect the underaged at your dinner table from reading about such things. And if you are underaged, please protect yourself. That's what the law in its wisdom requires of you. Good luck, and bon appetit! New Hairdo by Vickie Tern I know I looked especially nice as the Maitre d' seated us. I was wearing my black sleeveless shift with silver-threaded tracery, the one that glides past just a suggestion of my hips and flows to a flirty hem just above my knees. Simple silver jewelry, including the drop earrings April gave me for my last birthday. Elegant, restrained, perfect. I felt the quiet pride any girl feels who's confident she looks her best. On top of it all my brand new hairstyle. You know what they say, change your hairdo and change your life. Well, I liked my life, but even so, April had asked Joanne to cut it a lot shorter, so Joanne had shaped it radically in back and then fluffed it up into a cute flip. She'd promised me it would be a lot easier to care for than my old big-haired, down-to-the-shoulders layered cut. I'd never again need to set my hair with rollers when I want people to notice me, she'd said. Just blow-dry and go, and when you think of it, comb it with your fingers. It was the kind of cut women favor after their second or third baby, when their families demand all their time and they can't fuss, women who nevertheless want to look devastatingly feminine. And she'd given me bangs. I'd never before worn bangs, but they made my face smaller, more pixieish. Joanne told me my new look was fabulous. I wasn't so sure at first, turning my head from side to side in her salon mirror. It didn't seem to be me at all, but someone more pert and capable, cute but with her own mind, an independent woman with her own goals. It was all rather sudden. April had called my office only a few hours earlier and told me Joanne had just found an opening in her schedule, and I should leave work early and stop by her salon to get the sassy new hairstyling she'd wanted for me. "Then go home and make yourself beautiful, sweetie," she'd told me, "so I can admire the whole new you. When I get home I'll change too and we'll have an intimate little candlelight supper at Le Cirque. So change to something dressy. I've made the reservations already. I'm dying to see how you'll look. Also, I have something wonderful to tell you." I'd had to push a lot of appointments into next week to get to Joanne's in time for my appointment and then get home and get ready. I was thinking that whatever April had on her mind, it better be worth it. In fact I was still figuring out how to handle next week's schedule when April arrived home, called for an immediate display of the new me, told me I was gorgeous, and then told me to grab my purse, we had to leave for the restaurant right away. It was still early, the last traces of sunset visible behind the bank tower when I gave the car to the valet parking attendant and smiled at him to encourage him to be careful with it. He smiled back. I still hadn't gotten used to the notion that young men are eager to please any woman who looks well turned out. They're so impressionable. And the night was still young. I wondered what April had in mind for us afterward. She'd been getting me accustomed to flirting with men lately, taking me to bars with small combos playing dance music, showing me how to accept invitations from men and then laugh and accept their flattery while I danced in their arms, April watching us from our booth and sipping her one drink. She wanted me to feel comfortable with them, she said, though she herself always refused invitations when asked. She just didn't feel sociable, she'd say. But we'd giggle delightedly enough afterward, when I'd tell her what seductive line this man or that man had tried on me, and she gave me even more pointers about fending them off and yet still seeming attractive to them. It was harmless entertainment for both of us. She called it my "finishing school." I forgot about work when we entered Le Cirque's exquisite little waiting area, off the rather grand lobby of the our best hotel An hour's pampering at the beauty salon is supposed to be restorative, I know, but my mind had been so busy with rescheduling that I hadn't even bothered to watch as Joanne sculpted my new style, nor had I listened to her chatter about it, "coy but not too innocent, you'll see" I think she said. Nor had I heard anything at all about who'd gotten divorced or seduced since my last visit. I glanced again at April while we waited for the Maitre d' to find her name on his list. She was looking straight ahead with a strange look on her face, solemn yet exultant, like a cat preparing to pay a condolence call on a canary. Her mind was partly elsewhere, but she tried to seem attentive now and then. "That's a new design for your eye make-up too, isn't it, honey?" she asked. "That wide-eyed, little girl look? It does look fetching with your new hairdo. Contrasty. Joanne's idea?" "No, mine," I told her. "I thought with my new hair style I should change everything else too. Become altogether a new woman." I flourished both hands with a little wrist flip, to signal a display completed and waiting for applause. "Yes, I suppose," April replied. I wasn't sure she'd heard me. Then, "Yes, that's what I had in mind for you too, dear." We'd were seated at an intimate little corner table, knees tucked under snowy tablecloths, napkins decorously draped on our laps, leaning toward each other, fingernails and silverware gleaming, our dinners ordered and our second cocktails just arrived, when April finally dropped her bomb. "Comfy?" she asked? "Yes, of course, honey. Why do you ask?" "Because I'd like you to be. I'm about to say something to you you won't like, but I have to say it, and I don't want you to feel any needless discomfort." She used words like "discomfort" to her patients when she knew the surgical procedures she was about to perform were painful. The word helped to minimize their suffering in her own mind. "Out with it!" That's what I'd say to clients when they waffled about something they didn't quite want to tell me. It sounds abrupt, but it shocks them into talking and saves time. I suppose April's professional language prompted me to reply in kind. She once told me that no woman would ever be that inconsiderate. A woman would always let a person say whatever needs saying in whatever time he or she -- usually she -- needs to say it. It's only men who are more direct. Dressed the way I was, looking the way I knew I looked, I knew immediately that the statement was rude and regretted it. April meant to be kind. "I'm sorry, April," I apologized, patting my lips with my napkin, thinking vaguely that I should have had Joanne re-do my nails for tonight, to use color rather than the clear polish I wore weekdays at the office. My mind still wasn't fully concentrated. "Don't be, for once. What I have to say is also harsh." "Must you say it, then?" "Yes." I waited. "Les, this will come as a shock to you. I know you've done everything you could to please me. Gone along with my every whim. So please understand that this isn't your fault. It isn't anybody's fault, I suppose. It's just the way it is." "The way what is?" I began to feel uneasy. She'd called me "Les." When I'm dressed and made up to look nice she always calls me "Leslie" or "darling girl," so I'll feel relaxed and reassured. But this was "Les." The name people called me at the office. My business identity. My male name. She hadn't used "Les" in a long time, several years, not since I'd agreed to live at home with her as a woman, not a man. To be a woman everywhere except my office. "Les, I'm divorcing you. I've already started the proceedings. You'll get your formal notice in another day or two." "What!!" She sat silent now. It was said. She watched my eyes, done up in that brand new baby-stare look. She knew how to look through them and read my real feelings. She also knew my "What!!" was filler, a stall for time while I felt for a suitable response. Of course I'd heard her. She also knew I knew that whenever she reached a point of decision, further argument was useless. That decisiveness was what made her a superb surgeon, one of her colleagues had once told me. She'd first consider every contingency, then decide what to do, and then do it and never look back! "Why? Why, April?" My heart sank down deep into my gut. My tummy, I corrected myself. I could scarcely breathe! "Why, Leslie? Why? My dear, just look at you!" I was bewildered. "Look at what?" I asked. She glanced around, and I realized I'd better lower my voice. That that was why she'd chosen this place, this time, to tell me. "Look at what, April?" I repeated, in a softer, more appropriate tone. "I'm beautiful. You said so yourself just now, with my new hairdo and all. And I am, I can feel it! I'm what you've wanted me to be!" She didn't respond. "April honey," I added, as if to attract her attention. I realized I was beginning to plead, and that pleading was pointless. "That's true, Leslie. And that's the problem. You're no longer a man!" She spoke as if to a child, explaining the obvious. "I married a man, and you're now something else. So it's time we went our separate ways." "I'm what you made me!" A desperate cry, also a little indignant. "You remember? Arguing and urging and pleading for me to consent to this almost as soon as we were married? For how long, over a year it was, until I agreed to the first step, I still remember it, lacy panties and clear lipstick, that was all you wanted, that I wear them until they were second nature! Then a bra, just to feel what that was like. Then hormones to help fill it out. Always, with each new step you were so happy, how could I deny you the next? And for the past two years living with you as a woman full time, exactly what you wanted all along, in a neighborhood where none of our neighbors think I'm anything else! So I'm a man now only at the office. Otherwise I'm what you've always wanted! You've said so hundreds of times!" "Well, yes, Les, sweet Leslie, but you're wrong about one thing. You're no longer a man even at your office. No more than when you're in bed with me. You haven't been for at least a year. Your secretaries all know about you. They're only waiting for you to say it, to tell them you're now a woman, not a man, so they can congratulate you and welcome you as one of their own kind, one of the girls, even if you are their boss." That was crushing news! "But how could they know?" I asked her, subdued. "I've been so careful! You told them?" "You know I'd never do that! It wasn't necessary to do that! There's no mystery -- just look at yourself! Your jaw and your nose trimmed by surgery to look diminutive, dainty! Your eyebrows raised, and your lips puffed just a bit. Even without make-up you look adorable. No hair anywhere apart from what was heaped up on your head until today. Your chest thrust way out -- you can't hide breasts as large as yours, you know. When your men's shirts pulled and strained I had to put you into women's shirts cut for a woman's figure. Did you think no one would notice those Peter Pan collars, and darts, and gores, let alone the flaps that button the wrong way? Or the lacy tracery of your bras and slips under the shirt material?" She leaned forward. "Especially your hairdo, that bouffant look you wore until today, the one you fancied when we first decided to go out in public? No, I'll be honest, I fancied it for you then. That was a dead giveaway. Do men put their hair up in large rollers every morning, then come in with it combed and curled and spritzed up to form an alluring halo framing their faces? Unmistakeable, honey!" "And the way you move now? Not that you swish, nothing so vulgar. But so neatly! So daintily! Always so ladylike! The way you drape your wrists when you're comfortable, or wave them in the air when you think you're you're being persuasive, forgetting altogether that your hands and nails now look more slender and attractive than any man's hands and nails ever could!" "Then you yourself decided that a touch of eyeliner at work would make your eyes seem more dramatic, remember, and you had to pencil in your eyebrows when you tweezed away too many hairs! And above all, when you decided you'd wear seed pearls or large danglers in your earlobes instead of small hoops, the kind men with pierced ears wear? In both earlobes? I didn't want to say anything when you lost perspective and began doing those things, but you did want to, and by then there was no mistaking what you'd become anyhow. Whatever did you think people would think?" She sat back again, her expression incredulous as she saw that it was all news to me! "I just wanted to look nice," I said lamely. Then, "April, has anyone ever mentioned any of this to you?" "Of course. Your secretary was concerned. She told me everyone at the office was concerned, because they all care about you. You're a very nice man. Or you once were, she said, but now you're more a very nice lady. I told her not to worry, that you'd explain yourself to everyone in your own good time." This was distressing. Also a little bit liberating. It was sometimes stressful, trying to maintain a normal appearance at the office. To no avail apparently. "Do you think my clients know?" I asked, worried? "Of course, honey. Your secretary told me the new ones all assume you're a woman. A little butch, with your voice, but they figure the woman you live with likes it. That I like it." There was nothing more to say about that. April sighed and returned to her core revelation. "I'm really sorry, Leslie sweetheart. I truly am. But the fact is, I no longer want to be married to a woman. I did want to, but not any more. So I'm leaving you. Tonight, as a matter of fact. When we're finished here, we'll leave here separately. You'll go home, and I've made other arrangements." This was utterly stunning! April had been my life for five years! Longer! We were always together, every spare moment, nearly. Especially as I became her "dearest girlfriend." We shared so many more interests than most married couples. Shopping, styles, getting our nails done, theater, gossiping about people at work, everything! And now, soon, nothing? I sat there with my wrists still draped. I wondered what I might conceivably say to change her mind, but I was sinking deeper and deeper into depression. I knew there was nothing to say. But at least I could try to understand it. What had gone so terribly wrong? At that moment the waiter brought our appetizers. Crab salad for April -- she loved sea food. Just a small chicory salad for me, no dressing. As always I was concerned to maintain a girlish figure. I'd fought to get down to a size twelve from my original eighteen, and as I got more svelte April had given away my old clothing, to box me in so there'd be no letting down or turning back. Thw waiter looked at me. I must have looked just terrible, because he asked, concerned, "Is something wrong, ma'am? Can I help you in some way?" That broke my spiral downward. I forced a smile and looked up at him. "No, dear, thank you, I'll be just fine! It's nice of you to ask, though." He left, reluctantly. "See?" April commented, a little amused by the exchange. "Spoken like a true woman. Gentle and considerate. You'll do just fine without me, honey." "I'm the way I am!" I said. My voice tightened, a little angry, though I tried to keep it low. "I'm what you wanted! The way you made me! In all these years, yours! Absolutely faithful to you!" "I know, dear. You're what I wanted. You indulged me, and worked very hard to achieve it, and gave up so much, and I'll always be grateful. You'll always be my dream girl!" "But if I'm now what you wanted, why don't you want me?" Near despair, but still in my hushed, ladylike voice. "That's a good question," April replied. She tasted her crab salad, then set the fork down and again looked gently but very firmly at me. "It's difficult to explain. Understand, sweetheart, I still do want you the way you are, as a friend. A good friend. My dearest friend. You're a far more fascinating woman than you were a man. And I think you're much happier now too. More serene and relaxed, even more playful." She smiled. "Certainly prettier." She smiled at me this time, inviting my assent. "And you know you love making yourself pretty! So I really don't have any regrets, leaving you now, and I don't think you should either." She settled back and looked serious again. "You see, honey, I've changed my mind about what I want from a marriage. That's the nearest explanation I can come up with. You were a wonderful man for agreeing to become my even more wonderful best girlfriend instead of merely my husband. You've been wonderful about all of it. But lately I've been thinking that there's something missing from my life. Male companionship. Being with a guy, living with the decisiveness, even the feistiness of a guy. Anticipating his moves, primping before a date so he'll find me attractive, special. Flirting with him, so there's no doubt in his mind at all that I also find him attractive, that I may have something in mind later for the two of us." She smiled to herself, and took another bite of crab. "And then there's that part too. What happens later. Feeling his strength embrace me even while it pushes deep into me. I miss that too! More and more, lately!" "April, we discussed that! Years ago now! When you started my hormones, those heavy doses you told me would grow titties in no time, but probably weaken my erections, and they did, and it did! When I couldn't penetrate you any more you remember you told me not to give it another thought, you preferred sex the way women have sex together. And you made such passionate love to my new body, kissing my nipples and rolling my breasts around in your hands. I was in heaven, but so were you! I remember how delighted you were that I'd responded so 'generously' you called it, that I'd gone to a C-cup inside of a year, and it was all me!" She nibbled at her crab, and said nothing. "How many times did you tell me you much preferred me kissing and licking you down there, so very sweetly you said, while your orgasms rose slowly, and exquisite feelings rose with them, and then finally overwhelmed you! You loved it that I couldn't invade you, that there was no threat of thrusting to ruin the mood. You said that so often!" I paused. April said nothing. She just looked at me sympathetically, and took another forkful and chewed it slowly. Obviously she knew I had to vent, and she was allowing me to vent. All I was doing was venting. There was nothing she intended to do. There was nothing to be done. I noticed that her lips were closed, as always when she chewed, except when she opened them to take in a teeny bite with a flash of teeny white teeth. I saw that her lips were made up perfectly, and with a stray thought I hoped mine were too. Lately I'd wanted to look more and more like April, and she'd encouraged it. Suave, poised, a woman with a mind of her own. Since I could no longer look like me, except at the office, I'd thought. But no, apparently not even there. "I learned how to make love to you those other ways," I went on, knowing that I was only reciting history, not arguing with any hope of persuading her. "Your ways. You said my face between your legs was heaven, that my tongue was magic when it was inside you. That you could never get enough of me down there. That's why I still sleep that way most of the time, with my head between your legs! I love feeling the strength of your thighs on my shoulders, and breathing close to the smell of your pussy." "That's true," was all she said. "And I still can't get enough of your tongue. But it's no longer enough, Leslie. I know that this isn't fair to you, that you've done everything I've asked you to do, that you don't deserve this, and so on. I began by saying that, didn't I? Right from the outset? So now I won't repeat myself, and it's no use your repeating it. The loving we've shared has been beautiful, memorable, sublime. But it's no longer enough. I now want a real man who can take care of a real woman's needs." She hesitated, then came out with it. "You're neither. You're neither a man nor a woman. Not any more. Not yet." I sat quietly. The waiter came again and glanced at me while taking away our appetizer plates. I hadn't touched my salad. "April," I said gravely. "Yes, Leslie," she replied. Was her tone now a touch mocking? She'd known all along that I had to arrive at my next question. She stalled it, maybe for her own amusement. "Or 'Les', if you prefer," she went on. "But you're not much of a 'Les' any more, are you. Even back then, you were less of a 'Les" than you thought you were." She smiled at her accidental pun, then smiled to console me. "I think you kind of like what I've done to you. You didn't at first, I grant you. But now? Don't you? Don't tell me you don't!" I ignored that question. It disturbed me, because she wasn't wrong. But I had to know. I tried to be indirect, at first. "April," I said. "How do you know you'd rather be with a real man than with another woman." I paused. "A woman like me, I mean." She looked seriously at me again, indulgent but no way apologetic. Her banter had failed to distract. So she began the preliminaries of an answer. "I don't want to hurt you any more than is necessary, Leslie. You're my dearest girlfriend, and I love you. We've shared so many desires and secrets. I've wanted to share this with you for so long. It's the kind of thing real girlfriends share all the time. But I just couldn't. Not because it's wrong. Not because I thought you wouldn't understand, or that you might take it the wrong way. My best girlfriend would be happy for me, I knew that. But my husband would not be happy, not at all. Not Les! He'd be terribly jealous, and he'd feel so inadequate, he'd feel like such a failure. And then I'd feel sorry for him, poor man, I just know it. What little there is left of him, I mean. And where's the point of that?" "Tell me," I said. I took a deep breath. She was stalling. Then on impulse I took up my purse, and opened it, and took out my compact and lipstick, and looked at my reflection. My face was smooth, nearly inexpressive. No need to touch up anything, not even my lipstick. Perfect. I replaced all that female paraphernalia and snapped my purse shut and smiled conspiratorially. "I'm your best girlfriend, honey. You can tell me!" It worked! After a moment April leaned back relaxed and asked me playfully, "How does a woman know she'd rather make love with a man than with another woman? You answer that for me, Leslie love!" "We learn by doing," I said rather vaguely. I didn't want to put words into her mouth. "Exactly!" April said. She propped her elbows on the table, and her chin on her hands, and she looked at me mischievously. Her eyes were dancing. Maybe also gleaming. "Leslie honey, it's been wonderful! Really marvelous! You'll be so happy for me when I tell you! I'm so glad I can tell someone, finally!" Just then the waiter brought us our main courses. Curry for her, and a small roulade for me. My figure, you know. I sat very still, hoping her new mood wouldn't be dispelled. It wasn't. I took a small bite, and as she did the same, I forced another smile. "Tell me, honey," I said. "How you met, what he's like, what you two do, how you feel about it, everything." I leaned forward as if eager for her to dish the dirt. I noticed irrelevantly that her hairdo was a lot like mine. My new one. Curlier, because her hair was naturally curly. But I knew I could get the same effect with a tighter perm. "This is so exciting," I tried to add. But only a squeak came out. April hesitated only a moment, then spoke. "His name is Scott. He came to the hospital about a year ago, and we began talking almost immediately about revising our surgical procedures with children -- he's a pediatrician. His idea was, gather them all together in a big room and throw them a big party, then the next day do as many as possible all at once. So they could be miserable together and then gradually get well together. And keep each other cheerful when their parents couldn't visit them. It was such an imaginative plan, so considerate, so very sweet. But that's how he is." I cocked one eye at her. My arched eyebrow went way up. "No, I don't suppose you want to know that sort of thing. Well, we got on beautifully from day one. We'd smile at each other at staff meetings, and we began to have lunch together. After a while he started telling me things. Personal things. We began to feel a certain ... attraction. But we never touched each other. Other people thought we had a thing going and made jokes about it, but we didn't. Not then." "Is he married?" I asked. For some reason I wanted to remind her of our solemn estate, not to be entered or left lightly. She looked pensive. "He had been. His wife died shortly after giving birth, if you can imagine such a thing in this day and age. A combination of things, uncontrolled diabetes, radical hormonal imbalances, some rogue infection brought on by AIDS. Their baby was stillborn and she died two days later. He was devastated." "I can imagine," I said, to break into her silence. "No you can't. He'd cared for her devotedly. No man more attentive or tender. He'd known that her pregnancy could be dangerous, so he'd tried to deny himself the "consolations of her body" he called it, except for a very few times when she'd begged him for it, seduced him shamelessly, really. Then those times he took every conceivable precaution. It was just as well, since she was HIV positive and she hadn't told him." "Well, she got pregnant anyhow, and refused to abort. 'This is a love child,' she told him. 'And you're its legal father, so I want to bear it and to see you raise it.'" "So?" I asked. I'd heard of worse marriages, if more fortunate ones. "You don't understand, sweetie, any more than he did then. A 'love child' is a child out of wedlock. Someone else was the father. After her death he found out there was no knowing who. It seems that his wife had been unfaithful for years, sexually insatiable. All day long while he was at work there was a parade of lovers passing through their apartment and into her bed. Every day when gobs of their semen overflowed her snatch she never bothered even to blot. She took no precautions at all. When the afternoon domestic came on duty, her first task was to run a bath so this wife of Scott's could soak off the sweat and cum and saliva, and douche herself thoroughly, all the while the cleaning woman mopped up the mess and changed the soaked bed and got the stained and sticky linens out of the apartment so Scott would never know. Scott's wife could take on a half dozen men daily, he found out. And did. Long before her pregnancy, and all through it." "Anyhow, between the mother's marginal physical condition and all those dickheads knocking on her door that baby never stood a chance! When his wife found out the baby was dead she told Scott it was no big deal, it wasn't his anyhow. That she'd never loved him. That she'd married him only because she'd tried everything else, and he was as boring as everything else. Then she died. That's why he felt so devastated. His whole life had been a lie. He left town and moved to this city to get away from everything that reminded him of her." I looked sympathetic, but said nothing. Then, "You said you never touched each other. How long before you did?" April grinned at me. "You want me to cut to the hot part, don't you, sweetie. Well, all right! It's pretty hot. About a month after he'd settled in, when we were seeing each other daily, he told me about his wife -- 'if she ever was one,' he said. And he asked me to perform a vasectomy on him. If anyone he cared about ever got pregnant again, he wanted to know for certain that the child couldn't be his. He didn't want children. His patients would be his children. He'd be a better pediatrician for it." I'd heard enough about this Scott's nobility. "So?" I said. "The touching?" "It's a simple procedure, I arranged to do it in my office. I put him in a gown, and set him up on a gynecological examining table I keep there, and I fastened his wrists so he couldn't interfere or thrash about, and I strapped his legs into the stirrups and spread them wide apart. That gave me plenty of access. He looked so cute, spread out like that! So helpless! Just like a woman!" She smiled at me, and then looked away. "But down there he didn't look at all like a woman. Not with that equipment! Leslie, honey, you've never seen anything like it! I'll bet not even when you were dating all kinds of boys back in college!" She was so entranced she'd forgotten who I really was! As her best girlfriend, I nodded, trying not to break the spell. "So I injected him with a local, and cleaned him up, and when I thought he couldn't feel anything, I took up the scalpel and prepared to cut in, to resect his vas deferens. But I teased him first. I said, "You know, with a flick of my wrist I could emasculate you right now, the way I did my husband." "His voice came from the other side of the sheet we use to isolate our work area, 'You have a husband? I thought you lived with a woman. A lawyer, good-looking if a little butch is what I've heard.'" "'Yes,'" I told him. I didn't want to keep any secrets from this man. And I wanted him to believe my teasing might not be teasing! "He's a very good-looking woman now," I said, "You could say pretty. But he wasn't when I began with him!" The same feeling I get with you came over me. I felt so powerful! "Would you like to join him? Join my little harem? You might end up as pretty as he is!" I waved my scalpel high up, where he could see it. I imagine no man ever felt more helpless than he did at that moment. His response was unexpected, Leslie. Because unlike you I'd never sensed anything compliant or submissive in him. But it was so very moving! "'April,'" he said. "'If you must, I want you to. I hope you'll leave everything there. I guess this is as good a time as any to say it. I have very special feelings for you. I want to join myself to you. I want to become part of you. I want to make you happy the way only a man can make a woman happy. I'll need what's down there to do that. I love you. But because I love you, I want your happiness above all! So you do whatever will make you happy!'" "Well, Leslie, that was so sweet I started to cry. He'd submitted all that manliness to me absolutely, to accept him as a man or to unman him forever, whichever I chose. Greater love hath no man! Right then and there I couldn't help myself. I felt so grateful! A gift like that? I leaned forward and I kissed the very balls he'd offered to me. Softly. I thought that with the anesthetic he'd never know. But his cock swelled up immediately -- he hadn't gone numb yet. So I came around the other side of the barrier and I looked him straight in the eye. That rugged, handsome face. He had a broken nose from his college boxing days, but that only made him more handsome. Tears, I was crying, they flowed down my cheeks and they fell on him as I leaned forward and kissed him on the mouth. He kissed me back. He must have tasted my tears. I opened my mouth, and he thrust in his tongue. It isn't as long as your tongue, Leslie, but it tasted so very sweet!" She'd finished with her main course. I'd finished mine earlier. Now she set her silverware aside and seemed to be day-dreaming, as if seeing it all again. "I told him that no one had ever trusted me so completely before, not even my husband. That I had to love him for that! And that I wanted to kiss him some more, while we waited for the anesthetic to kick in. He interrupted me. 'May I kiss your breasts, April?' What a proposal! My smock and my bra just flew off, and there were my breasts with their nipples protruding, rock hard. I decided not to release his hands, though I desperately wanted to. You know what it's like, Leslie, when you're aroused and want to feel your breasts caressed and cupped and held passionately. I gave him just a few minutes apiece of each breast dangling over his face, my nipples hanging into his mouth. His lips closed on the ends of each breast, and his tongue tickled and caressed the tips, and shocks of pure bliss shot through me deep into my vagina." "I don't remember when I climbed up onto him and inserted him into me. I know we were both soaking wet when I came to myself and found I was astride him and he was inside me and I was banging and riding and writhing and twisting on top of him for all I was worth, and my pussy was squeezing itself into one spasm after another. Glorious! Chain orgasms, I'd heard of them! I've had them so often with him since then! Most often when he's on top of me, that gorgeous thing of his banging into me as ferociously and brutally as he can slam it and pound it at me! God, I do love hard fucking!" Her voice had risen, and I looked around. She noticed, and ducked her head. "Oops!" she said. The waiter came and removed out plates and went away. He then came back with dessert menus. April handed them back to him. "Maybe later," she said. "Maybe not at all. Wait, and we'll let you know. Is that all right?" "The waiter mumbled 'Of course, madam,' or something like that. I don't know why, but at that moment I turned toward him and gave him a great big smile, perhaps of gratitude for his tolerance that we could stay a while longer. Perhaps it was something else. To reassure myself that I still was sexually attractive myself, as a woman if not as a man? To overcome my jealousy of Scott, of that cock hammering my wife's pussy as mine never would again? I touched my hair a few times, fluffed it up a bit in back, and looked the poor man in the eyes just a bit longer than I needed to. He was startled at first, but he returned a grin as he turned away. April noticed, but said nothing. "I never did perform that vasectomy. When we were both fucked out and my thighs were stiff from riding and bouncing on him, I just climbed off the table and picked up the scalpel again, and grinned wickedly, and said to him, 'So you trust me, do you?' 'Yes,' he said, and he closed his eyes. So peacably! 'I do. I love you. What you want is what I want.' Leslie, I had his balls in the palm of my hand, and a knife in the other hand. But what I said to him was, 'Scott, I want your baby! I want lots of them. And lots of doing what we've just done! A lifetime of it!' It surprised me! Amazed me! Him too!" "But from that moment I've known that one day you and I would be sitting here talking like this, Leslie honey. That I'd need to tell you I was divorcing you to marry Scott. Because Scott opened his eyes and he looked at me and he said in the most earnest and intense voice I have ever heard, 'April, that's what I want! All of it!'" "So of course I set down the scalpel. And then with his cock erect but absolutely numb, I gave him the best blow job I have ever given anyone, while he watched. He couldn't feel a thing, but he knew I had to, and he watched me do it with such understanding and gratitude and devotion and fondness. We spent the rest of that afternoon cuddled in each others' arms, kissing, spooning, loving each other. My heart felt so very full. It still does." "When was this?" I asked, a little bitterly. April didn't reply. She just looked at me. I remembered my proper role. "That's so exciting, April!" I said. "I'm so happy for you both! But for how long have you two been ... making each other happy? And is it ... very often? You can tell me!" She resumed chatting with her girlfriend. "That was maybe a year ago. We've gotten together whenever we could since then. Never often enough, never more often than four, maybe six times a week! Our schedules are pretty tight, so it's not easy to free up the time and place. We're quite an item around the hospital. Hardly anyone hasn't opened a door and found us humping each other standing, sitting, lying down, crouching, you name it. Or me blowing him. We do little things for each other. We love it. We love each other. There's no getting around it, Leslie. That's why we want to get married." "But you've loved me this past year too," I reminded her. "For our kind of sex. You've come home eager, and crooked your finger at me and said 'Come upstairs to bed with me quick, honey, I need you badly.' And when I'd get upstairs you were already lying on our bed with your skirt and panties off and your slip pulled up and your legs spread wide, and you'd say, 'For God's sake, Leslie, please! Your tongue! I need your tongue!' And you were already dripping wet, really soaked down there sometimes, by the time I could get my lips rounded and clamped over your slit to begin to suck you and spoon those sweet juices out with my tongue. Some days you were really filled to the brim, secretions pooled in every crevice. I loved it, that you'd get so aroused just from anticipating me!" April was silent. Daydreaming again? She looked at my face. "Yes, sweetheart. Sometimes Scott and I didn't have time for more than one fuck before we'd be interrupted. Phone calls, patients, something. And then I'd feel so frustrated, unfinished! Now and then we'd both fly out of town for professional meetings, and then we could spend three or four days plastered together. That was always nice, my body always as full of him as my heart! But at the hospital he'd get called away sometimes before we could satisfy each other several times. I'm really grateful to you that then you helped him out. I do hope you enjoyed his flavor. I think he's delicious!" She paused, and glanced again at my face, and saw the expression there. "Oh, good heavens, honey! Did you think all that pearly stuff in me was me? Good heavens, no! Some of it. Your tongue still excites me! But not all of it! Not even most of it! You've sucked and swallowed more of Scott's cum than I have during the past year, Leslie. Much more!" She suddenly stopped. She'd said too much? "That's what girls do, honey," she said a little defensively. "And I do want you to experience everything girls do!" She sat a moment, then sat back. Then looked at me. The spell had worn off. I was again her husband, not her girlfriend, now that she'd told me as much as she meant to tell me. Maybe I was Scott's jealous rival? "We have to talk more, Les," she said. "Yes, I suppose so," I replied. "Separation agreements, property settlements, and so forth. But not now, April, please." I was near tears. That bleak feeling was descending on me again. Outside it was pitch black. Soon she'd leave me and I'd have to walk out into it alone. "Yes, now," April replied. "We need to talk. But not about those things. Not exactly." I just sat there. What else was there to say? I felt helpless. I'd done everything she wanted. Sacrificed everything, nearly. And now I was losing her! Could I begin my own life again? As what? To cover my misery I took out my compact and lipstick and began touching up my mouth yet again. I'm sure I was starting to cry. I could barely see myself in the mirror. A teeny, forlorn sound came out of me despite myself. "Leslie," April said suddenly in the sprightliest possible voice. I looked up. Her head was cocked vivaciously, and she seemed buoyant, grinning. She wanted to cheer me up. "Let me ask you the same question you asked me. How do you know you wouldn't rather make it with a man than a woman? Have you ever tried?" I appreciated her effort to jest. "Of course not. You know that." I couldn't look at her. "No, you've never even had a dildo inside you, have you. Even though that's what women often use with other women. You never knew that? It never occurred to you? " "No." "Nor to me. I must be pretty straight, I suppose. I never did feel like penetrating you, it was so nice just doing what we did. And because I've been getting fucked so frequently by Scott, and he stays hard so long and recovers so quickly, I've never needed for you to use a dildo on me. But recently I've been wondering how you'll get by, when I've gone off to live with Scott." "I'll get by," was all I said. "I'll survive. Don't let me slow you down!" I tried to be sardonic, but she wasn't buying it. "I'm sure you'll survive," she said. Then, "You know, there's this woman at work, Fran, she's another surgeon, abdominal mostly, she said that she's cleared all kind of things out of men's bowels that women have pushed into them and then couldn't get out. Or other men have pushed in. Golf balls, soda bottles, light bulbs even, you name it. Lots of wives have done it to their husbands. So one day Fran decided to try something like that on her own husband. But safely, with a dildo." "Well, she said it was overwhelming! Really empowering! She loved being the dominant partner! She loved violating his ass with her own thrusting torpedo, at will or whim, whatever her pelvis felt like doing, all the while he lay there helplessly and grunted and just took it. She liked being the man. Being in charge. He hated it at first, she said. But in a way he must have loved it too, because his cock was a wooden pole the whole time. And when she orgasmed just from the raw animality of pounding into him, he came too! 'It was different' was what he said when she asked him how it felt. 'I'll bet!' she replied. 'I heard you moaning for more!' She found that when she was wearing the cock and he knew he had to take it into his body, he'd submit to other ...ahh... indignities as well. Even against his will. And be grateful afterward." "Well, I told Scott about Fran and her husband, but that's where it ended. Scott would never let me bugger him, not in a million years. He has the tightest asshole in Christendom. I can't even get a finger in! A real anal compulsive, anal retentive personality. An uptight asshole, you'd probably say, if you were a man. But he does have the tightest buns, too! I love them! Yours got so plump when your hormones rounded them out that they're even a little flabby now. I've been meaning to get you some exercises to help you shape them up a bit more. 'Buns of Steel,' you've seen the videotape." "Anyhow, Fran asked me if I'd ever used a dildo on my girlfriend Leslie. When I told her 'No,' she just looked at me and said, 'What are live-in girlfriends for, April? Good heavens? The woman has a cunt, and you don't fuck her? She must be feeling terribly deprived!'" '"Yes,' I answered her. 'She may well be feeling deprived. I'll have to ask her.' I couldn't very well tell her that my girlfriend doesn't have a cunt, and that may be the reason why she's feeling deprived." "What?" I asked? "What was that, April?" Her last statement hadn't at all gone where I'd expected it to go. I hadn't felt at all deprived, not until tonight! I began to pull out of my depression, to listen more closely. "Leslie, tell me. Wouldn't you like to feel for yourself what it's like, what I've just been describing about my affair with Scott, or what Fran's husband feels these days? How it feels to be on the receiving end. To give while receiving? To be really and truly fucked?" The obvious remark occurred to me, but I said nothing. "I've been selfish, I suppose. All take and no give. But I do want you to experience the ultimate pleasure a woman can have. I owe it to you. You need to know why it is that these parking attendants and waiters dance around you hoping for a glance and a smile. Why those men pick you up at those clubs we go to, and whirl you around the floor. They hope, they dream, vaguely, that somehow you'll let them sink themselves into you, so they can feel the pleasures a pussy provides. Could provide, if you had one. And they hope for an opportunity to give you pleasure too!" "April, cut to the chase! Are you telling me to take up with dildos, or with men, or to let you equip me with a vagina?" "Honey, I really and truly feel guilty about all this. I love you. You know that. I don't want to just walk away and leave you neither here nor there. I want my girlfriend to enjoy being what she is. I certainly don't want you to resent that I turned you into a woman, nearly, and that now I'm divorcing you for a real man, the greatest fuck I've ever had, the love of my life!" She hadn't answered me. She noticed that I'd noticed, and then she went on. "Honey, I guess yes, that's what I'm telling you. I don't want to press you or anything, but give it some thought. You can only go so far with dildos, or with satisfying your men with your anus, if that's what you think I was thinking. The best sex between men and women is what happens when a man's cock is inside a woman's vagina. With no vagina, you can't experience that. Right now all of your erogenous nerve endings are still in that useless penis of yours, most of them down toward the base. I want you to think about turning the whole assembly inside out. About having a sensitive clit and a vagina that throbs with joy when a real prick strokes in and out of it! Feeling heaven between your legs!" "And there's something else. You know that Scott knows about us. He isn't jealous of us, exactly. He isn't jealous of my relations with women. I don't think he understands them. But we've talked about you. He likes the idea of my spending time with someone affectionate who shares my interests. A woman. With an intimate girlfriend. He'd feel reassured to know there's someone I can be with when he's not available." "And I want him to have that reassurance. I'm now married to a man who's nearly disappeared, and I'm divorcing what's left of him, but that doesn't mean I can't still share things with my dearest girlfriend. We won't live together the way we do now, of course. You'll have your own place, the house we're in now, and you'll lead your own life. Have other friends. Get to know the neighborhood wives. See other men maybe. But we can still see each other. There's no reason not to! You can still be my dearest friend. We can still giggle together about everything!" She paused. "Isn't that so?" I nodded. It was so. I almost sobbed at the pity of it. A friendship was all that remained of our marriage! But at least that much! Maybe more! "That's if you're a woman. If you're no way a man. You have to be a woman. Scott has to be satisfied that you're a woman." Understood, I suppose. She'd sort of said that. Then she leaned forward to say more. "Leslie, Scott and I want you to be my Maid of Honor at our wedding." My mouth fell open. "More than that, I want to do this for my Maid of Honor! I want my bridal gift to you to be a pussy. I want to share everything with you, the way girlfriends should. Nearly everything! Please think some more about it." "Think too about how much fun we can have picking out our gowns and everything! I'd be so happy! Arranging different couples at different tables. Maybe mixing up the husbands and wives, to see what happens?" She threw me a wicked glance. "Honey, I don't want you left all alone, after everything we've shared. And think about after the wedding! There'll be lots of Scott's friends there, and some of them are between wives, and some of them are roamers, and I should think looking the way you do you'd have the pick of the lot. I know you would. There are some wonderful experiences out there for you, waiting to happen! If you can accommodate them!" "April, you keep saying it. But I don't want to be intimate with men. I really don't." I was appalled by the way she kept returning to that notion! "Honey," she said. "You think so now. But looking the way you do, feeling the way you feel about yourself, it's only a matter of time. Take it from me. I know that when you first try a dildo you'll love it. It's like Fran's husband said, it's different. He wasn't the least bit feminine when she started with him, but now when she comes toward him he can't open up to her fast enough. Then sooner or later you'll find that men are a lot more satisfying than dildos. You already love the way they fall all over you for a smile. Don't deny it. Well, you don't know it yet, but in bed men can be very warm and loving, and when they're horny they have moves and desires that can take your breath away. You'll see." "Leslie sweetie, you're the woman I've taught you to be. That's the next step! I have no doubt at all that soon your mouth and your anus will be baptized with real sperm, sooner than you think, and you'll be thinking about getting a pussy. I may not be moving from man to man any more, the way I did before I met Scott, but you'll be. You'll be checking out lots of the merchandise. The way you behaved with that waiter? You must know that!" I paid no attention to her reference to the waiter. "You've been moving from man to man? For how long now?" I was shocked yet again! She looked at me narrowly. "Oh, Leslie, I've been thinking you were my girlfriend, and I forgot you still think you're my husband too. Of course! Practically since we were married! With lots of men. Right away I missed the way some of my old boyfriends felt, different from you, so I started in again with one, then with another. I missed my old girlfriends too, the things we used to do together, but they'd all moved away. That's why I wanted you to fill in, to be my new girlfriend. And that's what you've been!" She sighed, reminiscing. "Why do you think I found it so easy to do without your cock? Why do you think I didn't care when you lost your erections? On the other hand you know how I absolutely adored those darling little titties of your when they first began to come in, especially when your nipples got so erogenous that all I had to do was touch them and you'd squeal, and then you'd do anything I asked you to do. It all got a lot easier then!" She was lost in reverie for a moment. "When we moved to this neighborhood I quit with other men for a while. We were women living together, and I tried hard to be faithful to my partner. But then when you had your facial surgery, you were laid up for weeks, bandaged? Remember? How you couldn't go down on me? Well, I felt horny one night and went out and picked up a stud at a bar, and we fucked all night. And I've done that now and then ever since. Until Scott. I'm faithful to Scott. I always will be, I think. He's all the man I need!" "You made me ... what I am just because you wanted a live-in lesbian partner to play with along with your men?" "Honey," she said patiently, a little wearily I thought. "I wanted a girlfiend, yes. Someone who shared my interests. And I wanted the sex too, of course. But the main reason why I made you a woman is fairly obvious now, isn't it? Soon after we were married I thought I could get better fucked elsewhere. A lot better fucked. And that turned out to be true." That settled me back down. "You really are my best girlfiend, now. But you were never much of a man." She reached out and took my hands and clasped them in hers. "Aww, now I've hurt his feelings. But you shouldn't have those feelings any more, baby! You're what you wanted to be! You've practically agreed with me again tonight that you like things this way. That you love what you are. Your new hairdo, for openers. And don't you love the feelings that rise up in you when I'm suckling and licking those plump breasts? The way those feelings melt and merge into your whole body?" "And the other things, not just sex! Don't you love choosing what outfits you'll wear, and what accessories, so you'll look just right for any occasion? You're very good at it, you know, and you enjoy it, I know! Isn't there special satisfaction in knowing you're as nice looking as you can be? And don't you love giving full vent to your deepest, dearest, most heartfelt emotions, the way any woman can, instead of suppressing them the way men feel they must? You're a woman in your heart now, Leslie, nearly. That's why I feel so close to you! That's the closeness to you I've wanted from the beginning! It's special! Very different from the way I feel about Scott." "Suppose I go back," I said resentfully. "And have my breasts removed, and get testosterone shots, ramp up my natural production, be more of a man again. More the way I was." She looked at me a little reproachfully. "Honey, let me say it in the plainest of plain words. You can't. It won't happen. Your testicles have shut down. They're almost gone -- why do you think they tuck so easily these days? And your penis is now what, the size of your little finger -- you've seen it. Could you be a man now? If you could, you'd hate it. But you can't. There's no going back." "That's why I'm urging you, sweetheart, go the other way! Really, you're only one step short of the goal. Have a vagina installed and be done with it. One of your very own, to dispose however you wish." She looked intently at me. "To use the way I've used mine. The way any woman can, and no husband can ever really tell. You'll be so much happier! Complete yourself, honey!" Oddly, at that moment she sounded like my wife, the woman I married, concerned and caring! "All right, I'll think about it," I said. "But I don't think I'm ready for it. I'm willing to be your Maid of Honor, but I can't promise you anything else." I disengaged my hands from hers and looked down. It was time to part. I felt sad. Sorrowful, in fact. "I guess I should go home now, April. When do you think we can see each other again?" "Honey, no, not yet. There's just a little bit more we need to talk about." "What?" "Two things, really, First of all Scott. I told you he has no objection to our keeping up our friendship, as long as it's a friendship between two girls. Well, his agreement to all this -- our continuing to see each other, your being my Maid of Honor, everything -- is conditional. He knows you'd never agree to a vagina right off. But he wants proof positive, absolute assurance, that you're now my girlfriend and no way my husband." "He knows you're no rival physically. He can tell that the way I react when that fat cock of his shoves into me. I shriek, and my moaning comes to crescendo almost immediately. It's obvious to him I get nothing like that at home. But he needs to know you harbor no bad feelings toward him. That there's no jealous husband left in you. That you don't feel competitive in some way. That you wish him well. That you're truly my girlfriend wishing us both well. So we've thought of a test." "What? For me to place your wedding band around his cock and guide it into your pussy with my own hand? Is that it?" Oh no, that won't be necessary Leslie. Just to do something for him no ex-husband would ever do for the rival who's replaced him. Though a girlfriend might." What's that?" "Now hear me out, Leslie!" "All right. What? What do I need to do?" "Not a lot. A gesture, really. A blow job. Just for you to give him a blow job. To swallow his sperm from the source instead of from my pussy. It really isn't much more than you've already done. It's what girls do. To show him unequivocally that you want him to be happy, by making him feel good. To show you bear him no animus. To show me that you desire his happiness too. To prove it to me!" She grinned maliciously. "Then again, I do think you'd enjoy it, sucking his cock. Once you get past the idea of it. I do." I couldn't believe what I was hearing! "While you watch?" I asked sarcastically? "Oh, no, that wouldn't be decent. You two need privacy for something like that. But he does need to know who you are and who you aren't. A girlfriend, not a man at all! He doesn't think any man would be willing to wrap his mouth around his wife's lover's penis. Of course Fran's husband does it, she tells me, with several of her lovers. But he's a special case, and it took her a while to get him there." She paused, looking across the restaurant, back toward the lobby. I followed her eyes. There was a rugged looking, rather handsome man in the entrance hall now talking to the Maitre D', who pointed at our table. He started toward us, but April suddenly held up a palm to him. He stopped short, nodded, and then sat down at the bar, looking over at us now and then. "That's my man, sweetie! Don't you just love him? Feel a teenie bit tempted to flirt with him? I want you two to meet. We both want to get this matter settled now, tonight. But first, there's one more thing. Please listen, it's serious." "What?" I asked her. "He wants to fuck me up the ass, too? To assure himself there are no jealous feelings hidden up there either?" "No, he doesn't want to. In fact he made a face when I suggested it. But he's willing, because I want him to. And I want you to let him. That's my test. That's what I need to know my girlfriend knows. The joy of fucking while being fucked, of submitting to a man while he pleasures you. The man in you won't want to do it, of course, but I think the woman in you will love it! You'll need to know how it feels if only to make a fully informed decision about turning in your prick for a functioning vagina." I was silent. I couldn't look her in the eye. "It's such a weenie, you know!" She wasn't taunting me. Just stating a fact. "Just look him over, my gorgeous man over there! Isn't he a dreamboat? If as a woman you can allow him into both of your openings, if that's at all possible, then we have no problem, Leslie. Because you'll have proved that you have no problem. So I want you to go with him. Now. Is that clear?" I was silent. "Is it?" She looked grim, and picked up her purse. "Is there a problem? Leslie? Is this how we say goodbye to each other?" "No, April. Please!" I sounded as anguished as I felt. "I mean now, upstairs, in this hotel. We've reserved a room for the two of you to use." I said nothing. She looked for a long time into my eyes, while I struggled to find something to say. Then she just said, "Good!" and raised a forefinger, and gestured to the man seated at the bar. He stood up and moved to join us. "I think I'll pass up dessert, honey. I'll stop by the hospital to check on a few things, and meet you both in the Jockey's Bar off the hotel lobby in about an hour. Let's say two. That should be time enough." She rose and headed for the Ladies' Room. Her man grinned to her in passing. Then as he approached me, he smiled gently. I looked up at him, wide-eyed, and I nervously touched my hair. I tried to smile back, but couldn't. "So you're Leslie," he said. "I've heard so many good things about you!" He held out his hand. *************** The longest two hours of my life later, I stepped out of the elevator into the hotel lobby and waddled toward the Jockey's Bar. I stopped first at the Ladies' to pick up a tampon, so my favorite black, silver threaded shift wouldn't get as soaked and stained as my panties despite the Kleenex I'd stuffed into them. And I fixed my make-up. Sure enough, my mussed hair fell into place when I combed it with my fingers a few times. I hurt. My jaw a little, and my rear end a lot, but my pride most of all. Now, as April would have said, I'd graduated from finishing school. That man had fucked my mouth twice in quick succession. The first time I'd rounded my mouth and cloaked my teeth with my lips -- "Don't bite!" he'd cautioned me in a strained gutteral at one point -- and I'd closed my eyes and I'd sucked on his pole until I felt his pelvis rear up and pump cum into the back of my throat. I tried to feel dainty doing this, to feel like April's girlfriend, but all I felt was a little soiled. Then during the second blow job I found my mind was wandering, it had begun to seem so routine, so ordinary. So accustomed. Not thinking much about it, I slid my lips up and down him while his large hands pressed tenderly at the sides of my head, holding my new hairdo tight against my ears while he headfucked me. My tongue slipped past the irregular ridges of his veins, and the rubbery edge of his cockhead. I scarcely noticed when he came this time -- I'd gotten accustomed to the salty taste and slick feel -- and I quaffed it down almost absent-mindedly. And resisted feeling grateful that he'd finished, that it was done with. In fact as he'd approached his climax it had crossed my mind that if I were to slow down and hold him off just a little bit longer, I could get him to do ... what? Something April might not find forgiveable, when she heard about it. But instead, as he speeded up, I picked up the pace myself, and when the time came swallowed his squirtings effortlessly I suppose now I'm qualified, a full-fledged woman, I thought to myself. So Scott now can't object to my seeing April. He looked satisfied enough with me as he helped me up off my knees and asked me now to lie face down on the bed with my rear end raised high on pillows. As he explained, he was low on juice, so I should expect that he'd be working his short but incredibly thick cock in and out of my asshole for quite a while. He suggested I enjoy it, he knew I would, but to be sure to let him know if anything hurt. In fact it was nearly an hour before he finally shot his sperm into me a third time. He'd been lavish, slathering on the jelly, but no turd as thick as that swollen penis had ever passed through my anus before, so his lovemaking hurt at first, going in both directions. But it did feel a little like lovemaking, especially when he reached around me and grasped each of my breasts and delicately tweaked my nipples in rhythm with his thrusting. A strange stirring in my groin grew stronger, and I began to wriggle down on him repeatedly in search of an enticing feeling that almost-but-not-quite eluded me. That pleased him. I could tell. Each time I snuggled my cushiony rear into him, he responded with greater ardor. This felt so ... feminine, wiggling and teasing his cock with my pussy. Desireable, vulnerable, yielding, yet aloof and somehow in control, calling the shots. I don't like to co