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The Sex Wife: Section 4 (Conclusion) free porn video
The Sex Wife: Section 4 (Conclusion)
By Diana Heche
Part 6: Charles
I was feeling a touch hung over and down. I stayed out too late
with Mike and Patricia and now I was paying the price emotionally
and physically. But there was going to be no physical and
especially no emotional rest for me today.
Charles had been visiting my mother's grave yesterday, and there
was no question in my mind that when I saw him, he was going to
ask me to "be her." We would have a quiet breakfast out by the
pool, returning to the bedroom where he would fuck me while
sweating, crying and calling out Melinda's name.
This, or more accurately, a form of this would go on for days
until Charles embarrassed and apologetic, would bring it to an
end telling me he cared for me as I was. He would swear that he
valued me as a companion and individual and this would never
happen again.
Until next year!
As our relationship grew, we both moved further from my role
strictly as a carbon copy sex surrogate for my mother. This type
of thing became increasingly harder for me even as it became
extremely rare.
It forced me back into that role, it kept me fully cognizant that
no matter how far I had traveled as an individual, like a yo-yo
on a psychological string, I could be yanked right back at a
moment's notice. I would once again have to move like her, dress
like her, make my hair like her, fuck like her, and eat like her.
Primarily, this ritual reminded me that no matter how many things
I did that were unlike my mother; the charities I took on, the
children I read to, the aggressive sexual posture with Patricia;
or how much surgery I had to look different than her. I was in
fact just an advanced version of her shell. Because, as much as I
didn't accept it, I made myself try to forget it. Every single
thing I did was counter to the person I would have been if left
to my own devices. I was created after all, so were all of my
behaviors. I may not be strictly Melinda, but I was not anything
near the teenage boy I left behind six years ago.
I went into the bathroom, took a shower and drank a tall glass of
water from the faucet before rummaging through the closet. I
pulled out a short blonde wig, bobbed in the style of mom's hair
right before she died. I also took out a ribbed low cut tight
sweater and extremely short mini-skirt. I threw these articles on
the bed.
I put on a padded push up bra, absurd for someone of my advanced
cup size, but exciting to Charles, throwing on a T-shirt and
shorts. I wouldn't put the clothes on at first, holding onto the
slim hope he may not ask for this favor. Even if I knew he were
going to ask, I would still wait until he spoke the words, one
delays stepping into the skin of a ghost as long as possible.
I looked at my watch. It was still early. On nights where either
one of us came home very late, as we often did so for business
and pleasure reasons, the last one in would retreat to the spare
bedroom. Although we had accepted that there may be extra
curricular activities in our relationship, we never flaunted it.
The extra bedroom was just another way of making sure.
I sat on the bed waiting for the inevitable knock on the door,
thinking about last night with Mike and Patricia. Despite my
earnest desire to wish them well together, it bothered me when
they did actually hook up.
Patricia had over the course of the night let Mike know that
despite her c-cup breasts, that she had a "little something
extra" underneath her dress like I did. He, of course, was very
interested. As beautiful as Patricia was, how could he not be?
All night I watched as the man who once said he needed me, and
the woman who first let me explore the wonderful world of t-girl
on t-girl sexuality, literally played footsy underneath the
table, even occasionally brushing me accidentally as they did it.
Patricia lived relatively near me, but on the opposite side of
town from Mike. Being the good friend that I was, I stuck around
afterward, helping myself to drinks at the Golden Globe, waiting
for them to go in the back for a quick good night kiss. For
thirty minutes afterward, despite their best efforts, I could
hear the grunts and groans as Mike penetrated the tight ass of
Patricia (just as I had hours ago and may not ever again.) with
his "good night kiss". From the moans of both of them shortly
afterward, I learned that Mike was not adverse to taking a "kiss"
from her as well. That was something we never even did together.
When they stepped out so we could all go home. They absolutely
glowed! I, strangely, wanted to scream.
As I pushed the thought from my head, not certain how I felt
about life, it was then of course, when Charles knocked on the
door.
Despite the fact that we had been companions for five years and
intimate for longer, there was still a sense of boundaries in our
relationship. When I told Charles to come in, with his body still
in the hallway, he poked his head in almost apologetically, like
a man making sure he didn't walk in on a strange woman nude.
When he stepped in, his eyes said everything I needed to know. He
was looking at me, yet through me. He turned my form into that of
my mother's in his mind. I smiled warmly, disguising a deep sigh.
I knew he was going to ask me to transform, but I was going to
make him say it.
"Mel," Mel was the name he called me when he took me into his
confidence. "I'm feeling ... lonely for ... the past. Could
you..." This was hard for him. He was compelled to bring her back
through me even as he knew what damage it did. It reminded me of
the powerful cravings I had to smoke even though I knew it would
slowly kill me.
He paused hoping he had said enough. Realizing he hadn't, he
nudged the request forward tentatively, "Would you mind..." a
pause, ".. maybe grabbing some things..." a pause, "of your
mother's ...?" I nodded, stopping this painful display. I was
gaining nothing from having both of us tortured. I told him I
would meet him in his room, to get undressed and wait for me.
This year there would be no long breakfast or extended make-
believe, I wouldn't be able to handle it. We were cutting
straight to the chase.
I got dressed slowly in front of the mirror. Even with the
surgical alterations I had made to my face, I looked a great deal
like my mother. Patricia once said, after seeing photos of me a
few years back, and photographs of my mother. She frankly
conjectured I only believed the cosmetic changes to myself were
to escape the look of my mother. With the exception of my
dramatic change in hair color and style, she suspected (in a
place in my mind I wasn't aware of. ) I was making choices to in
reality become more like her.
I didn't see this increasing resemblance she spoke of. When I
asked "Miss Junior Freud" as I testily called Patricia that
evening, to explain why I was trying to be as unlike my mother in
every other possible way.
Patricia responded saying, "You are not trying to be your mother
as she was, you're trying to be your mother as you wish she would
have turned out. You're still imitating her, but your guide is
not concrete reality, it is your imagination of wish
fulfillment."
"I don't believe," she continued telling me that day, "that it
was a coincidence that you chose to head the 'Abuse Council'.
Over and over we help women escape abusive situations and get
counseling this is much what you wished your mother would have
done. More so, we keep young boys from being turned into
transvestite prostitutes for money. Melly, I don't have to be a
'Junior Freud' to spell that out for you do I? It's right there
for you to see. Over and over there too, you are saving boys from
a much harsher version of the fate that was yours."
I of course, took no heed in her pseudo-psycho ramblings. I told
her she was far off the mark. Patricia was a sharp woman, but she
put more faith in the dark workings of the subconscious than I. I
looked at the face staring back at me in the mirror, one that did
(now that I allowed myself to see it.) look closer to my mother's
face than it did before. I began to accept that possibility.
I finished dressing by sliding into the short tight skirt,
slipping into the extremely high platform slides that were a
ubiquitous part of my mother's wardrobe. I took a deep breath,
strutting toward our bedroom. I swung open the door to find
Charles already in his underwear as I requested, quickly removing
his hands from his pants. He had been masturbating in
anticipation of my ... my mother's ... arrival.
I moved so that I was standing in between his legs. His eyes
looked up at me with sad nostalgia and unleashed lust. I slipped
my foot out the backless heel, running my foot up his thigh onto
the bulge in his underwear. I ran my toes slowly across his
mound. Pushing his dick between my toes as I moved my foot up and
down across his underwear encased shaft until he became fully
erect. I let his cock slip out of my toes again running the heel
of my foot along his dick as I moved my foot up to his chest. He
moaned Melinda's name.
With my foot squarely between his pecs, I pushed him onto his
back as I stood above him. I let my foot run all the way up to
his mouth, dipping my polished toes in and out of his mouth. He
grabbed my foot with both hands as I pushed my foot further into
his throat as he sucked my foot readily, like a big cock.
I pulled my foot out lying on top of him so he could feel my
large breasts pressed against his flesh. I licked around his
ears, across his lips, then sliding my tongue downward to his
hard, ready cock.
I licked the side of his dick making sure it was wet and sleek
before plunging it into my mouth completely. I swept my hair to
one side so he could look down and see my ... see Melinda's ...
mouth fully taking on his cock. I moved up and down slowly, from
the base of his balls, to the tip, always pressing my warm glossy
lips tightly around his rod.
Turning around, I guided his dick carefully into my hole as I sat
down, facing away from him, on his lap. Sitting up, he reached
around placing my firm, fake D cup melons in his hands,
squeezing. I bounced up and down on his cock, as he raised his
hips to meet my thrusts. His cries of Melinda! Melinda!
Increased, until I felt him squeeze my breasts crushingly in his
grip, crying out her name to the ceiling, exploding as I have
never felt him explode before into my tight ass.
He fell back as I lifted myself from him. He looked up at me for
a moment, turned his head to his pillow and released silent tears
of anguish. I cuddled up against him spooning onto his back. I
felt his hard butt against my dick as we cuddled, I felt my hard-
on growing. I slid my hips back slightly away from him, alarmed
that this had happened. Charles and my sex never included me as
the aggressor.
But he gently moved his ass back until it made contact again.
Tentatively, I licked a finger and slid it across his ass cheeks
and into his hole. He didn't make an effort to move it away so I
slowly worked it in and out. He once again moaned my mother's
name.
I gently pushed him onto his stomach, grabbing the lubricant we
kept in the night stand. I lubed two fingers, slipping them both
into his ass. His virgin ass was tighter than that of even
Patricia's. I rubbed the remainder of the lube onto my cock
rolling so I was on top of him, my breasts to his back.
Carefully, and slowly, I lowered my dick into his opening. He
groaned with discomfort but raised his hips off of the bed so my
cock would go further into his tight, waiting, hole. I let it
slide deeper in, until I could feel his sphincter release, giving
me complete access. I very gently pumped his ass, feeling those
tight walls squeeze against my shaft as I made him take it all,
until I for the first time exploded into his canal.
I lay there for a moment, pulling him back onto his side into the
spooning position, where we both lay, quiet and in thought about
all that had passed this morning.
***
I don't know why I did it. He didn't ask, I promised myself that
I wouldn't unless he did. I think it was because I felt a certain
gratitude toward Charles for allowing me to penetrate him during
sex thusly alleviating my build up of sexual frustration. I, of
course, know first hand how vulnerable and exposed that makes you
feel. I took it to be a gesture from him of our further
closeness. He knew asking me to be Mother was hard on me, and I
think he was trying to give something back.
So when I came down for breakfast after cleaning myself up, I was
in classic Melinda mode - high heels, short skirt, and boob
exposing top. It had been some years since I had done my make up
like hers, but I remembered what I could working on the rest from
her picture. When I looked at myself in the mirror, I again
realized Patricia had been right. I had been fooling myself,
physically I was more Melinda than I was even when she was alive.
I stepped outside to the pool sitting beside Charles who had
started eating. He stared at me gratefully when he saw me in all
of my Melinda glory. I sat down beside him, and ate wordlessly.
Even though it hung in the air like a cloud of dry ice, neither
of us would mention what happened in the bedroom with Charles any
more than we would mention how I was now dressed as Melinda
without his asking. Both, while comforting to one, was quite the
opposite to the other. We were very aware of that!
I watched him through the corner of my eye as he ate his fruit,
scraping up the last of his cereal. Three times in my life I had
given up everything for this man. The first time was indirectly
through my mom, when I became Melly giving up my future, my life
and my gender. The second, of course, was choosing the security
of my life with him over the potential love of Mike. The third
was keeping Patricia just at arms length so that I would never
allow myself to get too close to assess if Patricia was what I
needed in my life over Charles.
Yet oddly, I could never commit all the way to him. I suspect I
wanted to, why else was I subconsciously choosing to look more
like my mother over the years? When I held up that Barbie doll to
the surgeons years back and told them that is what I wanted to
look like, did I not realize that how I viewed Melinda? But most
of all, why was it I thought that pretending to be a woman and
companion of this man, was any different than the pretending I
was doing before? My whole life now, whether I wanted to believe
it or not, was a role. Every single word I said, move I made,
breath I took, was to hide the central fact of my existence; I
had XY combination chromosomes.
And what of Charles? Was it fair for me to have signed on as the
person to take my mother's place, reject the role once in, even
as I subtly tortured him by changing to be more like her? Was it
fair for me to change the rules just because I suspected it was
probably more healthy for me in the long run? Was it fair for me
to consent to be Melinda once a year, reminding him how close ...
yet how far away she was? I didn't know anymore!
Realizing he was all I had, that he had been extremely good to
me. Realizing that perhaps this situation was as much my doing as
anyone's (I could have quit it anywhere along the way.) I made a
decision!
Leaning over to him, I rubbed my foot against his ankle, kissing
him on the cheek and said, "It's me. I'm back."
He looked at me a little quizzically. I kissed him on the
forehead. I needed to straighten out some things.
***
I reached Patricia on her cell phone. She had gone to Mike's this
morning. I guess they hadn't had enough of each other last night.
They had both let me go - Mike years ago - it was time for me to
do the same.
I walked into Mike's apartment and was surprised how much had not
changed. There was a new, larger television set maybe, perhaps
the dining room chairs had changed, but it was largely as I last
saw it. That is, of course, if you don't count Patricia lounging
on his couch.
Upon seeing me, if either of them could have raised a single
eyebrow to indicate their fascinated surprise at my appearance,
they would have. In the case of Patricia, who was one to never
dress up what could be said directly, voiced what was on their
faces, "I don't mean to be insensitive, but I feel like I've seen
a ghost."
"It's a long story," I said. Mike brought in a cup of coffee,
remembering that back then I liked to drink as much as I could
lay my hands on. I rarely drank coffee now, it was one of the
things I did to get over my Melinda smoking habit, but this time
I accepted the cup graciously and smiled.
They both looked up expectantly wondering why. What I had to say
couldn't wait. I went straight to the heart of the matter, "The
Andrew situation," I began, referring to the Charity's resident
watch dog who had become alarmed that many of the girls I hired
as officers had just the basic identification documents, but
otherwise no real past. Explaining to Andrew that they were once
boys and had just recently become girls was, of course,
unacceptable.
"I've decided that I am stepping down from the Council. I am
going to become a full time wife to Charles." At this Patricia
stood up sharply.
"I have a better idea," Patricia said "fucking fire Andrew ...
Boss." Patricia emphasized the world "Boss".
I laughed. "Patricia, you can't fire a person like Andrew a few
days after he comes sniffing around asking for something as
simple as if we have simple, basic information about our past.
It's his job. Every alarm bell in the world would go off, we
would never get away with it. If it weren't Andrew, it would be a
newspaper or something pursuing it with twice the vigor later." I
placed a had on her shoulder, "Besides, you're missing the point,
I don't want to stay."
Patricia sat back down, and Mike watched the conversation
fascinatedly. I continued. "A while back, a very smart woman told
me I was only pretending to run away from being a carbon copy of
my mother, when in fact I was doing just the opposite. She told
me that I only made myself believe otherwise."
I sipped the hot coffee with both hands. Five years, it appeared,
was long enough to forget I liked it with cream and sugar,
"Listen. I'm not like you. You decided on your own path
womanhood. I was thrown into mine, and there's no turning back.
The way I've gone about it, I've made not one person - not you,
not Mike, not myself and not Charles happy. If I'm pretending to
be someone else, anyway, why run away from the one person who
will appreciate it the most, Charles?"
Mike interjected this time, "That doesn't make sense. You're
talking nonsense. You don't bury yourself for someone else."
"Don't you get it?" I said, "I'm buried. I have been for years.
If I embrace it, then maybe I can be happy because Charles and I
may have a chance to be happy together. Maybe then we can give up
our 'swinging lifestyles' and dedicate ourselves to each other."
"And so," I went on, "I won't need the charity to fulfill an
subconscious need, I will tackle it head on. Andrew only forced a
decision that needed to be made."
I went on to spell out my plan. I would slide the officers over
time, into various companies owned by Charles, or let them go on
with their lives. I would hire Mike as the Charity's liaison that
handles high profile endorsements. Perhaps then he would at least
have a chance to meet a well, placed actor and get a break. Or
maybe he may just be happy with a more solid job than the one he
has now.
And me, I would resign in a couple of weeks. After that, I would
be the Melinda my mother never was given a chance to be. I would
be her living memorial.
***
I spent several hours shopping, and several more at the hair
dressers getting it just right. When I was sure I was perfect, I
returned home.
Charles was walking toward the kitchen when I came in, and he
stopped in his tracks. His eyes swept from the familiar platform
slides, to the blond bob cut, that was, this time not a wig.
"Melly? Wh-"
I stopped him in mid sentence with a kiss. "Melinda. Call me
Melinda, please. I'm here for you Charles. I'm back."
Virginia
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