Luncheon free porn video

Luncheon by Vickie Tern Maureen and Claudia were already there when Nicole and I arrived, utterly absorbed in their own conversation, making small gestures to each other with bejeweled, beautifully manicured hands. I saw that they were as carefully dressed and made up as we were, in brocade and silk with subtle eye-shadowing, and I felt glad I'd taken Nicole's advice and worn an outfit I'd originally thought way too dressy for a noon luncheon. This place was no ordinary restaurant anyhow, I realized as we walked in. It was snugged in among the town's upscale boutiques and featured an obsequious host, white linen tablecloths and napkins, bone china, and a clientele of elegantly dressed women who had paused to chat and refresh themselves while Saturday shopping. Maureen's long blonde hair was pulled back as always into an impeccable no-nonsense bun, suave as always, as straightforward and simple as her tall, thin body in its free-fall, clinging dress. Just as I'd seen her at occasional receptions also attended by my wife's circle of best friends. The intricate curls in Claudia's short auburn hair betrayed a hairdresser's hand at work perhaps even this morning, a formality that went well with her silk suit and businesslike temper. I was glad Nicole had insisted I re-set my hair carefully this morning before we left the house. "If you want to be accepted as one of us, you've got to look acceptable, it's that simple," Nicole had told me when I'd thought brushing it out would be adequate. "This weekly luncheon is where we all display who we are at our best and catch up on whatever we've been doing. When it's your turn expect to show and tell everything, honey. No shyness, no regrets. Confidently, proudly!" Maureen looked up as we approached, her eyes flicking over me but settling on Nicole. "Ah, Nicole, there you are! Lauren and Ashley are due any minute, then I guess our little group will be all gathered and we can order. I see you did bring ... is this really you, Courtney? Oh, my, you have changed! What a difference from ... when was it, a month ago at the Bartram's, when you were still ...? I'd never .... I'd heard, but whoever would have thought you'd end up looking so ... so pretty! You really are, Courtney!" I smiled self-deprecatingly and shrugged and rolled my hips slightly, a gesture of shy denial Nicole had taught me for receiving compliments -- "Pretend you don't believe it but your pussy does and is grateful." Maureen saw. "And so very ... sexy! Nicole, does this mean that she's been ... has she ... I mean, can we expect ...?" "Oh yes," my wife replied. "He has quite a story to tell us, I'd say." "Really!" she said, her eyes fascinated, now looking me up and down much more carefully. I felt comfortable under scrutiny, even a bit smug. I was wearing my lovely Claudia Jones two piece purple confection, a matching skirt and bolero over a ruffled blouse gathered at the neck. Nicole had assured me that with the gold chain she'd loaned me and my large gold ear hoops I looked perfect, sophisticated and smart. And sassy, too, the bolero open to display my beautifully proportioned and somewhat protrusive breasts. The luncheon group had heard all about them but not yet seen them, Nicole reminded me. "Your face may be your fortune from now on," she'd said. "If it's properly made up. But your breasts are any woman's certificate of authenticity, so don't hide them." "Really!" Maureen repeated as she completed her inspection and flashed me a welcoming smile. "Well, I'm dying to hear all about it! Courtney, I am so delighted you're here at last. We all are. We've heard so much ... you do look lovely. Is that your own hair? Wonderful, you do it yourself? It's very flattering! I love the highlights." "Thank you," I said in the mellifluous voice Nicole had me using exclusively now. I dipped my head slightly as I spoke, this time to suggest modesty even while again accepting her compliment as my due. Another of the many small gestures I'd learned from my reading in Cosmo and Vogue and even Seventeen, and rehearsed endlessly with Nicole. "Actually, yes to both questions. Nicole had her hairdresser style it for me for easy maintenance -- just a few rollers at night and a comb-out in the morning and here I am!" "Imagine!" Maureen said thoughtfully, her eyes drifting back to Nicole. "You've done wonders with her, Nicole. I never would have thought .... Do sit down, both of you." The Maitre d' held out our chairs successively and we sat, me remembering first to set my purse on the table, then to smooth my skirt as I lowered my bottom into the chair. When I looked up I saw Lauren and Ashley entering the restaurant at the far end, the last of our group today, smiling at the manager and gesturing toward us while he nodded. Ashley was wearing the wide-eyed, curly-topped, ditzy blonde look she cultivated these days despite her laid-back smarts, and Lauren's look was like her temperament straight, dark, and truculent. They came toward us holding hands. Nicole had mentioned they'd gotten very close even though they both had husbands. "If fact they'd love it if their husbands felt for each other what they feel for each other," Nicole told me confidentially one day during one of the many sessions when we'd practiced trading gossip. "Not that they're lesbians or bisexual, more like omnisexual. But they do prefer their own kind, and they don't understand why their husbands don't feel the same way about their kind." "Really!" I'd responded with an expectant smirk, leaning forward, encouraging Nicole to go on. Nicole had nodded approvingly. What I'd said and done was just right. Then continued. "On a camping trip not long ago they tricked their guys into sharing the same sleeping bag all night, because that's what they intended to do and what they did, too. By morning theirs was so soaked with their secretions you wouldn't believe it, and they were too. But the boys in their sleeping bag were still as dry and chaste as ever. They'd both had boners half the night and didn't even once reach for their own much less the other's! Didn't even sleep spooned cock into rear end -- they were back to back when Ashley came to wake them. What a waste! Guys simply aren't as affectionate as we are." I'd agreed that guys were unaccountable. And now I looked forward to hearing more provocative gossip like that. I felt overjoyed. This was Nicole's noon-every-Saturday luncheon, a gathering of her very best friends. I'd envied them that companionability for years, and now I belonged! Or anyhow, would by the time it was over. It hadn't been easy. After several years of marriage and furtive dressing up I'd finally come out to Nicole. One evening only a few months ago I'd confessed to her that I'd been a crossdresser since boyhood and then sat back terrified, expecting the worst. But the worst never came -- she was far more fascinated than appalled. It seems she understood that kind of thing. She'd had friends with brothers or boyfriends or husbands like me who wanted to be occasional girlfriends. So she was much calmer than I'd anticipated as she questioned me. I told her no, I hadn't spent a girlhood in the wrong body, only a boyhood, I was a crossdresser not a transsexual. Also, no, I wasn't at all interested in sex with men, I desired women, one in particular, her, and that was why I wanted to look like one, to feel as desirable to myself. No, I didn't want to live as a woman full time, only to dress up and look like one now and then, for the novelty and the excitement of it. Nicole had nodded, but expressed bafflement. She'd never understood that part of it. Why nibble and not dine? Why not full time? She herself wouldn't want to be a girl any other way. The greatest single pleasure of girlhood, she said, was waking up every morning as a girl and looking forward to doing all the things girls love to do, knowing she'll be doing them every day for weeks and months, her whole lifetime. She couldn't understand 'now and then.' "It's like a quick kiss instead of a whole evening making love and anticipating more evenings into the indefinite future. Like a one night stand instead of a marriage that lasts." I explained that my ambitions were modest. I enjoyed looking at myself, that was all. I hesitated, then I shamefacedly confessed to her that really, my fondest dream, the height of my ambition as a crossdresser, was merely some day to sit and have lunch in a nice restaurant while dressed as a woman, seated with other women, accepted as a woman by them, looking like one of them and talking with them about whatever it was women talk about when they meet for lunch. To feel that I'm one of the girls. That was all I aspired toward. And even that was only a wish, not a hope or an expectation. Nicole had been frankly uncomprehending. "You mean like my Saturday luncheon group? You'd actually want to get all gussied and made up just to sit with us for a couple of hours and gossip? For you, that's being a woman?" She'd shaken her head and stared at me. "Incredible!" I looked back at her, feeling a little hurt. "It's just a matter of looking the way I love to look and feeling accepted," I said. "Sort of authenticated, maybe. I mean, when people look at you they know who and what you are. Obviously a woman, so that's how they treat you, and so that's how you regard yourself. I'd like the same when that's who I am. Now and then. Not that it'll ever happen." "I see," she'd said. I wasn't sure she did. "When you're a woman," she added. I couldn't tell if she knew I meant not really. She nodded her acquiescence when I told her I wanted to try dressing up and looking feminine more often. "No problem," she said. "If that's what pleases you." Though only at home, I stipulated. "Only at home? My husband the wallflower?" she asked in an agreeably teasing tone. "Are you afraid to go into the big, bold, bad world to be seen as a woman? You might feel you'd lowered yourself?" "I'm afraid to be seen as only a man who wants to look like a woman, that's all. That's a disgrace for a man." "Why?" she quipped. "Every man should strive to better himself." Then she looked me over more carefully, intently, almost as if evaluating a candidate for a loan. She may have been doing just that. Then she assured me, "No fear, honey, no one would dream you're a man if you did it right. You have a wonderful bone structure, a small face, a moderate build, and a head full of hair. Why should there ever be a problem?" I was glad to hear she thought so. But I'd never been able to persuade myself. "We'll see," she said. The very next Saturday, she saw. She was getting ready to leave the house to join her friends for the weekly luncheon. I happened to enter the bedroom while she was seated at her vanity and bending over to pull up her pantyhose. I loved seeing her do that. It was such a very feminine act. She was wearing the most delicate, frothy slip, and her long straight hair with its gracefully turned ends had fallen over her face. Then as she straightened up she tossed it back, and it fell in perfect order behind her as she looked up at me. "Now you!" she told me. Was that a twinkle in her eye? "Now me what, Nicole?" I had no idea what she meant. Toss my hair? "Now you put on pantyhose. Here's a pair that should fit. Let's see how well you handle something as delicate and sheer as pantyhose. You've done it before, surely." And she handed me an unopened package, Queen size. Bought for me to test me -- hers were a size smaller. I knew better than to argue. In fact I welcomed the chance to show her -- years ago I'd passed beyond ruining pantyhose by pulling them up roughly or poking toes through them. Deftly I stripped off my shoes, socks, pants, and shorts, slipped a hand into each pantyhose leg down to the toe, pulled it up, pulled them both onto my legs, and carefully tugged the waist band to its proper place on my midriff. "You have done that before, haven't you?" she said, looking me over. I nodded, pleased with myself. "Though there's poor dickiebird and his two friends squashed against your leg, with no proper place of his own in there and no place to hide." Without a word I reached down and tucked my cock and balls in between my legs, leaving in view a clear, V shaped crotch like any woman's. Nicole's eyes widened. "My my," was all she said. Then, "You know, you do have lovely legs, sweetheart. Really! Let's see the rest of this woman you like to resemble. Into the spare room with you, that closet where you keep your stash of clothes, I've seen it, and come out looking feminine while I finish doing my things here. No more than ten minutes, I really have to go!" This was unexpected, frightening but exhilarating. Without a word I did as she said, raced to the other room, stripped and put on a bra and breast forms, selected a blue-striped stretchy blouse and a plain black pencil skirt and put them on, brushed my hair into fringe bangs, and took just time enough to pencil on eyeliner, smudge shadow on my eyelids, and swipe on a dark lipstick. I slipped into wedgie sandals and clipped on simple button earrings, then returned to our bedroom. Nicole was now finishing her own make-up, seated at her vanity and applying it with painstaking art. She put down her blush brush and looked at me closely. Analytically this time, as if measuring something. "This is the best I can do in ten minutes, Nicole," I said in modest apology. "I know I'm not beautiful, but....". She raised one eyebrow in disbelief and faintly smiled approval -- I'd passed muster somehow, I didn't look like a fool. Then she said, "That's not an issue, honey. You look nice, quite like a girl, not at all manly. You do have a talent. Don't worry about it. But now I am running a little late. Be a pet and get me my black heels out of the closet, would you? I've got to leave this minute." She finished dusting her cheeks and I did as she asked. But instead of taking the shoes from me, she twisted in her seat, leaned back, and wordlessly put one leg forward. Then the other. I realized what she wanted, knelt down, and slipped each shoe onto her feet. "Thank you sweetie," she said, standing up and adjusting her skirt. "We'll talk. Bye now!" She waggled her fingers in farewell and left me still kneeling, watching her go out the door. And that seemed to be that. Weeks passed. but we didn't really talk. Now and then I'd get home from work first and meet her at the door wearing tight jeans, my cock and balls tucked way under and my smooth crotch declaring that here, unquestionably, was a female vulva. Maybe I'd also wear a T shirt with breastforms for a show of breasts along with light, casual make-up. Now and then I'd wear a skirt and blouse, tailored or pleated, and sometimes a dressy dress with full eye shadow, my hair teased into a semblance of something formal, as if I expected to go out later. She'd give me her usual happy-to-be-home kiss and then we'd chat and dine, read or watch the tube, as always. She'd always try to compliment me when she thought I'd done something especially nice -- "Is that a new perfume? I love it!" Or she'd wrinkle her nose when she didn't approve, and sometimes tell me why -- "Never wear a print skirt with a print blouse, honey. One or the other, and then the other plain!" Or "If you don't have a lipstick to match your nails, do please borrow one of mine!" Or "'In' or not, I think visible bra straps are tacky." Otherwise my dressing seemed to be no big deal for her. She gave me two nearly-new dresses culled from her closet as too unfashionable to wear to work. "They're yours if you want them," she said. "If you wore them to work, no one would notice they weren't the latest." I managed a crooked thank you grin, and found that they actually fit me well. Then three weeks ago everything changed. Three weeks ago she herself raised the subject. It was a Friday evening, and it happened to be an evening when I'd come home from work tired and changed from my suit into men's slacks instead of a skirt. For once I was being myself, a man. It had been a tough week and I was exhausted and didn't have it in me to put on even the minimal make-up I needed to resemble a woman. Nicole knew I'd been heading a difficult project and that only today I'd brought it in successfully. I met her at the door with a kiss and told her the bosses had been congratulating me all afternoon. She was so pleased for me. "Good!" she said. "I'm so glad! Congratulations, honey. I know it's been an ordeal. Now that it's done, you deserve a real change." Then she'd paused and just stared at me silently for a moment, so I'd know she was serious. Her next words were, "Honey, let's go sit down." I got worried and quickly moved to the living room couch and sat there on edge. Then instead of sitting next to me she pulled over a straight chair and sat herself facing me. She continued, "It's time. You deserve it. I want you to reward yourself." "Oh?" "Yes, oh. You once mentioned that your highest ambition as a crossdresser was to be part of something like my Saturday luncheon circle. To sit with Maureen and Ashley and the rest of us and dish the dirt. Praise whatever one of us has bought recently, and sympathize with whoever's having the usual problems with her husband. Discuss whether to have dessert and decide not to, then spend twenty minutes dividing the check." "Yes," I said. "I'd love it. But not as a man. Looking like a woman, so I can imagine that's what I am." I had no hope it would ever happen. "You wouldn't mind all my friends knowing about this ... peculiar habit of yours? Being seen by them in a dress? Sitting there like a lady and gossiping with us all about yourself and all the while they know who you are underneath?" That was a problem. But there was no way to evade it. I wanted it. "Not if you don't mind," I said, swallowing hard. In fact would I feel embarrassed? Yes. Humiliated? Maybe, certainly if they laughed at me. Could I leave the house and walk the public streets and enter a restaurant pretending to be a proper woman? I'd have to. Was I getting in over my head? Probably. "That's good. Because last Saturday I told them that's what you want, and we've discussed it, and they see no problem accepting you if you can meet the conditions we've all met. We don't want a man sitting with us, not even an effeminate man. You'd have to look the way we look and share our interests and concerns. Know how women feel about things, some things especially. You'll need to blend in and contribute. And plan to be a regular with us, week after week, not some table-hopper or day-tripper or visitor. Can you do that, do you think? Do you want to?" I was stunned. Tears came into my eyes. For a moment I couldn't say anything. Then, "Nicole, with all my heart!" was all I could say. "Yes!" I suppressed a sob, then managed to gasp out, "Tomorrow?" She was moved by my reaction, and took my hand and spoke very gently. "Oh, no, not tomorrow," she said. "You aren't ready. It won't be that easy, baby. But it'll happen just as soon as we can get you ready. I'll tell the girls you've agreed and we'll aim at three weeks from tomorrow." "Oh!" was all I could say. "Oh, Nicole." I was overwhelmed. She saw, and finally came over and settled into my lap and kissed me. Then kissed me again, her soft lips on my lips and on each of my eyes. I closed them blissfully. "It'll be hard work, Courtney darling," she said in a low voice. "You'll have to do everything I say, and I mean do it over and over until it's done perfectly, until it's just part of what you are. Everything. No exceptions. And some things I'll ask of you may seem strange, not at all what you want. Difficult. But you'll have to do them anyhow, because I want you to. You have to agree to that right now. I mean it. No exceptions. Everything." I stared wide-eyed at her, a pang of fear suddenly clutching my stomach, what could she have in mind? But I also felt hope! And mainly I felt transported, elated! Euphoric! "You'll do everything I ask and be everything I want you to be, and I assure you that three weeks from tomorrow we'll both be seated with the Saturday club, chattering away with the other girls like two old hens." A distant daydream had suddenly become a reality within reach! I couldn't even speak. "All right," I croaked. "Yes, yes!" "Oh, darling!" she cried out, hugging me. "You have no idea! I do love you! Let's go to bed right now!" We did. Scarcely separating from each other long enough to undress. And then we embraced and fucked and sucked and licked and stroked every inch of each other over and over! At first ferociously, then the final time so very tenderly. So gratefully. Then slept wrapped up in each other. And now here I was. In an excellent restaurant, dressed well and seated with the other women of Nicole's Saturday luncheon club. When I agreed to her conditions she insisted it had to be full time, that I take three full weeks off from work to learn what I needed to know. And she'd taken three weeks off too to help prepare me. So we'd both been at it constantly, through three weeks of sheer persistence, Nicole tasking me, driving me to do better. Her encouragement was laced with disdain, even anger whenever I failed to meet her standards. Only two days ago she'd told me to hurry with my make-up because I had a salon appointment that morning. "You're ready," is all she'd said. "It's time for you to enter the real world." I'd balked, terrified. The entire three weeks had been spent closeted in our house, and I'd given no thought to the outside world. It was inevitable that I emerge, I knew that, but it was scary even so. So when I turned pale under my foundation and said something like 'No, not yet' Nicole had gotten furious. "This isn't a game!" she'd shouted. "This is a way of life! You can't just learn it, you have to live it! Until you can live it all the time, you can't possibly know how to do it now and then!" I was humbled. And it turned out she'd prepared me so well there was no problem at all. I went with her to the salon and had my hair and nails and face done professionally, and my ears pierced, and I emerged more trim and beautiful than ever before in my life. I felt wonderfully confident, and we spent the rest of the day in woman country at the mall, roaming the shops like the dearest of friends we'd become. When we paused and I found myself chatting with her at a little table in the food court, sharing a pot of tea with her, I realized that I was sublimely happy. Then when we returned she'd told me I'd passed with highest honors, with only one last thing remaining. And the next morning, only yesterday morning, she told me what that one last thing was. A 'shake-down cruise' that evening to a nearby dance bar to learn to cope with the kinds of men a girl meets and deals with every day. When she announced that I got too frightened to move. But again she hadn't yielded. So we'd gone, and I'd gotten so carried away that this morning when I woke up and remembered everything I'd felt a little ashamed. But not a lot. I'd lived through that ordeal too, and I'd earned my place here at this table. And now here I was. Lauren and Ashley had arrived at the table and were looking down pleasantly at us sitting there, saying, "Courtney, how nice, we'd heard you were coming!" and "Aren't you pretty? Nicole, you've done wonders with her. I can't wait to hear what she's got to say!" All by way of greeting, and then they sat down. Lauren asked me as if she had to know right off, "So tell me, did you actually go dancing last night? And so on? Everything went the way Nicole planned it?" "Why, yes," I replied in my most cultivated flute-like voice. Though I didn't think Nicole had exactly planned what happened. So much of it had just happened. I wondered what she meant. The waiter handed us all oversized menus and we ordered. I asked for the "Siren Salad," because this morning Nicole had given me the best of all incentives to lose a last few pounds. "I'm so proud of you for last night, honey!" she'd said. You were wonderful! Your reward is that now every dress in my closet is yours too, whenever you want to wear any of them. I want to share my whole wardrobe as well as my whole life with you! Completely! You've proved yourself so beautifully! Though to fit into my really slinky gowns I'm afraid you'll need to lose a few more pounds." Her wardrobe was all designer labels and stunning, well worth the sacrifice of a few meals for the privilege of wearing them. Besides, I'd found out this past week that given my new breasts, the smaller my waistline the more provocative my figure. And a narrow waist also lends curvature to the hips. I did want to look as attractive as possible, as a matter of personal pride. "I love dancing," Maureen was saying to Lauren as I emerged from my reverie. "I could go dancing every night of the week. When we first dated and then all though our honeymoon Tom and I always rounded out the evening at some bar or club with a dance floor. Dancing is the most fun any girl can have with a guy without fucking, and sometimes you can sort of manage that too. I thought Tom shared my passion for it, but when we got back from our honeymoon he just settled in and glued himself to the TV and I couldn't move him away ever. Nowhere! Not even to a gallery reception, not even to dinner with friends much less some place with a band or orchestra! Talk about finding yourself stuck with a stick in the mud? I was actually glad when he ran off with Joelle, because then I could start living again. Right off I called some of the guys I'd known before my marriage, fabulous dancers. Some of them could keep going all night, on or off the dance floor. And that kind of exercise does keep a girl in shape!" She thrust her generous bosom out at us and wriggled her shoulders suggestively, beamed at everyone, then went on. "So, Nicole, you and Courtney actually went dancing and met some men? Just the two of you? Is that so? "Yes we certainly did," my wife said. She glanced affectionately at me. "We had a marvelous time, too. Courtney especially." Claudia jumped into the discussion. She'd channeled her flair for clothes into ownership of an upscale dress boutique -- I looked forward to shopping there now that I was comfortably out. "Was Courtney dressed like this last night, Nicole? I don't mean this particular dress of course -- it's charming, by the way, Courtney, plum is certainly your color. I mean like a woman? Both of you?" "Yes," I replied for both of us. My throat was so constricted I didn't need to remember to pitch my voice higher. "So last night wasn't the first time you wandered out into the big bad city looking like a girl?" "No, the whole day before we spent together, at a salon and then the mall." I said it with barely suppressed pride. Her eyes ran over me quickly. "A salon? Of course, you've had a perm and a frosting, look at that! It's so cute! Everyone at your office'll think you're adorable when you show up Monday. And mall-crawling too? You bought dresses and things enough to wear every day from now on?" What could Nicole have told her? "Nicole's seen to it that I have everything I need," I answered her indirectly. "So how was last night," Ashley asked. "Fun? I heard you were going to have to deal with a fella. Did you look hot?" Now I turned bright red, remembering. It had been scary in the beginning, but not unpleasant. Then unexpectedly arousing, and then utterly ... I tried to find the right word. 'Amazing' in a way. Challenging. Strange. Transporting, in a way. Wonderful, I couldn't deny it. But I felt too choked up to say anything. "He looked very sweet, Ashley. And hot too," my wife replied after glancing at me and noticing that I looked paralyzed. "We had a marvelous time!" "Wonderful! You double-dated? Your first date, Courtney? I'll never forget mine -- his name was Ken, and everything a young girl could possibly dream. He was such a gentleman until just the right moment, and then he was such an animal! Perfect! And now you've had your first date too. O my! You've got to tell us all about it, what he was like, everything. But most important, what did you wear?" I tried to answer, but couldn't even swallow. "No, no, we didn't exactly double date, though it did end up sort of that way," my wife answered after another glance at my face. "Courtney wore a little black dress we'd just gotten him, a lovely thing. And he'd just gotten his ears pierced, so I loaned him my new diamond drop earrings, the ones with the matching choker, you remember, I told you about them a few weeks ago? They went perfectly with that dress! He looked like a doll!". I'd wondered why she wanted me to wear such valuable, glittery jewelry. The place we went to wasn't that fancy -- in fact I was the only woman, the only person I mean, who was wearing diamonds. The other ... the women there wore mostly sporty jewelry, pewter or plastic or leather or Mexican silver, you know. Or none. Nicole herself wore a pair of amber hoops with an amber pin. But she'd insisted on diamonds for me. "I'm proud of them and you both," she'd said. "You both sort of go together in my mind. When I show you off to the world I want you to show them off too!" She'd gotten them just before my three week training session began, my 'rehabilitation as a woman' as Nicole called it. From her company, a gift of gratitude they called it, an award of some kind. When she came home she was beside herself with delight. "Aren't they just beautiful?" she squealed to me, holding them to the window and turning them in the late-afternoon light. "I couldn't wait to show you!" She also showed me the simple hand-written card that had come with them, a nice message saying only "In deep appreciation," and signed illegibly by her boss. "So thoughtful," she said serenely, looking at the card, then at the jewelry, then back again. They must have cost the company a small fortune, I was thinking, though I didn't doubt she was worth far more to them. A nice gesture to dissuade her from straying to another company, probably. Altogether feminine, assertively bright, sparkling, yet incredibly delicate. I suppose she hoped when she loaned them to me that they'd help me feel more feminine. They did. I loved them. "You loaned Courtney your new diamonds? Earrings and choker both? The ones your .... company gave you?" Lauren asked. "Courtney had done everything I'd asked, and superbly, for the whole three weeks," Nicole told her quickly. "They were special to me. I wanted him to wear them on his special night too." "Well!" Lauren looked almost speechless. "You are something!" I was wondering why Lauren was surprised -- did she think I'd lose them? -- when Claudia changed the subject. "What kind of little black dress was it, honey?" she asked me. It was time I spoke out again. All this talk about clothes was better than describing how the evening had ended. Not unpleasantly, and I knew I'd need to say something, but I was still a little ashamed. My heart leaped up. I was a woman among women at last, living my dream, and I'd just been asked about the darling dress I'd worn last night. It had all been worth it! I remembered what I'd intended to say because I knew I'd be asked. "It was just lovely, that dress," I piped up. "A Cienfuego. Terribly expensive, but Nicole insisted I had to have it, it was me, perfect for my figure. I did feel so very pretty when I tried it on. A clingy jersey halter dress, open front, bare-shoulders and back, faux-wrap, the skirt not too short, maybe mid-thigh." I breathed easier. This was the kind of conversation I'd always envied women when I passed their tables at lunch and overheard them. And now I was a part of one! "Yes, mid-thigh. He has incredible legs for a man," Nicole added proudly. "Really, it's a crime he's kept them hidden in trousers till now. With his curved calves and thighs and thin ankles to die for. I want to keep him in skirts and shorts forever, from now on. When I first saw those legs at that beach resort where we met, I swear my first thought was that he should have been a girl. And then when I saw them in pantyhose a month or so ago, I knew it!" "So now that's what she is," Claudia responded. "A halter dress?" She smiled wickedly at me. "Her shoulders don't look too ...manly?" "They never did," Nicole said, glancing over at me. "That was one of his problems as a man. But not as a woman." "And a bare back. With a plunging neckline too?" She was teasing, but I only nodded. "Yes, very. Nearly to the navel, designed to show a lot of cleft." I said that last rather proudly. Nicole had warned me the conversation would go this way and that embarrassment would be unseemly. "All girls have boobs and they are nothing to be ashamed of," she'd said. "We look for opportunities to show them off!" Claudia looked puzzled, but maintained a jesting tone. "Cleft you said? My dear, that sounds so sexy. When I wear something that daring I'm always worried that my bra will show, or if I go braless that I'll fall out and reveal all. How did you ...?" "Nicole thought I should go braless," I said as casually as I could. "Now that I can. So I did." "Now that you can?" Claudia looked at me and then around the table, bewildered. Then she stared directly at my softly curving chest, my breasts swelling out on either side of the ruffles that ran down the front of my blouse, where the purple -- I mean plum -- bolero jacket parted like a theatrical curtain to reveal them. They were eminently noticeable. The other women looked at Claudia wonderingly. Ashley was the first to realize what her problem was. "Of course, Claudia!" she said. "You don't know, do you? Courtney's boobs are real! You weren't here that first week, when Nicole told us Courtney'd agreed to join us and agreed to the full three weeks of rehabilitation Nicole proposed. Agreed above all to get implants right off as a precondition. Then to prove her sincerity she got them the very next day. Those are both hers. Courtney has the breasts of an 18 year old, Nicole told us. And from what she was planning for him, the nipples of a nympho." "You mean all that is you?" Claudia was still staring at my generous bosom. "They aren't breastforms or stockings or balloons or bags of rice, all those things we used to use for filler when we were twelve and not all there but wanted to look as if we were? That's ... that's wonderful, Courtney!" She didn't seem so sure. I felt a little embarrassed, and despite Nicole repeatedly reminding me to keep my shoulders back, to wear my tits boldly, I hunched my shoulders forward just a little. "He had to get breasts sooner or later, Claudia," Nicole said quietly. "And home grown would have taken too long. I kept telling him that for a man to feel like a woman as well as look like one, he must have the ultimate feminine accessory. That when he joined us today he had to be shaped like the rest of us. That with styles and necklines the way they are these days, your own breasts partially revealed are an essential part of every woman's wardrobe. That if he wanted to look like a woman, he shouldn't have to button up and look like a prude." "Oh, I don't know," Claudia said. "I mean, she's wearing that high-necked blouse right now and it's not at all prudish. Givenchy, isn't it? Her neck rises so gracefully from those collar-ruffles. But do you mean that's ... those ... are her figure ... I mean, they ... they're really real?" "Answer her, Courtney, why don't you?" "Yes," I said. "Yes, they are. I mean they look real, anyhow. Dr. Salzberg says you can't tell an implant from a home grown if it's done right. She slipped them in against the pectoral muscles so there'd be a thick layer of natural skin and adipose tissue on top, and now no one can tell the difference even by feel, she says, not even after a whole night of groping and sucking and ...." I stopped talking, really embarrassed! "I certainly can't tell the difference, and I see him naked all the time," Nicole said. "I mean, we're both still young, so our breasts still look great. But mine are beginning to sag ever so slightly, the beginning of things to come." She smiled to herself. "Not that they're any less appealing for that, that I do happen to know for a fact." I supposed that by "appealing" she meant in her own eyes as well as mine. Each morning she'd check her figure carefully in the mirror before getting dressed for work. I wondered if seeing herself in that racy lacy lingerie she loved turned her on the way it did me, the way seeing myself in delicate bras and panties always turned me on. I asked her that once, and she'd replied that what turns her on was knowing that her figure turns men on. That that was what she was checking for. Then she looked embarrassed, and when I told her that her figure certainly turns me on, she nodded gratefully, as if she'd said too much and I'd bailed her out. "But compared with mine Courtney's breasts are perfect," she went on. "And they'll stay that way for a few more years, though eventually they too will go the way of all flesh." "That's nice," Maureen said with a gleam in her eye. "Lucky you, Courtney! A few more years before you need to learn the tricks the rest of us have had to pick up along the way, how to use candle light and shadows and so on to hide our little defects, our sags and bulges, and how to distract a man with moans and fingertips when you're lying there naked and he's leaning over you." "Hmmmp," Lauren said. "Don't misunderstand me, I adore breasts" -- and she glanced at Ashley's approvingly -- "but Nicole, I never thought you of all people would want to be married to a man with tits, when there are all those hunky guys out there ... who ... I mean .... I'm sorry, Nicole, I didn't ...." She fell to coughing and paused to recover her breath, then continued. "I mean, you're soooooo hetero!" She smiled to show she was teasing. Then said, "Well, I suppose there are advantages. I mean Courtney's boobs certainly keep her close to home, don't they? Without much opportunity to stray? I wish it weren't so, but most women just aren't interested in sex with someone else who has tits. Especially a man with boobs that look better than hers." Lauren had also felt miffed that my wife was unavailable. Claudia broke in. "Men don't feel that way about breasts on us, Lauren. Not at all. They love them. So why not on themselves too? Girls, what do you think? Should we hook Courtney up with a man now that she's so ... well, just look at her ... stacked?" Nicole replied amused. "I wouldn't say that last night he wasn't hooked up with a man, not exactly. But one surely hooked up with him. Do you want to tell us all about it, honey, or should I?" "You, Nicole." Now I was back feeling very uneasy. "I'll begin, but you'll have to describe the big finale, honey. And how you feel about it. That's what we're all waiting for. Just hear me out and wait your turn." She paused, then smiled at me reassuringly. "Oh, yes, Courtney honey, listen. Some of the things I'm about to say you don't know yet. They'll sound new and maybe a little surprising. But no interruptions, just hear me out. All right? You won't mind?" She waited. As so often during the past few weeks, she wanted me to commit myself blindly in advance. So far I'd survived it. "No, I won't mind," I replied. "You promise?" Odd. I just did! She wanted me to repeat it? But OK, "Yeh, sure, honey. I promise." She took my hand and held it in both of hers, and then didn't let go when the waiter came round with our orders. The others began eating. We didn't. "You know how much I love you, don't you?" she began. She wanted us to trade that kind of intimate declaration right now, in front of all her friends? All right, now that she'd begun and there was no way out. "Yes," I replied, my throat a little lumpy. "I do. And I love you too, Nicole. Dearly." "I know." She smiled at me so very sweetly and her eyes glistened. And she continued to hold my hand even as she turned to address everyone else at the table. "Well, Courtney had been a real angel for all the days and weeks I'd been getting him ready for last night and then for his formal presentation to you girls today. I mean, being a woman is lots of things, and even though he's been a crossdresser all his life he didn't know much. Luckily he has excellent taste, no problem there. And he knows his makeup techniques well enough -- how he learned them, how to use all our little brushes and sponges and puffs and so on, only the Lord knows. True, he had no concept of his own best shades and colors, and he couldn't even begin to guess when enough was enough for daytime but not enough for evening wear, things like that we needed to work on. And he took way too long to apply his make-up, especially around his eyes. I mean, a half hour for mascara, liner, and only two shades of eye shadow? A half-hour? I ask you! I knew he'd have to learn to do his whole face in ten minutes tops in order to get out of the house in reasonable time every morning and not be late for work. After all, some of us manage to do it in a car mirror in only one or two traffic lights." "Get out of the house?" Maureen asked. "I thought you were getting her ready for only the salon and mall trip and then the dancing last night. And today's meeting, of course, and others in the future probably. But she's also been going to the office dressed as a woman? What in the world did they think of her the first time she showed up there?" "Oh, no, I don't want to mislead you. He's been on a three week leave, the same as me, so we could concentrate on changing him over, transitioning him properly. This coming Monday will be his first day at the office as our new girlfriend. As the woman he is now." "It will?" I gasped, shocked! It had never occurred to me! Not even when I got my hairdo! My mind had been set entirely on this Saturday meeting. I meant it as a question, incredulous, but the words exploded out of me as if an affirmation, I was so amazed by what she'd said. The firm's Head of Purchasing show up at the office dressed like this? Like a woman? Looking ...? Impossible! Nicole smiled into my face as if sharing my assurance and held on tight to my hand to forestall any further outbreaks. "You will indeed, honey." Then to the other women, "And they won't think anything at all about it. I know that for fact, because I've already discussed it with his office staff and his senior partner. Weeks ago, just after his breast implant operation, while he was still sleeping off the effects and I knew he'd committed himself, that's that, even though he didn't think so himself. I told them that Courtney wants to be thought a woman from now on, and be treated as one, and would appreciate their cooperation." "You told them what!?" I was dumbfounded and frightened, both at once! "Well, it's certainly true, Courtney." That last was aimed at me. "You do want it. Maybe not quite so ... extensively, but you do want it. Why else are you here? And anyhow, your boss and the others where you work saw no problem at all. It's settled. Monday you'll go in looking like a woman and continue in your old job with all your old responsibilities. Before too much longer you'll forget what it was ever like to be a man, and a woman is what you'll be" I was appalled! Nicole had outed my little ... indulgence to everyone at work? I was about to speak out in anger -- and terror too -- but Nicole's two-handed grip now clamped my hand to the tablecloth. I remembered my promise to hear her out. So I tried to control myself. She continued with her story. "The day after I told them, Courtney's secretary phoned and said that all the women there had agreed to consider Courtney one of them. Just like us. He can use the Ladies, no problem, and they've invited him to join their all-girl lunches -- it seems they get together every day just as we do on Saturdays. 'We've always thought of him as such a sweet man,' is what she said. 'So how can we love her any less because she's now a sweet woman?' Well, I knew that socializing with women as a woman in a public place like a restaurant has always been Courtney's dream of paradise. That's why he's here today. So I couldn't thank her enough." She turned to me, her grip still tight. "Isn't that marvelous, honey? You'll be fulfilling your heart's desire every day but Sunday from now on. With other women all the time. Sundays I reserve for me. We'll always have brunch together at home and tell each other all about our different adventures, where we've been lately and with whom." And she squeezed my hand like a vise to inform me that I had better answer in kind. "Marvelous," I said in a tense, level voice. Almost like a man's. "And what did the senior partner say? My boss?" "You'd have been so pleased to hear him. He respects you enormously, Courtney. He told me that whatever you feel you need to do, you should do it, that he's never known you to be wrong about anything that mattered. Then he joked that of course when you begin working for him as a woman he'll have to pay you a third less so you won't exceed the pay range for the other women employees." The other members of the circle watched this revelation with considerable interest and some amusement. They saw clearly enough that I hadn't known I would be working as a woman in the future, living as a woman every day and not just Saturdays. They knew now that they weren't just listening to Nicole tell a story and waiting for me to tell mine, they were watching a happening. An event was taking place before their eyes that Nicole had scripted in advance in which spontaneously I'd be playing my prescribed part, improvising my lines appropriately, only I didn't know what part it was yet. "So that's why you trained her to put her face on quickly every morning, the way we all do," Maureen said, returning Nicole to where she'd left off. "Very sensible and practical. What else did you need to do with her?" "Well, the most important we've already mentioned. His breasts. I knew that once he had breasts and became our sister under the skin, so to speak, everything else would fall into place. So I got him to agree right off, and took him to see Dr. Salzberg for his implants the very next day. I wanted him to feel committed, all bridges crossed and burnt before he could back away. I mean, I didn't want to invest all the time it would take to make him into a convincing woman if he wasn't serious." The other women listened attentively. So did I. "Well, it turned out he wasn't really serious. He wanted only "A" sized boobs, token breasts, and even those only as a concession to me. I suppose he figured that when he wasn't dressed as a woman he could wear a loose shirt and be a man again, no problem. Well, we're both lucky he didn't get a chance to say so, or he'd have no breasts at all right now. Dr. Salzberg explained to him that she doesn't accommodate fetishists, only serious transsexual women, and that the proper size breasts for Courtney's physique was D. 'Nothing smaller, though certainly nothing larger,' she told him. Remember how sternly she said that to you, honey? She seemed to assume you'd want monster gazongas, the way some men do." I nodded, recalling how I'd felt trapped by Dr. Salzberg's categorical statement but had quickly decided I'd rather have the bigger boobs she'd prescribed than disappoint Nicole and myself and have none at all. I could live with them, I figured. I'd had no idea then that D's are so heavy they need a brassiere's support practically all the time, from the moment you stand up in the morning to the moment you lie down again at night. Or else they jounce and wobble oddly, and stretch, then sag past your belly. And that once you're wearing brassieres, your breasts are thrust forward for all to see. Even athletic bras or minimizer bras only round them out a little. I couldn't hide them. During the past three weeks I hadn't gone out at all, not even as a man. Not until the salon and shopping two days ago. Nicole's grip on my hand eased. She even started to stroke it gently, approvingly. I was being a good Courtney. "My lovely man agreed, and that afternoon Dr. Salzberg gave him the loveliest breasts you can imagine." "I hope we'll get to see them soon," Ashley said with a smile. I think she was kidding. Maybe only half-kidding? "I love breasts!" "That's up to Courtney," Nicole replied with a possessive smile at me. "His nipples and areolas are much larger now too. Dr. Salzberg insisted they be kept proportional, so while Courtney was on the operating table and out of the picture she injected them with time-release hormones. Mostly for nipple development on top of the implants, but I've noticed there have been secondary effects on his face and complexion, even on his moods and attitudes. Maybe they helped him accept what happened last night more easily, but no one can be sure of that. As they say, once a woman, always a woman, and in all ways a woman." The other women were amused by Nicole's aphorism, but my mind was sidetracked. Hormones? I'd been injected with hormones? I hadn't known. Nicole glanced at me without a change of expression, saw I'd absorbed the information without panic, then continued. "Anyhow, he spent the next few days after the operation in bed. I took care of his little problem at the office, but there wasn't much I could do with him at home until he healed. It hurt him to stand or raise his arms, so I couldn't begin teaching him how to move properly, how to sit or walk or eat, all the things we grow up knowing by watching each other, because we know that we're girls being girls. He'd grown up thinking he was a boy, the poor deprived dear. So we spent his recovery time trying out different make-up styles and working on his voice and discussing what kind of hairdo would suit him best, and meanwhile he slept or else caught up on the piles and piles of women's magazines I brought in to him. He's so marvelous. A natural, really. In only a few days he developed all sorts of special interests of his own in women's things. He not only knows more about this year's beltlines and hemlines than I do, he knows everything there is to know about Angelina and Brad." Ashley broke in. "I can understand why he'd need to read women's magazines for crucial information," Ashley said. "Like this year's make-up and looking pretty and all that, all the stuff the ads preach that we all need to know if only to maintain other women's respect. And this year's clothing, Lord knows they sell us enough clothing every year to cover the planet. And cooking and flower arranging, all that grace of life stuff every woman has to learn or learn how to fake up, and some of us actually enjoy. Some magazines obsess over those things. But most of what's in women's magazines? Nicole, I mean apart from "Good Housekeeping" and "Better Homes and Gardens" what they publish is how to attract and hold a man, and how to keep him interesting in bed. They sell sex techniques. How to make love to men, hardly ever how to make love to other women, and that's why I've had to quit with practically all of them. Did you expect her to read those kinds of articles, Nicole? To make your girly husband over into an arch-seducer of guys?"** "Did I, Courtney?" "You certainly did," I said. I tried an indulgent smile in Ashley's direction, but it didn't feel sincere, so I turned toward the others. "Nicole wanted me to understand how women think and feel about sex so I could understand why they do what they do about sex, especially during sex. Why we do what we do, I mean. That's what she said. I needed to know what's important to women and what isn't, to 'develop my sympathies' or else I wouldn't be fit to join you here. So I read everything she brought me very carefully." Maureen was delighted. "Good thinking, Nicole! So you learned all about how to fascinate men and lure them into your bed, and then what to do with them once they're there? Have you done it yet? Did you seduce some hapless man last night? Tell us how you feel about it. Are you now gay? Are you a gay man? Or are you a straight woman?" "I can't say," I replied, deciding to joke back with her. "A gentleman never sullies a lady's reputation, so if I'm both a gentleman and a lady, I won't and I also hope I won't." I smiled, but my answer was serious enough, and I suddenly realized, true enough too. Nicole released my hand and I began to eat my salad, aware for the first time that I couldn't tell them which I was. I'd need to choose soon, before more choices were made for me. Maybe I was neither a gay man nor a straight woman? Maybe I was a gay woman? At first I'd thought all those articles silly, except for all the calculating and scheming they revealed behind women's demure, innocent smiles. But pretty soon I got fascinated by their quite frank discussions of women's desires, needs, and schemes. By all their talk of enticement and seduction. The articles on how to train -- no, enthrall -- men to satisfy you sexually while they think they're the ones who are seducing you. I found out what lots of women know, that in every man there's an instinct to care for women and serve them, that because they're attracted to femininity they can be attracted to feminine things, they can be feminized and even enslaved, and that if it's done right, they're blissfully content to be slaves and don't even know it. They'll work themselves to death to support you and your offspring, to earn your approval, and count themselves blessed. They call it love. "Do you think that's you?" Nicole had asked me about such an article as she kissed my face and then ran her hands lightly over my new mounds. Under the surgical bra my nipples shot lightning into my crotch. "Are you a lover of things feminine who's ready to become my contented slave?" I couldn't deny it altogether. As I sat up in bed, now very much aware of the bulges contained under my nightie, studying the manicure I'd just given myself, Nicole would question me about each article in turn. "Ten hot men for you to perve on" left me cold, but she explained that its purpose was to "authorize" whatever lusts or desires women happen to feel, no matter how improper or bizarre. To awaken fantasy sex in preparation for the real thing. She made me study each male celebrity in turn and decide which one most turned me on. A few had kind faces, so I decided to like them. Those who might once have protected me in the schoolyard, not bullied me, they gave me warm feelings. I told Nicole, and she nodded approval. "It's a beginning," she said. Nicole cut out their pictures and made a poster for me to look at each night before I went to sleep, to see if I could develop stronger feelings for them, even for the "dangerous" faces, the love 'em and leave 'em men. Then as she stroked my tits she'd asked me to imagine her hands belonged to one of those famous men. After a while, being stroked by a man didn't seem to me at all that repellent. I got to like getting felt up no matter who did it. In "Five ways to make him do whatever you wish" I recognized some of Nicole's behavior with me, and she confessed it quite frankly, as if woman to woman. "Of course those techniques work on you," she said flirtatiously. "I mean, just look at you!" We both had to smile at that. "When he suspects you're seeing another man" suggested various ways an unfaithful woman can use that very suspicion to inflame his passions and addict him so he'll even hope it's true. And it suggested several ways faithful women can do the same. Nicole asked me about each point in the article. We played a game in which she teased me about the guys she saw at work or at the gym until I became half-convinced it was more than a game, that she was confessing multiple infidelities. Then with my boner rock hard she'd sit on me and we'd make love. After that she'd ask me to tease her about guys I might be seeing and pleasing sexually. That felt queer, but after a while I didn't mind. It got to be fun. When I told her I was doing this or that thing with them, holding their cocks gently or french kissing them, she'd get excited and mount me then and there as I lay there. After I read each article she'd question me closely and have me practice whatever the article advised, until I knew exactly what I thought about that advice and what I'd learned was in my reflexes. I learned to flirt without even trying, and I practiced on Nicole until I did it with finesse. "You'll want to get a man so he'll eat out of the palm of your hand," she'd said. "Whatever it is you may be holding in the palm of your hand. It's fun. I do it with you often enough. Sometimes literally!" "Why all this stress on sex with men?" I asked her. "I only want sex with you!" "You need to know how we feel about sex," she said. "And even how we feel during sex. And besides," she added with a certain sprightliness and a playful grin, "You're supposed to be learning to be a girl, and a girl never knows who'll be coming into her life, does she?" At the end of each day of my recuperation, Nicole would gather up the day's magazines, clear the bed, and then lay down next to me. We'd then hug each other carefully, and kiss, and spend an hour or so necking like teenagers. I loved it. It was what women do who love women, and it helped me feel womanly. She gave me my own perfume to use, a light, delicate scent I loved because she loved being near it. We'd caress each other tenderly, running our hands over each other's faces and bellies, and breasts. She was gentle with both of mine until the time came to remove my surgical bra. That morning she unclipped it and slipped the straps off my shoulders, and as I bent forward I immediately felt their vast weight tug at me, those huge globes. I grasped them one in each of my palms to try to lift and support them -- they were heavy! And my nipples had grown, even though it had only been a few days since the operation -- they looked swollen. They looked like Nicole's when she was excited. Tumescent. "They're all in proportion too," Nicole assured me with a satisfied grin. "As Dr. Salzberg would say. I'm afraid your braless days are over honey. I've gotten you some new blouses and bras, enough for now, and we'll shop for whatever else you may need. But if you mean ever to go swimming again you'll need a modest one-piece bathing suit to cover them. A bikini might be too provocative and attract too many of the wrong sort. Oh, my! Just look at them! They do look good enough to eat!" She'd sometimes get wildly passionate while playing with them, "the way men do," she explained, especially when she saw how erogenous my nipples had become, how even a slight fingertip touch could put me into a trance. Once we'd begun, we'd caress each other a little lower down too, in very tender places, and one thing would always lead to another. She encouraged me to moan aloud whenever she was mounted on me and rolling her pussy round and round my cock, and that did enhance the experience for both of us. I found myself moaning for more of her, then crying out my joy through orgasm, all without even being aware of it. She joked that maybe she'd next make me into a "screamer" like some women. "That way I'd always know where you are when we're entertaining guests nearby and I can't go looking," she said. She enjoyed that kind of teasing. I appreciated it. It meant she was getting more and more comfortable with my adopted identity, and if she could feel that way, so could her friends. My mind drifted further into memories of our lovemaking during those three weeks. She'd taught me to kneel alongside the bed while she draped her legs around my neck and tucked her pussy into my face. I recalled her aroma when she was fully lubricated, and the feel of her little nubbin on the tip of my tongue. And my deep pleasure when hefting her breasts while she lifted mine, how they felt so alike, so warm, soft, and heavy. I nibbled my salad quietly and scarcely listened as Nicole described how she made love to my new body, and how I'd respond. So Ashley's voice startled me when she broke in, exclaiming, "That's exactly how Lauren and I make love! When our husbands are downstairs watching football and doing who knows what else, jerking off or sucking each other's cocks for all we care, we'll be upstairs in bed snuggling and cuddling. Then before we know it we're face down in each other's pussies. We can sixty-nine for hours. Laurie tastes so sweet, and she exudes nectar as fast as I can swallow it!" She glanced at Lauren fondly. "Last Super Bowl we knew the men would stay close to the tube, so we felt safe and played with our dildoes all afternoon. They were way bigger and much more satisfying than either of our husbands' cocks. We giggled and got really silly about it as we pushed and forced and slid them in and out of each other. Though it wasn't quite so funny during the next two weeks, when we were both still too stretched out to feel our actual husbands' actual pricks. I remember I once had to ask Bill if he was in me yet when he'd been fucking me for ten minutes. He didn't care for that, not at all. But I honestly couldn't tell!" "Did they ever find out what you two were doing?" Maureen asked. "You know, that's interesting," Lauren said. "We didn't think so at first. One of them would open the door and look in and ask us something, and we'd say 'just resting, honey, go back to your game,' and they'd say 'oh, OK' and close the door again. Later we found out that they knew and were turned on by it, that they were making side bets which of us would groan or moan louder. The perverts!" "Well, only that one time," Ashley continued. "And it was no contest -- Lauren's the expressive one, I just breathe hard. But mostly though it never got that intense. Just ... nice. We'd lie there quietly and embrace, and gently kiss each other's noses, and eyes, and lips, and necks, and nipples, and then our fingers would reach over into ...." "Oh, Ashley, stop it or I'll have an orgasm right here and everyone in the restaurant will hear me express myself!" said Lauren. "Sorry," Ashley said, though her smile suggested nothing of the kind. "I'm not," Maureen commented with a salacious grin. "I'm getting wet from all this talk. I think I'll call Enrico when I leave here today, my new ballroom dance instructor, he's a doll. I'd forgotten how nice just plain smooching can be, it so quickly becomes something else. But do go on, Nicole." "Well," said Nicole, "all right. After the third day Courtney's breasts were healed, so I raised the ante and introduced my new girly man to more racy attitudes. Since I'm a little ... assertive, I wanted my new dear to be just a little more passive, a little more compliant. Girls are so much more attractive when they're submissive. So for openers I had him read a fairly raunchy article I found i