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Affair by Vickie Tern Jessica introduced me to the new section manager. 'Meredith, this is Bruce' she said. Then glanced quickly at the bar to assure that the liquor was holding up, and moved on to chat with others. Another of her after-work cocktail parties -- she believed a sociable office was an efficient one, and I'd stopped by briefly as I always did out of courtesy. So I nodded at this 'Bruce,' smiled quickly, and was about to turn away when I saw that he was looking at me with more than the usual polite interest we all muster when we're being ... well, polite. His gaze was intense, and seemed both admiring and ... hungry! For what? So I looked him over more closely. A powerfully impressive man, I could sense it and had no idea why, and the impression grew. Tall, lean, with wavy blonde hair, I guess I'd have to call him devastatingly handsome. His smile was confident, a bit arrogant. Yet somehow I felt singled out, flattered by his rapt attention. I even felt a faint, delicious twinge of danger. He was cute. More than cute, he was ... exciting! I looked into his eyes and he looked into mine and my heart stopped short. Then fluttered, then unaccountably started beating furiously. Pounding! I stared at him, unable to move. Attracted? It was like being hit by lightning! Lost? Gloriously! Oh, my God, what a man! He was standing three feet away, yet I felt wrapped up in him! I glanced away and then back at his face and felt the same even more strongly -- joy, a vague anticipation, enticement, possession, and above all a powerful sexual arousal! I had to fuck him! I was a faithful, monogamous wife, yet I had to fuck him! All the while he was smiling at me as if reassuring me that it's all OK, it's good, better than good! He knew? He knew! Yet I didn't feel the least bit embarrassed! In fact I was eager to share these feelings with him! God, the ferocity of the desire I felt, I had to have him, I had to feel him deep inside me! Now, this moment! I nearly fainted! Yet on the surface, all seemed proper. He commented that he'd been looking forward to meeting me. I smiled and made the appropriate gratified noises. Then as his large hand gripped mine and I looked into his face, my heart leaped toward him and my throat tightened, and I realized that my pussy was wet! Soaked, dear God, it had suddenly let flow, moisture was seeping through my panties onto my stockings! Not staining the bottom my dress, I hoped -- that would be altogether embarrassing! All the while I was thinking, this is a reception lounge in a business office, and this Bruce is a business associate, I don't even know him, what on earth am I thinking? I'm a married woman! I love my husband! But this man, this .... presence, he ... he ...! Ooooooohh! Ooooh! Oh, Gaaad! Incredible! A mini-orgasm just from looking at him and shaking his hand. I tried to catch my breath. Never had anyone so forcefully masculine had such an impact on me! I wanted to feed my appetite for him, glut myself, use him to fulfill me, complete my being! I wanted to wrap myself around him then and there, force whatever his thing into me, I couldn't care what it was, push it deep inside me, hook it into me so he couldn't possibly escape, feel it grow huge, swollen, cram myself! Then wriggle and roll my cunt and my pelvis and my whole body on it and around it until we were both out of our minds! I wanted to fuck both of us to death! I tried to step back from him and realized my panties were now drenched! And we'd only shaken hands! Moreover, he'd seen all that on my face, how all at once my curiosity, astonishment, desire, my naked lust for him had overwhelmed me. With an understated grin he raised his eyebrows. A query. I understood and nodded. Then while still gazing directly at me he touched his wristwatch. I smiled broadly and turned and went straight to Jessica and told her what a marvelous cocktail party it had been and how sorry I was that I had to leave but I did have to get home to George, he'd be wondering why I was so late, this morning I'd forgotten to mention anything to him about this reception, I'll see you Monday, have a good weekend, oh, yes, don't give the Pearson report another thought, it's perfect! In fact George wouldn't be wondering anything -- he knew I'd be delayed at this do. He'd be sitting there patiently, reading a magazine or watching television when I got home, waiting up for me no matter what time it was. He'd done it before, for months during the Morgan Takeover crisis, when I was coming home unpredictably at all hours night after night. He was always ready to welcome me with all the affection and love that was in him when I finally arrived exhausted from those impossible, endlessly argumentative evening sessions, with never a question to prolong misery. I'd told him this morning that Jessica was throwing yet another reception for yet another of her clients, and I'd reminded him that Jessica's hospitality tends to go on and on, that I'd get away as soon as I decently could but she often involves me with her people and sometimes insists that we all go to dinner afterward, God I hoped not this time! I'd try to call if it happened but if I was late he should just order in a pizza for himself and maybe I'd snack on whatever he left me whenever I did get home. Especially if it was my favorite, anchovies, I'd hinted at him, not just his preferred pepperoni. That, I knew, guaranteed anchovies. It'd happened before. More than once. He knew that I was next in line for Jessica's job, that she thought the world of me, so I could scarcely refuse her whatever of my time she chose to commandeer. This time Jessica merely thanked me for coming and turned back to her conversation -- there were no dinner plans, thank God! As I departed I nodded as casually as I could to various of the people I knew, co-workers and others, and also to people I scarcely knew. My heart was still racing and I didn't dare look back, though I was quite sure that this Bruce was now saying the same sorts of things to Jessica, apologizing that he had to go, etc., while checking out his own fastest route through the crowd to the door. That he was following me out. I could sense it! He was. Next thing I knew he was standing quietly beside me in the hallway, the two of us waiting for the elevator. I tried to stay impersonal, pay him no attention, act as if our brief introduction was already forgotten, though his sheer physical presence already overwhelmed the space my body occupied where I stood. As if he'd already entered into me, possessed me! I loved it! There was guilt and fear mixed in with my eager anticipation, I couldn't deny that, because after all, I was a married woman and concerned for my husband. What if he found out? He'd feel so bewildered and hurt, and he's such a na?ve and trusting sweetie he'd also feel desperate, because he wouldn't know what to do. Dear George! So straight and square and shy he'd never asked me about any of my former boyfriends before our marriage, and couldn't even dream that I'd had former girlfriends too, quite a few, that a certain ... femininity in him had been what first attracted me. Certainly he had no idea that it hadn't been his manly cock but his gentle nibbling on my pussy that had most endeared him to me and eventually bidden me to forsake all others of either sex and cleave to him alone. He'd become "my North, my South, my East, my West, My working week and my Sunday rest," that's how the poem goes. My lover of both sexes. But at this moment, this incredible man standing beside me, I didn't care! I didn't care! George's sorrow when he found out I'd fucked another man, if he found out, all that meant was, I'd have to figure how to deal with it for both of us. That's all. Make arrangements for me to float blissfully for as long as possible in this marvelous, edgy paradise I was about to enter, and for my honey never to find out, or to feel OK with it if he did found out. Maybe even enjoy it, float blissfully on my bliss in his own way. That's what I hoped I could figure out, anyhow. So I remained calm, apparently unconcerned, until we were both inside the elevator and the doors closed and Bruce leaned forward and pushed the "out of order" button. And then I leaped him! Oh, God, did I ever! I flung my purse into a corner and jumped high, both legs wide apart, seized him around the neck with both my arms and wrapped both my thighs tight around his middle with my skirt hiked way up! With one arm he grasped me firmly around the waist and crushed me to him, supporting my body and pressing my breasts against his shirt, against and those hard, ripped chest muscles I could feel beneath it. When I moved one hand down to feel for his package and liberate it I found that his other hand was already pulling my panties aside, that his cock was already out and rampant! And pushing into me! Into my cunt! Oh, God, wonderful! Wonderful! A single thrust and he was way up inside me and I was in heaven! Rapturous? Here, now, all at once and entirely, was a man I wanted, craved, and he was deeply penetrating my pussy, filling me to the brim with himself! My first new man since George, since my husband George proposed marriage to me six years ago. Now, right now, this moment, I'd become an unfaithful wife! A deeply fucked, joyously unfaithful wife! No regrets, instead a transcendent ecstasy! It was just great! I thrust and he pushed and it was ... great! Incredible! He felt altogether different from George, less familiar, less comforting, maybe thicker, maybe more unpredictable and daring. And frenzied? Oh, God, right there in that elevator we began to fuck each other so furiously that I started cumming in uncontrolled chain sequences, each high building on my previous! Until out of my mind, I humped him madly, completely, never in my life so crazed by lust and desire. Over and over I covered his face with kisses until at last we both stiffened together and my steady keening turned into a shriek and I went far, far over the top, became as rigid as a post as I grasped his shoulders as tightly as I could and poured all my pussy's strength and power and energy into that great cock, through it into all of him, my mind and joy exploding through my cunt! Then what could he do? He too went over the edge and surged into me over and over, throbbing into me, pulsing, cramming and twisting into me! I never felt closer to any human being! I buried my face in his shoulder. All passion spent, he held me impaled, my legs still locked behind him, my thighs now resting on his hips instead of thrusting at his crotch. My cunt beginning to relax. I began to breathe again. Slowly we subsided. All right. The inconceivable had happened. Impulsively and helplessly, knowingly and deliberately, eagerly, I had fucked another man. I had been unfaithful to my husband for the first time in the whole six years of our marriage, and I'd loved it and meant to do it again and again! Often! My sweet, trusting George was now that absurdity, a cuckold, and from now until the end of our lives I would know that about him every time I looked at him. An inadequate man, pathetic. And that would always drive me back to my masterful Bruce. Or to his equivalent. I knew now that this would not be the only time I betrayed George, not even the only time with this man. I knew that this was only the first time! And that after this affair with Bruce ended, as it would eventually, very likely there would be other men. Why not? Plainly, George was not enough for me or this would never have happened. And now that I knew it, George would never be enough for me. There would always be others. Poor man. Though I did love him! My sweet, pathetically cuckolded George! Was there any way I could some day make this up to him? Bruce's cock still hadn't softened and fallen out of my cunt, yet I already wanted him fully expanded and inside me yet again! With this man I wanted countless couplings, as many mindless fucks as either of us could bear, as many times as we could arrange them, at all kinds of times. It wasn't that he was so overwhelming, though I was overwhelmed, and certainly it wasn't that he was considerate of my needs as we fucked, though I could tell by the way he'd now and then adjust his thrusting, the ways his moves anticipated my own and matched my shifts of mood, the way he'd finished with his mouth plastered to mine as if for all time, I knew by those things that he wanted to satisfy me. His mere presence had sent me skyrocketing -- it was unreal! And the jump fuck we'd just given each other was the most marvelous of any I'd ever given or gotten! His magnetism drew me to him even when he'd already lunged inside me and we couldn't get any closer. Even now, softening, still deep in my vitals, less insistently stiff, he felt like a comfy fullness I wanted to keep inside me forever. I couldn't pull away. Oh, God, my pussy runneth over, I was thinking, and yet I want more! And more! He felt the same way! "Your name's Meredith?" I was hearing his voice for the first time. Deep, resonant, a little too cultivated. But who cared? "Merry," I replied. It seemed fitting. "Are you married?" he asked me. "Do you have to get home right away?" "Yes, I am, and no, I don't," I said into his ear. "Unhook yourself from me, lover, and I'll call my husband and tell him I'll be later than either of us anticipated. Then we'll go somewhere. Anywhere!" "Call him exactly the way we are now, Merry. I want to hear you tell him that you need to stay where you are, you just can't help it, you just can't get away, there's nothing you can do about it. Anyhow, I live in this building. We're already practically where we want to be." My legs still wrapped around his waist, he dipped down and handed me my purse and hugged me to him as I used both hands to retrieve my cell phone. Then as I speed-dialed he leaned in and lifted my hair and kissed my neck. O, God! Shivers! His prick inside me started to grow again as George answered in my ear, and I told him I might be as late as midnight, and if he didn't want to order a pizza there were all those leftovers in the fridge, feel free to browse. He commiserated with me about having to spend the evening with Jessica's crowd. I reassured him I'd get through it somehow, and checked my watch. Still not quite six p.m. Did this man my legs were embracing, this man supporting and surrounding me and inside me, did he have the stamina to do this to me for another five or six hours? Yes, he did, I could feel it in the strength of his arms and his neck as his face burrowed into the hollows of my own neck. Oh, God, yes, incredible, I was actually coming again! On his prick, and we were neither of us moving! Oooohhh! Ohhhhhhhhh! As I shuddered I reached up and seized his neck and pulled his face into mine again. "Are you still there?" George's voice asked tinnily from my cell phone. "Hello?" "Oh yes!" I replied breathlessly when our tongues finally untangled and our kiss subsided. "Very much so! Home maybe midnight, OK? Love you! Bye now, baby!" And I broke the connection. Bye now, Georgie baby, for the next five or six hours, while I drift and pitch and lurch my way through paradise. You are a dear and my one true love and I will always love you utterly but right now I have something better to do! And did I! Did we? For the next five hours I ravished myself on this hunk of real man with no further thought of my poor pathetic cuckold George sitting at home nibbling his pizza or his leftovers while Bruce pressed against my clit and I sucked on his gigantic member. When we got to Bruce's apartment we couldn't wait, we closed the door and immediately fell onto his carpet and fucked again. Then stripped to our bare flesh and rolled into his bed and fucked yet again! I ate him alive! Ferociously, passionately, I swallowed every part of him I could take into my mouth or force down my throat. Or fit anywhere in my body! He fucked me on my back and on my knees, and I fucked him seated on him and upside down, lying stretched out straight and then again standing entangled. By eleven that night we were both physically exhausted, our passions finally eased into a glow. My body was sticky with cum, my belly was filled with the creamy goop, and more was streaming out of my cunt and out of my ass and down the cleft between my breasts. It was ... wonderful! "I have to get home," I said finally, trying to take charge of my life at last. "It's time for you to go down on me and lick me clean." That was how I'd always finished having sex, ever since college. Always, with my girlfriends. It had taken time for George to get accustomed to it -- he'd been especially reluctant at first to push his face into my messy twat, to lick up and swallow his own cum. But now he never hesitated -- he wanted to please me, and he knew I always looked forward to one last tongue orgasm when his prick fell back exhausted, no longer able to perform. I think he loved sucking on me down there, swallowing everything he found. It was especially satisfying to me that I'd taught him to enjoy eating himself as he ate me, to love the taste his own ejaculations as much as I did. He didn't know that for me it was an old familiar last act, what we always did, my room mates and I, when we got back to the dorm from our dates, That I was sharing his own spermy spunk with him as if he were another women. Whatever, I knew that after all these years George was now thoroughly pleased to please me by licking me clean. It did seem a little servile, me lying there like a Queen while he bowed down to worship me between my legs, but he'd come to love it. Maybe Bruce would too? Unlikely, but I had to try. At the least, I had to consider my condition. I had yet to drive home and enter our house, and I was a sticky mess! Bruce had ejaculated not only inside me but all over me. Should I try for a quick shower here? No, or I'll never leave, I'll surely spend the night. Better to get back as best I can and then have a shower before getting into bed with George. I sometimes took a quick shower or soak to relax when I came home after tough negotiations at the office -- that in itself wouldn't raise George's suspicions. I'd work it out. Now that I was at last sated, for the moment anyhow, I was gratified to see that my mind and my customary commanding tone of voice had returned. I smiled at Bruce to ease the sound of it. "Time to clean up your mess," I told him. "You've soaked me everywhere!" Bruce looked amused but didn't stir. Apparently, he was not easily intimidated. "Oh, no, doll! I don't do sperm, not anyone's. Besides, it wouldn't be fair -- your husband should be getting some of what I've squirted into you and onto you. That should be his reward for sharing you with me. You did tell him to browse on your leftovers, after all. So when you get home, tell him he should lick me off you and out of you. That'll provide him a bellyful of dinner I should think, enough to satisfy any man." And he smiled a superior smile that was nearly intolerable! That macho competition thing! It isn't enough to fuck a man's wife, you have to know you're humiliating him too, even if he doesn't know! He has to cooperate unwittingly in his own cuckolding? Score one more on George? Even though he's just scored multiple fucks on George's wife, even breached her previously virginal asshole? I saw that sympathetic understanding was not going to be Bruce's strongest suit, though after the chains of orgasms he'd forced through my body I could forgive him just about anything. "No, Bruce," I had to reply patiently. "He'd know. He knows what I taste like. He knows I don't taste like you!" "But he doesn't know what I taste like, not yet, though we'll want to give him a chance at it some time I suppose. Maybe you're right. So tonight just do him a special favor. Give him a lick and a promise of things to come, no more than that. Then when he's properly grateful and respectful and appreciative, each day feed him a little more. Gradually he'll get used to this special flavor you'll be bringing home to him every day for lots of days into the foreseeable. He'll get to thinking it's you. And it will be, because it'll be you every time you finally return home from me far into the foreseeable, soaked in sperm and tasting of nothing but. Are you with me on that? " "Oh yes!" I agreed breathlessly. "Oh yes! Lots of days, and nights too when we can arrange them, lover boy! I already love your flavor! Fucking you is like eating candy in a candy store! Like picking a bouquet of flowers out of a whole field full of flowers! I want lots more!" "So, if I may suggest something? Ease him into it, Meredith. You seem to be a 'take charge' kind of person. So take charge. Tonight, maybe fix yourself a little salad when you get home. You're probably hungry, neither of us has eaten anything since we met. Except maybe some snacks at Jessica's cocktail party, and then each other. So, make me your salad dressing. Dribble me onto your mixed greens and share me with him. Then after he's eaten and the flavor's already in his mouth, give him the longest, most lingering kiss you can, your deepest 'I adore sex with Bruce but even so I love you passionately' kiss. I'm sure your mouth is as heavily coated with sperm as your cunt is, so my flavor will surely be the same as your salad's. He'll learn to love it." "Even though it's you?" I said, licking my lips, aware that he was correct, the flavor of his thick spunk was all through my mouth. I was tasting and breathing it. "Then when you allow him to go down on you, you'll taste like more of the same to him. Start tonight and then keep it up! From now on, tomorrow the same. That way I'll be what he tastes and how you taste to him and he'll give it no further thought." This bastard was intent to humiliate my poor Georgie no matter what! Not content with fucking me, he wanted to know that he'd fucked up George too, utterly! He went on. "I love it! We'll be free to do whatever we want with each other and so will you be with your husband immediately after. You'll have two men servicing every inch of you every which way imaginable however you may want either of them. Every lunch or late afternoon from now on I'll fuck you senseless and every evening George will lick me out of you again and restore your fidelity to him." He smiled his satisfaction at that thought. Except that my fidelity wasn't a mere matter of taste. Moreover, George would wonder why my cunt seems to taste like the salad dressing he'd tasted in my mouth after we'd both eaten the salad I'd topped with Bruce's spunk sauce. Maybe he'd puzzle about it -- and George was not a fool. He'd wonder whether I'd sat down on the salad bowl or pushed dressed lettuce into my pussy for some reason. Why my salads seem to taste like my cunt, more piss than vinegar. Maybe he'd then wonder other things. That was good to know at this stage. Bruce was careless in his scheming -- his suggestions could not be trusted. He vested his own vast self-confidence in schemes that were obviously suspect. That was worth knowing, it was a weakness in him I might some day use. Meanwhile, I told myself, be wary of his advice. A plan for dealing with George my own way was already forming in my own head. But I began to wonder how meanly perverse my new lover Bruce could actually get under the guise of being helpful. So I asked him, "How can I restrict George to just that? To sucking your cum out of me without noticing everything else you've done to my cunt and my asshole? At the moment they're both pretty stretched out, leaky, puffy and red as well as distended." "Yes, I suppose so, I've noticed that my cock does that to women," Bruce said smugly. He thought a moment. "Distract him," he then said. "Or propose other explanations. You don't have a dog?" "As a matter of fact we do. We call him Portnoy because as a puppy he spent a lot of time licking and sucking his own cock. George envied him at one point and tried the same thing and couldn't quite manage it, poor man." "Tried it on himself or on Portnoy?" I stared at him and said nothing. "You mean, Portnoy licked him off?" That sounded less offensive. "No," I said finally. "That never occurred to either of us. Though I do suck George's cock now and then when I want him one more time and he's slow to get hard one more time. Same as I suck you, though you don't seem to have that problem. You I suck off for the pleasure of seeing you get increasingly, helplessly, horny." I smiled my triumph at saying that. He riposted. "Has George ever asked you to suck off Portnoy? To get Portnoy hard one more time and then let him fuck you while he watches, so he can enjoy feeling jealous?" Sick! I marveled at this man's malicious imagination. By now I was wiping myself with a damp washcloth and mopping and blotting my openings with toilet tissue -- that would have to do for now. "No, I don't do dogs, Bruce. Not even to excite my husband. I don't say I wouldn't, but I have never had to in order to get him excited, and the novelty doesn't appeal. That's all I'm saying." "Too bad. But let's not miss the point, babe. What I'm really suggesting is that you take increasing charge of your relationship with him. Little by little, more every day, dominate him. Give him things to do for you that may seem a little bit shameful or perverse at first, and appreciate and reward him when he does them, so increasingly he'll be grateful and he'll fawn over you and beg for more such things to do. In effect give him obedience training, train him exactly the way you'd train a dog. Then in the end he'll look up eagerly at you and lick your hand, grateful for the slightest favor, and if you also let him lick your pussy it'll be such a privilege he'll never dare ask how it got so creamy and swollen. I bet in the end you could even get him to suck off Portnoy. For you, I bet he would. I bet in the end you could even get him to suck me off." There was certain meanness in this cocky, cock-eyed speculation, but also a certain perverted charm. And without Bruce guessing it there was a streak of truth, too! George already would do anything for me, as I well knew! I'd try him, and he'd never fail me. Sometimes it was a mere whim to test his devotion, like that time we were getting to bed late and I'd asked him to find and present me with a single rose now, within the hour. But sometimes it was some upsurging ardent desire, like when I first upgraded his licking my clit to sucking his own cum out of me. He liked knowing why I was making these requests, or demands, and I always explained why if I knew why myself, and that always satisfied both of us. It had never occurred to me to train him, condition him, accustom him to do those things for me unquestioningly, to make George over into a gentleman of convenience, though I knew I could. "You think so?" I asked as I slipped back into my dress. "I think so. Of course what that may mean is, for the rest of your long and happy relationship with him he'll be satisfied just to put his head in your lap and lick your hand while you stroke his head. Or lick any other part of yourself you may offer him." He looked smug. Then repeated himself. "He'll never question how come some parts feel slippery and look stretched out or swollen when you offer them to him." So his apparent triumph over George pleases him, does it? He's gloating! "Bruce, you're being facetious. George is undemanding and often grateful to me for small favors, and it's true enough that I'm the dominant partner and George the submissive one in our relationship. Which is to say, George is a courtly gentleman who looks after me. He's considerate and he loves pleasing me and I love having him please me. What's wrong with that?" "Nothing. Except that now I'm even more sure you can make him over into a suck-subby. If it would please you to see him sucking my cock, let's arrange it!" "Bruce, there are limits to what even I would ever ask him to do. He's a man, and he's distinctly hetero. I would never ask him to have sex of any sort with another man, and he knows it! Perform a homosexual act? I don't think so!" Bruce just grinned and scratched himself. "But suck and swallow his own sperm, or mine? Maybe eventually Portnoy's? You'd be surprised," he said confidently. As far as sperm went, his own or Bruce's, Bruce was right. No question, Bruce liked feeling knowledgeable, confident and correct in his beliefs no matter what, even when he was wrong. "From me, yes. That's sex with me. But sex with a man? I'd be surprised and also slightly repelled. It would somehow make him seem to me less than a man. I know, men who have sex with other men aren't any the less manly for it, no more than women who have sex with women are less womanly." I smiled to myself at that. I'd had lots of sex with other women, and always felt more womanly for it. Then went on. "Maybe gays feel they're more manly for having sex with other men. But to me, a man is someone with a talent for pleasing women! Like you!" That was maybe too strong a compliment, but sincere enough. I'd never been so well and truly and thoroughly laid. "Like you this time, anyhow," I added, to take him down a peg. Saying that, I took the edge off by smiling gratefully at Bruce. He acknowledged the compliment with a twist of his mouth, then continued to lie there on his bed, hands clasped relaxed behind his head, watching me as I re-applied my lipstick and tried again to brush a splash of dried cum out of my hair. A spritz of perfume from the little flacon in my purse might help hide the man-smell on me. "Why should he do it as a man?" he suddenly asked. "Why not encourage him to have sex with me as a woman? As a girlfriend of yours out for a good time but a little more daring than you are, because she's exploring her brand new femininity while you're a reassuringly virtuous married woman and all, except when you aren't. If he's a girl there'd be nothing necessarily perverse about George taking my cock in his mouth!" He grinned even more broadly. "Unless you were to feel jealous, or envious, and start fighting him for first dibs." George pretend to be a woman? Learn to enjoy it? I shouldn't underestimate Bruce after all, I decided. That was an idea already forming in my own mind, a likely way I could free myself more often for fucking Bruce. Maybe also for fucking Bruce's successors, whoever they'd be. Now that I'd dishonored my marriage vows and George's honor and I'd loved it, I knew I'd be taking on other men too. One more slice off a cut cake is never missed, that's the old saying. Am I any more unfaithful to George if four men each fuck me once each instead of Bruce fucking me four times? Feminizing George might well work. George was confident enough in his own identity so I was reasonably sure I could persuade him to open his horizons further, expand his experience as a man to include experience as a woman and enjoy it. My asking him could be an act of love on my part, a concern to see him live his own life to the fullest. And I did love George. I could honestly consider his later feminizing of himself now and then, of acting out an inner womanhood if he finds he enjoys it, to be a good thing for him. For both of us. And if it included having sex as a woman with other men, that would certainly be convenient for me. Bruce correctly took my silence as me carefully considering the notion, and said nothing. Though he grew curious when he saw me smile to myself about something. His eyebrows raised and he looked at me inquiringly. So I came out with it to him, one reason why I thought it could work. Let him feel overconfident again. "Last Halloween I dressed George up as a gorgeous slut, a classy street walker. For fun -- I admit it, it pleased me to see him look like my kind of person. And I've got to say, given his bone structure and some mannerisms I taught him, when I got him all tarted up he was very persuasive. While we were enjoying ourselves at the party I insisted that he dance suggestively with two of the costume judges -- there was an elaborate contest -- and also dance with one of the judges' wives, a woman I happened to know is inclined to enjoy the intimate company of other women when her husband isn't around. Improve his chances. They all three apparently thought he was a real woman and all three of them actually felt attracted to him. It was obvious from the way they all three pulled him close and rubbed themselves against him. And his seductive ways worked! George actually won second prize!" Bruce felt comfortably amused. "Only second prize? Maybe he should have gone further and let the judges fuck him outright, then balled the wife?" I ignored the dig. "First prize went to a woman who came dressed as a stripper and performed like a pro. She was both expert and shameless -- she pranced around and slowly undressed herself all the way down to pasties and a G-string. I told George we'd try that with him next year if he'd meanwhile grow tits. He just grinned and told me she was bound to win, she was a ringer, she actually was a pro, a real stripper who did twelve shows a week at the Kitcat Club downtown and was known to be available for private parties too. It seems her husband's an accountant who met her while he was doing her tax returns, and he's proud that she earns more money than he does. He boasts about it when she does all-night bachelor parties and comes home with her panties stuffed with $20 bills. He even rinses them out for her afterward, and the money too, no matter how yucky." I didn't say more. I was recalling how the sight of George done up as a whore had reminded me of the girlfriends of my younger days, and had turned me on. And to my surprise, turned on George too, apparently, because for the next several days I continued to dress him up without objection. Then he'd put on his own make-up and we'd screw practically non-stop. Bruce grinned and made another lucky guess just as I was thinking it. "So he doesn't mind looking like a girl? Do you mind that he isn't entirely a man? Or is it that the sight of him dressed like a pansy releases a little bit of the lesbian in you?" It released more than a little of my lesbianism, yes indeed. And I loved George all the more for obliging me. But I didn't tell Bruce that. All I said was, "He reminded me I can be bi, yes. Like lots of girls I've had my moments with other girls. But not since my marriage." By now I was stroking on my mascara and only glancing at him. Trying to look disdainful, and failing. As usual Bruce was with me in my thoughts. Maybe ahead of me in some ways. "Merry," he asked. "Meredith?" He was feeling emphatic, wanted to be sure I understood him. "Why not since then? If you know your husband can be a prizewinning whore and it turns you on to think of him that way, why not encourage him to whore for you! To take on other men? Why not?" I stood up, ready to leave, looking at Bruce. I had nothing to say. Why not indeed? Because it might make George feel like less of a man to play at being a woman just to please me? Because then I'd think him less than a man? But he was less of a man, I knew that now, compared with Bruce. O, God, yes, Bruce, no comparison! Soaked as my cunt was, kleenex crammed into it to safeguard my dress and my decency for the trip home, I felt myself lubricate yet again at the mere thought of what we'd just done. And would do again tomorrow, not for a full five hours like this time, but for a few anyhow! Why shouldn't George feel like less of a man and then compensate by becoming more of a woman and fucking men? I'd be jealous and furious if it were other women, but other men? If Bruce was something George could never be, why shouldn't George become something Bruce could never be? Bruce went on, telling me what was now to me obvious. "Think of it! You know I'm all the man you need right now, and you know you can't help but take some of me home every time as long as this lasts. And we both hope this'll last ... long. I mean to fill you to way overflowing every time we meet, and you know you'll love every moment of it. What you're telling me is, when you assert any of your desires to George, any desires at all, George always obliges you. That allows you the best of both worlds! So, why not?" Again, I didn't answer him. This was not something I cared to discuss with a lover. This was something for me and George, to be worked out between my beloved husband and his beloved wife and no one else. But when I left Bruce's apartment he could tell from the expression on my face that his question was getting full, serious consideration. Why not? Why not indeed? He looked at me satisfied, and made a faint mocking farewell gesture with one hand. At the door I turned to look at him once again and made sure he couldn't tell from the expression on my face that his question to me had gone from 'Why not?' to 'What's the best way?' I didn't want him to know that here too I was ahead of him. ii. George turned out to be no problem, even easier than I'd hoped. Once again he proved himself an absolute dear! If as Bruce suspected I had a little lesbian in me, maybe a lot more than a little, it turned out that George had more than enough transgenderism in him. That is, he felt a possessive love for me that could easily be led into a desire to resemble me, to feel himself one with me, to enjoy being like me, like a woman. To persuade himself he was a woman. Or he felt a desire to express his own actual femininity, to look like that part of himself. And he was eager to please me. These traits -- virtues, really -- emerged almost the moment I tried to elicit them. I asked him to give up a little bit of his manhood for just a short time and he tossed the whole thing away for as long as I might want it gone! Now how many husbands would do that, I ask you? He is such a sweet dear! I walked through the front door and found him sitting asleep on the couch while The Late Show played to no one. I love this man, so honesty is the best policy, I had decided while driving home. I will not deceive him. I will answer all of his questions truthfully, even if the answers would devastate him -- even questions like "Are you faithful to me?" or "Which of us would you rather fuck, me or Bruce?" (the answer to that was obvious), or "Can you still consider me a man now that you've met Bruce?" (regrettably, no, not easily). Though he was far more lovable, for what a woman wants in a man sexually George was second to Bruce in almost every respect -- size, energy, variety, stamina, passion, certainly the intensity of the orgasms I experience when there's a cock stuffing my cunt. Bruce's penis possessed me while George's ... occupied me. I could usually tell when George was inside me by his breathing, not by how my pelvis felt. George was far more understanding of women and the things that interest women than any man should be, certainly less 'manly' in that respect too. He had wonderful taste in women's clothes, my outfits I mean, and a lively interest in the kinds of gossip that are so interesting to women and so boring to men. But I loved him for that. I'd tell him that, too, if asked, though I knew that hearing the truth about this kind of effeminacy might crush his ego, that fragile male ego so many men live by but need to pretend they have not got! No way would I volunteer such statements though. Nor any others about where I'd been and what I'd been doing, with whom, and how great it had been. George himself would have to determine what he wanted to know and what he'd just as soon not know. He'd ask and I'd answer his questions accordingly. So, no way would I take up Bruce's idea, sneakily condition George to accept Bruce's cum as salad dressing and then my similar-tasting cunt juice, eventually to be tasted as Bruce's sperm fresh-spurted from his own cock. George would taste Bruce on me or in me, in my mouth or any other opening, if it so happened. And if he asked what it was I'd tell him. Likewise, there'd be no showering to avoid detection, only for my own satisfaction in feeling clean. No sneaking around. I loved George dearly. I didn't want the fact that I was fucking another man ever to come between us. So I sat down next to him and leaned over and woke him by kissing his mouth passionately, tongue and all. There, now I'd shared Bruce with him. Now he'd tasted Bruce's cock -- well, Bruce's cock at one remove. Certainly what had squirted from it, his cum, was now also in George's mouth and on George's lips as well as mine. He seemed to find the taste ... interesting. He woke up licking his lips, then looked at me. "Have a good time, baby?" "Wonderful, never better!" "Hobnobbing with Jessica's crowd? The kinds of people she invites to her receptions? That's never happened before." "I loved meeting one of them. We found we were sort of like soul mates." Body mates for sure, I was thinking. "And you're right, it hasn't happened before." He was by now almost awake. Looking so dear I had to kiss him again. He sighed contentedly as I rubbed my cum-coated cheek against his chin. His delicate chin with its spare, soft stubble, like the fine hairs under my arms hardly noticeable. Bruce's beard had felt like sandpaper and had irritated parts of my neck as well as one of my breasts when he'd kissed and sucked on them avidly. Not my crotch -- as Bruce had said, he didn't do crotches. "Found interesting things to talk about, then?" "Yes." "What?" "Well, among other things, you." "Me? What about me?" "How wonderfully well you understand women and the things women desire. What it's like to share a life with a man like you, someone so utterly considerate of my needs. You know, things like that. I described your little excursion as a woman last Halloween, how you were better at it than every other woman there but one, so you came in second. How you didn't mind being second best." At that point I decided not to rub it in that at the moment, sexually he was clearly second best. So I stopped talking. "Ummmmm," George replied. He didn't pick up on it at all. "Yes, that. That was fun. I bet the judges never knew that I was a man dressed to look like a whore and not a woman dressed to look like one. One of them tried to feel me up when we were dancing -- he grabbed my ass and a fake boob and acted as if he was in heaven. Maybe if they'd guessed what I really was we could have beat out that stripper who was only a stripper." I kissed him again, this time on each of his eyelids. He kept them shut, blissfully. Then edged closer. "You liked having those boobs, didn't you?" He was quiet for a moment. "It had its novelty," he admitted. "I saw how you looked at yourself in the mirror just before we left the house. You were turned on." "Yes," was all he replied. Then, "I liked having boobs." A genuine confession? Would this be a lot easier than I'd dare dream? "I was saying how sexually stimulating it was for me, you being a girl. For both of us. How we were hot for each other for days afterward." His eyes opened. "You told this woman at Jessica's how we made love? How you dressed me like a whore night after night for the next week so you could be my trick and ask me to do anything? And how I did anything for you and loved it?" He thinks I was talking about him to a woman? Of course! He couldn't imagine I'd discuss his sexuality with another man. With a male lover. With a man who'd just fucked me roundly and repeatedly. Women often talk with each other about intimate matters, but rarely with other men, even when they're being intimate with them. "I commented that being a woman seemed to turn you on, and that it certainly did turn me on. Honey, so much of what we did was what women do with each other when they make love to each other! I remember how we tenderly nurtured each other's breasts. How we fit our fingers and faces into each other's vaginas, yours as if that's what it was, and how you loved it. How we nibbled on each other's clits night after night. It was so heavenly!" George was silent. Remembering? Wondering what to say? Deciding whether to confess that these things we'd done had gratified his own supposedly shameful desires? His feminine yearnings, for example? If he had any? "Let's do it again right now!" I proposed as if on the spur of the moment, as if this were not the plan I'd conceived while driving back from Bruce's. "Make love like women?" he asked, a little bewildered by the speed at which I was moving. "Make love as women," I corrected him. "Both of us in negligees and fully made up, looking beautiful. Then tomorrow and Sunday let's both of us dress in proper women's clothes. You too, and I mean ordinary street clothes, not your streetwalker getup. Matching dresses or blouses and skirts, or slacks, clamdiggers or culottes, whatever. Go out and be girlfriends together. At some point I'll lend you one of my better outfits, maybe a day-to-evening dress like the one I'm wearing now, so we can spend the whole weekend as equals and each night end up licking and fucking each other's brains out!" As I'd just done with Bruce, I was thinking, except that here at home it would be with my girly husband instead of my manly lover. Moreover, it would be easier for me to get away for a few hours tomorrow and Sunday, supposedly to the office, and go to Bruce's apartment to revel on his cock, if I knew that my husband was waiting for me to get home from my supposedly unavoidable trip to my office looking like a girl the whole time. It would be like going on a date when I was in college, my roommate waiting for me to return for further intimacies only girls could share, looking like a girl because that's what she was. This was a key moment. George could well reject my proposal as absurd, I was thinking. Or he could accept it, but only as a favor to me. Or he could accept it as I hoped he would, as a fulfillment of his own secret yearnings. That would be perfect! I waited. Either I'm wrong and I'll need to try a different tack altogether, maybe even actually lie to him after all, I was thinking, or I'm right after all, I can distract him into girlhood and my affair with Bruce can go on and on with his own unknowing tacit consent. Maybe even eventually his approval, if George is willing to become my closest girlfriend and dearest confidante as well as my lesbian lover. Could we ever giggle together about the way that monster prick had bent itself nearly double, the poor thing, when it first tried to force its way into my asshole? And how I felt when it succeeded, and entered where even my husband had never been? And then slid in and out and in and out and ...oh, God! My determination hardened. If he puts on a dress now, I was thinking, I will see to it that he never wears anything else ever, nothing but women's clothes for as long as we're married. The which I do hope will be forever. Because George in women's clothing will confirm to both of us that he never was really a man, maybe at most he was a half a man, not enough! That I don't need to think of him and live with him as if he were as man, so I don't need to seem to be true to him. Then I really will have the best of both possible worlds. Maybe George will too? George stirred as if he intended to stand up. But hesitated. He was weighing my kinky proposal for the weekend seriously. Finally he said merely, "Your dresses don't fit me properly." Oh, Lord! Bingo! Jackpot! Victory! How would he know what fits? He seems so certain! Has he actually been trying my clothes on? He said 'don't' not 'won't.' He must have been trying them on! Wonderful! "Oh? You know that?" I rejoined in a low, deliberately gentle voice. Of course he had no answer, none he could share with me. I understood, and my whole demeanor told him that I understood and didn't mind, that in fact I was pleased. Then I stood up. "Come, sweetheart," I said to him, extending my hand. "I have things I know will fit you and I know you'll love!" I knew now that he'd love them! I was now sure of it! He stood up as I'd asked, and he took my hand, and he allowed me to lead him toward our bedroom. He was fearful, a little, but more eager than merely obedient, I could tell! Done! I saw us celebrating our fiftieth wedding anniversary together some day, both of us together, two elderly ladies embracing each other, kissing each other tenderly. I saw us much younger, two attractive women abandoning our dates to visit the Ladies' and discuss them with each other privately, working our way hand in hand past a crowded dance floor and armies of attentive male eyes and erect pricks, amused together by the things men do to attract and impress women. I glanced down. As I'd expected, there was a bulge in George's pants. We'll attend to that first of all, I thought. I'll bring it down by sucking it to death while George drains me of all of Bruce's leftovers, cleans out my cunt and my asshole both. He'll be way too excited by the prospect of his new femininity to risk attributing my new flavor to anything unaccustomed. Eventually I'll explain to him how that flavor is exactly what one should expect when a woman eats out another woman who has been, as it were, as I had been, eating out. But every moment of this whole transformation must be made pleasurable for him, joyous! He had little body hair, and that little was blonde, but as I directed he stripped and showered and used a depillatory anyway. I got in with him as he showered again, and at my insistence we spread a faintly scented lotion over each other's bodies. The lotion itself would help mask Bruce's funky smell, I knew. But it would also bring us together, make us seem like one person. To his nose, anyhow. I touched us both with the same perfume. Now we were even moreso! My George, scented like me, his every pore breathing an aroma like a delicate flower! I loved it! This was so easy! Why hadn't I done this months ago? Because then I wanted him as a man, but now I've got a better man, I answered myself! Now I want him to be my woman, my better half! Or anyhow, my other half, the half that completes me! My darling George would soon be sooooo beautiful! Both of us naked and scented, I wriggled my whole body against his body, my hands caressing the back of his neck. "You feel so deliciously smooth," I crooned at him. "And soon you'll be so much smoother. I love you like this! Come, we'll dress for bed together." Soon we were in matching nighties, mine lavender and George's pink. He seemed somewhat embarrassed as I held his high to slip it down over his head -- his face was flushed and he avoided looking at me directly. But once his arms were overhead and trapped inside it and I ran my fingertips over his nipples, he let out a small, high-pitched moan, and I knew he was mine. Only when I approached him with a lipstick did he flinch, but a simple irrelevant explanation -- that the pink exactly matched his nightgown's, it was a necessary part of his outfit -- served. "Be proud to look like me," I told him. "I am!" Then I mussed his hair, kissed his pink mouth, led him to bed, and lay down next to him with our bodies reversed, my face next to his penis -- a respectable size, I saw, but I couldn't suppress the judgment that compared with Bruce's it was nothing significant. "Breathe deep!" I told him, taking a big chance -- his nose was now inches from my soaked pussy, and despite our shower together, given my odor and Bruce's the smell, I knew, had to be rank. Then before he could object to anything I clamped his head between my thighs and in a sixty-nine embrace began to suck hard on his cock. Would he object to anything now? No. Somewhere below, I felt his tongue work past my outer labia and then actually begin licking and lapping Bruce's cum out of me. Slurping, even swallowing it! How I tasted seemed to him irrelevant. I was me, that was all that mattered to him! How my heart went out to him at that moment! I sucked him through three ejaculations and I swallowed all the sperm he had in him, all of it gone to join Bruce's sperm sloshing around in my tummy. His seminal vesicles were now utterly empty. He in turn did the same for me, with no queries or complaints. My pussy was now also empty. He'd emptied it altogether of Bruce's semen, and had brought me off repeatedly into towering orgasms that had each of them squeezed more and more of Bruce's phlegmy blebs out of me and into his mouth. I wanted my lovely George to come to feel utterly impotent, incapable of another erection and altogether ashamed of his inadequacy as a man, so as I tongued and mouthed his limp member yet again, I moaned my disappointment. At the same time, to make him feel compensatingly proud of his femininity I urged him to lick me to yet another orgasm "as a woman would," and he did that and I exulted! Finally we took deep breaths and rolled off each other and just lay there, cheeks pillowed on each other's thighs. I could not have loved him more at that moment. "You've never been juicier," George said suddenly with a voice coming from just below my cunt. "Does making love to ... a kind of female do that to you? Give you that odd flavor? It tastes almost the way I taste!" "You're right. It must be that making love to a man as a woman gives me that flavor," I replied. Close enough, I judged. A truthful confession, but he won't hear it that way. "With me the woman?" Was he seeking confirmation? Did he hear the ambiguity in what I'd just said? "We are both women now, honey." Could I tell him any more directly? "This is a whole new beginning for us!" He waited a moment and then asked in a small voice, "Were our old ways that bad?" "Oh, darling, no!" I lifted my head to look intently into his eyes, and I seized his slack little penis in my fist as if it were a precious souvenir I'd never ever want to relinquish. "They were beautiful!" 'They were'! Past tense. Gone, done! He heard me accept his supposition that the old ways, our old male and female ways, were over! "This new way may be even more so, that's all!" He'd used the past tense first, though, to describe our lives together as a man and a woman -- apparently he'd already accepted that those were now our former lives! So I replied in kind! I made my voice as irresistible as a little girl's. "I want it. For a month. Maybe two. Then if living as two women isn't at least as nice we'll reconsider everything, OK?" That required no commitment on my part, but a huge one for him. I'd be a girl but so would he. And I'd make sure he's want it forever. He hesitated. "You're sure." "Yes." Then, he said it. "OK. We'll give it a try." He sounded resigned, reassuring, a little excited, and also a little frightened. Could I blame him? This was what he'd secretly wanted I suppose, or something like it, and yet what he'd most feared because I might not want it at all! We reversed our bodies and I kissed his sweet lips -- no longer pink with lipstick I'm afraid, but I knew that at this moment he desperately needed reassurance that I loved him more than ever. At that moment I was desperately sure I did! Then we slept spooned. I woke first, and just lay there waiting for him to open his eyes. He already had his morning stiffie, and I was tempted to mount it, but no, that would reinforce the notion that he was a man, undermine what I was attempting. I decided then and there that there would be no more orgasms for him except as a reward for exceptional feminine behavior. Such as, first of all, even before we got out of bed, my darling accepting a cock in his rump. In his "vagina." That's how he'd be getting off from now on! More specifically, it would be the dildo he'd bought for me a year or so ago, a joke birthday present he still didn't know had proven to be no joke at all for me but rather, at times, quite useful. It had lain in a drawer in my nightstand, ignored at first, then occasionally used by me to warm myself up while waiting for him to hear out the 11:00 pm news on TV and come to bed. Recently it had become my main means for achieving towering orgasms after George's penis had warmed me up and given me its usual merely satisfying orgasm. After he'd rolled off me and gone to sleep, I'd reach for that fat thing and ball with it! But now I'd replaced it with Bruce's real cock, so it was free to snug itself in elsewhere. Like into George. That fat supple fake cock would now be George's first lover. His Bruce. Georgia's Bruce -- he needed a woman's name to settle my own preferred concept of him, one that would match his future identity. So yes, he was now Georgia, and Georgia would now enjoy her first fuck. The idea seemed thrilling to me. We'd each have a lover fit to satisfy us. I was for real, and Bruce very much so. George fake, a fake woman with a fake vagina, so he'd fuck a fake cock until he began thinking of his body as something else. His reception area was still narrow, virginal, but I'd make sure that his fake cot fit. I took the thing out, a beautiful stiff tube with veins and a purple head, and while waiting for George to wake up I lubricated it in my own cum-soaked cunt. Oooh, it felt nice, especially because I knew my darling would soon be feeling it in his cunt too. Lubricated by whatever remained inside me of Bruce's sperm. Whatever his tongue hadn't reached. So Bruce would be sort of fucking him after all! My breathing quickened, but this was my dear Georgia's moment, not mine, so I restrained myself until I saw his eyes open and gaze peaceably at me. He started to say something, but I told him "Shhhh!" and then thrust the head of the dildo into his mouth. He was amazed, and his eyes shifted to mine for reassurance, but then sure enough his lips pursed around it. I withdrew it and he licked it, then licked around it -- he could taste me and Bruce both on it and it seemed that he loved the flavor! Maybe Bruce wasn't wrong? Maybe George might well some day lick Bruce's cock in the flesh if he was asked the right way? Accept his cuckoldry by licking our mutual flavors off that master cock? Well, I thought, if so, if he did, I would want it to be for my sake, to please me, not to please himself or Bruce. If he did it for himself, that might be the ultimate humiliation, a triumph for Bruce. Even start an outright rivalry with me, at least in our cocksucking skills. I wanted none of those things, and I didn't even want to think about them. I gave up on such speculations. "Now, sweetheart, so you're sure you know you're my kind, not your previous kind," I said to him no doubt cryptically. "Lie flat on your back and bring your knees to your chest!" He did. "Now spread them." He did. I marveled, as I often have, at how much less supple men are than women. I could move my knees way wide, splay my legs open so my cunt was flat to the floor or accessible to the moon or to anyone hovering above me, or so it always seemed. George could barely open himself at all. Well, he'd learn. Meanwhile, he spread his legs wide enough. That dildo was now dripping with my lubricants, Bruce's cum, and George's saliva, so I pressed it between his ass cheeks and into his crack, feeling for his anus. When I found it I pushed. Nothing, except that his eyes looked worriedly at me. "If you ever want me to fuck you again," I told him, "relax and receive this cock into your innards. We all do it, and we all love it. You will too!" He seemed to nod, so I pressed harder, and the bulbous head of the thing actually went a little bit inside him! My darling was being ass-fucked! I plastered the softest, fullest lips I could muster onto his and pushed it further, deeper, then slipped it in all the way. Then almost out, then almost all the way back in. Out and in again. Each time his opening seemed a little more relaxed. "Feel good, baby?" I asked. "Nnnnnnngg," he replied. "Mmmmmm!" Then suddenly, breathlessly, "Yes, more!" I'd found his G-spot! I swiveled the head of that cock against it and he squealed and squirmed! Then his cock-- it was only semi-hard -- suddenly squirted and dribbled! "Ohhhh!" he cried repeatedly in a strange falsetto. He'd orgasmed while fucked by a cock! This would work! Then his legs fell flat. He was fucked out. So was I, I realized, considering for a moment whether I'd have wanted George in me at all after my evening with Bruce, and realizing I didn't, I'd had enough, and besides, I didn't want to risk further invidious comparisons of Bruce's lovemaking with George's. So I plastered my whole naked body against him and we dozed as if one entity for another hour. When I woke again I found him looking at me, puzzled. "Were you serious?" he asked me. "Last night, when you said you want me to pretend I'm a woman? For a month or more?" "Not pretend," I said as gently as I could. He didn't reply. "That cock inside you, didn't it feel wonderful?" I added. "Yes," he replied. "It did!" "That's what I mean," I replied. "I want you to be a woman. And feel good as only a woman can feel. For at least a month." For all the months of your lifetime, I could have added. But he'd discover that for himself, if it was ever going to happen. "I want you to feel good like this too," I added. And I began to suckle his left tit. "Ohhhh!" was all he could say as his teeny nipple went erect in my mouth. "They'll be bigger before too long," I promised him, briefly coming up for air, then returning. "Ooooooh!" was all he could reply as my tongue flicked a nipple. "More!" He didn't seem puzzled by what I'd just said! Or question it! More? Why wait? I leaned over and took a birth control pill wheel out of my nightstand and pressed one out and handed it to him. "Each of us," I told him cryptically. And took one of my own and a swallow of water from the glass I always keep by out bed. And stared at my George, waiting. At my Georgia! He took the glass out of my hand and looked at me wordlessly for a moment. Then his eyes never leaving mine, he swallowed his, following it with a sip of water. Then stared at me, as if wondering what else I was up to. I had to let him know that if this was a test, he'd passed it. "My darling," I murmured. "No regrets?" "No," he said. "No regrets. I want what you want." "I want you to fuck me," I replied, and at last lay back with my legs wide apart, my thigh muscles soft and pliant and waiting for him to come between them so I could wrap them around his waist and melt around him. If he took many more of those pills he would not be invading me much longer, I was thinking, so I should lose no opportunities now, while he could still get erections. Our loss, but I would make sure it was our gain too. Yes, of course. When he was finally ready, I would bring him to Bruce, and insist that Bruce fuck his brains out as he had mine, launch George into the same ecstatic rapture I'd been enjoying with Bruce. Let him know what great sex could be. Yes, my new girlfriend and I would share everything. I'd get Bruce to cornhole a man after all! That would be my triu